49

She was waiting for me on the patio at my house. It was late afternoon, and Modibo had poured her some fresh orange juice. The crystal-clear ice cubes tinkled in the glass as she sipped the juice. She had decided to stay with me while I was recovering, and our living together was going pretty well. We were practically a couple. I eased myself into a chair next to her. She looked up from the paper, which she had been reading with a preoccupied look on her face.

“Does it still hurt that bad?” Farah asked, her voice full of concern.

“The pain reminds me how lucky I am.”

She observed me skeptically. “I suppose it’s all relative.”

I glanced at the big headline on the front page: “Air Cocaine: Cargo jet stranded in desert leads to international drug-transport discovery.”

Air Cocaine—you could always count on copy editors to drum up catchy headlines.

“I’m guessing the drugs the police found in Bahia’s suitcase came from a plane like this one,” Farah said.

“Probably,” I replied softly. “Or from a trawler that goes along the coasts of Guinea, Senegal, and Mauritania. West Africa has become a hub for transporting coke to Europe.”

Farah threw the paper on an empty wicker chair. I picked it up and read the article. According to the reporter, after the stash was unloaded, the pilot tried to turn the plane around and take off. That’s probably when it got stuck in the sand. The dealers had no choice but to set the plane on fire and flee with the plane’s crew in their SUVs.

“Where are you with your investigation?” Farah asked.

I put down the paper and looked at her. “I got the man who was responsible for Bahia’s death.”

Farah froze. She gave me a look that seemed to vacillate between relief and grief.

“Who was it?”

“Her boyfriend, the pilot.”

I gave her a brief account, leaving out the part about the blackmail. I didn’t want to do that to her.

“Did you kill him?” she finally asked.

“No, he’s going to waste away in a Malian prison cell. Compared to that, a quick execution would be an act of kindness.”

Her face hardened. “I wanted him to die,” she said, enunciating each word. “I cannot stand the idea that he’s alive while Bahia’s rotting in a dark hole.”

“He’ll also be rotting in a dark hole, believe me. And besides, you know I don’t do that.”

“But you killed all those other people. Why not him?”

“Because I’m clinging to what’s left of my humanity.”

She had tears in her eyes. “The truth is, you don’t love me enough to do it.”

Farah had said those words like a judge delivering a sentence. She was already getting up and collecting her handbag. I didn’t try to stop her. It would have been pointless. I took a sip of my Flag. The front door slammed.

“Maybe I loved you too much to do it,” I muttered.

~ ~ ~

A few minutes later, Modibo came over in a panic.

“Boss! Why did she leave? She was very upset.”

There was blame in his voice. He had fallen in love with Farah as soon as he laid eyes on her. Despite my many refusals, he had imagined her moving in with us for the long term. We would have been like one of those families in a fucking fairy tale.

“Put her things in a suitcase and have them taken to the Laïco Hotel,” I said. “It’s for the best, Modibo. There’s a motherless kid in France who needs her.”

He shook his head. I smiled at him.

“Go get me another beer and a soda for yourself.”

When he came back with the drinks, I had to insist that he take the chair next to me. We sat there like that, admiring the spectacular sunset. The sun was sinking into the riverbed. It seemed to be drowning in a gleaming sheet of blood.

I sure do love a good sunset.

After a while Modibo got up to make us our dinner. I handed him my tagelmust. It was now more brown than blue.

“Could you wash this, please?”

The kid disappeared with the piece of cloth. A sweet jasmine scent was drifting through the air—the scent of Farah’s perfume.

Against all odds, I was alive.