going to offer me an inducement - again his word - because that was bribery by another name but that he had entered my details in his little book as an aide-memoir. Either way.’
‘Either way what?’ Mace said.
Gonsalves chewed into the mouthpiece of his phone for a moment. ‘I believe you know what that means, Mr Bishop,’ he said.
Mace told him, ‘Uh huh.’
‘The next day,’ the captain continued, ‘I found out that Mr Siq is known by the first name Mo and that he buys big grey ships and fast grey jets on behalf of my employer. My ultimate employer that is. What they call in the vernacular my makulu baas. Otherwise known as el presidente. I learnt that I should not mess with Mr Mo Siq.’
‘You should not,’ Mace said knowing that Mo was not the guy he once was, who drank palm wine on a Lagos beach till sunrise. Mr Mo Siq now dressed in Armani suits, Rolex watches and Bally boots. Mace had no problem with the Bally boots.
‘What I’m saying,’ said Captain Gonsalves, ‘is that I appreciate the tip-off, even if we didn’t act on it as we should have. I have Matthew Hartnell’s account of his - your - meetings with a person called Sheemina February, who is known to us as a PAGAD lawyer, and Abdul Abdul who we had the pleasure of hosting until he got bail. Ms February represents Abdul Abdul but that is her only association with known suspects. On the other hand she is a lawyer. In my experience they are at home in what my wife would call sleaze.’
He coughed loudly. When the spasm petered out, told Mace he would be grateful for any further information.
Below in the garden Christa arranged in a circle Cupcake, her teddy bear, the Incredible Hulk, Belinda, a Barbie doll, and Spiderwoman. She placed a cup and saucer before each and poured a brown fluid from one of Oumou’s reject pots. She stood back to admire her tea party. Mace came to a decision.
In the room directly below their bedroom Oumou had her studio , she was there now, throwing clay, at the wheel fashioning tall elegant vessels. He went down and kissed her on her neck below the silver and amber earrings she was never without. These earrings were the envy of Christa who never let up to Mace on how she couldn’t wait to have her ears pierced.
‘I’ll be an hour,’ he said. ‘An unexpected meeting.’
Oumou gave him lazy hooded eyes. ‘This is your holiday, no?’
‘Supposed to be.’
‘Do not be long,’ she said.
Outside Christa wanted to know, ‘Papa, can I come?’
Mace swung her round on a three-sixty carousel ride until he got giddy. ‘Next time, C. This is business.’
‘Please, please please please,’ she said, slightly giddy herself. At his shaking head changed tack, ‘Can Cupcake go with you instead?’
Cupcake went with Mace on away business trips to fetch important clients. He’d been to Madrid, Milan, Munich, Hamburg, Copenhagen, London, New York, Los Angeles, Miami, Lusaka, Chobe, Victoria Falls. Also a number of cities and safari ranches within the country. Never before had Mace had to strap him into the passenger seat of the Spider and drive him about town with the top down.
When he pulled into the Harrington Street parking lot, a surly black guy handed him a slip of paper. On it was a name he couldn’t make out.
‘Where’s the Angolan?’ Mace asked. ‘Cuito?’
The car-guard shrugged, gave him a hard stare.
Mace looked about, only locals. He reckoned if Cuito wasn’t dead, he was probably close to it. Wondered about Dr Roberto. Locals had a hatred of foreigners, especially those with enterprise.
He pointed at his passenger. ‘The bear’s called Cupcake,’ he said. ‘He goes home with me. So does everything else in here.’
The Xhosa didn’t even register he was talking to him.
17
Matthew was waiting in his hole of an office, smoking, playing a game on his cellphone. He’d smartened up his image: leather jacket, black T-shirt, regular jeans, hi-tech footwear without
‘Either way what?’ Mace said.
Gonsalves chewed into the mouthpiece of his phone for a moment. ‘I believe you know what that means, Mr Bishop,’ he said.
Mace told him, ‘Uh huh.’
‘The next day,’ the captain continued, ‘I found out that Mr Siq is known by the first name Mo and that he buys big grey ships and fast grey jets on behalf of my employer. My ultimate employer that is. What they call in the vernacular my makulu baas. Otherwise known as el presidente. I learnt that I should not mess with Mr Mo Siq.’
‘You should not,’ Mace said knowing that Mo was not the guy he once was, who drank palm wine on a Lagos beach till sunrise. Mr Mo Siq now dressed in Armani suits, Rolex watches and Bally boots. Mace had no problem with the Bally boots.
‘What I’m saying,’ said Captain Gonsalves, ‘is that I appreciate the tip-off, even if we didn’t act on it as we should have. I have Matthew Hartnell’s account of his - your - meetings with a person called Sheemina February, who is known to us as a PAGAD lawyer, and Abdul Abdul who we had the pleasure of hosting until he got bail. Ms February represents Abdul Abdul but that is her only association with known suspects. On the other hand she is a lawyer. In my experience they are at home in what my wife would call sleaze.’
He coughed loudly. When the spasm petered out, told Mace he would be grateful for any further information.
Below in the garden Christa arranged in a circle Cupcake, her teddy bear, the Incredible Hulk, Belinda, a Barbie doll, and Spiderwoman. She placed a cup and saucer before each and poured a brown fluid from one of Oumou’s reject pots. She stood back to admire her tea party. Mace came to a decision.
In the room directly below their bedroom Oumou had her studio , she was there now, throwing clay, at the wheel fashioning tall elegant vessels. He went down and kissed her on her neck below the silver and amber earrings she was never without. These earrings were the envy of Christa who never let up to Mace on how she couldn’t wait to have her ears pierced.
‘I’ll be an hour,’ he said. ‘An unexpected meeting.’
Oumou gave him lazy hooded eyes. ‘This is your holiday, no?’
‘Supposed to be.’
‘Do not be long,’ she said.
Outside Christa wanted to know, ‘Papa, can I come?’
Mace swung her round on a three-sixty carousel ride until he got giddy. ‘Next time, C. This is business.’
‘Please, please please please,’ she said, slightly giddy herself. At his shaking head changed tack, ‘Can Cupcake go with you instead?’
Cupcake went with Mace on away business trips to fetch important clients. He’d been to Madrid, Milan, Munich, Hamburg, Copenhagen, London, New York, Los Angeles, Miami, Lusaka, Chobe, Victoria Falls. Also a number of cities and safari ranches within the country. Never before had Mace had to strap him into the passenger seat of the Spider and drive him about town with the top down.
When he pulled into the Harrington Street parking lot, a surly black guy handed him a slip of paper. On it was a name he couldn’t make out.
‘Where’s the Angolan?’ Mace asked. ‘Cuito?’
The car-guard shrugged, gave him a hard stare.
Mace looked about, only locals. He reckoned if Cuito wasn’t dead, he was probably close to it. Wondered about Dr Roberto. Locals had a hatred of foreigners, especially those with enterprise.
He pointed at his passenger. ‘The bear’s called Cupcake,’ he said. ‘He goes home with me. So does everything else in here.’
The Xhosa didn’t even register he was talking to him.
17
Matthew was waiting in his hole of an office, smoking, playing a game on his cellphone. He’d smartened up his image: leather jacket, black T-shirt, regular jeans, hi-tech footwear without
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