Finn ran his eyes over the desk piled high with papers and books. There were more books on the bedside table and above that, tacked to the wall, was a poster. Printed under the image of a wall that stretched to infinity were the words, The Women's Wall. He looked closer. What had appeared to be a drawing of a brick wall was actually a drawing of a wall created by women's bodies piled atop one another. Looking closer still he saw that some appeared dead and others wounded. Under the words was a date, two days hence but no words of explanation. Everything else in the room was to be expected: clothing, cosmetics, a beautiful carved cross above the bed, serpents crawling up the shaft to the crossbars exactly like the necklace Takrit wore. There was also dust on the drawn blinds and the furniture. Takrit hadn't lived in this room in a long while. So if she had not lived here, then where had she been? Perhaps she had lived on the street, but Finn doubted it and Paul was sure of it.
Finn left the room without touching anything. He would be back to look again but only after getting firm permission from the grandmother or a friendly judge's signature on a warrant. He walked through the living room where the old woman still cried. His heart hurt for her. With Takrit gone she might be alone in the world and that was something to lament. At least his mother had her husband and children when Alexander passed. That was not true comfort, but something close to it. Cori gave Finn a smile and Finn raised his brows in sympathy.
The living room and dining area created an L shape that expanded into a kitchen. That room was heavy with the rich aroma of coffee and the sharp scent of vinegar and stewing beef. The counter tile was original, set in a diamond pattern of pink and black. A scrubbed wooden platter and two coffee cups were set out. Finn checked the back door and found it unlocked and unchained. He thought this a curious thing given the woman's caution at the front door, but she was old and perhaps forgetful. He peered through the small window onto a patch of lawn that was framed by flowerbeds pocked with bushes that, for lack of any other distinguishing feature, he could only describe as green.
"O'Brien?" Finn turned from the window. "I really did want you to get her some water."
"Sorry. I was just…"
Finn shook his head. He didn't know what he was doing. Just looking. Just feeling. Just unsettled. He opened a cabinet and then another until he found a glass. He ran the water and filled it while Cori opened the freezer.
"Lapinski was right, She doesn't speak much English. We've been doing lots of sign language. I know that all this caterwauling is some kind of mourning ritual. The shaved head, too. She keeps saying Takrit's name. " Cori got a handful of ice cubes, swung her arm around and dropped them in the glass Finn was holding. She turned away again and opened the fridge and checked it out, hand on her hip. "I was worried she hadn't eaten, but there's enough food in here to feed the entire LAPD twice over."
Cori closed the door and held her hand out for the glass but Finn was looking out the window again, staring at the detached garage. Something was out of order. The building was in bad shape, no doubt about it. The big front door was unusable and secured with a rusting padlock. The structure seemed to be one quake away from collapsing. But standing in the kitchen, looking at the side of the building, there were small things that told another story. A brightly colored curtain hung over the small window, the side door had a new knob on it, the square of concrete in front of that door was swept clean and atop the concrete was a round wooden food platter. That platter had not been forgotten, it had been set out purposefully. Even from where he stood, Finn could see that the platter had been recently used. Finn put aside the water glass. From the living room he could hear the woman moaning and jabbering and raising her voice. A wail shot through the house but he knew she was in no physical pain. Danger was another matter all together, or at least the threat of it.
"Something's not right here, Cori." He took the few steps to the washing machine that sat near the back door. He opened it. There was nothing inside. He opened the dryer and pulled out a man's shirt. He held it up for Cori to see.
"Her husband's?" Cori suggested.
"I'm thinking if that woman has a husband this size he is a mighty old man, indeed." Finn held the shirt out and the shoulders of it were almost half the length of his wingspan. He indicated the window and what was beyond it. "That garage has been cleaned up. The back door is usable. Someone could come and go unseen from the street. Someone had food and set their plate by the door. There are men's clothes in that dryer."
Cori went to the window and peered out. She saw no signs of life but that meant nothing.
"Could be an illegal rental," she said.
"Landlords don't bring room service and do laundry, Cori." Finn went for the backdoor.
"Let's get the old woman to take us out there." Cori started for the living room.
"Leave her be," Finn said. "I'm just wanting a look of my own. It will be a bit quieter that way."
He was gone before Cori could say another word. Not that there was another word she could say to stop him. She picked up the glass of water and watched until he made it to the garage. He was raising his hand; he was knocking politely. More than likely all Finn O'Brien would find would be some poor soul renting that pitiful space for money they could ill afford to spend. It was a black market for shelter that the high priced real estate in California had spawned. Cori shook her head and went back where she was needed. She sat down on the couch next to the woman and listened closely, trying to glean any useable information from the grandmother's broken English that was spoken in between her cries. The only thing she really understood was that no matter what Finn found, he could take care of it.
CHAPTER 16
Three people now sat around the conference table at the L.A. Port Authority: Martha Runion, Congresswoman for California's 47th District where the Port was located, Barry Shin CEO of RDN Construction and Mr. Emanuel Dega Abu, president for life, head of state and government of the presidential republic of Eritrea, a government led by the single party The Front for Democracy and Justice.
