Several hours later, Reed pushed Godfrey through the door to Captain Nixon Ereng’s office.
“Hello, Captain. Here’s the kid I called you about.”
Nixon pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
Godfrey scowled but didn’t protest. He fell into the chair and slouched over with his arms across his chest.
As the air conditioning kept up a dull roar underneath every noise they made, Nixon stopped short before returning to his desk. With deliberate slowness, he reached for Godfrey’s wrist, long fingers closing around the slender arm and turning it to the light. Nixon grunted when the tattooed H presented itself.
“Another poacher.” Nixon towered over the youngster, his iron stare forcing Godfrey to look at the floor. “Tell me what happened.”
“My men and I went scouting for game,” Reed said. “We heard shots, and then we saw Godfrey running away. We caught him and brought him here. He claimed to be poaching, and you can guess how I feel about that.”
“I can,” Nixon said. “Did this boy shoot at you? Attempted murder is a much more serious crime than poaching.”
Godfrey tore his gaze from the floor, looking not at the policeman in front of him, but over to Reed.
A young man who hours ago tried to kill him now looked for all the world like what he was. Scarcely old enough to be called a man and in way over his head.
“He never fired directly at us with his pistol,” Reed said. “We didn’t find any dead animals either, so I’d say he’s a bad shot.”
The captain studied Godfrey for a moment longer. “A pistol to poach?”
“I thought it was strange too, but we didn’t find any other guns.”
“In that case, I will file an arrest report for poaching. What is your name?”
“Godfrey.” He spoke to the captain, but his eyes were on Reed.
“Last name?” Godfrey supplied it as Reed settled into the other chair facing Nixon’s desk while the captain filled out an incident report.
Hunched in front of a gargantuan monitor built like an old tube television, Nixon tapped the keyboard with dogged determination until he froze mid-tap and lifted his desk phone. “This is Captain Ereng. I do not need an officer to take fingerprints. The suspect is already in the system.”
A repeat offender. Reed rustled the stubbly beard he never quite rid himself of. Great choice, Kimble. Try to give the guy a break, and he turns out to be one of the bad ones, a hardened offender with who knew how many crimes to his name. “What else has he been arrested for?” Reed asked. He couldn’t change his story now, not if he wanted Captain Ereng to ever believe anything he said.
Nixon shook his head. “He has no arrest record.”
“What? Then how did his prints get in your system?”
“All orphans are fingerprinted upon placement in the foster program.”
A defiant stare waited when Reed turned to face the young man. “Did you run away from your foster family?”
“It was no family,” Godfrey said. “A home like a factory. So many of us live there, packed together. A foster home is a terrible place.”
“Godfrey has been missing from his placement home for five years,” Nixon said. “He legally became an adult over a year ago, so there is nothing to do about it now. Unless I charge him today, he will be free to leave.” Nixon looked to Reed with one eyebrow raised. “Are you certain Godfrey did not fire at you?”
The kid, and he really wasn’t more than that, didn’t have a home. Hadn’t for years. Other than an accident of birth, Godfrey could just as easily be getting ready for college. Instead, born in Tanzania under who knew what circumstances, this was where his path led.
“Yes. He must have missed an animal.”
The eyebrow stayed up. “With the pistol you turned in.”
“That’s the only gun he had,” Reed said. “We were lucky.”
“Bad guys only need to be lucky once.” With that, Nixon went back to the keyboard and finished his report while Reed sat there, not wanting to look at Godfrey, but finding it hard to walk away. Only once Nixon’s printer spat out the final paperwork did he look over at the guy he’d lied to protect.
Captain Ereng grabbed the report. “You are lucky, Godfrey. Today you receive a warning.” Nixon handed him a slip of red paper. “If you are found poaching again, you will go to jail. I promise this.”
Godfrey neatly folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket, the cool mask returning.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Godfrey’s tone carried more than a hint of respect this time, most of which rang true. “No more poaching. Get my food another way.”
