lions or elephants or wildebeest or zebras or Masai tribesmen herding cattle. It was like a nonstop wildlife film. Lou would point out the different animals, many Karen had never heard of.
'There's a topi,' he would say. Or, 'I don't believe it. Ever seen an orbi? There's one right there.'
Karen said, 'What's that,' pointing at a big tan-colored animal with long horns that angled back.
'An eland,' Lou said. 'What you're eating.'
'I thought it was beef,' Karen said.
Lou said, 'No, it's antelope.'
'It's good,' Karen said.
Lou told her lions were colorblind and when they saw a herd of zebra it looked like one big mass of stripes. The lion had trouble picking out an individual zebra to attack. He told her about the Masai, the tall good-looking tribesmen she would see in the distance, carrying spears and wearing red shoulder cloaks called shukas.
'They believe the rain god Enkai gave them all of the cows to tend,' Lou said.
He told her the Masai lived in huts made out of cow dung and grass that baked and hardened in the sun. He told her the women shaved their heads.
Karen said, 'Maybe they've got the right idea. It would save a lot of time. They don't have to worry about the current style or washing and blow-drying their hair every day.'
Lou said, 'Why don't you try it. I think you'd look cute.'
After dinner they'd take their port or cognac and sit outside, staring out at the plains, and the distinctive plumes of acacia trees in the distance, the sun going down-red sky fading. Lou was next to her, the rakish big game hunter who spoke Sawhili and wore tailored safari outfits.
In retrospect, Karen thought the tranquil bliss of the safari had clouded her judgment, thinking this was what life was going to be like with Lou. He proposed in Mombasa a few days later. They were at a resort on the Indian Ocean, drinking champagne when he popped the question and Karen said yes.
A few weeks later Lou said he wanted to elope. Let's just do it, let's get married. I can't wait any longer. Karen put him off then and kept putting him off and finally realized she'd never be able to go through with it.
Living with Lou for eight months had been a distraction, but as things began to fall apart she thought more about the $300,000 she'd given Samir to invest and had never seen again. She wanted it back and decided she was going to get it. How exactly she wasn't sure until Bobby and Lloyd broke in that night and got her thinking, gave her an idea.
Karen went looking for Wade Robey Tuesday afternoon, three days after Bobby and Lloyd broke in. She heard he hung out at a biker bar in Royal Oak, and there he was, sitting at the bar, drinking beer with an occasional shot of peach schnapps, smoking Marlboros like he was on death row. Karen watched him for a while, sitting at a table, drinking vodka tonics. She knew he'd be there. He'd been out of Jackson prison for three months after doing five years for armed robbery. He was looking for a gig too. Karen had found all that out from Fantasy, the sister of a friend she'd modeled with. Fantasy was a skinny blond stripper whose real name was Bobbi Jo Shipp. Fan had gone out with Wade before he went up. Fan said he was kind of dumb and he'd do anything. That fit the job description of the person Karen was looking for.
Wade Robey wore black boots and jeans and a black Guns N' Roses T-shirt. She moved to the bar and sat down next to him when a seat was available and introduced herself. 'Hi, I'm Karen, how you doing?' She offered her hand. 'I understand you're looking for work.'
Wade stared at her not sure what was going on. 'Who the fuck're you?'
'I'm a friend of Fantasy's,' Karen said.
Now he offered his hand-a big limp fish. Wade said he was pissed at Fan 'cause she'd taken up with a black dude while he was away and had his kid. Karen studied the tattoos that covered his arms. He had a skull and crossbones and a swastika and Heil Hitler on one arm, and an eagle holding a snake in its talons on the other. She saw the blue-green snake wrapped around his forearm first and didn't know what it was until she saw the eagle on his biceps, putting the illustration in perspective. Karen told him she had a tattoo.
Wade said, 'Of what?'
'A gremlin,' Karen said.
Wade said, 'Where's it at?'
'I'd show it to you, but I'd have to take off my pants. It's right here.' She pointed to a spot where her leg met her hip.
'It's okay with me,' Wade said.
Karen said, 'Huh?'
'You want to take your pants off.' Wade grinned big this time, showed his teeth that were nicotine-stained and crooked. 'I was just kidding.'
He was a real comedian. He had five years to think up zingers like that at the state prison in Jackson. Karen glanced down at Heil Hitler in wavy blue ink on his forearm. 'Fan didn't tell me you were with the movement.'
'What movement's that?
'White supremacists.'
'Oh, the tats,' Wade said. 'They're mostly for show. Keep the porch monkeys from trying to fuck with me in stir. You got to join a gang or you don't have a prayer.'
Karen told him about the safe and the money and Wade said it sounded pretty good. He was a fairly mellow guy, not at all what she thought he'd be like, judging by the way he looked. Karen said they'd talk again soon, put a plan into motion, but she already had the plan.
Wade said he was GTG. Karen said, 'What?' 'Good to go.'
Things were falling into place. She had commitments Bobby and Lloyd, and now Wade.
There was just one more thing she had to do.
Chapter Seven
T. J. Dolliver got there early and ordered a Ketel One martini up, extra dry, Dean Martin style, with a lot of olives, five ounces of icy vodka to settle his nerves. He was sitting at the bar at Joe Kool's, watching the door for O'Clair. Get the crazy Irishman off his back and never borrow money again. He had to go to his father-in-law for a loan and explain how he'd gotten himself in trouble and then agree to counseling, talk to a psychologist about his gambling problem. He also had to pay his father-in-law, the cheap bastard, back the loan plus 10 percent, the going rate for sons-in-law who fuck up.
T.J. finished the martini and ordered another one. He felt good, a nice relaxing buzz settling over him. He'd somehow managed to get through it all without his wife, Renee, finding out. Count your blessings, he said to himself.
He looked over at the door now and saw O'Clair come in and his body tensed. O'Clair came right at him, eyes glued to him the whole way. Looking at him and then past him at the half dozen drinkers stretched out along the length of the bar. T.J. took another sip of vodka.
'A prompt man is a lonely man,' O'Clair said.
'Huh?' T.J. wasn't expecting that.
The bartender came toward them and asked O'Clair if he wanted something and he shook his head. Now O'Clair stared at T.J., his face was blank.
'Got the money, my friend?' O'Clair said, using T.J.'s line, putting it in his face.
T.J. felt a rush of nerves like he was back in his house stretched out on the La-Z-Boy with O'Clair and the other guy. 'Right here,' he said, patting the front of his sport coat.
'Give it to me outside.'
T.J. picked up his martini and finished it and felt the cold liquid burn his throat.
They walked out and T.J. followed him across the parking lot to the back of the building. He was thinking about what O'Clair said when he walked in: a prompt man is a lonely man. It was true. The shylock was a philosopher. T.J. reached into his sport coat pocket and took out the envelope and handed it to him. 'That's all of it, seventeen five.'
O'Clair took the envelope and hit him in the stomach and T.J. felt his insides explode. He dropped to his
