A Darkening Stain (28 page)

The heat outside was crushing. Carole was wearing a cobalt-blue boob tube and a miniskirt. We set off without a word and drove deep into the Dan Tokpa market where we parked. I followed the spinal rift in her muscled back as she weaved through the crowded wooden stalls. We arrived at a wooden shed, a booze shop. Marnier was sitting at the back, fanning himself with a triangle of raffia on a stick. He nodded to Carole, who passed a hand over the small of my back, down the crack of my arse and up to my crotch while the other hand worked my flanks. She gave my balls a measured squeeze and released me.

‘He's clean,' she said.

Marnier barked something at her in French—argot, which I didn't understand. She shrugged and sat outside the front on a
low wooden stool. Marnier was pouring with sweat in the airless shed.

‘You don't trust me, Jean-Luc?' I asked, sipping the Possotomé, giving it to Marnier to swig.

‘Not when you're fresh from Franconelli. He's a very persuasive man.'

‘He's got plenty of people to do his killing for him and a lot better...'

‘But no one who can get close,' he cut in, showing me his edge early on.

I took a seat on a crate of Cutty Sark, my shirt patching dark already.

‘It worked well,' said Marnier. ‘Couldn't have been better.'

‘The lie?'

‘With Heike there. Perfect.'

‘Let's not talk about it.'

‘Was she very hurt?'

‘What do you think, Jean-Luc?'

‘And Franconelli. Did he tell you?'

‘He told me something.'

‘You see. He can't tell you. What did he say?'

‘He said half that gold of yours is his.'

Marnier shook his head.

‘Did he tell you he wanted it back ... his gold?'

‘As a matter of fact, he didn't.'

‘You see.'

‘It was a bad lie. He was tired. He wanted me out of the room.'

‘Is he sick?'

‘Not so you'd notice. His temper doesn't do his heart much good.'

‘Dying in agony from inoperable cancer would be too kind for him.'

‘Shall we talk about the gold?'

‘Your bonus.'

‘Not just yet,' I said. ‘I've got a buyer for you. For the whole lot. That's if you're interested in selling.'

Marnier shrugged the merchant's professional shrug. I waited.

‘I was going to courier it to Zurich,' he said, ‘but if you can get me a good price ... Where would it have to be delivered? Here?'

‘Nigeria.'

‘I'm not going to Nigeria with it.'

‘Under no circumstances?'

‘The price would have to be the very top of the market.'

‘Of course it would.'

Jean-Luc checked me for sarcasm and turned back to his one and only fan.

‘It would take me some time too. I don't know anybody to help me across the border on that side.'

‘What can you get for it in Zurich?'

‘Three-sixty dollars an ounce.'

‘How many ounces?'

‘Two thousand two hundred and thirty-six. Close on eight hundred and five thousand dollars.'

‘I thought you said it was nearly a million.'

‘It is ... nearly.'

‘How much do you want to take it to Nigeria?'

‘Forget it. It's too dangerous. I could lose everything.'

‘Don't they ask a few more questions these days in Zurich? About gold, about money that passes through their hands.'

Marnier looked at me out of the corner of his head.

‘I heard gold was a sensitive issue over there at the moment. You know, with the hoo-haa about the Nazi stuff and the American government report due out. Maybe it's not so easy to fly it in ... no receipts and all that. They're very touchy about handling hot stuff, drug stuff, any stuff...'

‘This isn't drug stuff.'

‘
You
know that.'

The shed creaked in the heat. The market noises seemed distant, muffled by the booze crates. I stared into the earless side of Marnier's head, willing him on.

‘Who's your buyer?' he asked, opening up a little, his head hung over his knees, the sweat dripping and soaking into the wooden floorboards of the shed.

‘Prominent Nigerian business persons.'

‘With names?'

‘You don't need to know that yet.'

Marnier winced and scratched his neck savagely.

‘If these prominent business persons come to Benin,' he said, ‘they can have it for three-sixty an ounce. If I have to go over there ... they'll have to come up with four hundred.'

