by Ashley
“I don’t care about your current situation with these men. They are not my concern. Honestly, I just want to know what happened with my son,” Baron said, cutting straight to the point.
“He . . .” Liberty began to say before her voice started to crack. Just the thought alone made her weak. “He promised me that we would die old together. He took his life to be with me . . .” She began breaking down in tears.
Baron walked over and comforted her. They sat on the couch and began to talk. Liberty broke down everything to Baron, telling him what all had happened and getting him up to speed. They sat and talked well into the night, which also acted as a cleansing of Liberty’s soul. She also told him about Po and Dahlia. She left no stone unturned.
Baron listened closely and comforted Liberty. He felt obligated to help her. He felt that she was the closest thing to family he had left.
TEN
“HOW FAR OUTSIDE OF THE CITY IS Zulu’s home?” Dahlia complained as she watched the African countryside pass by outside her window. She could see the heat waves rising from the dry land. It was dangerously hot, making for an uncomfortable ride. Even the truck’s air conditioning couldn’t completely combat the temperature.
“Two hundred miles,” Salim replied. “It is a precaution that Zulu took. He never let any outsiders know where he rested his head at night.”
Dahlia nodded as she sat back in the chauffeured SUV. Her patience was thin as anxiety filled her. If Ali Akban did come back to Sierra Leone, she wanted to be prepared for him. There would be no way that Ali would not seek out his old flame. Dahlia would ensure that Harrah was on her side when Ali decided to reunite. Dahlia was prepared to force Harrah’s hand by any means necessary. She wasn’t looking to be loved as a leader. Love would get you killed . . . love would leave room for betrayal. That is why wives who loved their husbands still cheated. But the wives who feared their husbands remained strangely loyal, never bucking against the men they feared. Dahlia would rule like a tyrant, and because of that, she would be in control, with no threat of opposition. Her head spun as she weighed the new responsibilities that sat on her shoulders, but on the outside, she remained cool and composed as she watched the native land swirl by. Dusk gave way to the night, and everything went black outside her window. It was as if someone had shut off the lights suddenly, cloaking the vehicle in darkness. In the distance, she saw yellow lights shining. She knew that it was Zulu’s home. It was so out of place, built up like a kingdom in the middle of nowhere. It seemed to take forever for the driver to close the distance. Finally, they arrived. She was escorted by two additional trucks. Like being the president, her new role came with protection. Four goons stepped out of the truck in front of her and four out of the one behind her. She stepped out and looked up at Zulu’s home. The massiveness of it all took her breath away. Zulu had truly built himself a castle.
The men gathered around her, awaiting their instructions.
“Cover every entrance of this home, and kill everyone inside, except for Zulu’s wife,” Dahlia stated coldly.
The men dispersed, with AK-47s and various handguns, as Dahlia and Salim walked calmly toward the front entrance. It was stormed first by the goons, who kicked in the door before spilling into the house. Dahlia followed and watched as chaos erupted. Housekeepers and the armed guards Zulu had left behind were surprised as gunfire erupted.
RAT TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT!
The bullets ripped through everything in the front room as Dahlia stood calmly behind the sparks of the rapid fire. She raised her hand to signal a cease fire when she saw one of the men dragging Zulu’s wife down the spiral staircase. Dahlia watched, slightly mesmerized, as the woman struggled against her captor. Dahlia didn’t know what she had expected, but Harrah’s beauty was unparalleled. She looked like a real woman, and in a world where hair extensions and a face full of cosmetics dominated beauty, her natural essence was surprising. Her skin was the color of slightly creamed coffee. Her bosom was full and her body slightly round, as if she had feasted on the finest cuisines while sipping wine with the royals for years. Her kinky hair was jet-black and extended outward in a long, untamed halo around her head. When Dahlia looked into her eyes, Harrah’s long lashes batted in anger. She was clearly used to being the queen of her castle and didn’t appreciate that it had been ransacked. A sense of relief mixed with confusion filled her face when she saw Salim standing behind Dahlia.
