The Resolutions
Page 29
“Please don’t.” He tried to make for the door but the woman blocked his way. Her lips were stained an iridescent orange, either from the soda she’d been drinking or some tropical shade of lipstick. She placed one hand on the doorframe, the other on his crotch. “Let’s have a nice time, yes?”
“I can’t, but thank you,” he said, pushing past her. He sidled back up at the bar. Fuck, he thought. He’d have to try that again.
He scanned the bar and noticed an elderly man who looked an awful lot like Osman sitting at a table in the corner. Jonah looked away, then turned back to confirm his suspicion. It was most certainly Osman, elbows on the table, head bent over the dull glow of a cellphone, the bulbous hunch of his back pressing against his shirt. A moment later, Osman’s two henchmen, the ones who had killed Mateo, pushed through the door and pulled up chairs at his table. Jonah wasn’t sure if Slinky knew what he was walking into, but either way, the situation was about to devolve into something he would rather not stick around for. He needed to ditch the money and get out of this place, but the route to the restroom would funnel him past Osman’s table and there was almost no chance he would forget the face of the American who’d stolen his ivory. Jonah took a pull of his beer and looked the other direction. The prostitute who had propositioned him was chatting with her friends, probably regaling them with stories of the nervous white man.
A moment later, a guy bearing a striking resemblance to Prince entered the bar. Slinky and his crew filtered in behind him, and the group settled in around Osman’s table. Prince made the introductions. Jonah tried to glean bits of conversation, but their voices were smothered by the bassline of a hip-hop song. Jonah turned his attention to a talent show playing on the television behind the bar, a Gabonese version of American Idol. And that’s when he heard the shriek. He turned and saw the look on the prostitute’s face, a look that said: What the fuck is this?
He spun back and saw the bartender aiming a gun at Osman’s table. The front door split open and a dozen men with guns charged into the club. Jonah heard three loud pops followed by three more. The prostitutes scattered like birds on a wire, but it wasn’t until bottles of booze began exploding above the bar that Jonah finally dove to the floor. Slinky took cover behind a pool table and got off a few rounds, but he was now on his own, his men spread out, some lying on the ground, one holding his stomach in a futile attempt to keep the blood from spilling forth. Jonah crawled behind a bank of speakers, where he watched men in thick-soled boots sprint across the Technicolor dance floor. In a curious shift of loyalty, Prince and another soldier had Slinky pinned to the ground, hands cuffed behind his back. One of Osman’s men charged forth and punctured Prince’s thigh with a buck knife. Edwin, who had now joined the melee, grabbed the man by his shirt collar and peeled him away. Prince removed the knife from his leg and grabbed a pool cue, delivering three sharp blows to the man’s head, the last of which snapped the cue in half and stilled the guy’s body. Jonah grabbed the backpack and crawled to a storage room, where he found one of the prostitutes cowering behind a keg of beer.
“How do we get out of here?” he asked.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Sortie?”
She pointed to a metal door. Jonah pushed through it and stepped into an alley clogged with police cars and military vehicles and a dozen commandos with guns pointed at him. He put his hands in the air and waited for what came next.
* * *
—
JONAH SAT AT A metal table, surrounded by Edwin and three government officials, in a windowless room deep within the police station. He’d been told it was just a formality, that he’d be released after answering a few questions, though the only question he wanted answered was where he could find his brother. Edwin said they were in the process of retrieving Gavin, but first they needed Jonah to recount his time in Gabon. He began with the origin of his research, his relationship with Laurent, how he became involved with Slinky, all the sordid details of his messy life. He recounted the story of the past couple weeks, omitting a few details, exaggerating others. It was the first time he’d really assessed his situation with any kind of distance or objectivity, and he was appalled by how easily one thing had led to another, the accumulation of bad decisions. The men seemed generally satisfied with his story, and, after signing some documents he didn’t totally understand, told him he could leave.
“Before I go,” Jonah said, sliding the documents across the table, “maybe you could explain what just happened.”
“Sure,” Edwin said, tucking the papers into his back pocket. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Right,” Edwin said, settling in for the telling.
Prince’s real name was Vincent, and he was one of Edwin’s undercover agents. He’d spent the past year posing as a Cameroonian ivory broker, forging connections between poachers on the ground and shadowy groups with connections to the expanding Asian market. A week ago, he followed a lead to Libreville, where he met some Nigerians who claimed to work for a man named Osman. The Nigerians took Vincent to a strip club outside of town, where he found his target sipping Cristal with a flock of attractive young women. Osman told Vincent about his contacts in Asia and how he was looking to get his hands on more ivory, and Vincent told Osman about a Gabonese poacher named Slinky who would probably be willing to part with his product for significantly less than market value.
As for the Slinky half of the equation, that required some bluffing on Vincent’s part. He’d never actually met Slinky, though he did drink a beer with one of his lieutenants at a bar in Libreville. Vincent was told that Slinky’s Chinese connection was currently indisposed and that he now found himself with a surplus of product and a shortage of buyers. Vincent said he knew a rich Nigerian who might be interested, and for a few days it seemed as if two of the key players in the West African ivory trade would converge in a delightfully convenient manner. But when Vincent tried to arrange the meeting with Slinky, his calls went unanswered and it appeared the transaction wasn’t going to happen after all.