‘You want nearly ninety grand to go over there?'

‘It's a big risk,' he said. ‘How much do you want?'

‘I'd be happy with two-and-a-half per cent.'

‘Take two.'

‘All right,' I said. ‘I'll show them my lump as a sample. You did bring that with you?'

He took it off the top of a box above his head and handed it to me.

‘I assume this is representative of the quality?'

He nodded.

‘I'll be back,' I said. ‘Start thinking about how we're going to do this.'

‘Can't you see?' he said, slowly. ‘I'm thinking.'

Helen made me a salad, cooked me a piece of fish. She served it and her church leaflet, which she put where the wine glass should have been. I pored over it without taking in a word. I nodded. She watched me from the kitchen door. The phone rang. It was Dic.

‘She'll do it,' he said.

‘She speaks English?'

‘Yes.'

‘Where's she from?'

‘Ukraine.'

‘Does she have a pronounceable name?'

‘She calls herself Sophia.'

‘When can she get away?'

‘Between five and six this afternoon.'

‘Where?'

‘I'm not taking her to my home.'

‘You mean I've got to get to Lagos Island in four hours?'

‘It's Saturday,' he said, as if that made any difference. ‘Take the ferry.'

 

I took the ferry, caught it at Mile Two just south of the Expressway from Badagri to Lagos. It took me on a stinking trip via the Apapa docks and dropped me on Marina, about a ten-minute walk from Die's office, a little after five o'clock.

Dic was the only man in his office at this hour. His door was open and he was sitting amongst his palm trees talking to someone out of sight but who was wearing a brown, strappy, low-
heeled sandal on their left foot. He beckoned me in and introduced Sophia, who was a blonde who'd made herself blonder from a bottle. She hid behind a large pair of sunglasses which covered most of her cheeks. Her skin was very white which made her red, full-lipped but sharp-edged mouth stand off her face as if it wasn't hers, she was just working it. She wore a simple blue cotton dress with a hemline down to her shins. Put her next to Carole and you'd pick the whore with no hesitation. She smoked Marlboros one after another, keeping pace with Die.

I sat down. Die poured me a cup of tea, offered me a smoke, forgot himself for a moment. He was nervous, didn't know what he was getting into, and there was no doubt in my mind that he'd slept with this girl and that she did something for him ... a hell of a lot more than his wife could do for him from her hospital bed in Beirut.

Sophia? I didn't know what was going on behind those sunglasses. She seemed to like Die. Die was easy to like. But he was a punter too and I wouldn't know how that would sit with a woman.

I asked her about where she worked. The brothel was in a private house on Victoria Island. It catered for businessmen, ones with heavy money, but some nights were given over to civil servants, customs men, military people. These were not the paying kind and she didn't like them. They treated the girls badly, made them do things that they didn't want to do, especially the white girls, who they liked to humiliate. She shuddered, sucked hard on her Marlboro heavies and sat back with her tea.

I asked her about the Benin operation but she knew nothing. It was a separate business. She also said that although she knew Madame Sokode was the ultimate owner of the brothel nobody ever saw her. She never came to the house and had nothing to do with any day-to-day running of the house.

‘Did Dic tell you what I want to talk to you about?' I asked.

She nodded.

‘Have you or any of the other women heard anything about this business?'

‘We hear everything,' she said. ‘Nobody keep a secret from a whore.'

‘I wouldn't have thought men would talk so much in bed.'

‘They not with their wifes,' she said, and neither of us looked at Die.

‘Is there anything stronger than tea in your desk, Die?' I asked. ‘I think we're all going to need a drink for this.'

He produced the office Black Label and three glasses. He even had ice in the fridge. We drank. Die and Sophia lit up again.

‘These people, they sick,' she said, and I thought she meant in the head, but she continued, ‘seven of the men. Two military, four from the Ministry of Public Works and the father of Madame Sokode. They all HIV positive. They don' wear condoms. Now they scared. One go to his village and see a big medicine man. The medicine man tell him if he haff sex with a virgin it cure the sickness. He don' get the AIDS.'

