My heart pounds and my eyes water. “I think that’s why the Great Spirit sent me here.” I don’t know what made me say that, but the sudden truth of it makes me shiver. I keep hold of her hand, squeezing hard, while the words rattle around in my head and the clarity sinks in. So, that’s why I’m here. It’s not because I chose the trip, not because I’d somehow fit in, but because something chose me to save those girls, to give purpose to my life. It’s not logical, but the profound certainty of it cleanses my spirit and opens my soul. I keep my grip on Rita’s hand until Andy pulls me away.
“You look like one of those palefaces you’re always joking about. What Happened?”
“I just discovered why I’m really here. Let’s go. We don’t have any time to waste.”
* * *
Our first stop is the dirt road that borders the woods behind the school. The thick patch of trees that Rita says is unusual for this area, is about a quarter mile wide and runs for a mile until they end behind the school. “This is where they must have come in and taken the girls out. The fire at the main house was a distraction,” says Andy.
We walk along the road and see a maze of tire tracks and I find two trails of broken branches and footprints coming out of the woods. They had a convoy parked along the road and didn’t bother to cover their tracks. Andy picks up something from the side of the road. “Look at this.” He holds up a wet, mud stained, Gay Pride t-shirt. “He left us a clue.”
The picture of those girls force marched through the woods in the middle of the night makes me hurry back to the Audi. Time to talk to our passenger.
The soft leather of the Audi is too good for him. I lift him out and drop him in the ditch. Dr. Mason has cut off his right pant leg and put a temporary wooden splint over the break below his knee. I put the butt of the 30-30 on it and press down. “Where’d they go?”
“I don’t know, don’t hurt me.”
I push harder. “Don’t make me ask again. Where?”
He throws his head back and howls. It sounds like a sick wolf back in the Buck Brush woods. I’m ready to press harder. I’m not into torture but I can’t think of anything else.
Andy puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let me try.”
He bends down and gets close to his face. “What’s your name?” His voice is quiet, soothing.
“Gimme something . . . need it bad.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Abdullah . . . Please, help me out.”
“After you tell us where they took the girls.”
“North somewhere. I don’t know where. I’m new. They put me in a truck and took me here last night. Told me to shoot up the house and kill anyone I saw . . . please help me. . . I didn’t want to do it. There are three guys in Tugo, scouts. They know the plan. Been around longer and know Jeffrey.”
I put my foot on the spider tattoo. “They have this on their necks, too?”
“Yes, them . . . going to be sick.” He starts to shake and tries to puke but nothing comes up.
“It’s more than his leg. He’s going through withdrawal. He’s a drug addict,” says Andy. “I know the symptoms. I worked with my dad in a rehab clinic in Duluth last summer.”
“What are you on?”
“Some smack. Some mix with coke—speedball—take whatever Jeffrey has . . . please, help me out.”
Andy throws him back in the Audi and gives him a couple of oxycodone pills. It’s not what he wants but Andy thinks it will settle him down.
The Audi is fast and I push it to the limit. “Where are we going in such a hurry?”
“I’m taking you on a breakfast date. We’re going to the No Name Bar.”
* * *
Abe’s back on duty. Before he can react, I leap over the bar, set the 30-30 down on the planks, and pour a half full bucket of beer over his head. It runs down his face and soaks his beard. “You’re going to tell me where those three pipe smoking dopers are or Andy will take you back to that pit you call a bathroom, dip this bucket in the hole, and make you eat what he scoops out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice echoes through the bucket.
I lift the bucket up and slam it back down on his head. To make sure he gets the message, I do it again. “The second one was for the story someone in this squeaky clean establishment concocted with the recently departed Constable Clarence, that I assaulted that old hag yesterday.”
The clock over the bar says seven forty-five and none of the dozen drunks still there pays any attention to what’s going on behind the bar. I bang the bucket down a third time, “Know what I’m talking about now?”