“Thank goodness, Salim!” she exclaimed as she snatched her arm away from the goon violently. “Unhand me, you imbecile! What is the meaning of this, Salim? Where is Zulu?”
Salim cleared his throat as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He hated to be the one to do this to Harrah. He had known her for many years, back when she was a young woman whom all the local men craved. He had eaten in her home on holidays, seen her through the miscarriages of her children, and watched her evolution from girl to woman. In another realm, they would have been considered friends, but in the world of drugs, diamonds, and money, there was no such thing.
“Zulu is dead,” Salim said.
“No.” Her voice echoed as she shook her head in disbelief. “No!” It wasn’t her love for him that caused her to break on the inside but her dependency on him. There was plenty of money to take care of her financial needs for the rest of her life, but with that much money came the threat of danger. Without Zulu, her protection went out the door, hence the invasion of her home at that very moment. She had been with Zulu since she was a young woman, navigating her way around the world. He was all that she knew. How would she survive alone? She had no friends, no family. Zulu had kept her secluded for years, which had caused everyone she loved to drift away from her. It was just the two of them and the many people who were around because they were paid to be. There was no real love, no real loyalty. Salim was an example of that.
“I assure you, Zulu is dead. I am the one who killed him.” Dahlia spoke calmly.
Harrah’s eyes widened in complete surprise. None of his adversaries in Africa had been able to touch Zulu. How had he allowed himself to slip at the hands of a female?
“You’re here for the money? You can have it. You don’t have to hurt the people who work for me. I will give it to you. The last thing I want is war,” Harrah said.
Dahlia chuckled. “I’m not here for the money, Harrah. I am here for you. I seek your assistance. A lot of people can breathe easily now that Zulu is no longer alive. One person in particular, Ali Akban . . .”
Dahlia saw the flicker of hope spark in Harrah as the name rolled off of her tongue.
It had been so long since Harrah had allowed herself to think of him, but with just the mention of his return, all of the feelings that she had buried surfaced. The familiar flutter of butterflies filled her stomach.
“If I know men, and trust me, I do . . .” Dahlia stopped and smirked to herself as she thought of all the men who had fallen victim to her mind games. “Ali will come back here to see if the rumors of Zulu’s demise are true. He will want to pick up where Zulu left off, and I can’t allow that to happen. When he comes to town, he will undoubtedly come for you first. I heard the two of you had quite the love affair.”
Harrah’s mouth was straight in a tight mug, and she squared her shoulders as she gave Dahlia a look of contempt. “An affair is dirty. We shared love. I was planning to leave Zulu for him.”
“Which is exactly why you are the perfect person to help me kill him,” Dahlia concluded.
“I won’t,” Harrah said firmly.
“How valiant,” Dahlia said sarcastically. “But of course you will. It’s called self-preservation. Either you help me get to Ali Akban, or I will murder you. You want to make sure you are of use to me. It would be best if you complied.”
“I was with Zulu for thirty years. You are as brand new as you look if you think I’m afraid of you. You don’t have the balls to kill Zulu’s widow,” Harrah spat arrogantly. “The heads of the five families would annihilate you for
the disrespect alone.”
Dahlia nodded, and on cue, the goon standing behind Harrah took her down to the floor, planting a knee in her back.
“You are a stupid little girl!” Harrah shouted, with her hands spread out on the floor. “You have no idea who I am.”
“No, I know exactly who you are, Harrah. I just don’t give a fuck,” Dahlia said. “Zulu’s reign is over. His men now follow me. Once I get rid of Ali, the families will back me. So it is you who are clueless, Harrah. You have no idea who I am.” Dahlia removed a small revolver handgun and opened the chamber. “I have one bullet in this gun. Let’s play a little Russian Roulette, eh?” She stepped over Harrah and placed the gun to the back of her head. Dahlia was developing a ruthlessness that not even Zulu had possessed. She could blow Harrah’s head off with no regret.
She pulled the trigger. CLICK!
“Agh!” Harrah cried out, the torturous weapon of the unknown being used against her.
Dahlia pulled the trigger again. CLICK!
