“I was going to have lunch first. But rabbit?”
“Don’t make a point in looking,” Carr said, “but there’s a man entering you mustn’t miss.”
The man went by the table like an aircraft carrier. He was six feet eight or nine inches tall and weighed nearly three hundred pounds. His head was a great, bald nose cone. He and Carr exchanged nods.
He sat at a table near the railing, back to the daylight, facing the entrance. He took a newspaper out and flattened it on the table.
Instantly, a waiter brought him a bottle of beer and a glass.
“He usually doesn’t show here until about four o’clock in the afternoon,” Carr said.
“Who is he?” Fletch asked.
Carr hesitated. The waiter was putting their plates in front of them. “His name is Dawes. Dan Dawes.”
“What does he do?”
Barbara examined her plate. “They don’t look like rabbits.”
“He teaches high school.”
“I’ll bet his students call him ‘
“I daresay,” Carr said.
Barbara put her knife into what was on her plate. “Cheese.”
“Rarebit,” Fletch said.
“They’re cheese rabbits.” Barbara began to eat happily.
The waiter was gone.
“He shoots people,” Carr said. “At night. Almost always at night.”
Barbara choked.
“Bad people, of course. Villains. Some say he does it for the police. He kills people the police can’t get sufficient evidence against to bring to trial; people the police feel aren’t worth the expense of a trial, and jail, or hanging.”
“He just goes out and shoots people?”
“A blast from a .45 through the back of the head. Always very neat.”
Barbara’s eyes were bulging out of her head. “And he teaches school?”
“High school math.”
Barbara looked at Fletch. “Is he the man—”
“Shut up, he said kindly,” Fletch said.
As they ate, Fletch kept glancing at the huge man studying his newspaper. His bald head was as big as a boulder one would have to drive around.
Carr said, “You work for a newspaper?”
“Yes.”
“That’s nice. What particular abilities do you need for that?”
“Strong legs.”
“And what do you get out of it?”
“A hell of an obituary.”
Eating with delicate manners, the man with the rough hands asked Barbara, “And you?”
“I’ve been working in a boutique. Selling jodhpurs.”
“Jodhpurs? My word, you Americans dress funny.”
As they were finishing eating, Carr said, “How do you two feel?”
“Hot,” Barbara said.
Fletch pulled at his sweater. “Hot.”
“It’s not hot, you know,” Carr said. “You’re at five thousand feet altitude.”
Fletch said, “The slopes are dry, though. Definitely you need snow.”
“I mean, how do you feel, jet lag and all?”
Barbara said, “Numb.”
“We’re determined to live through the day,” Fletch answered. “Otherwise, we’ll never adjust.”
Carr thought a moment. “Seeing your dad doesn’t appear to be appearing … How ought I say that? You write for a newspaper.”
“He’s not here,” Fletch said. “And it’s not news.”
“I have some private business this afternoon, out in Thika.” Suddenly there was even more red in Carr’s face. “You both seem open enough. I mean, you’re open to the fact that there is a language called Swahili, and you might pick up a few words.” Barbara was watching Carr closely, wondering what he was talking about. “Private business. An odd sort of appointment. Well,” he sighed. “Your dad seems to have missed this appointment, and I don’t mean to miss mine.” He scratched his ear. “With a witch doctor.”
“A witch doctor,” Fletch repeated.
“A witch doctor,” Barbara repeated.
“I have a problem.” Carr wasn’t looking at them. “I’m not having much luck with something. There’s a question I might as well ask.”
Barbara said to Fletch, “A witch doctor.”
“Sounds interesting,” Fletch said.
Carr looked at his watch. “No point your hanging around here for Fletch to show up. I mean, the other Fletch. You might as well come with me. Take a ride through the suburbs of Nairobi.”
“Are you sure we won’t be in the way?” Fletch asked.
Carr laughed. “No, I’m not. But what’s life without risk?”
Barbara said to Fletch, “I think if that other Fletch shows up, we don’t particularly want to be here. Right now.”
Carr skidded back in his chair. “I’ll get the Land-Rover. It will only take a minute. It’s over by the National Theater.”
“Hurry up,” Barbara said. “I want to do something.”
They ran up the stairs at the back of the lobby.
“What?”
On the second floor they walked along a sun-dotted courtyard in which there was a Japanese garden.
“Get these clothes off me.”
“Barbara, there isn’t time. We kept this nice man waiting long enough this morning. He sat there sipping only half a beer while we screwed around.”
“Will you tell Carr about what you saw this morning at the airport?”
“I was thinking of it.” Fletch fitted their key to the lock. “
In their room, all their clothes had been put away.
On the bureau was a pair of new sneakers. Next to them was a note.
“My holey sneakers! How embarrassing!”
Barbara read the note over his shoulder. “How sweet!” She had a pair of scissors in her hand. “You’re right. How embarrassing.”
“What are you doing?”
“Take ‘em off.”