Gone were the others who had done their part in assuring Mr. Dega Abu that they fully understood the challenges faced by an emerging African 'democracy', showing him how a state of the art port could operate in his own country and generally glad-handing the guy. When the show ponies were gone, it was left to Martha and Barry to seal the deal or get as close to it as they possibly could.
"This was an excellent day," Emanuel said. "I am impressed by what I have seen."
"We can create the same world-class port in Assab, no doubt about it," Barry assured him.
"And you are thinking this can be accomplished for half a billion U.S. dollars?" Emanuel asked.
"I know we can bring it in under that," Barry assured him.
"This is good, to be frugal, but I believe one should, perhaps, plan for all financial possibilities. To be cushioned, is that not so?"
Emanuel let his fingers rest atop the proposal he had barely looked at. He knew what he wanted when he saw it and he wanted a port just like this one; a port that brought hundreds of thousands of dollars a day to the government, just like this one. But he wanted a little more, too. Barry, though, misunderstood Emanuel's hesitancy.
"We certainly will work with you to make the construction and staffing as cost effective as possible. I don't think you'll find another enterprise that can match our expertise and our commitment to responsible budgeting. We can certainly take bids on—"
Emanuel held up his soft hand. His rings glinted even though the light in the room was overcast with the blue/white of cheap bulbs. Martha held her breath. She'd been waiting for a shoe to fall all afternoon and here it was.
"Mr. Shin," Emanuel said. "I know of your good intentions. You and I have corresponded with the highest level of trust. We both want what is best for my country. What I wish is that you consider subcontracting to businesses that have supplied us with infrastructure assistance since the beginning. These firms we also trust to have the best interests of Eritrea a
t heart."
"We would be open to talking to any of your suppliers, but I will caution you that the last word will have to be with RDN. I'm sure you understand that. It's our reputation that is on the line."
"Of course, I do understand this."
Emanuel sat up a little straighter. He leaned against the table, crumpling his tie, flipping his suit jacket from under him before resting his elbows up on the table and clasping his small hands together. He held Barry's gaze and his demeanor lost its luster. The happy little man who had clapped with delight as he saw the giant cranes with their mighty magnets plucking containers from ships as if they were building blocks was gone. They were now dealing with the man who ruled a country with an iron fist, a man whose country's fortunes were his fortunes.
"Barry Shin, my very good friend, I should very much like to think that you will be able to do business with two of the companies that have stood with Eritrea for so long. So, I think you will include their needs in your bids to us. I assure you, they will only ask what is fair. These businesses have Eritrea's full confidence. If you cannot do this…" Emanuel opened his palms and his expression was one of sincere regret. "Well, then, we must, perhaps, be speaking to the French. The French have been most interested in what we wish to accomplish. Not just the port, you understand, but our airports and also our roads."
Emanuel dropped his hands onto the table, flat so that his rings were on full display – an emerald and a cabochon ruby and one wide gold domed band inlaid with diamonds. He smiled at Martha.
"Congresswoman Runion, Eritrea has thirteen airports and only three have paved runways. I am charged with bringing my poor country into a new age. It is a great responsibility and it would be good if the rich nations of the world would help us through this critical time.
"I believe if your government were to become our sincere friend, Congresswoman, our partnership would be of benefit to you also. Do I not speak the truth that the United States has interest in access to the port of Assab, Madam Congresswoman?"
"You do, Mr. Abu. We would like to help you reach your goals as long as they are consistent with our interest…" Martha hesitated, pulling back before she spoke too bluntly. She began again. "Mr. Abu, we would like to believe your goals are consistent with our interest in the human condition in Eritrea. Take the refugee situation, for instance. My country is generous to immigrants, but from Eritrea we are seeing an influx of asylum seekers that is worrisome."
Emanuel waved away her concern.
"This is natural, madam. These are disgruntled people, unhappy with the break from Ethiopia. This is a cultural problem, a minor problem that my government has well under control. You should not worry about such things."
My ass, Martha thought.
The revolution was thirty years ago. If what he said was true, this would be the longest political shakeout in history. Before she could engage him further, Emanuel looked away and the conversation with the woman was over.
"So, my friend, Mr. Barry Shin, I would like very much if you will be in contact with Central Business, an Eritrean firm that will handle the quality control."
"Let me assure you, we have world class quality control—" Barry began but Emanuel kept talking.
"And, you shall speak with Mr. Smythe. Also, this is a trusted company. An Australian firm, Smythe and Associates. As a subcontractor, they will be responsible for no more than one percent of your total bid. Perhaps two. A small bit, but it is important for Eritrea that we sustain our relationships as well as build new ones."
"Yes, of course. I'm sure these companies will be very helpful," Barry said, fully understanding the art of this deal. "I am assuming that Smythe and Associates will explain how we will work together regarding, for instance, how to carry their services on our balance sheet."
