“No,” Bunty said.
“Karl” aka Roger moved me toward the door. I felt really guilty leaving the animals there, but what could I do? At least Barry was still in my purse. Akida whispered something to Roger just before we went down the steps.
“You both ride in the front,” Bunty said when we got to the truck. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Tell your Uncle Ray I said hello.”
“I will,” I said. “Sorry about your mom. I’ll really miss her.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get the bastards who did this.”
“Will you call Joni?” I asked. He nodded.
Chip opened the passenger door. I gestured Roger in first. I wasn’t interested in being squished up against three-day-old sweat, tobacco, and cumin. The other men were smiling at me, which was creepy. Chip put the truck in gear. I looked through the back window and waved at Bunty. At least I’d found Joni’s brother and he was alive. That was something. I’d probably leave out the rest.
Despite the fact that Roger had a common-law wife and was a blatant liar, a criminal, and a general bastard, it was still hard to sit next to him without wanting to climb into his lap. I hated myself for feeling this way, but attraction wasn’t really a logical emotion.
The truck had just hit a straight stretch when Roger leaned toward me and whispered, “Get ready.”
Ready for what? He reached behind him, pulled a gun from his waistband, and conked Chip a very sound one on the side of the head. He was unconscious instantly, falling over on Roger and pinning him near the floor. The truck began to swerve.
“Steer,” he said.
“From here?” I screamed, then put my leg over him and over Chip’s head, and grabbed the uncooperative steering wheel. My hands were slick with sweat and slid around the wheel, making me bump and grind pretty much everything and everyone between me and the seat. This was not the kind of lap dance I had in mind. I struggled to miss the potholes, and tried to pull the truck over while Roger wriggled under me, trying to hold Chip up. But the unconscious man kept falling, all dead weight, and finally his lower half slumped down all the way, trapping Roger’s foot on the gas and me with my legs in a cheerleader split over Roger’s back. We went careening through the trees, decimating everything in our path, then stopped with a horrible crunching smash.
Chapter Thirty
The truck had gone full-on into a baobab, turning the tree trunk into a giant question mark. I wasn’t sure for a minute if we were still alive, and I was pretty sure Barry couldn’t be. I heard the steady hiss of steam escaping, or at least I hoped it was steam. Somehow, I was still gripping the steering wheel. Apparently Chip’s torso had kept me from flying through what was left of the windshield. The impact had finished the work the bullet holes had started: glass peppered the hood like kosher salt. Lucky for us, the massive V-8 engine block had taken most of the blow. I was sore, but mobile, but Roger just lay there under Chip’s leg, completely still.
“Roger?” I touched his shoulder and moved around to see his face. He had a nasty gash on his forehead that was bleeding pretty freely, but he seemed to be breathing. I figured the first order of business was to bind his wound. I could be furious with him once he was conscious. My purse was wedged between Chip’s legs and the floorboard. Barry.
I managed to inch the strap free and pull it gently toward me. I took a long breath before I opened it. All things considered, I had been through too much with this chameleon to have him wind up as a stain. But there he was, twitching inside the Tupperware, the Terminator of chameleons. I edged past him for Lion King Band-Aids, a bottle of water, and a handkerchief. Just as I finished bandaging Roger, he moaned. I crawled down to look him in the eye and called his name. He moaned again, but didn’t open his eyes. I brushed the wound above his eye with my lips.
He started to blink, grimaced, then did his best to give me half a smile. “Cyd. Am I dead?”
“No such luck.”
“Are you okay?”
“Are you actually expecting me to think you care? After you smashed up our only form of transportation?”
“I understand you’re upset.”
“Do you? Really?”
“There were reasons I had to lie to you.”
“I bet.”
“Look, are you okay or not?”
“I’m fine. So is Barry, I think, as if you care.”
“Good. Can you help me up?”
I was torn. As a former boyfriend and smuggler, he didn’t deserve my help, but as a client, I was obligated. The job always came before my personal feelings. Or at least I kept telling myself that. The “he was just another client” part.
“Are you sure you should move?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” he said.
I reached under his back and hoisted him up. “You could have a concussion. You have to try to keep moving and you can’t sleep for sixteen hours.” He gave me a questioning look. “Disaster training after 9/11,” I said. “You never know when a client might land on your lawn.”
He laughed and put his hand to his head, feeling the bandage. “Did you do this?” I nodded. “Thanks. We need to get out of here before he wakes up or the truck explodes.” Happily, the accident hadn’t frozen the doors. We both eased out onto the hard, dry dirt below. Roger winced when he straightened up. The gash on his head was leaking a little.
“Stand still,” I pressed another bandage on top of his wound. We looked at each other too long and I backed up, reaching into the truck for my Balenciaga. “Roger? I don’t mean to be impolite, but can you tell me why the fuck you had to attack him when he was driving us back to camp?”
“He wasn’t driving us to the camp. Akida heard Bunty tell Chip to drive out five miles and kill us.”
“No way. You saw how upset Bunty was about his mom. I mean, I know he’s a criminal, but he wouldn’t kill someone from the neighborhood. I mean, he didn’t let them put me in the shed, right? He was friends with my dad. It’s Bobby.”
