by Layton Green
“How does the uncle know it was the N’anga?” Grey said.
“He said the mother went to wake the girl three days ago. She wasn’t in her bed, and the mother found a pillar of mud with three rounded marks on the doorstep. The uncle said it’s a Juju symbol. Did you notice the father’s cowrie necklace? Look around. They’re all wearing it. Cowrie isn’t Shona. It’s Juju.”
As they walked to the car people stopped what they were doing and stared as they passed. Nya quickened her pace.
Grey remembered the village man inside the circle drawn by the N’anga, his face twisted in terror, pushing in vain against air. He still had no idea what had happened at that ceremony, but whatever it was, these people had seen it too.
And they didn’t think it was a trick.
When Grey reached the passenger side of the car, someone rose from the bush. Grey started to rush forward, then stopped.
It was the boy from the hut. He stood in front of Grey with a finger to his lips, his eyes huge and afraid.
Grey’s heart was thumping. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands.
“The man said the boy’s mute,” Nya said. “I think it’s the girl’s brother.”
The boy stepped back into the mopana scrub flanking the dirt road. He motioned for them to follow.
Grey didn’t like the idea of heading into the bush and leaving the Land Rover. Not after what they’d seen in the village.
Nya said something to the boy. He gestured to them again.
“I think he might want to show us something,” she said, “and I don’t want this trip to be in vain.”
Grey looked around. No one appeared to be watching. “Let’s make it quick.”
They followed the boy on a faint trail through the scrub. The path had an earthy, eternal character to it that made Grey suspect it would be around long after he would.
“Game path,” Nya said.
Grey’s head was in constant motion as they walked deeper into the scrub, a predator who knew he was in enemy territory, unarmed and vulnerable. Nya laid a hand on his arm. “The bush is never safe, and you’re wise to be cautious. But this isn’t lion territory.”
After a mile or so they neared a jumbled rock formation, similar to the ones at Epworth. The boy stopped and pointed at a cluster of thorn bushes that abutted the path, just before the rocks. When Grey bent closer he saw a piece of string embedded in the bushes.
Nya studied it. “Was this your sister’s?”
He nodded.
‘Do you know how it got here?”
He shook his head.
“Did you leave it for us to see? Can I take it?”
Another nod.
She showed it to Grey: a long thin piece of weathered string. “There was probably a talisman attached,” she said. “It’s common jewelry for the kumusha.”
Grey said to the boy, “Do you know what happened to your sister?” The boy again shook his head.
“Do you know who took her?”
Another shake.
“Did you used to come here with her?”
The boy’s mouth quivered.
A few paces down Grey noticed the semicircular entrance to a cave set into a low granite hillock. A pungent odor, like used cat litter, wafted from the cave. A waist high block of wood stood just inside the entrance.
Grey approached and heard a light chittering sound. “Bats,” Nya said from behind, and pointed first down, then up. Brackish guano covered the cave floor, and a mass of bulbous shapes hung from the ceiling. The cave was shallow, empty except for the bats.
A bronze plaque with an inscription was affixed to the block of wood at the entrance. Grey read: ‘Discovered and excavated in 1955 by Sir William Lockenbough.‘
“The British liked to leave their mark,” Nya said. She held up the string. “I wonder if she struggled here, or dropped this on purpose? Did she run into this cave? Did she sense it was her last chance to escape from that bastard?”
“I don’t know,” Grey murmured, “but I know what I’m going to do when I find out. “Can you track her?”
“Too many days have passed to track properly. But we’re going to see where this game path takes us.”
The proposition filled Grey with hope, but less than five minutes later the path emerged into a clearing with a small watering hole. A few impala sprang away.
Nya put her hands on her hips and swore. “Too many game paths lead away from here. It’s impossible to know where to go.”
The boy sensed their discomfort, and dropped his head. He reached a hand out for his sister’s string, and Nya gave it to him with a soft smile.
