Ross Thomas - The Seersucker Whipsaw

The women cheered. They still went with the winner.

Shartelle, half-lying on the ledge, said: “Shit.”

The Major turned to me. “It was not to be this way,” he said.

Anne continued to shake. She made small whimpering noises and I held her tightly and stroked her hair. I kept saying, “It’s all right, it’s all right.” I could have said it a hundred times.

Shartelle managed to stand up. His face was twisted and white and he pressed his hands against his back.

“It was not to be this way,” Major Chuku said again.

“What way?” Shartelle said. His voice was a croak.

“There were to be no deaths — no shooting.”

“Shit,” Shartelle said again. He started towards the Major, staggered, and almost fell. I watched him over Anne’s head. The Major moved back quickly. “No deaths, huh?” Shartelle said. “No rough stuff, no violence. How about Captain Cheatwood?”

Major Chuku blinked rapidly. “What about Cheatwood?”

“You killed him,” Shartelle said. “Or had him killed. In our driveway.”

“You’re mad.”

Shartelle fumbled in his pockets and found a twisty black cigar. He put it in his mouth and lighted it. He seemed almost calm now as he inhaled some smoke and blew it in Chuku’s face. The Major waved it away.

“No. I ain’t mad. You killed Cheatwood because he found out about your coup.”

“This was an unfortunate accident, Mr. Shartelle. I regret that you were involved. But it is not your affair.”

“Akomolo was my candidate,” Shartelle said. “And you got him killed. How about the rest of them — Old Alhaji Sir and Dr. Kologo? They get killed in unfortunate accidents, too?”

“They have been arrested for their own protection.”

“But you couldn’t arrest Cheatwood, could you? You had to have him stabbed to death. You, Major, because Cheat- wood tried to tell us. He tried to write your name in the gravel and dirt of our driveway but he only got as far as the ‘C’ and the first bar of the ‘H’ before he ran out of time. Another two minutes and he would have spelled it out.”

“It could have been his own name,” Chuku said blandly. “It could even have been your CIA, Mr. Shartelle.”

“Could have been, but wasn’t, because you couldn’t let the poor bastards make their own pitiful mistakes, could you? Not even for a little while. You couldn’t even let them screw up their own country for a month or so.” Shartelle’s voice was still like a bullfrog’s, but he went on:

“So you take the losers into what you call protective custody and you kill the winner. Only the winner’s dead, huh? My winner.”

“It was an accident. Those men had been ordered to stand guard at the entrance of the compound. They were to prevent Chief Akomolo from leaving. They took matters into their own hands.”

“They killed my candidate, Major — mine. And they were under your command so that makes you responsible.”

“I think you will agree that they have been sufficiently punished.”

“How about the ones who killed Cheatwood? Have they been sufficiently punished? Don’t give me that crap, Major. It’s all over the country, one slick coup. Cheatwood found out and had to be killed. Who backed you? The CIA — MI6?”

“You give us far too little credit, Mr. Shartelle. Even Africans can sometimes manage their own affairs without the help of outsiders. It might be a lesson for you to learn.”

“So you went and got yourself a real home-grown coup — just you and the rest of the Army. What’re you using for an excuse to keep the British out?”

“A formal statement has been prepared. You can hear it on the radio, or read it in tomorrow’s newspaper.”

“Something about corruption and the need for austerity and stability in the trying times that will accompany independence?”

The Major permitted himself a faint smile. “Something like that.”

The women were leaving the courtyard, prodded along by the soldiers who were under Chuku’s command. They left quietly — their gabbling over. The courtyard was silent. Shartelle turned to me. “Miss Anne all right?”

“I want to get her out of here.”

He nodded and turned back to the Major. “I’m going to tell you something, sonny. You just made yourself a mistake. You’ve just pulled off about the most unpopular coup in history and if you ain’t got a popular coup going, then you’re in trouble. If you’d waited a couple of months, you’d been all right. But the folks have just cast their votes and they’ll want to see who won and how they do after they get elected. So, boy, I think you’re in trouble with the folks, and if you’re in trouble with the folks, then you’re going to be in trouble with the money crowd. They can starve you out. And when the folks get hungry enough there’s going to be some other Major or Light-Colonel come knocking at your door about midnight and if you’re lucky, they may even mark your grave.

“You paint a most dismal picture, Mr. Shartelle. I didn’t realize that you were capable of such theatrical hate.” He smiled again slightly. “Perhaps it will diminish after you leave Albertia. And you will be leaving, you know, you and Mr. Upshaw, within twenty-four hours. You can take your hate with you.”

“Major, you killed my client. My winner.” Shartelle tapped himself on the chest. “Mine. You don’t know what hate is ’til you’ve been hated by me.”

The Major permitted himself another smile. It was probably his last for the day. “Perhaps you will find a match for your hate, here in Africa.”

Shartelle shook his head slowly and stared at the Major. “There’s no match for mine, Major. There’s none at all.”

We were back at the wide-eaved house by seven o’clock. Shartelle had driven and we saw squads of soldiers patrolling Ubondo. They had stopped us once, politely enough, and cautioned us to get off the streets. The house was locked when we got there; no servants were about.

None of us said much on the way home. Shartelle had gone immediately to the phone, and was talking with Claude. Anne sat on the couch, a glass of brandy in her hand, staring at the floor. I stood in the doorway, looking out into the night and drinking brandy. I was trying to decide how I felt and I wasn’t having much luck. My ear ached.

Shartelle finished his conversation with Claude and dialed another number. I didn’t listen. There was nobody in Albertia I wanted to call. I walked into the dining room and poured another brandy. Then I went back into the living room and stood by Anne.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She looked up and smiled. “I’m all right. It’s wearing off. The brandy helps.”

“When Shartelle gets through on the phone, I’ll get us reservations.”

“To where?”

“To wherever the first plane goes. North, south, west — it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple,” I said. “We’re leaving.”

“I can’t leave. I know you have to, but I can’t. I have to teach school tomorrow. I just can’t leave like that. I can’t leave until I’m through.”

I knelt down beside her. “What kind of crap is that? It’s over, Anne. It’s all over. Done. The good guys are all shot; the bad guys have got the ranch. It’s ended.”

“No,” she said, “it’s not like that. School will open tomorrow. It always does. It has to open — especially tomorrow. You see that, don’t you?” She put one hand out and gently ran it up and down the side of my face where the soldier had struck me with the rifle barrel. “Does it hurt bad?”

I shook my head.

“The children will be there tomorrow. They’ll expect me there and they’ll want me there because they’ll be confused and a little frightened. I’m something constant in their lives. They didn’t lose an election — only the candidates did. I don’t know. Maybe the country lost something, too, but you can’t penalize the children for that.”