PAYNE SAT IN A TENT across from a man, an American man, who studied the clarity of diamonds through his loupe. Rain water dripped through the canvas ceiling, plopping onto the desk, splattering Payne where he sat, wearing a stain through his khaki pants. He rocked in his seat and rubbed his hands on his legs, his patience wearing thin at the time it took for the jeweler to classify the diamonds before him. Nearly seven grams of total weight rested on the table. The American was meticulous in his job, not wanting to miscalculate anything.
At last, Payne could wait no more. He pushed away from the desk and huffed as he walked away. He stared out into the jungle with his back turned to the American, reached into his pocket for a cigar to calm his nerves. He cocked his head to the side, once again waiting for the flame to reach his finger before tossing the match into the wet rainforest. Once that flame touched his fingertip all was well. He breathed a sigh, knowing his payday was coming.
“Everything seems to be in order here,” the American said.
Payne whipped around to see him still sitting at the desk, leaning back, relaxed.
Payne puffed out the smoke he’d held in and walked back over toward the desk. He didn’t bother to sit. There was no need; this would be over quickly.
“How much?” Payne asked.
“One and a half.”
Payne squeezed the top of the chair until his knuckles turned white.
“That’s not enough,” Payne said through gritted teeth.
“What then?” the American said.
“Two million,” Payne said.
The American leaned back and waited to speak. “One point seven.”
Payne scrutinized him, chewing on the butt end of the cigar. “You know.” He lifted his sidearm from its holster. “I hate it when some foreigner comes into my country with such . . .” He paused for a moment bringing the barrel of his Beretta to his own forehead to satisfy a scratch. “Such gall. Such arrogance. Such disdain for who I am and what I am trying to accomplish for this great nation. Do you not know who I am?”
The American didn’t answer; he simply stayed relaxed until Payne nodded to his men. They grabbed the American, one man on each side. They pulled his arms tight as another came in and zip-tied his feet together.
“How about now?” Payne finally sat down and eyed the American.
The American’s breathing was heavy, as he did his best to fight through the strength of the two men who held his arms.
“Yes, I do. I do know.”
“Good,” Payne said.
“Two million. Alright, alright, I’ll get you the two million. It might take some time. My contact will have to make sure the product is quality and something he can sell.”
Payne nodded to his men. “That’s what I thought.”
The American breathed a sigh, thinking the men would release their grip, but they did not. The same man who zip-tied his feet moved around to his right side.
“Put your arm on the table,” Jabar said.
“What?” The American stared up at him.
“Put your arm on the table,” Jabar repeated.
“What? No.” He looked at Payne, who began walking toward the rain. “We had a deal.”
“We have a deal, but I—”
Payne pointed his finger to the sky. Then he rushed to the table and pounded his hand down, shaking the pooling water, which splattered the American in the face. “I’m not sure you really understand who I am. So, I . . . I wanted to leave you with a parting gift. Something that truly makes you understand me.” Payne grinned. “Now, would you please do as Jabar says and put your arm on the table. I assure you, it’s okay, you can trust me.”
Reluctantly, the American looked to each of the other men and finally put his right arm on the table. His fist was closed.
“Now open your hand palm up and place it flat on the table,” Payne said.
“Why?”
“I’d like to give you something.”
Payne’s men held the American’s hand down tightly. Payne took another draw from his cigar, then extended it down toward the American’s open hand.
Once the burning end contacted the skin, the American let out a scream in agony. Payne pushed the end deeper into the flesh, until he smothered the cigar. Payne stood over the man, sniffing the burning flesh as the American was wallowing, his arm still stretched out on the desk.
“Now that’s something to remember me by,” Payne said.
The men let go and cut the zip tie, leaving the American’s side. As they made their way out of the tent, Payne stopped and turned around.
“Oh, and Dr. Lord, give my best to the children. I know they’re the reason you’re doing this in the first place.”
