James PATTERSON - Cross Country

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not your social worker. I know you probably feel like you’ve been through the eighteenth circle of hell or whatever, but you can’t count on me for this kind of shit. Okay? I don’t mean to be harsh. But that’s the way it is here these days. There’s a lot going on right now.”

He tipped a Camel Light out of a pack, lit it, and blew twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. “You can call them from the hotel. Your family.”

“I’m moved by your compassion.”

He grinned straight ahead. I guess we understood each other. Mine was obviously not the saddest or worst story Ian Flaherty had heard in Lagos. Probably not by a long shot.

“You have any food in this car?” I asked him.

He reached over and popped the glove compartment. There was a chocolate protein drink in a can. It was warm and a little gritty, and nothing had ever tasted better to me.

I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and tried for the first time in three days to relax and, maybe, think in straight lines about the murder investigation and what had just happened to me.

A HEAVY THUD woke me from a hot, sweaty, and unpleasant sleep.

Maybe only a few minutes had passed. My eyes jerked open just in time to see an old Adidas sneaker bounce off the roof and onto the hood of the Peugeot.

“What the fuck?” Flaherty craned his head around.

We were caught in a bad traffic jam, with cars as far as I could see in front or behind us. “Area Boys. I should have guessed.” He frowned and pointed.

I saw them in the side mirror first. There were at least half a dozen of them. Teenagers, it looked like. They were going from car to car, passing some and stopping at others, robbing drivers and passengers.

“Area Boys?” I asked.

“Like gangbangers, without the bling. Just cockroach thugs. Don’t worry about them.”

Two cars back, a flat-faced boy in an old Chicago Bulls jersey reached into someone’s driver’s-side window and threw a punch. Then his hand came out holding a briefcase.

“We should do something, shouldn’t we?” I reached for the door handle, but Flaherty pulled me back.

“Do what? Arrest all of them? Put‘em in the trunk? Just let me handle this.”

Another kid, shirtless with a shaved head and an angry spray of zits across his face, ambled up alongside our car. He leaned halfway into Flaherty’s window and raised his fist.

“Give me ya fuckin’ wallet, oyinbo man,” he yelled at the top of his voice. “Give it now!”

Flaherty’s hand was already reaching down under the seat. He pulled out a Glock and pointed it at the kid from his lap.

“How about you give me your fuckin’ wallet, sucko?” he snapped. The kid stepped back, both hands up, with a sneer on his face. “Or maybe I should say boy, boy. That’s right, keep moving before I change my mind.”

“Not this one, bros,” the kid called out to his friends and made a thumb and forefinger gun for them.

One of them drummed on the trunk anyway as they passed, but they kept going. Nobody else bothered us.

Flaherty saw that I was staring at him.

“What? Listen, when I come to DC, you can tell me what’s what. Okay? Meanwhile, just try to remember where you are.”

I turned and looked through the windshield and saw another driver getting robbed while we just sat there.

“Hard to forget,” I said.

I REALIZED WITH a jolt that my investigation could actually continue now, and that it was going to be something like a criminal investigation on Mars. That’s how different life was here in Nigeria at this point in time.

The Superior Hotel, where Flaherty dropped me, was sprawling. There wasn’t too much else to recommend it. It had probably been quite something in the fifties, or whenever. Now it had chipped stucco walls and a steady crew of locals in the parking lot hawking T-shirts, electronics, and phone cards.

It was also right near the airport. Three days in Nigeria, and I’d managed one small circle.

“Why’d you bring me here?” I asked as I changed my shirt in the backseat.

“I thought you might want to catch a plane in the morning. One can always hope.”

“A plane to where?”

“To home, duh. You should leave now, Detective Cross. Before they get serious about hurting you. You’re not going to get to the Tiger, but he could get to you.”

I stopped talking and stared at Flaherty. “The Tiger?”

“THAT’S HIS NAME, Detective Cross. Didn’t you know? Actually, several of these gang bosses are called Tiger. But our guy was the first.”

“So, do you know where he is?”

“If I did, I’d take you there right now and get this over and done with.”

I tossed my bloodied shirt into a trash can and picked up my duffel. “What time can I meet you tomorrow?”

Flaherty grinned just a little. I think it was partial approval. “I’ll call you.”

“What time?”

“As early as I can. Get some rest. If you’re not here in the morning, I’ll know you’re actually sane.”

Before he took off, I borrowed some cash so I could pay for the first night at the Superior and also buy a phone card.

Forty-five minutes later, I was showered and fed, and waiting for my overseas call to go through.

The room was definitely nothing special. It was maybe 10 x 15, with chipped stucco walls, and the occasional water bug for company.

The bellhop hadn’t been surprised to find the bathroom sink fixtures gone. He promised new ones soon. I didn’t really care. After jail, the room felt like the presidential suite to me.

When Jannie answered the phone and I heard her voice for the first time, a lump rose in my throat. I forgot about the fact that my nose was throbbing and sporadically leaking blood.

“Well, look who’s not in school today,” I said, trying to keep it light and bright.

“It’s Saturday, Daddy. Are you losing track of time over there? You sound like you have a cold, too.”

I touched my sore and broken nose. “Yeah, I guess I’m a little stuffed up. I’ll live. I’m actually staying at one of the best hotels in town.”

“Alex, is that you?” Nana was on the extension now, and more than a little peeved, I could tell. “Where have you been for three days? That’s unacceptable behavior to me.”

“I’m sorry, Nana. It’s been a lot harder getting a line out than I thought,” I said and then started asking a lot of questions to avoid any more of my not quite lies.

Jannie told me about the fruit flies in her science experiment and about some new neighbors on Fifth Street. Nana was worried that the boiler noise in the basement was the same one that had cost nine hundred dollars the last time.

Then Ali got on to tell me that he could lind Nigeria on the map and that the capital was Lagos, and he knew what the population was more than one hundred thirty-five million.

Then Nana said she was going to put Bree on.

“She’s there?” I was a little surprised. Bree had planned on moving back to her apartment while I was away.

“Someone’s got to watch over us around here,” Nana said pointedly. “Besides, she’s one of us now. Bree is family.”

I LIKED WHAT Nana had just said and also the sound of Bree’s voice when she got on the line. I heard a door close and knew we were being given some privacy.

“Finally,” I said.

“I know. Nana’s tough, isn’t she? But she can be sweet too.”

I laughed. “She’s pulling punches because you’re there. She’s manipulating you already.”

“Speaking of which, don’t bullshit me now, Alex. Where have you been for the past three days?”