“So what changed?” Jonah asked.
“Nothing for a while,” Edwin said, “which is why we proceeded with our original plan to use you to get to Slinky.”
“And we know how that turned out.”
Edwin shrugged, as if he didn’t have an opinion on that.
“But then Vincent received a phone call,” Edwin continued. “This was when we were in the village. Slinky had changed his mind, said he wanted to meet after all, and suddenly the operation was back on. Vincent got in touch with Osman’s team and the meeting was set.”
“So there was really no reason for me to be at the club. All the crap with me delivering his money, that was all pointless. You were planning to arrest him anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that? Why’d you let me walk into a firefight?”
“If you remember, I did try to prevent you from going. I told you I was working on something. I asked you to give me some time.”
“If I’d known your plan involved shooting up the place, I might have reconsidered.”
“It was out of my hands. Like I said when we first met, there are a lot more people involved now. I wasn’t at liberty to divulge details of the operation.”
“What happened to Osman?” Jonah asked.
“Dead.”
“And Slinky?”
“He was escorted away by some nice men from INTERPOL.”
“So you’re done with me then?”
“You’ve completed your duty,” Edwin said.
“Good. Then take me to my brother.”
Edwin hesitated. “We’re still working on that.”
“I thought you said you were in the process of retrieving him.”
“Yes,” Edwin said. “But it’s a process.”
WHILE OLIVER SEEMED CONFIDENT THEY were moving toward civilization, Gavin couldn’t shake the feeling that they were just wandering. He kept hoping that the next bend in the road would offer a view of distant lights or at least a paved stretch of highway, but each step only heightened the pain in his feet, which were blistered from the shoes he’d been given at the hospital. He wasn’t sure what time it was, though he knew it was getting late. Oliver had estimated ten kilometers, which Gavin—due to his limited knowledge of the metric system—assumed was somewhere in the vicinity of five miles, though he guessed they’d already gone that far, and they were no closer to town. He was thirsty and hungry and growing certain they were irretrievably lost. His vision was doing this strange thumping thing, like the cone of a bass speaker, and he wondered if he was beginning to hallucinate, which would certainly explain the elephant standing in the road.
Gavin stopped and peered into the darkness. Was it an elephant? There was something there, quieter than an automobile, larger than a human, but it wasn’t until it shook its head, its tusks catching the moonlight, that his suspicion was confirmed. “Oliver,” he hissed, and the boy turned back to him. Gavin pointed ahead.
“Merde,” Oliver said, registering the animal’s presence. He drew his gun.
The elephant moved a few steps toward them and lifted its trunk, though whether in greeting or warning, Gavin couldn’t say. A second later, it pinned its ears back, curled its trunk inward, and the message was made clear. On a certain level, this made perfect sense. The elephant had come to exact revenge, to trample them both to death, thereby restoring a kind of moral order to the universe.
Oliver moved slowly backward until he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Gavin, the gun still trained on the animal. “Should I shoot it?”
“No,” Gavin said, strangely calm despite the situation.
A moment passed, though it seemed much longer, and the two parties stood in the road, trying to divine the other’s intention. Gavin was alternately terrified and awestruck by this creature that until now he’d seen only in pieces. He raised his hands in the air in a show of both surrender and strength. The elephant, unimpressed, took another step forward. Gavin and Oliver took another step back.
“What do we do?” Oliver asked.
“Stay still,” Gavin said. “It could try a bluff charge.” Gavin didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d heard this was common with bears and hoped that elephants were inclined to similar acts of mercy.
“If it takes another step, I’m shooting it,” Oliver said.
“That pistol won’t do shit except make it angrier.”
The elephant scratched its foot in the dirt, exhaled something like a snort or a cough. Oliver grabbed hold of Gavin’s arm with his left hand, the gun shaking in his right. The elephant raised its trunk once more and growled a guttural kind of war cry, at which point a flash of light framed the elephant in backlight. The animal turned toward the source of the light, which Gavin quickly realized was a jeep bouncing toward them from down the road. It began honking and flashing its headlights, a cacophonous mix of light and sound that sent the elephant lumbering into the forest.
The truck braked to a stop, and Gavin raised his hand to shield his eyes from the headlights. His first thought was that Slinky had returned to cut his throat, but the men who emerged from the jeep wore berets and military fatigues, and Gavin realized they were park rangers. They approached slowly, guns drawn, instructing Gavin and Oliver to stay put. Oliver threw his gun to the ground and positioned himself behind Gavin, as if he planned to use him as a shield should the men start shooting. One of the rangers scooped Oliver’s gun from the ground, while the other inspected them both for additional weapons. A few seconds later, a white man emerged from the back of the jeep, followed by another white man who looked an awful lot like his brother.
“Jonah?” Gavin said, unsure if it was really him.