Grey asked the boy if he knew anything else, then laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re very brave for talking to us. We’ll do everything we can to find your sister.”
The boy took Grey’s hand in his own, and held it until Nya gently nudged Grey. “We should go.”
They tried to get the boy to leave with them, but he wouldn’t. Instead he squatted at the edge of the watering hole, head bowed, his sister’s memento in his hand.
Grey felt his own emotions boiling as they walked away. They returned to the Land Rover, and Grey jerked his door open. “It’s time for a night out at Club Lucky.”
22
Across the street and a few buildings down from Club Lucky, Grey waited in the window seat of a ramshackle bar. Nya had said she’d meet him at eight. He shifted in his chair, uncrossed his arms and rolled up his sleeves, then checked his watch again. Eight-thirty.
He’d been debating going inside without her for the last twenty-nine minutes. A number of people had entered the club; Club Lucky was going strong, and he could blend. He wanted to move, but Nya was, maddeningly, not answering her cell.
He sensed Lucky was a dangerous man, especially if he was the N’anga, but his club would be filled with too many witnesses at night—most of them diplomats and businessmen. Besides, if the N’anga knew who he was and wanted him dead, wouldn’t he have taken care of it at the ceremony?
He should have seized the opportunity, Grey thought grimly. Because there wasn’t going to be another.
Nine o’clock crept by. Grey peered down each side of the street, then tried Nya again. This time he left a message. She’d have to meet him inside.
He slipped into the street and sauntered to the entrance of Club Lucky. He opened the door and found himself face to face with a man whose bulk filled the entire doorway. He looked Grey over with pinched eyes, stopping the half-open door with a massive paw.
“Name?”
“Dominic Grey.”
“Here before?”
“One time. I’m a friend of William Addison.”
He signaled with a finger for Grey to wait, then grabbed a ledger. He ran his eyes down the page. “Is good.” He opened the door and stepped aside.
Club Lucky had metamorphosed from the last time Grey had been there. It was packed; he guessed over fifty men crowded the small room, plus at least ten dancers. Two strolled on the platform at the far end of the room, and the rest were spread out among the crowd, in various stages of undress, writhing on tables or on the laps of the mostly older white men that populated the room.
Luckily he recognized no one. He walked through the crowd searching for an empty chair, and heard a dozen different languages. The dim, claustrophobic room smelled of sex and designer cologne. A haze of tobacco smoke permeated the air, although the room seemed cleaner than last time. Perhaps it was just darker and more crowded, the sordid walls less noticeable. The music was also less grating, more suited to the age of the crowd.
A girl brushed up to him and pressed a taut breast against his arm. She ran a hand along his thigh and motioned towards the hallway. He cocked his head, grinned, and signaled for a drink instead.
She pouted and waved to a girl standing by the door. The new girl came over. Grey ordered a Castle, then waited until she reappeared with his beer. He tipped her and asked where the restroom was, and she pointed down the
hallway.
He sipped his beer and observed the crowd. A constant stream of waitresses moved between this room and the lounge he knew was at the far end of the hallway. Strippers led intoxicated men, crippled by prurient anticipation, into the hallway. Grey guessed the rooms he’d noticed on his last visit were in full use tonight.
Nine-thirty, and still no Nya. Now he was getting worried. Ten minutes later he did have to go the restroom, and he slipped into the darkened hallway. The restroom was the first door on his left. When he finished he glanced down the hallway.
Just a look.
The doorways lining the hallway were open, and through gauze curtains he could see the outline of a single chair in the middle of each room, and a girl, sometimes more than one, gyrating on the lap of a man.
He passed a few closed doors with peepholes. Inside the first a girl reclined on a couch, awaiting her next customer. He doubted she had hit her teen years. He swallowed hard and moved on.
He reached the end of the hallway. He moved aside as a waitress hurried by him and pushed aside the curtain leading to the lounge. Laughter and soft music emanated from the room.