“I hope so,” Nixon said. “Stay away from the savanna. You can go.”
Godfrey stood and nodded once to Reed before he left.
What the hell did I just do?
Apparently, Nixon Ereng wondered too. “It is unwise to tempt fate,” the captain said. “You are good for this town, Reed Kimble. Be careful when you hunt. It is a dangerous game.”
“Will do. Thanks for your help.”
“The investigation into your diamond find is active,” Nixon said, shaking Reed’s hand and walking to the door. “The dead man is a known gangster in the city, who we suspect works for a man named Jakaya.” Nixon continued to hold Reed’s hand. “These are hard men. Like Godfrey is a hard man. He is of the Hadza tribe, as you likely know.”
“One of my men has the same H tattoo. The Hadza who come to society are tough. I know that.”
“Many are a good part of society. Some are not.” Nixon let his words hang in the air. “If we learn anything further, I will call you.”
Down the hall, Reed’s two guides rose from the bench where they had been waiting.
“Reed.” Nixon’s voice called from behind him, and he turned to see the big man standing in his doorway. “Take my advice. Stay alert.”
With that, the captain stepped back into his office, leaving Reed with a nagging suspicion that cutting Godfrey a break had been more of a risk than he realized.
Chapter 5
Kimble Safaris
August 2nd
Hazy afternoon heat radiated off the driveway when Reed pulled in to his compound outside of Mwanza. He waved to the plumbers who were packing their van, ready to head back to the city after a day spent outfitting Kimble Safaris latest expansion. With today’s scouting expedition cut short, Reed needed to get out bright and early tomorrow morning with Paul to pick up where they’d left off. Hunting guests expected game, so now he had to find the lions, wherever they’d gone.
“What is he doing here?” Paul asked when they stepped out of the vehicle. A balding, bespectacled man stood in front of Reed’s office, waving vigorously. His unearthly white teeth dazzled as he grinned.
“Wallace Palmer,” Reed said, glancing at the orange-faced Timex on his wrist. “Not sure what our competition is doing here at this time in the afternoon. He’s not booked this week, so I thought he’d be out of town. Looks like Effie is with him.” As Reed strode towards their visitor, the grin stayed plastered on Wallace’s face. His wife resembled a totem pole, though, her face a stone-cold mask. Not unusual for her.
“Hello there,” Wallace said while extending one lanky arm from a torso starting to go soft in the middle. “How are things?”
“Interesting.” Reed shook his hand, looking back to find that Paul had vanished. Smart move. Wallace liked to talk. “What brings my favorite South African ex-pat out here?”
“Slow week at camp. We can’t all be as busy as Reed Kimble. Figured I’d stop by and see if you know where any game is.” His elbow bumped Reed’s arm, and Reed couldn’t help but grin. The guy may compete for the same safari clients Reed did—he was in fact the only real competition—but it was hard not to like Wallace Palmer. Quick with a smile and always pleasant.
“I’m sure you’re doing fine,” Reed said. “To be honest, I have a group coming in next week and scouting isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.”
“What do you mean?” Wallace asked, looking out over the savanna. Behind him, his wife watched them with unblinking eyes.
“You didn’t hear?” Word traveled quickly in Mwanza, so even though the man spent more time managing his operation from behind a desk than sweating in the field, Reed was surprised Wallace hadn’t heard about the shooting. “We ran into a rough group yesterday on the savanna. Ended up shooting one of them. Nasty business.”
Wallace’s head whipped around. “You’re kidding.” Reed said he wasn’t. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. One of us took a bullet in the shoulder, but he’ll make a full recovery. The guy we shot died.”
“Where was it?”
“Near the diamond mine.” Reed gave a brief description of the events. Wallace and his wife hung on every word.
“That is terrible,” Effie said, her words thick with the local accent. “Why would they shoot at you?”
“Lions have been scarce lately, so I tried a new hunting ground, and I think we surprised them. They’d likely been through that area before and had never seen anyone else.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Did they camp there?”
