31

The cops showed up a few minutes after Rony. I wondered if he had alerted them just before stepping in. And now I was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a grimy blanket draped over my shoulders. The door was open, and my legs were dangling out. Deep in dark thoughts, I didn’t notice Hamidou Kansaye walking toward me.

“So, Solo, looks like you almost got turned into sausage.”

The commissioner had a satisfied look on his face. I couldn’t tell if it was because I had been taught a lesson or because I had emerged in one piece from my near-death experience.

“‘Almost’ is the operative word, Commissioner.”

I watched as Rafael Ortega and his accomplices, all of them in handcuffs, were led to a police van. Ortega turned to look at me, and we stared at each other for an interminably long moment.

“We’re gonna lock that demon up in a cage, and his sidekicks too. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Everyone wants the details, so tell me what happened.”

In a monotone, I recounted my horrific night. I explained that Rafael Ortega was most likely the boss of a drug-trafficking ring and that Mike Kedzia was a straw man—a dispensable bookkeeper.

“You should look up Kedzia’s prints. His hand should still be on the floor in there. I have a hunch that’s not his real name. The others called him Alejandro. I’m guessing he’s South American.”

Kansaye nodded. “I already got a call from the prime minister’s chief of staff ordering me to release Ortega. He’s vouching for the Spaniard.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

“Don’t worry, I won’t give in to any pressure. This case will be pursued all the way to the end. So, these paramedics are taking you to the emergency room to run some tests and—”

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Where to find me.”

The commissioner pointed to the large man standing off to the side. “Ask him.”

Rony stepped up, his Gauloise hanging from his mouth. Kansaye took his leave, wishing me a speedy recovery.

“How’d you do it?” I asked the muscleman.

He pointed toward my loaned Land Cruiser in front of the slaughterhouse.

“I attached a GPS tracker to it. I didn’t trust you.”

I shook his hand a very long time.

“That was a fucking good idea,” I said.

“I followed you in my old ride from the house to this place, and once I saw things were turning sour, I called the cops.”

To think that I had wanted to be rid of him just a few hours earlier.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be crocodile food right about now.”

“I couldn’t let that happen. Poor animals. They’re practically extinct as it is.”

I belly laughed until my ribs hurt, a welcome reminder that I was alive.

The ambulance took me to Gabriel-Touré Hospital, where I was diagnosed with cracked ribs, a broken nose, and a slight concussion. They admitted me for observation, and needless to say, I slept like a baby, despite the comings and goings of the nurses.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, I called a cab to drive me home. It took me five minutes to get in the vehicle and about as much time to get out. I hobbled to the gate like an old man and rang the bell. Modibo’s face lit up when he saw me. He gave me a big hug, which almost made me feel good.

“Boss, you’re back,” he said, squeezing me with his puny arms. “I’m so happy.”

“Careful, kid. Every part of me hurts.”

He inspected my puffy face.

“You don’t look good at all.”

He took me by the hand and carefully led me to my armchair on the patio. With a sigh of relief, I settled in. The kid vanished, and I watched the river and its somber waters while a flock of big-beaked hornbills weaved through the air. I was in pain, but I was alive.

Modibo returned with a glass of Scotch, neat. I thanked him, but he had already slipped away to give me my space. Deep down, I didn’t think he was such a bad kid—even if he didn’t drink. Rony showed up, and I offered him a whisky, but he didn’t want to join me either.

“I came by to ask if you’d like me to stick around.”

I reflected for a moment. “You’d be wasting your time. Those guys are behind bars. I’m no longer in danger.”

Rony nodded. “All right then, I’ll let you be. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m leaving the Land Cruiser. It belongs to Milo. You can discuss the details with him.”

He said good-bye and turned to leave.

“Rony,” I called.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

He looked at me with his black eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

A man of few words.

That afternoon, despite my aches and pains and some dizziness, I went for a walk on the riverbank. I followed the meandering path as I retraced my thoughts. Up ahead, there was a Bozo fishing village. It was nothing more than a pile of huts made of mud-brick—banco. They were relics that would eventually yield to the relentless march of progress. I passed the fishermen who were bringing in their nets while others were unloading sand collected from the riverbed. That same sand would be used in the ugly buildings cropping up like mushrooms in the city. By collecting it, the Bozos were contributing to their own extinction. Fucking irony. I often wondered if they were aware of this, but knew deep down they were screwed anyway. When life is that hard, only the present matters. Tomorrow is a battle, and you aren’t even sure you’ll be around to meet it.

I watched them do their unforgiving work, their gnarly muscles glistening in the dangerously hot sun. Noticing my presence, they stopped to stare at me, but not with animosity.

I greeted them. “Ani kilé.”

Their sweaty faces lit up. “M’ba, ani kilé. I ka kéné?”

They were asking me how I was and appeared to be genuinely interested, which seemed incredible to me, a Westerner in part, so accustomed to offering such salutations only out of habit.

“Toroo sitè.”

They smiled and got back to work without forgetting to wave good-bye. Just beside them, women were washing their laundry in the current and stretching it out to dry on the bank. Suddenly, a flock of snot-nosed kids in tattered clothes surrounded me, pulling my sleeves and bombarding me with questions, which posed a threat to my basic level of Bambara. They followed me for a bit of the way, then got bored and scurried off, shrieking in high-pitched voices.

I looked out at the water. I was in pain, but I was alive.