by P J Skinner
There was something shifty about the way Kaba cased the restaurant. Sam ducked to avoid detection.
‘Is there a back door?’ she said.
‘I presume there’s one through the kitchens,’ said Jean.
‘Let’s ask the waiter if we can go that way,’ said Sam.
‘What reason will I give him?’
‘Tell him you don’t want to be seen with me in case it ruins your environmental credentials.’
‘Hilarious. Okay, I’ll think of something.’
Minutes later they shuffled through the kitchens avoiding plates and pots and chefs in a hurry and walked out through the corridor at the back passing the people washing plates in the sinks. A large woman was giving orders, a woman Sam recognised. Some pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. She pushed Jean in the back to hurry him along.
‘Get out quick,’ she said.
‘Okay, I’m going. What’s the big rush? Is someone following us?’
‘No, it’s not that. I couldn’t figure out where this restaurant sources its food, and now I know.’
***
‘That’s a serious allegation.’
Hans rubbed his forehead with his left hand while tapping a cigarette on the ashtray with his right.
‘Come on. You guys are security. Don’t tell me you had no idea what was happening. In fact, don’t tell me you don’t know everything that’s going on. I’m not stupid, you know. You have an obvious conflict of interests, but I wish you could give me a clue now and then to speed things up,’ said Sam.
‘Fair enough. We know a lot more than we’ve told you. I promise not to lie if you ask me a straight question.’
‘Who owns Bistrot du Parc?’ said Sam.
‘Mama Sonia,’ said Hans.
‘Where does she source the supplies for it?’
‘Uganda.’
‘She buys the food in Entebbe?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What exactly?’
‘Moussa Dembe orders the food as part of the Consaf rations and then drives it back from Uganda to Mama Sonia’s storeroom at the edge of town. They swap it for local goods that they buy in town for a quarter of the price. That’s why meals are so monotonous here.’
‘Why don’t you do anything? Aren’t you supposed to be security?’
‘Security has a remit to protect the camp from attack. We are not the police.’
‘But I can ask you to supervise stuff, right?’
Hans beamed like a child being told he could open his Christmas presents.
‘Yes, you can. A written order from you is all it would take.’
Sam tried not to be smug.
Chapter XI
Sam dialled the number she had copied down in Moussa Dueme’s office. It had taken far longer than she expected to call it, but better late than never. Now she had found out about Moussa and Mama Sonia and the missing food she could solve this without anyone having to get fired or hauled over the coals. She would deal with it her way and then enjoy the result. Who me?
‘Hello? Is that Stoddard’s? I’d like to speak to your orders department please.’
‘Certainly, Madam, who shall I say is calling?’
‘It’s Sam Harris. I’m calling from Masaibu Project in Lumbono on behalf of Consaf.’
‘May I ask in what capacity?’
‘I’m the new general manager.’
‘One moment, please.’
The line went quiet and then an old man answered the phone, his voice quavering.
‘Hello? Miss Harris? This is Rahul Singh. How can I help you?’
‘I was hoping to speak to Bill Stoddard.’
‘That is me. I bought the business about twenty-five years ago but I didn’t change the name. The brand was part of the deal.’
‘Rahul, nice to talk to you. I have a problem with transport on site here at Masaibu. Several of our trucks are out of commission and we won’t be able to continue picking up the orders from you. Do you provide, or can you organise, a delivery service to Lumbono?’
‘As it happens, I can. I deliver to several NGOs in your area. It would be easy, and cheap, you’ll be glad to hear, to add you to the route. It will probably be cheaper than collecting it yourselves.’
‘That’s fantastic. Is there any reason we aren’t on your route already?’
‘Oh, I offered, but your Mr Dueme said he preferred to collect.’
‘I see. Okay, how do we organise this?’
‘You’ll have to follow the normal protocol to pick up the food this week but we can arrange our first delivery to your project next time you need one. Seeing as we already have a long relationship with Consaf, I’ll send the contract with the driver for you to sign. How does that suit you?’
