Renegade A to Z – I is for Ink (Friday Flash)
He insisted the barman open the coke bottle in front of him and watched the dark liquid being poured. After refusing the offered ice, Lewis took the glass, already sweating as much as he in the oppressive heat, and sat at a table. The gentle whirring of the overhead fan simply disturbed the soupy air rather than cooling anything, and the chair creaked as he sat in it.
Setting the glass down on the rickety table, Lewis sat back and reflected upon how much he hated Africa. Every mote within it irritated him. The millions of insects all wanting his blood, the millions of natives all wanting his blood, the dirty water and dirty money, all of it made his temples throb. He glanced at his Rolex, the senator was late but that was no surprise.
The hotel bar was an ironic homage to colonialism and he was the only patron, having arranged to meet outside of normal opening hours. The barman was either one of the Senator's stooges or a spy from the local aspiring warlord but he couldn't bring himself to care. In twenty-four hours the ink would be drying and he'd be on a plane to Miami and swimming pools and prostitutes.
Africa may be hellish, but life was good.
"My friend," the deep voice swaggered ahead of the senator, fat in his gaudy clothes, white teeth shining like a string of pearls caught between his lips. His sullen son followed him in.
Lewis stood and clasped hands with the Senator and they sat, the fat man's chair creaking even more than his. The son lurked nearby, eyes on the door. His Saville Row jacket was open and Lewis caught a glimpse of the holstered gun. He took a sip of the coke, his heart barely reaching a gentle canter.
"I have considered your offer," the senator drawled, his tongue wrapping around the syllables as if they were toffees. "I am satisfied with your terms and am pleased you came to see my point of view."
Lewis painted on a smile. "Senator, I'm a reasonable man, and I have the utmost respect for a political leader with only the best interests of his people at his heart." He'd also started the negotiations high so he'd look like he'd conceded to the man's demands. He hadn't even lowered as much as he'd thought he'd have to.
The senator grunted, nodding as his drink was brought to him. "The mine will bring many jobs to the region and prosperity to all."
All of your family and friends, Lewis thought but locked it firmly behind his teeth. "Then I'll draw up the contract tonight and we'll conclude our business here tomorrow morning, if that's agreeable to you?"
"Yes, yes," the senator grinned. "Tomorrow morning, you come here with the paperwork and the…"
Fat bribe…
"… administrative fee, and all will be set into motion."
"Pleasure doing business with you Senator." He stood again, extended his hand. A glance at the son told him the promise of the administrative fee wasn't enough.
"But tell me, my friend," the senator said, still clasping his hand and pumping it up and down cheerfully. "What makes you think this valley holds these minerals? The Shell and BP men, they spat on our ground a long time ago, said it was worthless."
Lewis smirked. "They just didn't know where to look. You've seen my portfolio Senator, you know I'm never wrong about these things."
"Let's hope your good luck holds for us then," the senator beamed, no doubt thinking of the twenty percent he'd cream off the open cast mining profits for the rest of his days.
Lewis gave a hollow laugh. "Luck has nothing to do with it."
***
The air in his office was just as thick when Lewis got back, he was already sick of the sight of it. The cabin overlooked the valley, close enough to the town to be safe, private enough for his purposes. He flicked on the light once the door was secured behind him and approached the desk as he tossed his jacket over one of the tatty chairs. The red slick stopped him.
He stared at the pool of red spread over the paperwork. For a sharp, needle-prick moment he thought it was blood, but then he saw the pot of ink on its side, the glass stopper smashed where it had fallen. His heart had climbed to a gentle thrum, he released the tight breath he had sucked in and went over to inspect the damage.
None of the soiled papers were important, everything of even minor sensitivity was on the Blackberry in his pocket. He glanced around the room, noting that one of the drawers was slightly open, and the window's clasp was undone, even though he'd locked it before he left.
Lewis pulled the gun from his own holster, flicked the safety off and lay it on the desk, thinking of the Senator's son. The ink had been recently spilt, it had happened whilst he'd been at the hotel bar. Only the Senator knew of the arrangement, and his son only needed a mobile phone and a grudge against the white exploiter to arrange the break in. He sniggered. Had his lackey spilt the ink to frighten him?
Nothing frightened him anymore.
He opened the desk drawer, took out the shaving mirror and razor blade and rolled his sleeve back. It only took one drop of blood on the glass to bring the darkness into the room; his master had been watching.
"The contract will be signed tomorrow," he reported, and the mirror's glass rippled in response, peeling back to show the valley in a year and a day, stripped of its trees, the river running black and orange, the smoke clinging to its slopes with a sulphurous tang.
Lewis smiled, enjoying the cut finger's throb and the thrilling staccato of his heart. He hated Africa, but he loved his job.
