32

The next day, Kansaye called to tell me that my hunch was right. They had run Mike Kedzia’s fingerprints through Interpol, and a match had come up. His real name was Alejandro Hilario Nuñez, and he was originally from Colombia. He had been convicted in Spain on charges of laundering money from the trafficking of Colombian cocaine, and it had cost him two years in an Iberian prison. His uncle was a man named Tomas Nuñez, a leader of the Norte del Valle cartel. As for the dandy, his real name was, indeed, Rafael Ortega de la Torres. The Spaniard was once a high-ranking police officer. He lost his job after being implicated in a drug case in Malaga. Last but not least, the hidalgo who was now minus an ear was a Venezuelan. His full name was Rodrigo Camacho, and he hadn’t been on Interpol’s radar. I thanked the commissioner for keeping me in the loop.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

I realized he was worried. He didn’t want me stirring up any more shit, and he was hoping I’d find some satisfaction in knowing that Rafael and his cohorts would be spending some time in prison. But he knew me all too well.

“I have a couple of things to check out.”

There was silence on the other end of the call. Finally, Kansaye spoke. “Don’t try anything without consulting me first. You got that, Warakalan?”

“I have one last favor to ask of you, sir. Could you keep the information about Mike Kedzia’s true identity a secret? It’s very important to me.”

Kansaye had no problem with that. I promised I wouldn’t do anything dangerous without his approval, and I’d keep him up to speed on my investigation. Semi-reassured, he ended the call. I went into my bedroom and grabbed my sleeping bag. I threw a change of clothes, some toiletries, a pair of binoculars, and my Glock, along with two magazines, into an old travel duffle. As incredible as it seemed, Kansaye had returned my weapon. It was of no use to him, as there were no ballistics labs in Mali. And that worked for me. The phone rang just as I was zipping up the duffle bag. It was Farah Tebessi. I really didn’t want to answer.

Finally, I decided to pick up. “What do you want?” I asked.

“Can we meet?”

I was silent for several seconds. “When?”

“Now, if you can.”

I hung up and threw the phone on my bed.

~ ~ ~

With a dry throat but clear mind, I knocked on the door of her room at the Laïco Hotel. She opened it a crack and looked at me through the small opening.

“Are you going to act like a gentleman this time?”

“That’s not what you should expect from me.”

She opened the door anyway.

“You look like crap.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want a drink?”

I watched her walk over to the minibar as I sat down in a comfortable armchair. She was wearing a snug T-shirt and booty shorts that showed off the bottom of her bronze, perfectly round cheeks. Her ass was big, the way I liked them. And her legs were muscular.

“Scotch, neat. Thanks.”

She emptied a miniature bottle into a whiskey glass and took out a diet cola for herself. She sat cross-legged on the bed and eyed me coldly as I took a sip.

“You didn’t kill them,” she said.

“As it turns out, eliminating a gang of heavily armed drug dealers is harder than you’d think.”

“I’m not criticizing you. I’m just a little disappointed.”

“Not as disappointed as I am,” I said, thinking of Mike Kedzia—or rather, Alejandro Nuñez.

She rolled her icy glass along the inside of her thigh, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

“Now that they’re behind bars, you’ll drop the case, won’t you?”

“No.”

The Scotch did me good, but the room was getting hot. She hadn’t turned on the AC, and I was sweating.

“What do you plan to do?”

“I’m going to pursue a couple of leads. This whole thing is unclear.”

“What do you mean? It’s so obvious. Bahia discovered their ploy, and as soon as she was released from custody, they killed her so she wouldn’t talk.”

“Over the years, I’ve learned to be suspicious of the obvious.”

I downed the rest of the amber liquid, which burned my throat, and stood up.

“You don’t want to stay?”

Yes, I wanted to stay. I was dying to stay, to drown myself in her body. I wanted to fuck her until I didn’t have a drop of semen left. I wanted to forget how lonely I was.

“No.”

I headed toward the door.

“Why?”

I turned around, my fingers on the handle.

“Why what?”

“They’re in jail. They no longer pose a threat to you. Your friend will be avenged, and, in a way, Bahia will be too. So why keep going?”

“I don’t know any other way.”

I pressed down on the handle.

“Wait.”

She got up and walked over to me. She put her hand on mine. We looked at each other suspiciously, like two enemies fascinated with each other—like lovers at war. I dominated her in height, but she had rendered me powerless with a simple touch. She took my hand and brought it to her breast. I grunted like an animal.

I was so weak, I just wanted her to take me.

I grabbed her, and my teeth banged hers as I kissed her with abandon. She pushed me back and slithered down my legs until she was on her knees—to better control me. She unzipped my fly and dropped my pants. Giving a small sigh at seeing how hard I was, she pulled my cock out of my boxers. She sucked me off, enjoying her total power over me.

I pulled away from her mouth so I wouldn’t come too fast like an asshole, with my pants at my feet. I lifted her up, stumbled to the bed, and threw her on it. She looked at me with a victorious smile, her lips still wet from the blow job.

In a single move, I got rid of all my clothes. I was now standing before her fully naked, my dick tense like a bow, arrow engaged, my pants, shirt, underwear, and socks scattered lifelessly on the floor around me. To remove her shorts, I flipped her on her stomach like a sack of dirty laundry. She protested as I unceremoniously ripped off the skimpy piece of cloth. Then, fully aroused, I overcame her, thrusting myself between her yearning thighs. Her cry of pain turned into groans of pleasure as I repeatedly pushed deep into her. I squeezed her ass and chest to the point of bruising. I was starving for her. I turned her on her back and sank my head into her magnificent pussy. I devoured her and then I lapped her up. She twisted and moaned as my tongue searched her out and licked her over and over.

I hated her for wanting her so bad.

So I took her again, and as I came like a soldier surrendering his arms, she let out a teasing laugh. I buried myself in the sheets, conquered beyond hope.

~ ~ ~

Later, submerged in a sweaty stupor, I resisted the temptation to fall asleep. I still had my pride, what there was of it.

We had engaged in several more rounds of furious fucking, possessed by pleasure, ready to drown, exhausted and slightly nauseated. Now she was nestled against me, her head in the hollow of my shoulder, and she was stroking my chest. If I hadn’t known who she was, I could have pictured something else—sappy bullshit.

“You’re the first woman I’ve fucked in a long time who wasn’t a whore,” I said point blank. If I had wanted to hurt her, I got nothing for my trouble.

“Since your wife died?” she asked.

I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. She rose up on her elbow and looked at me with a serious expression. Her big black eyes sparkled in the half-light.

“Say my name,” she said.

“What?”

“I want you to say my name. That way, I’ll know I’m real. And you’ll know I’m real.”

“What kind of bullshit—”

“Say it!”

“Farah. There, are you happy?”

“Again. Say it again.”

So I said her name several more times, each time louder than the last. Before long, I was shouting it. When I stopped, there was a heavy silence between us. We looked at each other, and then I exploded in laughter. So did she. We laughed until we cried.