James Grippando - Last to die

Theo sucked down the last of his beer and pretended to scratch the side of his head with just one finger, the middle one, fully extended.

They entered the city around six-thirty, minutes after the largely Muslim population of forty-seven thousand had finished the sunset prayer. It was a historic agricultural town, but the grand mosquée was all that remained of its architectural treasures. The rest of the old quarters had been hastily razed as part of a radical urbanization plan that replaced shady streets and traditional old homes with utterly unremarkable modern buildings, one more facet of the development crazy mentality that cost Côte d’Ivoire more of its rain forest than any other country on earth.

“What’s that smell?” asked Jack.

“Like charcoal,” said Theo.

They drove to Hôtel les Frontières, one of the best hotels in town, which was not where Rene Fenning was staying. Her colleagues back at Children First headquarters in Korhogo had drawn a blank on where she was staying, and they could only tell Jack that she was at some joint right next to Hôtel les Frontières. It turned out to be Hôtel Touristel, which catered mostly to budget travelers on their way to or from Mali. The clerk behind the desk was not exactly fluent in English, but he was conversant enough.

“Was fire in market three day ago,” he said.

“That explains the smell,” said Theo.

“Dr. Rene come here to make help. Come. Follow.”

He led Jack and Theo outside, down a dusty walkway to the back of the building, where a large cafeteria had been converted into a hospital. About a half-dozen beds lined one wall, another dozen cots lined another wall, and dozens of brightly colored woven mats covered the floor. Most of them were empty, as if the emergency had passed. Jack counted eleven patients remaining, many with bandaged hands or arms.

A woman wearing a makeshift surgical mask, the only white woman in the room, approached them and said, “You must be Jack Swyteck.”

“Yes. This is my friend, Theo.”

She removed the scarf from around her face, and Jack realized it wasn’t a surgical mask, but rather an appropriate covering for a woman in a Muslim community, particularly a blond American trying extra hard not to offend. “I’m Rene,” she said as they shook hands. “You fellas mind stepping outside with me? You’re a little dusty, and we’re doing our best to keep down the risk of infection.”

She led them out the back door. Night had fallen, and it surprised Jack how the temperature had dropped in such a short time since sunset.

“Sorry I had to skedaddle out of Korhogo on you,” she said.

“That’s all right. Obviously it was an emergency.”

“The worst is over now. It took some doing, but we finally evacuated the most seriously injured to Abidjan.”

“Bet they wouldn’t have been afraid to fly,” said Theo.

“Excuse me?”

“Ignore him,” said Jack, shooting his friend a look that asked, “Is nothing sacred?”

Rene said, “Sorry for the way I look. I’ve hardly slept in two days. I know you’ve come a long way and would like to talk about Sally.”

“We can do it in the morning,” said Jack.

“Lunchtime would be so much better,” she said with a weary smile.

“That’s fine.”

She said, “There’s a maquis next door.”

“What’s a maquis?”

“You boys haven’t been here long, have you? It’s like a café. Let’s meet there at noon.”

“Great. See you then.”

She smiled and went back inside. As the door closed behind her, Jack and Theo looked at one another, as if sharing the exact same thought.

“Wow,” said Theo.

“Uncanny, isn’t it? She looks exactly like her sister.”

“Ten minutes in the shower, and she is an absolute knockout.”

“Gee, all these years I thought you were shallow, and here you are, able to look past a woman’s outer layer of sweat and see all the way down to her true, naked, dripping-wet worth.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

“I said she looks pretty damn good even without a shower.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“Come on,” said Jack, walking toward the hotel, “let’s get a room.”

Where’s your friend?” asked Rene.

She and Jack were at the maquis, the open-air café next to their hotel. It was the epitome of informal dining, just a smattering of rickety wood tables and benches in the sand. They were seated across from each other in the circle of shade beneath a thatched paillote. The air smelled of cooked fish and some kind of steaming carbohydrate, appetizing enough, though the buzzing flies and oppressive heat would take some getting used to. Jack was sweating just sitting there, though Theo had been right about Rene: A shower and a good night’s sleep had vaulted her right into another league.

“Theo’s still sleeping,” he said.

“Jet lag?”

“More like jet fuel. He and a couple of Belgians on their way to Man were up late drinking something called pitasi.”

She flashed a knowing smile, as if she’d been there. “African gin. Deadly stuff.”

A waiter brought them sodas and recited the menu in French. Jack let Rene order for both of them, trusting that he wouldn’t end up with boiled eye of impala.

“You and Theo make a pretty interesting friendship.”

“I hear that a lot.”

“Have you known each other long?”

“Pretty long. He was convicted of murder when he was a teenager. I picked up the case on appeal, after he was on death row. You can get pretty close to someone after counting down the hours to their death five or six different times. Especially when they’re innocent.”

“So you got him off?”

“Guilty people get off. Theo got screwed, and we finally made it right.”

She took a long drink of cola with no ice, enjoying it before it got too warm in the midday heat. “Is that your specialty? Death penalty work?”

“Not anymore. My first four years out of law school I worked at a place called the Freedom Institute. All death penalty work.”

“Sounds pretty grim.”

“Not as grim as some other things. I worked for a Wall Street firm the summer before I graduated from law school. On the last day, I walk into the elevator and punch forty-two, just like every day before. Then a young lawyer walks in behind me, punches forty-one, a little older guy walks in, punches forty-three, and finally a senior partner comes and-well, I don’t know what she punched. I literally ran the hell out of there. I suddenly couldn’t stomach the idea that this was going to be my life, day after day, walking into the same elevator, punching the same button, going to that same little box in the sky.”

“I can relate.”

“Really?”

“Look around. This isn’t exactly a normal career step for someone who just busted her hump through a pediatric residency.”

She had a great smile, Jack noticed, and he smiled back. He hadn’t thought about it before, but they did have something seriously in common, both having chosen an unconventional start for their careers. He said, “If your experience is anything like mine was, I’m sure you have a lot of friends back home making plenty of money.”

“Money was never what it was all about for me.”

“Me neither, but…”

“But what?”

His expression turned more serious. “What about Sally?”

She let out a little sigh, as if she’d known that the conversation would land here eventually. “Sally was a very complex person.”

“Were you two close?”

“Yes, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

She shrugged and said, “We were sisters. We had our differences, we got over them.”