“Hmmm!” Harrah flinched, anticipating the shot that would spread her brains across the expensive bamboo flooring.
CLICK!
Harrah was counting the false shots. She was running out of chances to live. Luck was on her side, but it would eventually run out.
CLICK!
Tears fell down her cheeks as fear forced her loyalty to run low. “OK . . .”
CLICK!
“OK!” she screamed, horrified.
“Stand her up,” Dahlia commanded. “When Ali tries to contact you, I trust that you will let me know.”
Harrah was so full of anger, fear, and confusion that she couldn’t look Dahlia in the eyes. “I will.”
Dahlia turned for the door. “My men will clean up the mess they made. I’ll be in touch,” she said. Just before she walked out, she turned and concluded, “Don’t run. Prey run. I don’t want to have to hunt you, love. After you help me get to Ali, I will disappear from your life as if I had never appeared. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
* * *
Cold skin. Pale cheeks. Ashen pigment. Zulu lay before Harrah bearing no resemblance to the powerful figure he used to be. Death had dwarfed him. He appeared so small in death. The sight of him sent a chill down her spine. She hid behind the widow’s veil as she stood frozen in time. There were no tears. She couldn’t focus on mourning, because she was too filled with fear. She knew who sat behind the dark tint of the SUVs parked one hundred yards away on the road. Dahlia was watching her. Those same black trucks stalked her house and followed her into town. Her every move was being watched, just in case Ali made his way back to her. She silently hoped that he would stay away, but she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t. Now that Zulu didn’t stand between them, Ali would inevitably come running. He was like any other man. He was a king who was lost without a queen, and he had always wanted Harrah. No time or distance could wean him off of her.
Harrah stepped back from the wooden raft that Zulu’s body lay on. He wouldn’t have a traditional service. Long ago, he had decided that he would be funeralized like a king. He had been very specific with Harrah, explaining to her what to do when he was gone. He always knew that the game would take him away from her when they least expected. She was prepared, and she gave him the home going that he had requested. There would be no grave, no casket, just a king lying on a bed of fire as he drifted off to sea. Harrah took the flaming wooden club and placed it at Zulu’s feet. A small fire started, and for the first time, she had to choke back emotion. The heads of the five families stood around her, an entire network of people behind them. Two men walked up and pushed the raft into the river that flowed peacefully in front of them. The group stood in silence as the current carried the burning body downriver.
“He’s gone,” Harrah whispered to herself. She felt numb to it all. Most widows would feel an extreme emptiness, a void, a sadness in the pit of their soul. Harrah felt . . . free. After decades together, she was finally unbound from the stigma that was Zulu. No longer did she have to consider her husband before she considered herself. As his raft disappeared from sight, she bid her final good-bye and then turned toward the crowd.
“I want to thank all of you for coming to pay your respects. I appreciate you, and I know Zulu would have, too. His true comrades are the ones who showed up today. There is no need to worry about me. I am overwhelmed by the many phone calls, flowers, and gifts that I have received. There will be a dinner in his honor today at the local church. Please head over there now. We will be honoring Zulu. May he rest in peace.”
“Rest in peace,” the group repeated solemnly.
Harrah stood looking as the people passed her by. Dahlia had been wrong. Ali had not shown up. He was nowhere to be found. A piece of her was filled with disappointment. She had gotten used to the idea of seeing his face again, even if it was only a short reunion thanks to Dahlia’s intentions for him. As she walked over to her waiting town car, she passed one of the tinted black SUVs. The back window rolled down, and she saw Dahlia’s face. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that it was the middle of summer; her entire body chilled to the bone.
“Our arrangement still stands. When Ali Akban contacts you, you contact me. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear,” she responded bitterly.