His knees are getting wobbly and I’m about have Andy drag him back to the shit hole and make good on my threat when I feel something cold on the back of my neck. I turn and face both barrels of a twelve gage shotgun held by one of the spider neck dopers. I spot Andy on the other side of the bar where another spider man has another shotgun leveled at his chest.
“Just the guys we’re looking for. Where’s the other member of your trio? Maybe he spent the night with that good looking granny and is sleeping in?”
The bartender clobbers the side of my head with a bucket and the shotgun wielding spider man kicks my knees out from under me and I’m on the floor looking up.
The third spider man looks down. “Looking for me? I’m right here. You solved our problem. They only got eleven Americans last night. Now we’ve got the last two.” He has a British accent. “Pick up her rifle. Give Ibrahim back his two shotguns and let’s get them out of here,” he says to his web-mates.
I’m still woozy and don’t resist while they turn me on my stomach and tie my hands with a leather cord. They tie Andy, too. We stand on the street outside the bar while they have a meeting. I can’t make out the words but they talk loud and make lots of gestures.
“I don’t think they have a plan,” says Andy.
“That makes us equal.”
The English spider man breaks away from his buddies and points across the street. “That’s Constable Clarence’s car. Are you with him?”
“You got it backwards, was. He’s no longer with us.”
“You drove it here so you know how to drive, right?”
“Been driving since I was twelve. They don’t enforce laws in Desperation Hollow. Andy drives too.”
“All right. You’ll drive us to Cambui, he says to Andy. It’s about ninety kilometers. Any trouble and your girlfriend gets her throat cut.” He points to a web-mate holding a machete.
They cut the cords around Andy’s wrists but leave mine. Abdullah’s slouched in the back seat. His breathing is shallow and a trickle of vomit runs down his chin.
“There’s not room for all of us. This this sick spider needs a doctor and a rehab clinic. A ninety kilometer trip might kill him and the smell of his puke might kill us,” I say.
They have another huddle and two of them carry him back to the bar. “Ibrahim will get him a doctor and his grandmother will get him a fix. He’ll have to get back on his own,” says a spider man when they come back.
Andy’s driving with the English man beside him. I’m in the back middle with a web-mate on each side. There’s only one road north and they tell Andy to take it. We’re on our way to Jeffrey’s lair and his captive girls. I’ve just got to figure out how to take charge of these spider men before we get there.
Chapter 35
These guys look strung out, more than a little hungover from last night. I want to get them talking to find out why and plan our next move. “Why don’t one of you guys drive? You know where you’re going?”
“We never learned. Not too many vehicles in our village and our families were too poor to own one,” says the Englishman.”
“Where’d you get the accent?”
“I went to school in London until the Boko Haram killed my father and I come back.”
“All you Boko Haram guys have the same tattoo?” asks Andy. I look over the seat and see the 30-30 beside the
Englishman. He hasn’t thought about opening the trunk. Good thing because that’s where I put the pack with the pistols.
“No, some of us who split off with Jeffrey got wasted one night and found someone to do it.”
“You guys get wasted a lot?”
“When Jeffrey takes over a village, he kills or drives away the adults and takes the kids. He either sells the girls or tries to marry them off. The boys get doped and join up or lose their heads. He keeps one or two boys or girls for his private pleasure—he likes both varieties. Some get hooked hard like Abdullah. Some of us try to take it easy.”
“Didn’t look like you were taking it easy last night.”
“We were part of the scouting team. Ibrahim was supposed to put us up for the night—he lives over the bar with his grandmother—the old witchy-woman. The plan was for him to take us to the school for the attack but we got carried away with his grandmother’s pipe and were in no shape to be of any help. They left orders through Ibrahim, to find the two missing Americans and get back on our own.”
“How’s Jeffrey fit in Boko Haram?”
