Elmore Leonard - Djibouti

"You told me before," the police chief said, accepting the cocktail from Idris, "it would be something less than that."

"Dara Barr, in the meantime," Harry said, "has had meetings with the embassy's regional security officer. Ms. Schmidt has agreed to our delivering Jama into their custody."

The police chief of Djibouti said, "Yes, Miss Suzanne Schmidt? Yes, I know her well. I see her from time to time at the Racquet Club."

Dara said in her pleasant voice, "You play tennis?"

"Why?" the police chief said. "You think I'm too heavy?"

Xavier said, "Chief, you got the size to play anythin you want." Xavier got up from his chair and produced the Walther from the back of his waist.

"What you lookin at here is the murder weapon, the one Jama used on the five people." He held the pistol by the barrel offering it to the police chief, who took the grip in his hand. "It had my prints on it," Xavier said. "Now it has yours on top of mine. But me and you never killed anybody with it, have we?" ON THE WAY TO the Kempinski Dara said, "Poor Harry, he wanted to scream at the cop, 'He's mine. Keep your fucking hands off him.' While he's trying to maintain his Brit cool."

They were following the Avenue Admiral Bernard now in the dusk, the blanket of Djibouti's lights behind them.

"What we'd like to know," Xavier said, "is Jama gonna hang around or go on home, tired of this Arab shit."

"I don't know," Dara said, "he's been shooting anybody he wants for the past seven years. I think he's the kind keeps score. He told Idris he shot a man for selling cans of soda the man kept on shaved ice. You know why? They didn't have shaved ice in Mohammed's time. It was Qasim told him to do it. Jama said to him, 'There weren't any AKs around in Mohammed's time either.' Qasim told him the AKs were Allah's gift to them to cleanse the world of nonbelievers, and Jama said okay then. But I don't think he's going home, not just yet."

"How about us," Xavier said, "we goin or stayin?"

Dara said, "If I'd been shooting what's going on…"

At the hotel desk a phone message was waiting.

"From Billy," Dara said. "He wants us to call him tomorrow."

Xavier said, "One thing after another, huh?"

Dara said, "Let's stop in the bar and talk about it."

BILLY KEPT PEGASO TRAILING the gas ship by a mile, following its lights at night, the thousand-foot tanker making ten knots all day and through the night. The wind would stir up behind Pegaso and Billy would tack to hold the distance between them, Billy searching his memory for the time an LNG accident happened in the U.S. A major disaster. He believed it was in Cleveland.

Helene, with him in the cockpit, sat perched in a tall director's chair, so far this morning wearing shorts and a T-shirt. She was looking at an issue of Architectural Digest from two years ago that featured the pages of Billy Wynn's home on Galveston Island overlooking miles of gasworks. The spread opened with: "Billy Wynn, the whirlwind Texas entrepreneur with countless commercial irons in the fire-" Helene stopped.

"I thought you were an oil man."

"Basically," Billy said. "I keep my hand in for the family, bunch of old farts-God bless 'em-still living in the past. My decorator, Anne Bonfiglio, calls the house Texas Tudor. Has a bowling alley and two swimming pools, one inside." Billy said, "How come it took you so long to find the magazine?"

"I don't usually look at Architectural Digest unless I'm waiting like to get a Pap smear, at a doctor's office. I didn't have to find it, you've got at least thirty copies."

Billy said, "The most destructive LNG accident I think was at Cleveland in '44. Look it up for me, okay? Blow up an LNG tanker I imagine would be a terrorist's wet dream."

Helene opened her notebook and turned pages, looking at headings over transcripts and handwritten notes. MISSING SHIP LOCATED, only one page. HOW RANSOM IS DIVIDED, three pages.

Billy was watching the gas ship again, dead ahead, not more than a mile. A man on the fantail was looking at Billy through binoculars.

DETAINEE WENT FROM GITMO TO AL QAEDA, three pages.

Billy picked up his glasses and was eye to eye with the man on the fantail. "He's a Mohammedan," Billy said.

"I've got it," Helene said, "LNG blast in Cleveland. You're right, 1944. What do you want to know?"

"How big was it?"

"A hundred and thirty-one fatalities, two hundred and a quarter injured. Let's see, two hundred and seventeen cars demolished, six hundred and eighty left homeless."

"Not as big as 9/11."

"Not even close."

"What I'd like to know," Billy said, "is that tanker going all the way up the Red Sea or stopping off?"

"It's stopping off," Helene said.

"Not to refuel. The ship was sitting at Eyl two weeks, its engine shut down."

"But the crew's been eating," Helene said. "I think they'll have to stop for groceries."

"You're right," Billy said. "I imagine the pirates took everything that wasn't screwed down." He turned to Helene, forgetting the eyes watching them. "You know how many times I've said 'you're right' to a girl I'm thinking of having a relationship with?"

"The Forty-Eight-Hour Test," Helene said. "She passes or goes home."

"You can kid about it, you scored high. Most of those girls, they get to take the test 'cause they have possibilities. I start telling her something, I could be speaking Arabic for all the sense it makes. She listens to every word, nods, smiles when I smile and gets rejected. But every once in a while-not too often-the girl says, 'What…?' paying attention, trying to follow me. You know what you said?"

"'Are you fucking nuts?'"

"You asked if I was serious."

"And that won your heart?"

"You were yourself. I don't mean you don't have tricks, how you put on certain looks. Finally it dawned on me, Hell, you're having fun being a girl. It was the first time in my life I realized it. A girl could be pleased with herself enough she didn't need a guy spending money on her. She's told herself she's a big girl, can make her own decisions."

"And because of that," Helene said, "it was love at first sight?"

"Yeah, well close to it, there're certain conditions. If I'm a sailor, you have to be a sailor. You have to love pitting yourself against the sea. You get seasick? So what? Clean it up. Long as you don't have to keep to your bunk the whole trip." Billy said to her, "Lady, I have to admit I saw almost right off the bat you're a keeper." He left the wheel, came over and hugged her and gave her a kiss.

Helene believed it was time to express herself and be serious about it. He'd already said he liked her standing up to him. Now she said, "Don't I have anything to say about it?"

Let him think she might have some mysterious reason she'd turn down a billionaire's proposal. Or, he might think she wanted to talk about the prenup first.

Billy said, "My Lord, of course you have a say in this, Muffin. Tell me what's on your mind."

Helene said, "You're Billy the Kid, aren't you?"

"I've always felt like a kid in my ways," Billy said, "but guided by a whole lot of good sense, and some learning."

Helene said, "Do you love me?"

"You know I do, Muff, with my whole heart."

"And you want us to get married?"

Helene, looking him in the eye, waited for him to grin and begin making up a story. But he didn't.

"Of course I want to get married, make you Mrs. Billy Wynn. The first and only one I've ever met to go all the way with."

Helene put her head down long enough to get her eyes wet and looked up with happy tears, saying, "Billy, I must be the luckiest girl in the whole fucking world."

Billy said, "Being smart and good-looking didn't hurt. You can be sassy but cute about it, so it didn't blow your chances." He said, "Listen, Muff…I have to call Buck Bethards, see if he's gonna help me out here. Okay?"