Dahlia rolled the window up abruptly, ending the conversation. Harrah watched as the truck rolled away. She was so nervous that knots formed in her abdomen. She didn’t know what would happen if Ali never showed. She and Dahlia had not even spoken of the possibility. Harrah retreated to the safety of her own ride, stepping into the backseat as the driver held the door open for her. It felt as if someone had a vise grip around her heart. How she was able to keep it all together she did not know. On the outside, she was composed and handling all of Zulu’s affairs, when really all she wanted to do was run. Run away from Dahlia, run away from the responsibilities that came with being the widow of one of Africa’s finest. Harrah just wanted freedom and peace of mind, but Dahlia was making her earn it. Not until after she had done the bidding of a madwoman would she truly be able to move on.
She arrived at the church to find that most of the attendees of Zulu’s unconventional funeral were already there. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act normally when everything in her life was spiraling out of control. Her jittery nerves were hard to manage. She breathed deeply to steady her racing heart as she stepped out and made her entrance. Sympathetic eyes fell upon her, and the guests offered their condolences as she walked by. It was a large gathering. More than a hundred people filled the room, and Harrah put up her strongest front as she played hostess. Servers in white coats moved swiftly in and out of the kitchen as they ensured that her guests were accommodated. The commotion of it all was too much.
A girl in a server’s coat came up to her. “Ma’am, there is an issue in the kitchen,” she informed her.
Harrah nodded and made her way across the room. She pushed open the swinging door and entered the kitchen, only to find that everything seemed to be running smoothly.
“Is there a problem back here?” she asked one of the waiters, who was carrying a platter full of delicacies.
“No, everything is fine, I believe,” the young man responded.
Harrah frowned in confusion, and as she turned to exit, she felt a tug at her hand, and she was pulled quickly into a walk-in pantry. A firm hand was quickly placed over her mouth as the door to the pantry was closed, cloaking her in darkness.
“Shhh!”
She heard the click of a light, and suddenly, a small yellow glow illuminated the small space. She found herself looking into the eyes of Ali Akban. He stood before her in a white server’s coat like those that flooded the entire party. He put a finger to his lips, and she nodded. He released the firm hold he had on her, and she jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly as a flood of emotions came over her. She cried on his shoulder as he comforted her.
“It’s OK, Harrah,” he whispered, rubbing her hai
r while never letting her out of the embrace. “I’m here now.”
Harrah thought of the goons she knew were sitting outside the church. They were watching her every move, just waiting for Ali to surface. She thought of telling him, warning him about Dahlia, but did he deserve her loyalty? By going against the grain, she would be putting her life at risk for him. Dahlia would kill her if she ever found out. Was Ali worth it?
“I have so much I want to ask you,” she whispered as she peered at him with a mixture of love and hate. As much as he had claimed to love her, he had just left without looking back. He had left her with a bitter Zulu, knowing that the punishment for their affair would be severe. “Where have you been? How could you just leave me here?”
“Zulu didn’t give me much of a choice, Harrah. You have to trust me when I say that leaving was the only way that I could truly keep you safe. Zulu was a gangster. He wouldn’t have killed me, Harrah. He would have killed you to get to me. I know, because it is what I would have done if I was the one in his position,” Ali admitted.
Her eyes narrowed into slits of misunderstanding. “You’re not a monster.”
“I am a monster, Harrah. You just happen to love me. You do still love me?” Ali posed the question, not wanting to make assumptions.
Harrah knew that she did. She always had, and no matter if she faced certain death, she couldn’t see herself handing him over to Dahlia. The memories of years ago were affecting her good judgment. She didn’t care if she only had a few hours to love Ali, she was going to.
“We have to get out of here, Ali. It’s not safe. There is so much I need to tell you but not here. Meet me at the back door. I’ll pull up in five minutes.”
Harrah rushed out of the church and walked up to the driver, who stood attentively at the car.
“Please come inside and have dinner with the guests. This will last for quite a while. It isn’t necessary for you to spend the evening outside. At least grab a bite to eat, even if you don’t want to sit inside,” Harrah said. The driver agreed, and Harrah smiled as he passed her, the keys to the car hanging from his back pocket. She discreetly picked them out and waited until he was out of sight before she hijacked the car. She pulled around the building and up to the back door. Ali came out on cue. He hopped inside, and Harrah hurried off, driving as fast as she could, to a destination unknown.