He made sure no one was watching and then headed down the hallway to the right. It wasn’t lit, and he melded into the shadows. The hallway ended at a locked door and branched off to the right again.
He knew he should wait for Nya, but patience had never been one of his virtues. He took the hallway and it dead-ended. There was a door on the right, cracked open. Voices floated through it. He crouched before the door, poised to leave.
He made out two voices, both masculine and rough, with the deep, throaty English of a Nigerian accent. He had trouble understanding the men, but caught bits and pieces of the conversation.
“You see him, no?
“Sha, I no see Doctor.”
“Abi? Who do it then, Monkey Boi?”
“Boma-boi.”
“Real monkey count better than Boma-boi.”
Harsh laughter interrupted the conversation, then the sound of papers being shuffled. Grey tensed and pressed closer.
“What de Doctor order?”
“Okan, owo, six oju, six ese. Boi blockus, ifun, ten eti, fe-fe, agbari, ikoko eje, ikoko egungun, da oko, da epon.”
“When?”
“Fast-fast. Sunday.”
“Ah-ah. Dat one na grammar.”
“Dat na question. You tell de Doctor too soon.”
A pause. “Me I tell Doctor nothing. You get de order.”
“Egbe! You no get de Doctor his order, we be de next. You know de Juju have de Doctor.”
Someone muttered a response too low for Grey to hear, and he heard the scrape of sliding chairs. He straightened and hurried down the hallway.
He turned the corner without hearing anyone behind him, breathed a sigh of relief, then choked on that sigh.
Four men blocked the hallway outside the door to the private lounge. One of them was Lucky.
23
One of the men spotted Grey, and tugged on Lucky’s arm. Grey walked calmly towards them. Lucky beamed in recognition.
“My friend! I was hoping you would return. What a pleasant surprise. I see you have decided to take a personal tour.”
“I couldn’t find the bathroom,” Grey said.
“Interesting. It is a difficult bathroom to miss.” Lucky made a motion and his men stepped between him and Grey, blocking the hallway. “I believe you are in the wrong hallway, Mr. Grey.”
“I didn’t know that was a crime.”
“Crime is a relative term. It depends on what jurisdiction you are in. Right now, you are in mine. But come—let us be gentlemen and have a chat. Unless you prefer that we not act like gentlemen?”
“It’s your club.”
“Yes. It is.” He motioned towards the direction from which Grey had just come. “Let us satisfy your insatiable curiosity.”
Grey tried to walk past them, and one of the two lead men grabbed Grey’s right wrist. Grey’s left hand dropped the beer and clamped over the man’s hand, and his right hand, the one the man was holding, snaked underneath the grip and joined Grey’s left hand. Grey gave a slight tug to distract him, then flipped the man’s wrist back towards him, pushing down and in, twisting to take out the slack.
The man screamed and dropped. Grey held onto the wrist and stood over him, choosing not to break it. He knew this conversation wasn’t going to end politely, but there was no need to escalate to the point of no return.
The other lead man scurried backwards, and everyone except Lucky drew a gun. At least now Grey knew what he was dealing with.
“Come now, Mr. Grey,” Lucky said. “Now there is not the possibility of a civilized discussion.”
“We lost that when your man grabbed me.”
Lucky gestured to his men. One of them approached Grey, now much more cautious, pistol drawn at eye level. Two mistakes, he thought. Never aim at the head, and never let anyone close enough to your gun to take it away from you. If it had just been the two of them, the gun would already be in Grey’s hands.
One of the men pointed down the hallway with his gun, and Grey let them lead him to the room he’d listened outside of. When the two men in the room saw Lucky they sprang to their feet and offered their chairs. Lucky took one chair and motioned for Grey to take the other. His men fanned out and shut the door.
Lucky addressed the two men who had been in the room, huddled in a nervous ball in a corner. “I believe our friend from the American Embassy was a participant in your conversation. Only he forgot to mention it to you. I trust nothing was said that might have been misinterpreted.”
