prisoner. She thought of the life she had ended. She had killed that woman when she let the first staple be driven into her body. She had always thought she was one of the brave and the pure, who hated violence so much they would rather die than kill. How simply her illusions had been revealed. You can kill by inaction as much as action. You can kill by silence as easily as words. You kill by good intentions and the love of friends. You can kill by deluding yourself that the devil keeps sloppy accounts.
She thought about the Skateboard Kid coming to the crowded house two streets from terminum. She saw Mrs Tembo and Sarah and Etambele and After-the-Rains. She saw the Skateboard Kid standing among them and promising hideous things, and the children shrieking in fear.
She vomited on the glass floor. She willed herself to die, if it would do any good. But it would not. Dying never did any good. Nothing came from violence but more violence. Judgement was given on Gaby McAslan: traitor and murderer.
They found her lying on her back on the glass floor next to the dried vomit, staring at the ceiling. Leathercoat and the Skateboard Kid pulled her to her feet. She went meekly with them down to the main bar and through the back ways to the terrace cafe around the courtyard garden. There were no customers today. The waiters in white jackets with silver trays were all gone. The slow ceiling fans were still, the fountains in the garden silent. Haran was sitting at a large, glass-topped bamboo table on which stood an Ethiopic scripture case; the very fine one that had cost Gaby half a month’s wages, with half a month’s wages stuffed inside it, five years ago. Mombi sat opposite him, flanked by possegirls in lace and black leather. In the between years, Mombi had grown from enormous to monstrous. She was a moon now, a satellite swathed in black silk. She nodded to Gaby as the deputies seated Gaby at the table. Leathercoat stood at her shoulder, the Skateboard Kid took a seat beside Haran.
‘You will be pleased to know that the piece of data was extracted and is currently undergoing image processing,’ Haran said.
‘So whose face did you have to stitch up the middle?’
‘As I told you, family men possess wisdom. You should have known that I would not hurt a child.’
Then what had Missaluba the Black Simba been? You are old when the wasteland warriors start looking young.
‘I have what I require.’ Haran smiled his reptile smile. ‘Your debt to me is discharged. Our relationship is ended. You are free to go.’ The Skateboard Kid held the scripture case out to Gaby.
She took a deep breath.
‘You know what he’s planning to do,’ she said to Mombi. The big woman looked sideways at Gaby, but did not speak.
‘Gaby. Be wise. Be thankful. Be free. Please leave,’ Haran said. Still the Skateboard Kid held out the scripture case.
‘You know what this piece of data is that he wanted from me?’
‘Gaby; while you were my client, you enjoyed my protection. Now you are not, and that obligation is ended. Jackson, please escort Ms McAslan from the premises.’
Leathercoat swung back the tail of his leather coat to free his gun. Gaby was quicker. She hit him in the balls with the side of her fist and as he doubled up, she pulled out his gun. She found the safety, cocked the hammer, pointed it, two-handed, at Haran’s head. The Skateboard Kid dropped the scripture case and drew his weapon. It was big. He was cool, and smiling. He could hold it on a white woman one-handed, without trembling. But he was that second too slow and that made it a stand-off and not a clean blow-away.
‘Haran, tell him to put it down. Tell him to put it flat on the table. I can kill you. I will kill you.’
‘I am pleased to say that you have surprised me, Gaby. I am impressed. But what does this prove? Maybe I will die. You certainly will. More deaths, Gaby. Needless deaths.’
Gaby licked her lips. Her tongue was so dry it clung to her lower lip.
‘You know he’s going to run out on you,’ she said to Mombi. ‘That piece of information he wanted from me; it’s an exit visa. He made me betray a friend and his family to get it. He’s going out of this place tomorrow, Mombi, on the last plane. He’s leaving you, to sink or swim. He doesn’t give a fuck, Mombi. Everything you’ve worked together to achieve, all the trust you’ve built up, it doesn’t matter to him. His own hide does. He’s getting out and you can go to hell.’
‘Gaby, you are boring me,’ Haran said. Leathercoat climbed to his feet, face contorted in testicular agony. Haran waved him away from Gaby, away from the Skateboard Kid’s line of fire. ‘She is lying, of course.’
‘Why should I lie, Mombi? He let me go, why should I stay and put myself in front of his bullets for a lie? He’s running out on you, Mombi. You can’t trust him.’
The Skateboard Kid held the gun as steady and sure as death and justice. Haran looked at the beautiful Ethiopic scripture case on the glass table.
‘Kill her,’ he said.
‘No.’ Mombi’s leather girls were hideously fast. One stood off the Skateboard Kid, the other covered Leathercoat. Gaby’s arms ached but she held the bead on the bridge of Haran’s nose. ‘I will not allow it. Give her back the visa of her friend,’ Mombi said.
‘You believe this white bitch over me?’ Haran said.
‘Yes,’ Mombi said. ‘Get her her paper or I will kill your men and the
Haran smiled. It was like the skin peeling back from a skull.
‘Fetch the visa,’ he said to Leathercoat. To Mombi he said, ‘Now you show yourself for the fool you have always been. There is nothing here for us, can you understand that?’
‘The fool is the one who thinks he can run from the Chaga forever,’ Mombi said. ‘It will catch you in the end. That is why you will stay with me, Haran. You will come with me into the Chaga. There is a new network growing in there; its mesh is fullerene carbon, not optical fibre, but it can still feed fisherman with the skill to cast it and trawl its rich catch. You will work with me, Haran. We will reclaim everything that has been taken from us. We will succeed beyond all our dreams of greatness. It is the future in there. To stay out here is to be pushed into the past. You will not make it out here, Haran. There is nothing left out here but more and more of this. You should thank me, that I still offer you this after you try to betray me.’
Leathercoat cautiously placed two sheets of paper on the glass table top.
‘Put them in the box,’ Gaby said. ‘Give the box to me.’
‘Go now,’ Mombi said. ‘Get your friend out of the country, since he has decided he must go. Haran will not harm you. You are under my protection now.’
Gaby lifted the Ethiopic scripture case one-handed and cautiously backed along the balcony. The gun was fluttering now. The pain in her right arm was incredible.
‘Go!’ Mombi ordered.
Gaby turned and ran. She ran through the back rooms, and through the Cascade Club where the bar staff washed glasses and the boys played down in the pit. She ran down the steep street stairs. She met a posseboy coming up. She shouted at him, waved the big gun. He flattened himself against the wall as she exploded out onto the street and saw a phalanx of camouflaged
She stopped dead. The vehicles stopped dead. The wind stirred the lion’s head Black Simba cartel banners on their pennons and aerials. The door of the lead
‘It seems that you do not need John Wayne and the 7th Cavalry to come over the hill to rescue you,’ Faraway said. ‘But I think they are going to come over the hill anyway, because they have wrongs to right.’
Gaby ran and hit him like a free kick from the edge of the box. Faraway held on to her. He had always been a better goalkeeper than his cool allowed. He whirled her away through the battle lines as the Black Simbas advanced on the Cascade Club.
‘I got it,’ Gaby said, holding up the scripture case. ‘The visa. I got it.’ Then the shakes started. Faraway just caught the scripture case in time. He took Gaby to the main street and through the crowds of spectators hoping to see blood to a coffee stall. He bought her sweet milky Kenyan
‘I got out, Faraway,’ Gaby whispered. ‘I got Tembo’s visa back. Mombi made him give it to me. Don’t let