5
ONCE THE MEN WERE GONE, Lord lay his head on the table and trembled, staring at his open hand. The pain in his palm was unbearable. The skin was thin, and the nerves were damaged. Even the slightest bit of finger twitching caused searing discomfort.
But once he fixated beyond his hand, the diamonds returned to focus. And in that moment, the pain dissipated, at least while his mind was elsewhere. A briefcase lay by his feet. With his right hand he reached down and grabbed it. He pulled his damaged left hand to his chest. Even to lift it from the table was excruciating.
With his right thumb, he unlatched both clips that held the briefcase shut. Inside was a solitary black bag. He attempted to untie the bag with one hand, which proved more difficult than he imagined. Once the bag was open, he dropped the diamonds inside, being careful not to lose any.
After shutting the briefcase, he lifted his head to peer out of the tent. The rain continued to pour down. His SUV was there. He had to get back to the village to get his hand treated. He moved to the side of the SUV. The driving rain struck his hand multiple times, dotting the open wound. With every drop he winced.
Once inside the SUV, he kept his left hand, palm open, against his chest. He shoved the key in, pushed the clutch to the floor, and started the ignition. He shifted into reverse and stared over his shoulder. When he turned the car around and lined up with the road—not a paved road, but mere tire tracks that ran through the middle of the jungle—he realized how difficult driving a manual transmission would be with only one hand.
He pushed the clutch down and shifted into first gear. Letting off the clutch slowly, he gave the old SUV so much gas that it lurched forward and stalled.
“Damnit.” He pounded the steering wheel.
He started again, and now he rolled forward through the jungle, bouncing over the uneven terrain. He didn’t need to drive far, only about fifteen kilometers—a little over nine miles—before reaching the village.
Upon his arrival, children swarmed the SUV, knowing he was there to bring goods; at least that’s what had happened in the past. He was known for being their protector on many occasions, and the children recognized him and always came running.
But when he stopped the SUV, he pushed the clutch in and pulled the e-brake before reaching over to unlatch the door. He fell from his seat and onto the muddied ground.
An African man saw Lord fall and rushed over.
“Bala,” the man said as he gripped Lord’s arm. Bala was a name he’d received from the villagers. The name itself had many meanings throughout the world, but to them, to the villagers, it meant savior. “What has happened?”
Lord rotated his hand and showed him.
The man lifted him to his feet and said, “Children. Children.” He swiped his arms back and forth as they walked. “Out of the way.”
He hurried Lord into a nearby tent where he quickly went to work on his hand. First, he dipped a clean cloth in a large bowl of water, then walked over to Lord’s side and placed the cloth over the burn.
Lord sucked in air and went stiff at the touch of the cloth and coolness of the water.
“Please, Bala, you need to lie down.”
Lord lay on the bed, and the African man fetched two pillows. One to elevate his feet, the other for his
hand. After a few minutes the doctor returned with gauze. He gently lifted the wet cloth from the wound, and Lord winced again.
“I’m sorry, Bala, but I must place a bandage, or it will get infected.”
Tears streamed down Lord’s face, not from sadness but from the pain. Lord nodded and allowed him to continue. As gingerly as he could, the doctor wrapped his hand in gauze. Once he was finished, he came back around and gave Lord a strong sedative.
“Rest now, Bala.” He rubbed Lord’s head.
It wasn’t late, but Lord felt tired, tired enough to sleep, which is precisely what he did.
HE AWOKE THREE HOURS later. The pain remained, but at least he could somewhat move his fingers.
“Vali?” Lord called for the doctor, but the tent was empty.
Lord pushed his feet to the side of the bed, feeling for the dirtied floor. Once he feet touched ground, he stood slowly.
Children’s laughter echoed in his head as he exited the tent and walked into the village. A ball made from synthetic leather rolled near. A child ran after it, and once the ball stopped at Lord’s feet, the boy came running and reached for his leg to hug him. Lord smiled and tapped the little boy’s head. The boy looked up and returned the smile. As Lord looked down, a familiar voice called out, “Bala.”