“Easy now, Effie.” Wallace put a hand on her arm. “No need to badger Reed.”
“It’s alright,” Reed said. “The men were smugglers. The dead one had a bag of diamonds on him.”
The breath seemed to catch in Effie’s throat. She reached for her husband’s arm. “You are lucky to be alive,” she said. Her hand veered away from Wallace’s pale forearm, and instead touched the ever-present bone stick in her hair.
“Diamonds?” Wallace asked, leaning back from Reed as though a stiff wind had kicked up. “Must have stolen them from the mine.”
“That’s what the police think,” Reed said. “They were all uncut. It’s likely either smuggling or outright theft. We’ll see what the police find.”
“I can’t recall ever hearing of anyone out there other than the occasional Maasai group moving through,” Wallace said.
“The Maasai move,” Effie said. “It is not often they are in one place.”
“Did you ever see anyone else around there before?” Wallace asked.
“Never,” Reed said. “Though it doesn’t surprise me if the Maasai travel through there. I don’t normally go out that far, but it was the last day for a group of visitors and I didn’t want to send them home empty-handed.” He scratched his chin hairs. “Unfortunately, that’s what happened. The only thing they are taking home is a bad memory of Tanzania.”
“Tough spot, friend.” Wallace stepped in front of his wife. She’d lapsed back into her customary stony silence, though she still toyed with the dull, white decoration in her hair. The polished bone always reminded Reed of a cue ball, but he had never worked up the nerve to ask if it came from an elephant or something on two legs. “I know a place where you’ll find lions. You’re welcome to use it.”
Grass rustled behind Reed, and he turned just in time to dodge a charging Rico, whose tongue was hanging out of a big doggie smile. “Easy there, buddy.” Scratching behind Rico’s ears, he turned back to Wallace. “I appreciate the offer, but those are your hunting grounds, not mine. I’m not much of a guide if I can’t find game to shoot.”
“There’s no reason to tempt fate. Stay as far away from those criminals as you can.” Wallace waved an arm toward the half-constructed buildings. “You have a good thing going here. Getting yourself killed over a patch of grass isn’t worth it.”
A patch of grass? Not how Reed would describe a single square foot of his adopted homeland of Tanzania. “We went out scouting today too,” Reed said. “Someone shot at us again.”
“Again?” Wallace nearly fell forward this time. “You went back?”
“Not the same place. We steered clear of the first site, but the river runs near the diamond mine in more than one spot. This kid today was poaching, so it’s not like we had the same group of thugs following us around.” There was no need to share everything with Wallace. He would see through the thin tale if he heard Godfrey planned on killing dinner with a handgun. As for the automatic rifle part, he was keeping that to himself.
“Two days in a row you nearly get killed on the savanna?” Wallace ran a hand over his hairless head. “You’ve got more lives than a cat, Reed. In my whole life, nobody’s ever shot at me, and you get it back-to-back. Hunt on my land,” Wallace said. “No promises about finding game, but I’m not using it this week.”
“I appreciate it, Wallace. Probably the safe decision. The problem is, who knows where this stops?” Now rubbing Rico’s belly, Reed’s gaze shifted to the flowing grasslands and particularly to the point where a burnt orange sky touched the ground. “You give an inch to men like this, they think you’re weak, and in their world, weak people exist to be taken advantage of. If I let them scare off all the wildlife, or if I stop hunting the grounds I normally use just because some thugs showed up with a gun, they’ll think I’m weak and keep coming back. I can’t let them do that.”
“So you’re going to fight diamond smugglers?” Wallace crossed his arms, shaking his bald head ever so slightly. “Sounds like a losing battle to me. Who knows what they’ll do if you confront them?” A cloud flitted by, throwing a fleeting shadow across Effie and Wallace, his shiny head losing its luster for a moment. “You’ve been here long enough to know better. Take it from a man who’s been here even longer. You have no idea what people can be like.”