Dic looked frozen solid, not believing what his ears were telling him. Sophia took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers. She looked across at me with big, clear blue eyes that were both vulnerable and promising.

‘The virgins they come soon. A military man tell the Rumanian girl last night. The medicine man comin' down for the thing.'

‘Are they paying money for this?'

She shook her head. I knew what was coming.

‘Madame Sokode get the big contract from Public Work. They buildin' a barrack for the military, a hospital and ... other things. I don' remember but millions of dollar.'

She looked at her watch, ran her hand through her hair, put the sunglasses back on.

‘Dic say these very young girl.'

‘Nine down to six.'

‘You know, if they come to the house it's finish. They don' come out the house.'

‘How did you get out?'

‘No problem for me,' she said, ‘but the young girl ... You haff to find the girl before they come to the house. If they come to the house I can do nothing.'

She took a final drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out, looked at her watch again. She stood up.

‘Is time now.'

Dic followed her out of the room. I leaned forward to check their goodbye routine. They kissed each other on the lips. She squeezed his shoulder. It was touching to watch. I leaned back. Die got himself back behind his desk.

‘So ... now you know,' he said, taking a sip of whisky, lighting up, scratching himself behind the ear with his thumbnail. ‘It's hopeless, of course.'

‘Are you in love with her?'

‘No, no, no, no, no,' he said, and jerked his head up. ‘Forget about it.'

‘She's not in any danger ... coming to talk to us, I mean?'

‘I don't know. She didn't say. I saw her last night, explained your problem, she didn't hesitate.'

I nodded to him and asked to make a call. There was no reply from Madame Sokode's office. I tried her home number and she insisted I came to the house. More social horror.

I left Die in a pensive state about his situation. An Armenian with a sick wife and eight children in love with a Ukrainian prostitute in Lagos. A lot of knots in that situation and most of them pulled very tight.

I picked up the ferry along with a lot of other people anxious to get off the island after work My car wasn't up on blocks at Mile Two and I joined the crawl on the Apapa—Orowonsoki Expressway up to Ikeja. The gateman let me into the grounds of Madame Sokode's house just after nine o'clock. I joined her Mercedes parked on the slant in front of the steps up to the verandah and spent a few moments gathering myself, hoping I wasn't taking a short walk into the snake pit.

Madame Sokode ... Elizabeth, please, let me in. She was wearing a purple shift which dropped from two thin straps at her shoulders and ended an inch above the floor. She was barefoot and had some elaborate hair extensions on which modernized her look but not for the better. Like last time it was hot and humid in the house. Her feet squeaked on the parquet as she led me to the three-piece island where there was a tray of Black Label and glasses. She sat down and extended an arm to the sofa and drinks. I poured, gave her a glass, laid my bonus lump on the table in front of her and backed off. Excitement flared in her face, her blinking rate went up to humming-bird level and her hand shot out towards the lump before the deportment queen remembered it was rude to snatch. The lump had been rubbed a bit cleaner by now and was looking more seductively yellow.

‘Such a weight,' she said.

‘If we can agree some basic terms you can keep that ... get your quality control people to look it over. It's representative of the lot.'

‘What are these basic terms?' She snapped into the business brain.

‘Price and delivery.'

‘What does your principal want?'

‘He'd prefer delivery in Benin. If you can accept that you'll get a better price. If you can't he'll come to Nigeria ... but it'll cost you.'

‘I'm not going to pay more than three-fifty an ounce delivered here in Lagos.'

‘Then you can give me my lump back and I'll be on my way.'

‘What's the rush? I've cooked you some food.'

‘Not snails.'

‘Not fish-head soup either,' she said, turning my lump over in her fingers, getting attached. How that stuff worked.

‘All right,' I said. ‘Now that we're not in business I can relax. Do you mind if I pour myself another?'

I sat back and let the lump do all the work.