‘Perfect. Thank you. Do you sell safety equipment, uniforms or training materials?’
‘My neighbour sells everything in that line. Do you want brochures? I could send a box for you to distribute to your managers. I’m sure we can come to some agreement on transportation of any purchases you might make.’
‘Um, can you lay your hands on a comfortable chair? An old leather recliner would be perfect.’
‘I believe the junk shop down the road can help with that. Leave it with me. We’ll bring you something and you can send us the cash by return with the contract.’
‘Excellent. That’s settled then. I’ll tell Mr Dueme.’
Sam hung up but she did not have time to reflect on her triumph. There was a timid knock on the door of her office.
‘Come in,’ she said.
Bruno’s plump body insinuated itself into the room. Big damp sweat patches marked the armpits of his overalls. He approached her as if she might bite him and thrust a piece of paper onto her desk.
‘Here it is,’ he said.
‘Here is what?’ said Sam, her irritation showing.
He cowered. Damn. She had snapped at him in her impatience. She was no better than the others. Bruno had a miserable time at work. He was always being bullied and pushed around because he was an easy target, being both fat and shy.
‘The kitchen,’ he muttered. ‘I made you a kitchen.’
‘Oh lord, I forgot. I’m so sorry Bruno, I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just distracted. Please sit down while I review it.’
He sank into the smallest chair almost falling off in his determination to make himself insignificant.
Sam unfolded the crinkled piece of paper and gasped in amazement. She recognised its quality at a glance. The clean lines and precision of the drawing struck her as perfect. She hadn’t been expecting anything too wonderful, having only agreed for him to draw it to be kind.
‘This is wonderful. I love it,’ she said.
Bruno flushed and squirmed in his chair.
‘Can you cost for me? Or is that…’
‘No, I can do it. I can,’ Bruno held on to the arms of the chair, his knuckles white.
‘Okay then. This is great. No one told me we had an architect on site. How come Frik doesn’t know about your qualifications?’
‘He doesn’t speak French. And…’
‘And what?’ said Sam.
‘He never asked me.’
‘How soon can you get it done?’
***
‘How much?’
‘Twenty thousand should cover it,’ said Sam.
‘I’m hurt. You only call me when you want money,’ said Dirk, whose voice betrayed no sign of emotion.
‘At least I ring you. Anyway, I found a great new beetle today. I’ve never seen one like this before. It’s got weird circles on…’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Beetles, blah, blah, blah. Have you done any work?’
‘I’ve been talking to the Wildlife Conservation bloke.’
‘Jesus, do you want them to close us down? Don’t go anywhere near him.’
‘Don’t be silly. He’s helping us with the elephants. I
think the pygmies will guard them with the rangers.’
‘What? Are you running a wildlife park now? Don’t tell me.’ He sighed. ‘Any improvements? Beside the ones I’m paying for?’
‘I’m making some great progress but I want concrete results before I report to you, just in case. Is that okay?’
‘Do I have any choice? By the way, I got you your machine parts. They should be delivered from Uganda sometime next week.’
‘Brilliant! I can’t wait to tell Frik. He may even smile.’
‘I doubt it. You have to pay him first. Okay, get on with it. Don’t let me die wondering.’
‘Bye Dirk.’
Dirk put down the phone.
‘Miriam!’
‘Yes sir?’
‘That girl’s gonna kill me.’
She laughed.
‘Shall I get you some coffee?’
Dirk nodded and swung himself around in his chair to face the window. So far so good. Tinkering around the edges of the main problem without getting to the nub. It was what he had expected from a woman with her experience. No need to worry.
***
When Moussa Dueme and Mama Sonia pulled into the yard behind Le Bistrot du Parc, Hans was leaning against the door frame smoking a Gitanes and blowing smoke circles into the still air. Only the tip of his cigarette glowed in the dark night and it was a few seconds before they spotted him.