Wallace doubted him. That’s exactly what Reed wanted to hear, because if anything motivated him to keep moving ahead, it was others doubting him. “I appreciate the advice and the offer,” he said. “You may be right, and I should let it go. It’s just not something I can do right now, not after they tried to kill us.”
“How do you know the poacher was not a gang member?” Effie asked, squinting against the falling sun. “What if he wanted to shoot you, not the animals?”
“Hard to say, but in my mind, there’s no way he’s out to get three of us when he’s all alone on the savanna.” Which was probably true. “We didn’t see any lions out today, and I bet it’s because he scared them all.” Likely not true, but he could hope. “The guy’s lucky I turned him in. With the way he hunts, he’s liable to starve to death before he shoots anything.”
Effie turned away, looking toward their vehicle. “The savanna is dangerous.” With those words of inspiration, she walked away.
“She’s right. I hope you change your mind.” Wallace kicked at the dirt and let loose a heavy sigh. “It’s harsh out there.”
“So you think I should run from this, let them keep the game away, find a new place to hunt?”
The other guide nodded, scratching his boot on the ground.
“You’re involved as well,” Reed said. “Whether you realize it or not.”
Wallace looked up, lines creasing his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Both of us depend on the land,” Reed said. “We need the savanna to run smoothly, the same as the animals do. If these thugs come in and scare off the game, hunting gets harder. Over the past few months, I’ve had a tougher time finding game to hunt. Have you noticed it too?” Wallace nodded. “No more lions or elephants means no more safari guests, and if that happens, we’re finished.”
“There are other places to hunt.”
“There are now. But if we run and hide every time they want to take over some new territory?” Reed shrugged, and Rico moaned a complaint. “I don’t know what the next challenge will be, but I promise you, it will come. Don’t worry,” he said, standing to throw an arm around Wallace’s bony shoulders. “I don’t have a death wish. Once I let these thugs know I have a backbone, they’ll back off. You can send me the protection payments later.”
That got a laugh out of him. “The check’s in the mail,” Wallace said. “Keep your eyes open and don’t forget my offer.” Wallace stuck his hand out, and Reed shook it.
Reed stayed outside to wat
ch the other safari guide drive off before trudging to his personal cabin, where he cast a longing look at the refrigerator. No time for a beer, unfortunately. With all the upheaval and clients coming soon, he had too much work to do before setting out tomorrow. In his business, reputation was everything, and after sending his most recent guests home without trophies, they couldn’t come home before spotting a lion this time, wannabe gangsters or not. As ruddy sunlight sparked on his gun safe dial, Reed twisted the knob back and forth, tumblers clicking into place. The heavy steel door slid open on silent hinges to reveal his personal arsenal, a wide and varied assortment of firearms he’d acquired over the years.
Reaching past the weapons, his fingers closed around a case of gun-cleaning supplies, and he set to work ridding his 9mm and .270 Browning rifle of the day’s labor. If anything were to happen tomorrow when he and Paul went scouting, at least weapons failure wouldn’t put him in an early grave.
Despite his disagreement with Wallace Palmer, the man wasn’t stupid. Hunting came with risk, even more so when gun-toting criminals chanced across your path. Rubbing a cloth over the .270’s barrel, Reed breathed deeply. The familiar scent of gun oil, rich and with an almost physical presence, filled the cabin, and a sense of calm descended upon him. This oft-repeated ritual of cleaning his weapons removed the last doubt about his decision. No, these gangsters weren’t going to take away his livelihood and ruin his business. Not after all he’d worked for. Reed Kimble would stay the course, hunt and scout as usual, and if anyone got in his way he’d take them down.
The first stars glimmered to life on the horizon as Reed set the cleaning tools down. People staked out their places in the world, places they believed in, where they could make themselves into something. Reed had his spot, and a few punks wouldn’t take it.
The Turn Series Box Set Page 3