“He’s on his own. Runs a small private army. More of a bandit than a religious zealot. The only thing he has in common with Boko Haram these days is his obsession that girls should not be educated. That’s why he attacked the school. Boko Haram leadership wants nothing to do with him. They say he’s too ambitious, too ruthless, only in it for himself—”
I suddenly feel the spider man on my left shove a hand down my top and use the other to work its way up the leg of my jeans. At the same time, the guy on my right lunges for the med bag on the floor in front of me.
“Andy, hit the brakes hard,” I scream.
Looking in the mirror, Andy sees what’s happening and stands on the brakes. He powers down his window and slides to a stop on the left side of the road. They haven’t bothered with seat belts and everyone bounces forward. “Get your hands off her or these keys go out the window. Even if you find them, you can’t drive. Leave her alone or you’ll be stranded here,” shouts Andy.
The Englishman tries to lift the 30-30 but he’s too slow. Andy elbows him in the ribs and snatches it first. He reaches across the seat, grabs the med bag and scrambles out the door, slamming it shut. Leveling the rifle, he talks through the window. “Here’s the new rules. I cut her loose and she rides in the front with me. There’s enough oxycodone in this bag to feed your heads until we get to Cambui. When we get there, you point us to Jeffrey and get out. You can say we overpowered you or you can hole up there and zonk out on oxy for all I care.”
One of the back seat web-boys holds the machete to my throat. “Sorry, we don’t want those rules.”
Andy grew up in Buck Brush Falls and knows how to use a rifle. He snaps off a quick shot a few inches from his ear, works the lever and puts another one next to his web-mate. The rear window, already shattered from last night, partially collapses, showering them with glass. “Next one’s going to make a hole in that sleazy spider web tat. Give me the machete now.”
He gets the message and Andy gets the machete. “Everyone out,” he orders, bashing the machete against the rooftop. “Sit there,” He fires another shot in the ground by the roadside ditch to mark the spot. When they’re seated, Andy uses the machete to cut the cords around my wrists and tosses it across the road.
The spider boys aren’t looking like captors any longer, more like worn out teen agers in jail the morning after a drug bust. They’re glassy eyed and jumpy—may not be totally hooked like Abdullah, but I can tell they need something.
“Show them the oxy,” I say.
Andy holds up a large bottle and shakes it.
“He’s going to give some of them to you, but first I need some answers. If I don’t get them, we’ll leave you here and you can scrounge for mushrooms in the woods, see if you can find some that get you high before you find some that kill you.”
“Tell her you understand,” Andy says.
The Englishman nods and the other two look longingly at the pill bottle. “Here’s the first question. “ How’d you know there were two Americans missing?”
“Jeffery knew the exact numbers. He wanted the girls but also wanted American college students to make a big splash in the news.”
“How’d he know?”
“From an inside guy at the school and Ibrahim. They’re both afraid for their families.”
“Who’s the guy at school?”
“A security guard. He knew where Jeffrey was taking the kids. Ibrahim told me they killed him last night to cover their tracks.”
“Last question. What’s Jeffrey up to? Why’d he want the volunteers?”
“He’s crazy, wants to make a name for himself with the Western press, wants to thumb his nose at the regular Boko Haram leaders. He’s a very scary man.”
“No more questions but, before we go, I’ve got something I need to do.” I go to the trunk, get the Glock and hand it to Andy. “Cover them while I get some target practice.”
“I hear you’re pretty good with this.” He gives me the 30-30.
“Now, you, stand up.” I point to the kid who put his hands on me. “Drop your pants.” He hesitates and I put the barrel against his forehead. “Do it,” I growl. His pants are down at his ankles and I step back. “The shorts, too.” He doesn’t move and I turn to the Englishman. “Pull them down for him or I’ll shoot you both.”
The Englishman walks behind him and pulls down his shorts. “Kind of shriveled up, must be the effects of all those drugs Jeffrey gives you,” I say. “Now spread your legs wide and hold still.” I take a bead and fire off a round. He jumps back, trips, over his pants, and falls backward. “I aimed a couple inches low, but if you ever touch me again I won’t miss. Come to think of it, I might have done any Nigerian girl desperate enough to go for you a favor if I’d been on target.”