‘Good evening, Mama Sonia, Monsieur Dueme. What brings you here this evening?’ he said.
‘I have every right to come to my own restaurant. What are you doing here?’ said Mama Sonia. ‘You are trespassing.’
‘Sam asked me to make sure the food got to the canteen without any problems.’
‘This is not the canteen,’ said Moussa Dueme. ‘You have no jurisdiction here.’
‘That is correct. But I’m not here to interfere with Mama Sonia’s business. I’ll just wait until you are finished here and go with you to site.’
‘We don’t need you to supervise us. We are perfectly safe. You can go,’ said Mama Sonia, pointing to the gate.
‘Oh, I’m not looking after you. I’m ensuring the integrity of the cargo.’ Hans took a piece of paper out of his pocket and pretended to read the phrase even though it was almost pitch black in the yard except for the dim headlights of the pickup.
‘How dare you.’ Mama Sonia spluttered but the words got stuck in her throat. She took a couple of deep breaths with her back to him, her immense bosom heaving with distress.
Hans waited. After less than a minute, her panic disappeared and was replaced by her old confidence. She moved towards Hans, her walk insinuating.
‘Come now, Colonel, surely we can reach some sort of arrangement.’
His eyebrows flew up and he laughed, a cruel sound. ‘You couldn’t pay me enough. Get back in the car, madame, and you, Dueme, go with my driver. I’ll drive the pickup.’
***
Sam was sitting on the steps of the canteen with Dr Ntuli, and Bruno when Hans arrived in the pickup. He gave her a thumbs up signal. Beside him, Mama Sonia’s face emanated thunder and suppressed fury. Moussa was nowhere to be seen. He had probably sneaked home rather than face the inquisition bound to result from their abortive trip to the restaurant.
Sam stood up and descended the steps with a welcoming grin on her face. Hans got out and shook her hand. Mama Sonia slid off her seat and planted her feet on the ground in the manner of a sumo wrestler. Every aspect of her body language indicated she was spoiling for a fight.
‘Ah, Mama Sonia, I hope you had a good trip to Uganda. It’s been a long day for you. You must be tired,’ said Sam, with as much sincerity as she could muster.
Mama Sonia did not reply. She stomped indoors pushing Dr Ntuli aside and heading for the storerooms. Cries of outrage indicated she had noticed the invasion of her kingdom.
‘Who’s been in here? I did not authorise this,’ she said, returning and blocking the door to Bruno who was carrying a box of supplies.
‘I did,’ said Sam. ‘I know how busy you are, so I organised a thorough clean of the kitchens and storerooms while you were away. The women did a great job, don’t you think?’
Mama Sonia stayed in the doorway.
‘I need you to move please,’ said Bruno, sweating. ‘This box is heavy.’
Defeated, Mama Sonia moved aside and slumped on a bench in the canteen watching the boxes pass.
It took about twenty minutes to unload the pickup and take the meat from the ice boxes and store it in the freezer.
‘You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve obtained money from Consaf to refurbish it and put in a brand-new modern kitchen for you,’ said Sam. ‘No more cooking on fires or washing plates with cold water.’
‘The women do not know how to use modern equipment. It is dangerous. I’ll complain to Ngoma Itoua, the union manager, about this. He will stop you.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Sam. ‘It’s a health and safety matter. Dr Ntuli is one hundred percent behind the move.’
Dr Ntuli nodded and smiled.
‘Okay,’ said Hans. ‘Everybody out. I need to lock up.’
He produced some shiny new locks from his pocket and put them on the freezers and storeroom doors. Mama Sonia’s jaw dropped but then she recovered and held out her hand.
‘Give me the keys,’ she said. ‘Now.’
‘I’m afraid it’s a security matter,’ said Sam. There have been several thefts from the stores and until we figure out who is responsible, security will lock them every night and open them for you in the morning.’
‘But…’ Mama Sonia trailed off. She fixed Sam with a glare and crashed down the stairs threatening to smash them.