Lord looked up to see Vali walking toward him.
“Up and about, I see?”
Vali rubbed the top of the little boy’s head and said, “Off you go now.”
The boy picked up the ball and ran back into the game. Lord grinned and watched him play with his friends with such energy, such joy. How can something so simple bring so much joy? Lord wondered. His affinity for these people and their culture was unquestionable.
“I need to speak with you, Vali.”
Vali nodded, and they headed to another tent, a different tent farther away from any interaction with the villagers.
“I met with him,” Lord said.
“I assume, by the looks of your hand, it didn’t go well?” Vali said.
Lord glanced at his wound. “Actually it did.”
Vali’s face scrunched in confusion.
“He accepted my offer.”
“He did?” By the look on Vali’s face, he wasn’t buying what Lord was selling.
“Okay, maybe not my offer, but we agreed on a price, and he made a promise not to hurt you, the other villagers, or the children.” That part was a lie.
“And you believe him?” Vali said.
“I do.”
Vali dropped his head.
“You don’t, do you?” Lord said.
“I’ve seen firsthand just how evil this man can be, and now so have you.” Vali nodded to Lord’s hand again.
Lord lifted his bandaged hand and turned it over. “I have.” He stalled. “But Payne’s a business man. And once I prove my worth by selling the diamonds in the US, he’ll trust me even more. And the more he trusts me, the better off you and the children will be.”
“If you say so, Bala. If you say so.”
6
Miami, Florida
One week later
NIKI ENTERED THE CLASSROOM, somewhat expectant. She, along with everyone else in the Intro to History class, wondered where their professor had been. He up and left the previous week without so much as a warning, only announcing that class would be cancelled until this day.
Not that she didn’t enjoy having the time off from the project—she was a college student after all—but something about his absence seemed . . . odd.
To her surprise, Lord was already inside, standing at the front, waiting patiently so everyone could enter before he began. Once everyone took their seats, he started.
Wait? What’s with the hand? Why the bandage?
“I guess I’ll start with the elephant in the room.” Lord held up his left hand. “I burned my hand pretty bad on my stove cooking last week. I know, I know, I’m a moron,” he added, which brought on laughter from the crowd.
Niki didn’t buy it. “But why were you gone?” she said without raising her hand. “Sure, you got burned, but that doesn’t seem like a good reason to miss class all week.”
Lord scrambled for an answer, pacing the front of the room, then looking off to the right, avoiding eye contact with Niki and the question, it seemed. “I’ve had some clingers before, but never been missed this badly.” The class turned and laughed now at Niki’s expense. “I’m flattered you missed me so much, Ms. Finley. Truly I am.”
But Niki was no ordinary coed. She was smart, trained to catch someone in a lie, and she wasn’t flustered by his avoidance of her original question. “No. Not a clinger, just interested in why you didn’t show up last week.” She pressed further.
But before Lord could come back with something else, no doubt a lie, another female student chimed in. “That’s his own business. Maybe it’s a private matter. God, just leave the poor man be. Can’t you see he’s injured?” The young woman turned and smiled at Lord.
Lord nodded in gratitude, then continued without answering any further questions about his absence.
“Now, I trust you were all able to finish your speeches on the countries you have chosen?” He didn’t wait for a response, but most of the students nodded. “Good. Then let’s go ahead with the first one, shall we?”
He turned his back to the class to walk behind the table in front of the class. No one raised their hand to go first.
“Ms. Finley, how about it? Would you and Dwight like to start?”
Niki shared a look with Dwight. Subtly he shook his head no. But she was ready, so why wait?
“Sure.”
“Excellent. You have the floor.” Lord moved away from the table and took a seat in the first row of the audience.