* * *
I give Andy a break and drive. After an hour taps the gas gage. I don’t know how much further we need to go and it’s showing we’re almost out. There’s a crossroad ahead with a bunch of shacks, a general store, and a gas station. They must pump them out on some sort of national, three dimensional copying machine.
The three web-junkies in the back seat blink and half open their eyes when I stop. Andy gave them the bottle. He kept some out but left nine. They took them all and have been in a twilight zone since. I turn to them, “I’m going to get some gas and check out the store. Stay put. Andy’s still got the 30-30 and he likes to aim a little higher than I did.”
My first stop is the store. I get a six pack of Cola, two bags of chips, a dozen Snickers bars, and four pre-packaged cheese sandwiches. I drop our picnic supplies off with Andy, fill the tank and go inside to pay. The TV over the cash register is showing pictures of the North Star’s smoldering main house. It changes to a helicopter hovering over the dorms and changes again to a guy in a suit interviewing Colonel Yambou in English. I don’t catch all of it but I do hear him saying he’s doing fact-finding.
A half-hour down the road we find a shady spot and pull over for lunch. “You won’t win any awards for nutrition,” says Andy, holding a soggy sandwich by the corner.
“I’m a cheap date. It’s all they had and I don’t know where we’ll end up or when we’ll eat again.”
We spread our feast across the hood of the Audi and eat standing up. Andy throws three snickers bars in the back seat. “In case you guys get the munchies,” he says.
“That was some show you put on when you got them out of the car and took the rifle.”
“I’m getting like you.”
“Yeah, us members of the Black Bear Clan, us no-good half-breeds from Desperation Hollow aren’t good at much else but violence.” It starts as a joke but he doesn’t take it that way. Deep down, I don’t either. The hurt and sting are still there.
He’s quiet and I see his eyes get misty. He turns his head, blows his nose and walks behind the car. I know my best move is to let him go so I stay in fr
ont and try to stomach a cheese sandwich. He’s gone a long time and I’m working on a bag of stale chips when he comes back.
“Oh, Layla, I didn’t mean . . . didn’t mean what I said the other night. I was hurt . . . jealous . . .” He stops, wipes his eyes, and blows his nose again. “Last night, when I told my dad that you were the best of us I meant it. You have a cutting sense of humor and you’re not afraid to be violent—almost seem to enjoy it when people do bad things—but, deep down, you’re kind and decent.”
“Andy, I—”
“Let me finish. I need to say this. You’ve got this hang up about trying to be like us. As if, living on the East Side of the river makes us better. Don’t you realize that you’re the best of both worlds? All you’ve got to do is be yourself.”
“Andy—”
“Not yet. I’ve got something I want to give you—been waiting for the right time.” He opens up his pack and takes out a round medallion with two equal, intertwined figures, one black and one white. “It’s the Chinese Yin-Yang symbol. It means that opposites are stronger together than separate. It’s you, Layla. Stop trying to deny one side and be both.”
The medallion is attached to a gold chain and he puts it around my neck. We’re both crying and trying to kiss at the same time. The kiss wins and we hold it until the blast of a truck horn going south breaks it up. The driver waves and smiles as he speeds by. The noise rouses the Englishman who sticks his head out the back window and says, “Get a room.”
“Not a bad idea, says Andy. We haven’t got a room but we’ve got an Audi with a soft leather back seat.” He opens the trunk, moves the pack to the front seat, and picks up the 30-30.
“Get out, all of you.”
“You can’t just shoot them.”
“No, a waste of ammunition. I’ve got something else in mind.”
“And that is?”
“What we should have done in high school before my dad came out to the driveway and sent you away.”
Squaw Girl: A Boxer's Battle for Love Page 20