They shifted. One of them mumbled something in dialect. Lucky turned to Grey. “Is there anything you would like to share with us, Mr. Grey?”
“Just that I still need the bathroom.”
Lucky rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The thick cords of his forearms dwarfed Grey’s. “I trust you at least enjoyed the entertainments offered in my club before you decided to wander? We are first and foremost men, after all, in spite of the somber nature of our professions.”
“I don’t consider twelve-year-old girls entertainment.”
“I have girls of all ages, and all types. I am sure we could find something that suits you.”
“Is there something you wanted to talk about? If not, there’s someone I need to meet. She should be here any minute.”
“And how do you plan to meet this person?”
“By walking out of this room.”
“You might not find leaving this room to be so easy. You are not dealing with little boys this time.”
Grey leaned in towards Lucky. “I may or may not leave this room. But I can promise you that you won’t.”
Lucky’s relaxed expression vanished. “Perhaps we should test this theory.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
They exchanged stares, the room silent except for the faint throb of music in the background.
“Whether or not we have a civilized discussion,” Lucky said, “we are going to finish this conversation.”
“Then finish it.”
“You are not welcome here any more.”
“Good to know we’re in agreement.” Grey rose to leave, but the two men behind him held him down, digging into his shoulder blades. The other men raised their guns.
“Remember this,” Lucky said, “and remember it well. If I find out anything you might have heard in this room is repeated, then I am afraid you will not walk away from our next discussion.”
“I don’t think there’s going to be much discussion in our future.”
“Do you understand me?” Lucky put one of his hands on top of Grey’s and squeezed. Grey almost gasped with pain; he’d never felt a grip so strong.
“Do you understand me?”
Grey balled his fist, but his metacarpals strained against the pressure. He knew what the consequences would be if he chose to strike Lucky. Himself against six armed men,
in close quarters, was an impossible scenario.
But he’d be damned if he was going to tell Lucky what he wanted to hear.
“I said, do you understand me?”
The pain doubled Grey’s vision. He tried to jerk his hand back, but Lucky’s grip was too powerful. He heard the men laughing.
It was simply not inside him to give in. Grey was a prideful warrior who’d scrapped his way through most of his life, and he vowed long ago never to give in to his father, street thugs, or whatever other bully wanted to break his will. He’d rather have a broken hand. Broken bones healed; broken spirits didn’t.
He imagined the sickening crunch of compromised bone and ligament he knew was coming. If Lucky is smart, Grey thought, he’ll do more than break my hand.
He heard pounding, then the sound of the door behind him opening. Lucky released him and looked up. Grey turned and saw a huge shape filling the doorway.
It was Professor Radek, and Nya was behind him.
24
Professor Radek swept into the room in a black raincoat, brow dark and furrowed, like a djinn released from his bottle. Nya entered behind him.
Viktor exuded the intimidating physical presence intrinsic to people of his size, but he possessed something more than that—a forceful, enigmatic magnetism surrounded him, an innate strength of will that radiated outward and dominated the room. Everyone seemed cowed by his sudden appearance.
Viktor said nothing and surveyed his surroundings. Lucky rose to his feet, his presence less commanding than Viktor’s, but still formidable. He made a few quick hand movements, and his men rearranged themselves. Two of them held Grey by the arm, and the other three stepped in front of Viktor. Viktor didn’t move.
Grey debated freeing himself from the two men that held him; he knew he could, despite his throbbing hand. However, they were still outnumbered, weapons were still drawn, and he didn’t want to endanger anyone unnecessarily. He’d let this play out a bit.
“I believe you are in the wrong room,” Lucky said evenly.
Viktor continued to survey the room as if Lucky hadn’t spoken. Nya moved next to Viktor. She gave Grey an inscrutable glance and raised her identification. “I’m Nya Mashumba, with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. We have business with Mr. Grey.”