"Yes, they are familiar with this," Emanuel said, happy to have the matter settled. "This is fine. And congresswoman, perhaps, you will take our good wishes to your government and ask them to reconsider the aid they have withdrawn from my country. Given that we will be allies once this strategic port is built, I believe our future is bright. Your government's help and recognition would mean a great deal. So, my friends, this is fine then. Now I must go."
As Barry stood up, Martha held her phone in her lap and typed in the names of the firms Abu had mentioned. She managed to add a short list of senators and congressmen who would be amenable to elevating relations with Eritrea. When all that was done, Martha gave the man her undivided attention.
"I'll take your good wishes back to Washington," Martha assured him. "Shall we follow up in say six months after I have had a chance to speak with my colleagues? Barry? Is that long enough to get some preliminary plans on paper?"
"Certainly," Barry answered.
Martha smiled at Emanuel. She smiled at Barry. The men smiled back at her. A lot could happen in six months. Barring any problems, Barry Shin was about to make the deal of a lifetime and Martha Runion would be positioned for a run at the Senate. As for Emanuel Dega Abu? He would get his port, his prestige and a shit load of money.
CHAPTER 17
Finn stood in the afternoon sunshine. The hour felt lazy to him, a breather between the hysteria of morning when people realize their lives are not going well and the fearful dark hours when they know for sure that they are not. Such was the life of a cop, seeing the worst of the worst. If there were any heart at all behind the badge, a cop felt the despair and pain and terror of the people they served. And yet there were those moments when the world felt manageable and for Finn this was one of them. Whatever or whoever was inside the garage did not concern him or even put him on his mark because the light was soft and the sun warm and the world quiet.
He put his hand up against the glass on the window, shading his eyes so that he might see through the glass, but the little curtain was pulled tight and he couldn't see anything. Finn nudged the platter with the toe of his boot. It was stained with the juices of meat. A few lentils remained and they were still plump, not dried out from the sun. From the size of the stains on that platter it appeared that whoever the old woman was feeding had a big appetite. Finn rapped on the door.
When no one came, he knocked once again. Still no one came so he did what any curious man would do: he twisted the knob, found it was not locked, opened the door and walked inside. A second later Finn knew he made a rookie mistake by assuming the garage was empty.
The big man came into the detective's orbit like an eclipse, blocking out the dim light that came through the door behind him. There was no noise: not a grunt, a breath of exertion, nor a cry of rage. It was an animal attack, natural and graceful, deadly and perfectly executed. The man had waited until Finn was too far in to retreat and yet not far enough to find protection.
Like prey, Finn reacted instinctively, twirling to face his attacker, defending himself as best he could. His head clicked to the side and he threw up his hands to ward off the knife flashing toward him. Finn bent his knees and went down onto the concrete. He slid to the middle of the room where he would have the greatest advantage to maneuver. None of it was quite fast enough. The knife came down, clipping his bandaged hand before it ripped into the leather of his jacket, missing the flesh but impressive enough for Finn to understand that the next blow could gut him.
He scooted back on his rear as the giant of a man adjusted again. This time he moved slowly, choosing his moment. Six feet and a half if he was an inch, his dark skin made him more a nightmare shadow than a human being in this dark, musty place. Finn reached for his weapon but never got his hand on it. The man lunged again and Finn rolled over, arms tight to create as small a target as possible, before he scrambled up and backed toward the far wall. He had heard the scrape of the knife on the concrete floor, he felt the pain in his hand and Finn knew he was in a bad way. Given the distance between the house and the garage and the old woman's cries, Cori wouldn't hear him if he called for her. On his own, he tried to direct the situation.
"Police. Police,"
Finn barked but his attacker was deaf in his focus and that meant his intent was to kill.
Afraid to take his eyes off the big man to look for an escape, Finn pushed back further against the wooden frame, his hands working, hoping to latch onto something that could be used as a weapon. Finding nothing, Finn resorted to the only thing he had left – his wits.
"Put the knife down, friend. Put it down now," Finn said. When the man hesitated, Finn took advantage. "Be smart, man. Think. What good will it do to hurt me?"
Finn inched over to his right but the man did the same, blocking out the weak light completely. Finn could only see the silhouette of his torso, arms out and knife in hand. He was a professional, a soldier, something that Finn had not encountered before in this city of his. Whatever made him pause, Finn was grateful for God's small favor.
"I'm here to help. I'm here about Takrit. Do you know Takrit? She—"
Finn never finished his sentence. The big man made his move. The hand with the knife swung back. Trapped, Finn braced for the attack. He crossed his arms again, fisted his hands and bent his knees, ready to move at the last moment in the hope of escaping a deathblow. But the knife did not slice through the air toward Finn's heart. Instead, the huge man stiffened and rose to the balls of his feet, arms thrown out, and head snapped back. He was suspended like a marionette for a second before his knees buckled and he was thrown forward, falling face first onto the hard cement.
Foreign Relations: A Finn O'Brien Thriller (Finn O'Brien Thriller Series Book 2) Page 13