“You okay?” Jonah asked, scanning him with his flashlight.
“I’m fine,” Gavin said. “What’s going on?”
“We came to get you.” Jonah turned to Oliver, a vague look of recognition spreading across his face. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“The camera,” Oliver said.
“Right,” Jonah said. He looked closely at Oliver’s lip, which was swollen and crusted with dried blood. “What happened?”
Oliver nodded to Gavin. “Him.”
Edwin approached with the two rangers. “Told you we’d find him,” he said to Jonah.
“Can someone tell me what just happened?” Gavin asked, alternately baffled and relieved.
“Come on,” Jonah said, walking back to the jeep. “I’ll explain on the way.”
* * *
—
EDWIN DROPPED THEM OFF at Laurent’s restaurant, where they planned to sleep for the night before heading to the village to retrieve Sam the next morning. Jonah explained that Sam was still deep in the throes of the iboga, but that she was in good hands. He then plucked a couple beers from the refrigerator and handed one to Gavin. “Bonne année!” he said, tapping his beer to Gavin’s.
“What?” Gavin asked.
“Happy New Year.”
“Tonight?” Gavin looked at the clock on the wall. It was a few minutes past midnight. The days had all run together since arriving here, the last few in particular, and he now realized he’d spent New Year’s Eve wandering through the forest. Fitting in one sense, profoundly depressing in another.
“Sorry about all of this,” Jonah said. “Things spiraled outta control.”
“It’s fine.”
Jonah seemed surprised by his answer. “You’re not mad? I figured you’d be complaining about this for months.”
Gavin shrugged. “We’re alive, right?” He moved to the kitchen and began rummaging through the refrigerator, where he found a bowl of stew, which he ate while standing at the bar.
Jonah, meanwhile, was in Laurent’s office, removing pillows from a cabinet and placing them, along with an assortment of blankets, on the couch. Gavin watched him unroll his sleeping bag on the floor, then emerge a moment later to bid him good night.
“You can have the couch,” Jonah said.
“Thank you,” Gavin mumbled, still shoveling food in his mouth.
“Good night,” Jonah said and closed the door behind him.
* * *
—
WHEN GAVIN FINISHED EATING, he took his beer and stepped onto the porch. He wasn’t tired, though it was well after midnight and he knew he should be. His body still thrummed from the chaos of the last couple days, and he suspected it might be a while before his mind would spin down enough for sleep. He’d come here reluctantly, but now that their trip was drawing to a close he didn’t want to leave. He felt strangely content despite everything that had happened. He hadn’t thought much about Renee or his life back in L.A., and he figured that probably revealed something about his attachment to them. He hadn’t thought much about Mariana either, or really anyone aside from his siblings, and he suspected that was a good thing.
He walked down the road, passing dark, quiet houses, then turned onto a street lined with restaurants and storefronts. The distant thump of music emanated from somewhere down the way, so he continued past an electronics store and a bakery, eventually arriving at the source of the music. He stopped and looked through the windows of what appeared to be a banquet hall. A deejay was spinning music beneath a large disco ball, while a crowd of people moved around the dance floor. He heard laughing from somewhere nearby and turned to discover four women in purple dresses and floral head wraps snapping selfies with a cellphone. Gavin immediately realized they were bridesmaids and this was a wedding. A wedding on New Year’s Eve. He was reminded of that other wedding today, or maybe it was tomorrow—hard to say with the time difference—the one in New Mexi
co.
Gavin watched the celebration from a distance. One of the women noticed him staring and saluted him with her wineglass. He smiled and saluted back with his beer. Then he turned and started back toward Laurent’s.
SAMANTHA
SHE AWOKE IN THE TALL GRASS along the riverbank. The sun had crested the trees and she felt surprisingly refreshed. A few feet away from her, a young boy waded in the water. She waved to him, but he disappeared beneath the surface and didn’t emerge until he’d reached the opposite shore and disappeared into the trees. She removed the robe she’d been wearing and walked carefully into the water, her feet melting into the river mud. Monkeys barked overhead and she felt the scaly brush of a fish against her leg. She washed the white kaolin clay from her face and scrubbed her arms and legs with a banana leaf she found sailing across the water’s surface. She floated on her back, eyes closed to the sun, her body drinking up its warmth. She felt a complete lack of desire, not just for drugs but for anything besides her immediate surroundings: the river, the sun, the trees. The last two years had been shrouded in black gauze, but now, suddenly, the shade had been drawn and the world presented itself with a clarity she hadn’t believed possible. Had she been cured? Hard to say. She suspected the reckoning wasn’t complete, but this wasn’t the time to concern herself with future tasks. There was no telling what would come next and she didn’t care. Right now, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was content.
She swam back to shore and dressed. Her shoes, the only remnant of her old life, were wet and muddy, but she put them on anyway and began hiking back to the village, past the pineapple grove and the stand of padauk trees. She saw kids shouldering pails of water and a couple of men roasting meat over a small fire, and some women hanging laundry out to dry. The celebration from the night before had been replaced with the workaday tasks of village life.