Johnson Denis - The Laughing Monsters

“It has to be you.”

I said, “This better not be about diamonds.”

“Not diamonds. Not this time. This time we concern ourselves with metals and minerals.”

“And aren’t diamonds actually minerals?”

“This is why I can never make a point,” Michael said, “because you query the details like some kind of master interrogator.”

“Sorry. Is it gold, then?”

“I tell you now: Stay away from the gold here, unless I say otherwise. The gold around here is fake. You’d see that the minute you looked at a kilo bar of it — but by the time they give you a look, you’re already in a dark place with bad people.”

“I’ll wait for your signal.”

He sat beside me on the bed and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to understand me. I have this mapped from point A to point Z. And, Nair — point Z is going to be marvelous. Did I ever tell you about the time I saved the Ghanaian president’s life?”

It made me uncomfortable when he sat so close, but it was just an African thing. I said, “Michael, what about the girl? Who is she to you?”

“She’s American.”

“She told me that herself.”

“I heard her telling you.”

“Who is she, Michael?”

“More will be revealed.”

This was his style, his tiresome, unchangeable way. Information was an onion, to be peeled back in layers.

“What about you? What’s your passport?”

“Ghana,” he said, and he didn’t look happy about it. “Ghana will always welcome me.”

I shrugged away his heavy hand and got up. “Enough of Michael’s nonsense. Let’s get a drink.”

“Prior to sixteen hundred,” he said, “I drink only bottled water.”

“As they say, it’s sixteen hundred somewhere.” I checked my phone. “Here, as a matter of fact.”

“I stink! Get out while I shower.”

Looking down at him now—“Final question: What about Congo gold?”

“Nair! — you’re so far ahead of me.”

“If I was ahead of you, I’d know what I’m doing in Freetown instead of Congo, where all the gold is.”

“The important thing is that you came without knowing why.”

“I know why I came.”

“But not why I asked you. You came without an explanation.”

“You’d only lie to me, Michael.”

“For security purposes, perhaps. Yes. For your protection in transit. But we’re friends. We don’t lie to each other.”

He believed it.

* * *

As I made for the elevator, the lights died in the hallway. I took the stairs. Candles at the front desk, in the lobby, the big dining room. In the bar, the smell of burning paraffin, the stench of cologne overlying human musk. Voices from the dark — laughter — candlelit smiles. I ordered a martini, and it tasted just like one.

Tina strayed into my mind. I drank quickly and ordered another.

Why hadn’t I simply loaded the goods into my Cruzer in Amsterdam, and left Tina out of things? That seemed simple enough — now. But I’d been sent here to Freetown on an NIIA errand, and I had no idea what sort of last-minute scrutiny the powers might have authorized. Anything at all seemed possible, including my being called aside at airport security and confronted with a couple of NIIA comptrollers donning latex gloves. Afraid of some kind of search, I’d made Tina some kind of patsy.

After I drained the second glass and ate the second olive — really, all would be well. Many people keep watch. Nobody sees. It takes a great deal to waken their curiosity. NATO, the UN, the UK, the US — poker-faced, soft-spoken bureaucratic pandemonium. They’re mad, they’re blind, they’re heedless, and not one of them cares, not one of them.

I could have reasoned all this out from the start. But I’m a coward, and I couldn’t bear living alone in the abyss. Therefore Tina, unaware, lived in it beside me.

Perhaps Tina and I would be married on my return, after I’d met my contact and sold the goods and made money enough for several honeymoons, and after I’d been relieved of my current duty, which was to report on the activities and, if possible, the intentions of Michael Adriko.

* * *

From half the distance down into my third martini, I heard Michael’s voice in the lobby—“What happened to my sandwich?”

The desk clerk followed him. “It’s coming to the room, sir.”

“Send it to the bar, will you?”

He took the vacant stool beside mine and ordered a Guinness. I said, “Really? Guinness?”

“Guinness is good for you. Let’s sit alone.”

I joined him at a table with my martini. Two more sips, and I was ready to take him on.

“Talk to me, Miguel. Talk, or I walk.”

“I’m here to talk,” he said. “We’re talking.” But all he did with his mouth was pull on his beer.

“This place is a dump. What’s wrong with the Papa Leone?”

“Too many people know me there.”

“Right. You’re broke.”

“I’m on a budget. Is that dishonorable?”

“It’s troubling.”

“Why trouble yourself? Is it really your problem?”

“It is if I’m in business with you, because I’ll end up living in this hovel. I can’t run back and forth.”

“That’s your choice, Nair. Don’t blame me.”

“ Am I in business with you?”

“That’s also your choice.”

I took a breath and counted to five. I released a delirious sigh. “What about the girl? Is she with us?”

“I met her in Colorado.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m a lucky man.”

“Who is she?”

“More will be revealed.” A lighter flared across the room, somebody starting a cigarette in a group of five white men. Michael cocked his head in that direction, not looking there, his face full of conspiracy. “Now, who are these fellows?”

“Pilots. Russian. They work for the charter outfits.”

“They don’t look like civilian pilots. They’re all young, all fit. Why doesn’t at least one of them have a beer belly? Look at the haircuts — regulation.”

“All right, very good. Who are they?”

Suddenly he stood up and strode over to their table. He spoke. They replied, and he came back with an unlit cigarette between his teeth and sat down again. “It’s a Rothmans,” he said. “Australian.”

“You’re still smoking?”

“Now and then. But everything in moderation.” He took up the candle between us and lit his Rothmans and sat back and blew smoke over my head. “Nair, I’ve got people on my trail.”

“These guys?”

“It could be anyone.”

“Are you in trouble? What’s your situation?”

“I’ll fill you in eventually.”

“Stop it! Jesus!” I was the loudest one in the room. I lowered my tone, but I leaned in to his face. “I expected you to be dealing with the big men. Moving money around. Dispensing government contracts, you know? Contracts, not contraband. Diverted aid, siphoned oil revenue, that kind of thing. Money, Michael. Money. Not pebbles and powders.”

“Don’t let your speech get so strong, mate. There’s plenty of time for plenty of developments. Let’s enjoy the moment.” He mashed his cigarette in the candle’s dish and looked away and entered a personal silence.

You had to be careful with him. For hurt feelings, Michael would stop the whole show.

I waited him out. It never took long.

“It’s been seven years since we saw each other, Nair. I’m thirty-six years old now. I’m changed, I’m different. I’m new.” He turned toward me fully and placed two clenched fists on the table as if in evidence of his newness. “I left Afghanistan four years ago. I underwent training for two years at Fort Bragg, in North Carolina, after which I was transferred to Fort Carson, in Colorado. At Fort Carson I worked as a trainer for internationals, mostly from South America, sometimes from the Middle East. They were confined to the post, and whenever I was part of the training team for an international group, I was also kept on the grounds. Between groups, yes, I could go into town in civilian clothes. On the post I wore a US Army uniform with a sergeant’s hash marks. But I was not in the US Army.”