Niki and Dwight walked down the staircase toward the front of the room. Staring upward, Niki realized how daunting standing in front of the large classroom could be. She stalled.
“Why don’t you start with the name of the country?” Lord suggested.
Niki nodded, then went right into the speech, rattling off statistics and knowledge about Sierra Leone. Dwight continued with his own speech with equal parts statistics and knowledge. After they finished, Lord led the class with a clap, then stood to join them at the front.
“Are there any questions?” Lord asked.
“Questions?” Niki whipped her head around.
“Sure, I’ll start,” Lord said. “Why did you choose Sierra Leone?”
Niki turned to Dwight, then thought, Uh, diamonds. You. Those two words played over in Niki’s mind; she couldn’t get them out of her head. She was afraid if she spoke, she’d say one or the other. Luckily, Dwight spoke first. “It was actually my idea, professor.”
“Oh really?” Lord said.
“Yeah. I . . . I thought it would be original, you know, not too many people know much about Sierra Leone, and we figured no one else would give a speech about it.”
“Is that so?” Lord looked at Niki, who could only nod. “I see. How about you out there, any other questions?”
A few hands shot up, and after Niki and Dwight answered them to the best of their ability, they began to walk back to their seats, but before she could fully get away, Lord called her back.
She faced him, and he moved in close to whisper so only she could hear. “Meet me in my office after class, would you?” He winked and let her go.
She climbed the stairs and returned to her seat.
Why does he want to see me? What, for the simple fact I called him out in front of the class? Deal with it, you dick. It’s not my problem you lied to us. She couldn’t quiet her thoughts as more poured in. I know you didn’t burn your hand on the stove. No way, you can’t be that careless, that clumsy.
After ruminating on her thoughts, more pairs continued with their speeches. One was on Nigeria. Another Uganda. Then Somalia. Followed by Madagascar for the final talk of the day.
“That’s it for today,” Lord said. “Those of you who went toda
y did beautifully. I expect the same quality next time we meet.”
Niki stood, holding her breath as she stared toward the front of the room. She didn’t head down the row; somehow she felt frozen.
“Good job today,” Dwight said as he passed.
Niki nodded, barely acknowledging he was there. Her eyes remained forward, staring at Lord as he gathered his things in the front of the class. But he seemed to take longer than normal, stalling for some reason, likely waiting for the rest of the students to file out.
Niki lingered, unmoving, waiting for Lord’s instruction.
“Shall we?” He waved Niki down and made for the exit.
“What for?” Niki said from her seat. “This seems to be a perfectly acceptable place to talk.”
Lord looked around, maybe making sure everyone had left. “Fine. Suit yourself.” Lord walked to the staircase to meet her. Niki slumped into her seat and watched him as he approached. He turned down the aisle in front of her, coming to stand directly in front of her chair.
“Look, I don’t know why you’re wanting to talk to me. Is it about the hand?” She figured she’d try to explain herself.
“What, this?” He raised up his left hand. “I told you, I burned it on the stove.”
Niki peered up at him with a knowing glare. But rather than share the truth, he simply smiled, aware that Niki knew he was lying.
“That’s why I wanted to speak with you more in private, Ms. Finley. You notice things. Little things. More so than others. That’s a wonderful trait to have. Most are too self-absorbed to care about others.”
Trust me, I know.
“You want to talk to me because I’m perceptive?” Niki still didn’t get it.
He huffed. “How would you like to come to Africa with me?” He got to the point.
“Excuse me,” Niki was thrown, but then thought, Easy. This could be perfect. A way in.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense.” He held up his hand to deflect.
“What did you mean then?” Now she was curious.
“Every year, I bring a few students over for some . . .” He paused. “Well, I like to call them ‘philanthropic missions.’ Really, it’s a way for you to see the culture over there. For me, I bring them food, medicine, whatever a particular village needs at the time.”
Second Best: A Niki Finley Novel (A Niki Finley Thriller Book 2) Page 3