Ian McDonald - Chaga

‘Stop it,’ Gaby whispered. She could not look at the thing on the white melamine board. ‘Save her. Help her.’

‘I am afraid you have left it a little late for that,’ Haran said. He had watched the slow crucifixion impotent of interest or arousal. ‘All you can do is determine when it will stop hurting. Her death is yours. I hope you have the courage to give it to her quickly.’

Gaby looked at the young woman’s eyes. Look what you have let happen to me, Missaluba’s eyes said. Look at this good body of mine, that I loved to live in, that was so fine and useful; look at how it has been ruined because of your cowardice, so that all it can do is die. All this that has carried me through my twenty years of life is spoiled and wasted, all the things it wanted and hoped for are sold cheap, because of you.

‘Kill her!’ Gaby shouted. ‘For the love of God, kill her. I’ll get you your visa. I’ll get you Faraway’s visa. Oh Christ, forgive me.’

‘That is good, Gaby, but it is not adequate. I must have my faithful deputies to manage my new operation. There must be someone in your organization who has a group visa. Dependants? A family? Relatives?’

Gaby buried her face in her hands.

‘Tembo,’ she whispered. ‘He’s taking his family out. Oh Jesus God, what am I doing?’

‘Where can I find him?’

She wrote the address on the slip of paper Leathercoat offered.

‘Don’t hurt them. You hurt them, you bastard, and I will hunt you down and kill you as slowly as you killed her.’

Haran looked at the slip of paper and gave it to the Skateboard Kid.

‘Do not be melodramatic,’ Haran said to Gaby. ‘You will do nothing.’ To his deputy, he said, ‘This is a family man. He will be easily persuaded. You do not need to use force with him or his loved ones. The threat is sufficient.’

The Skateboard Kid left on his mission. Gaby threw her head back, imploring any God at all to burn up her soul that had been torn out by the roots. She closed her eyes.

‘Haran. Your end of the bargain.’

She heard two shots in rapid succession. They were shattering in the confined office. When she dared to open her eyes she was alone in the glass-floored room.

They left her there with her horror and fear and guilt. The doors were not locked. Her guilt kept her prisoner. She thought of the life she had ended. She had killed that woman when she let the first staple be driven into her body. She had always thought she was one of the brave and the pure, who hated violence so much they would rather die than kill. How simply her illusions had been revealed. You can kill by inaction as much as action. You can kill by silence as easily as words. You kill by good intentions and the love of friends. You can kill by deluding yourself that the devil keeps sloppy accounts.

She thought about the Skateboard Kid coming to the crowded house two streets from terminum. She saw Mrs Tembo and Sarah and Etambele and After-the-Rains. She saw the Skateboard Kid standing among them and promising hideous things, and the children shrieking in fear.

She vomited on the glass floor. She willed herself to die, if it would do any good. But it would not. Dying never did any good. Nothing came from violence but more violence. Judgement was given on Gaby McAslan: traitor and murderer.

They found her lying on her back on the glass floor next to the dried vomit, staring at the ceiling. Leathercoat and the Skateboard Kid pulled her to her feet. She went meekly with them down to the main bar and through the back ways to the terrace cafe around the courtyard garden. There were no customers today. The waiters in white jackets with silver trays were all gone. The slow ceiling fans were still, the fountains in the garden silent. Haran was sitting at a large, glass-topped bamboo table on which stood an Ethiopic scripture case; the very fine one that had cost Gaby half a month’s wages, with half a month’s wages stuffed inside it, five years ago. Mombi sat opposite him, flanked by possegirls in lace and black leather. In the between years, Mombi had grown from enormous to monstrous. She was a moon now, a satellite swathed in black silk. She nodded to Gaby as the deputies seated Gaby at the table. Leathercoat stood at her shoulder, the Skateboard Kid took a seat beside Haran.

‘You will be pleased to know that the piece of data was extracted and is currently undergoing image processing,’ Haran said.

‘So whose face did you have to stitch up the middle?’

‘As I told you, family men possess wisdom. You should have known that I would not hurt a child.’

Then what had Missaluba the Black Simba been? You are old when the wasteland warriors start looking young.

‘I have what I require.’ Haran smiled his reptile smile. ‘Your debt to me is discharged. Our relationship is ended. You are free to go.’ The Skateboard Kid held the scripture case out to Gaby.

She took a deep breath.

‘You know what he’s planning to do,’ she said to Mombi. The big woman looked sideways at Gaby, but did not speak.

‘Gaby. Be wise. Be thankful. Be free. Please leave,’ Haran said. Still the Skateboard Kid held out the scripture case.

‘You know what this piece of data is that he wanted from me?’

‘Gaby; while you were my client, you enjoyed my protection. Now you are not, and that obligation is ended. Jackson, please escort Ms McAslan from the premises.’

Leathercoat swung back the tail of his leather coat to free his gun. Gaby was quicker. She hit him in the balls with the side of her fist and as he doubled up, she pulled out his gun. She found the safety, cocked the hammer, pointed it, two-handed, at Haran’s head. The Skateboard Kid dropped the scripture case and drew his weapon. It was big. He was cool, and smiling. He could hold it on a white woman one-handed, without trembling. But he was that second too slow and that made it a stand-off and not a clean blow-away.

‘Haran, tell him to put it down. Tell him to put it flat on the table. I can kill you. I will kill you.’

‘I am pleased to say that you have surprised me, Gaby. I am impressed. But what does this prove? Maybe I will die. You certainly will. More deaths, Gaby. Needless deaths.’

Gaby licked her lips. Her tongue was so dry it clung to her lower lip.

‘You know he’s going to run out on you,’ she said to Mombi. ‘That piece of information he wanted from me; it’s an exit visa. He made me betray a friend and his family to get it. He’s going out of this place tomorrow, Mombi, on the last plane. He’s leaving you, to sink or swim. He doesn’t give a fuck, Mombi. Everything you’ve worked together to achieve, all the trust you’ve built up, it doesn’t matter to him. His own hide does. He’s getting out and you can go to hell.’

‘Gaby, you are boring me,’ Haran said. Leathercoat climbed to his feet, face contorted in testicular agony. Haran waved him away from Gaby, away from the Skateboard Kid’s line of fire. ‘She is lying, of course.’

‘Why should I lie, Mombi? He let me go, why should I stay and put myself in front of his bullets for a lie? He’s running out on you, Mombi. You can’t trust him.’

The Skateboard Kid held the gun as steady and sure as death and justice. Haran looked at the beautiful Ethiopic scripture case on the glass table.

‘Kill her,’ he said.

‘No.’ Mombi’s leather girls were hideously fast. One stood off the Skateboard Kid, the other covered Leathercoat. Gaby’s arms ached but she held the bead on the bridge of Haran’s nose. ‘I will not allow it. Give her back the visa of her friend,’ Mombi said.

‘You believe this white bitch over me?’ Haran said.

‘Yes,’ Mombi said. ‘Get her her paper or I will kill your men and the m’zungu will shoot you where you sit.’