25

On the drive to the Niarela district with Rony, I suggested that we stop for a pizza. He responded with a shrug. I parked the Land Cruiser in front of Chez Milo and waved to the crippled man, who was walking toward us with his crutch, ready for duty.

“You got a new ride, boss?” he asked as he ran his hand over the hood.

“Yeah, you like it?”

“Very much, I’ll take good care of it.”

We fist bumped. Inside the restaurant, Milo was at a table, a pince-nez held together with tape perched on his nose. He was working the buttons of a noisy old calculator. The Serb was doing his accounts, and judging by his furrowed brow and clenched jaw, I figured he wasn’t enjoying it. He looked up when Rony and I walked over to join him.

“What do you boys say to some drinks?”

A waiter came over. He jotted down the three-beer order in his notepad as if he were afraid of forgetting it. He returned a few moments later with the beers. The three of us took hearty swigs, and when we put our glasses down there was foam on Rony’s Errol Flynn mustache.

“So, how’s it going?” Milo asked. “He’s not busting your balls too hard?”

“No, no,” I said generously while shaking my head. “But to be completely honest, Rony is a little clingy, and I was wondering—”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Camara,” the Serb interrupted.

Rony nodded to indicate that everything was going all right, and I was ashamed of the speech I had prepared in the car to get rid of my burdensome Lebanese watchdog.

The waiter brought over the pizzas. As always, it was a four seasons for me.

Milo watched me while I got to work on the crunchy thin crust. The African sun had etched razor-thin wrinkles under his blue eyes. They gave him a kind of quizzical look.

“What about you? How’s your investigation?”

I claimed that I didn’t want to involve any of my friends—especially him—in my ugly affair, but the Serb wouldn’t hear of it.

“We’re past that point. I’m already involved—because we’re friends. Now spit it out.”

Deep down, I was relieved by his insistence. It made me feel less alone. And so I told him about Cartagena, the Spanish company that handled real estate and did some consulting but made most of its money mining gold in Kenieba, which was in the Kayes region, near the Senegalese border. According to the government file, this revenue was enough to turn heads, more than three hundred million dollars the previous year.

Milo whistled. “Three hundred million? Fuck, these guys aren’t nobodies. What are you thinking, Camara?”

“Well, long story short, I started getting followed once Farah Tebessi spread the word that I was investigating her sister Bahia’s murder.”

“A run-of-the-mill coke-smuggling case,” Milo said. “There’s one in the papers every week.”

“Nevertheless, the information I collected all leads to Cartagena.”

The Serb shook his head. “I don’t see a company with through-the-roof revenues getting involved in transporting a few kilos of coke,” he said.

“You’re right. It doesn’t make much sense.”

“What if the girl was killed for some reason other than drugs?” the usually silent Rony asked.

“It’s a possibility, but I’d be surprised if that was the case,” I answered.

I continued my story, but Rony’s question was nagging at me.

“The file that I checked out at the Department of Mines, Energy, and Water had another interesting detail,” I said. “Next to Mike Kedzia’s name was Rafael Ortega de la Torre. He’s C-level.”

“C-level?”

“That’s senior management, company executives, chiefs.” It was the second time Rony had spoken up.

The Serb looked at him in surprise. “How’d you know that?”

“I served with the Army Rangers. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh shit, I forgot you’re half Yankee!”

“Getting back to the senior managers,” I said, annoyed.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Camara. So who is this godfather?”

I maintained the suspense by staying quiet a few seconds longer. Then I leaned toward the two men. “I’m almost positive that he’s the dandy who had Drissa’s hand chopped off,” I said. “The guy I plan to have a little chat with one day soon.”

“We could just take him out now. Save us some time,” Milo suggested eagerly.

“That would be a bit premature,” I said, straightening up. “Especially since I’d like to figure out what’s going on here. We’ll take care of him once I have everything I need.”

The Serb and the Lebanese man nodded in agreement. We finished our beers and pizzas in silence.