‘Wait ‘til she finds out about the deliveries,’ said Hans.
‘Sonia-geddon, I expect,’ said Sam.
Chapter XII
Sam observed the casual labourers filing in and out of Philippe’s office. Their faces were etched in surprise and glee. Several of them stopped to recount the bills before stowing them away. Oh, to be a fly on the wall and see Philippe’s face as he had to pay out the full amount on each slip.
When the last worker had left patting his pocket, Jacques strode out with a spring in his step. Sam liked the way he walked. He was hard to ignore. Being the only professional woman on site was hard, but it had its compensations. She loved being surrounded by burly, grumpy men, most of whom she could wrap around her finger just by looking at them from under her eyelashes like a certain princess.
‘How did it go?’ she said.
‘Fine. Everybody got paid in full.’
‘And Philippe?’
‘Have you got any tissues?’
She guffawed.
‘I think it would be better if I stayed away,’ she said.
***
The presence of Jacques during the payments to the labourers had stymied Philippe, who ground his teeth with frustration. That bloody woman! He couldn’t figure out how she did it. She appeared to be a pushover, but she had a core of steel.
He had hoped she would try to fire people and come up against the Lumbono labour laws. They were so biased in favour of the worker that no company had ever won a case in the labour court. Instead she was like a strict head teacher who went around locking doors to rooms she didn’t want the children to be in, herding them down the corridor to the classroom and gold stars for good behaviour.
She had his hitherto ally, Moussa Dueme, in the palm of her hand. He practically offered her his belly for scratching. How did you fight that? He brought his fist crashing down on the desk and reached for the phone. He dialled with some trepidation, but he was desperate.
‘Hello, boss, it’s me.’
‘Jesus, Philippe! How many times have I told you not to call me at home?’ Charlie Okito’s voice, incandescent with rage.
‘She’s a problem, boss. I don’t know how long it will take, but I think your time is up.’
‘You do, do you?’ An exquisite sarcasm invaded Okito’s tone. ‘Don’t you dare say that, scum. It’s your job to bring her down. Do I have to replace you?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure? Because I can get you fired tomorrow.’
‘It’s not that, boss. I was hoping you could give me some advice.’
‘Do I have to do everything myself? What colour is she? What colour are you? Compile a dossier of her racist acts and send them to head office. You know how sensitive they are about diversity. The government is pressing hard for black takeovers of mining projects.’
‘But she isn’t racist, she-’
‘I don’t give a fuck. Make something up, you idiot. Send me some incidents and I’ll see if I can get attention directed at the racist in charge of Masaibu.’
***
Sam glanced up as Frik and Bruno entered her office.
‘Good morning, gentlemen. Sit down please.’
The two men sat on the chairs facing her desk. Bruno eager, perched on the front of his. Frik sullen, arms folded, leaned against the chair back. A contrast in attitudes she hoped to change.
‘Great, okay let’s get started. You’ll be glad to hear that head office has re-ordered the parts for the heavy machinery, and they should be here in a week,’ said Sam.
‘You beauty! How did you wangle that?’ said Frik.
‘I told them it was essential and put my foot down,’ said Sam. ‘Which one is the most urgent?’
‘The bulldozer is vital.’
‘Can you move it into the garage and get it prepped for maintenance?’
‘We’ll get on it straight away.’
Frik let out a sigh of contentment and rubbed his hands together.
‘Bruno, I’ve got permission to build the kitchen you designed.’
‘What kitchen?’ said Frik, glaring at Bruno, who shrank away.
‘Bruno’s an architect. I asked him to design one for me to tack on to the back of the canteen. The present arrangement is dangerous and unhygienic. It has to go,’ said Sam.
‘You’re an architect?’ Frik’s manner underwent a sea-change. He turned to Bruno with frank interest. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I have loads of projects just waiting for someone to design and cost them. Oh, my word. I didn’t see that coming.’