“According to Akida, Bunty said ‘Leave her pretty for the casket, out of respect.’ The guy’s wanted for multiple murders; he’s second in command of a smuggling ring that goes from Jakarta to Belgium. If your friend died from a poison dart frog, whatever he said, I guarantee he had something to do with it. Honestly, Cyd, sorry about the wreck, but it was pretty much best-case scenario.”
“Did you know Bunty was the man I was looking for?”
“Can we talk about this on the run? We have maybe an hour’s lead before Bunty’s guys come after us. Of course, if they figure out you stiffed them on the chameleon, it might be sooner.”
“There’s no way I was leaving Barry there. And don’t even think about smuggling him.”
“Suddenly you’re an animal activist?”
“Compared to you, yes.”
“Well, you might want to reconsider the snakeskin skirts.”
“Screw you.”
We both stopped at the sound of a small creak. Chip had shifted. That wasn’t good. Roger reached into the cab to retrieve his gun, then hit the driver on the head again.
“That will buy us some time,” he said.
“What the hell? I guess chiropractors don’t really abide by the Hippocratic Oath. Oh, I forgot, you’re not a chiropractor.” I pulled my warthog encrusted carry-on out of the truckbed, put my purse over my shoulder, shook some fire ants off my shoes, and started for a stand of trees. I thought I saw Mount Kilimanjaro in the distance. Or maybe it was just a knoll. Whatever it was, I was headed for it.
“Where are you going?” Roger asked.
“Somewhere away from you.”
“You can’t go off by yourself. Bunty’s guys will be after you.”
“No, they’ll be after you. I have camouflage,” I said, indicating my outfit. “And besides, you’re different from them how?”
“What about your clients? What happens to them if you get eaten or caught?”
Chapter Thirty-one
Shit. In the middle of all the guns and car wrecks and maimed animals, I had forgotten the Giannis. I was furious at myself and furious at Roger for reminding me.
“Cyd, really, let me come with you.”
Honestly, I wasn’t that keen on being on my own after nightfall. I shrugged.
“We’re not too far from the camp, maybe a day’s hike.”
“Won’t they look for us there?”
“Well, they’re less likely to mow us down in front of a lot of pacifists.”
“Isn’t that the safest place to do it? What are the campers going to do, write a letter?”
“Can you call your Casanova of the skies?” Roger said.
I reached for my phone, which had charged about a fourth of the way. Of course, there was no signal. The image of the Giannis in a Victorian jail cell eating gruel—whatever that was—kept running through my mind.
“We might be able to get a signal on the way.” He looked around. “Of course, it would help if we had a map. Or a compass. Or water.”
“We have all those things. Who travels without a compass?”
I reached into the most hidden pocket of my Balenciaga and untied a small suede bag, then pulled out a 1929 Wilcox Crittenham compass, its needle still shiny, and found true North.
“Wow. Where did that come from?”
“It was my dad’s. Well, my Grandfather Guido’s and then my dad’s.” Roger held out his hand. I’d kept the compass under my pillow every night since I was four and I was loathe to let go. He gave me a questioning look.
“My dad gave it to me on my fourth birthday. I had eaten too much cake and gotten sick. He came and sat on my bed and told me I was destined to be a great explorer. As long as I had the compass, I would never be lost. A month later, he was dead.” I gave Roger the compass.
“Oh, Cyd. I’m sorry. Really. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I turned away to pull out my laminated map of Northern Tanzania and put it against what was left of the hood.
“Where are we?” Roger asked.
“Here, I think,” I pointed. “Ready to go?”
He looked askance at my carry-on. “Do you really need that?”
“Yes,” I said. “If you want the compass and the water, I do.” I started looking for bugs for Barry. I put some water in a leaf and held it out to him. I figured even reptiles needed to hydrate. Then I doused myself with Obsession—a girl should always try to be fresh.
Roger whipped his head around. “Do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Smell so good,” he said.
I ignored him and started toward the gum trees. “Carry-on,” I said over my shoulder. He sighed and picked it up. “Don’t sigh. It’s two pounds under the limit,” I said, as a branch hit me full in the face.
“Here, let me go first.” He moved in front.
“How chivalrous,” I said. “What a gentleman.”
We went in and out of wide swaths of plains and watched for lions in the grass between. Occasionally, Roger would turn back and look at me, but I managed to keep my mouth shut, unless he let a branch fly in my face, at which point I swore, loudly.
“Who’s Mr. Chu?” He didn’t answer. I had a pretty good idea, but I didn’t like it.
I heard several high-pitched yips that I hoped weren’t hyenas. Hyenas freaked me out. Finally, the sun began to slide toward the horizon. This seemed to be the universal “all clear” signal for bugs. We both started slapping our arms every four seconds. I saw a particularly obese mosquito on Roger’s back and smashed it. I might have hit it a little harder than I had to. I tried to figure out what day it was. It seemed like a week since I had climbed into the back of that truck and seen tortured animals and had two car wrecks and found out Mrs. Barsky’s son was the bad guy, but it was still Day Four. Five days left. I still wanted lions, but maybe not when we were on foot.
“Have you been taking your malaria pills?” I asked.
“Of course,” Roger said. “You heard what the doctor said would happen if we didn’t.”
Yeah, I had. I was hoping he’d been right and the last two days had just been one long hallucination. I should be so lucky. I had given Roger most of my pills and only had a few left. I bit one of them in two and took half, checking on Barry in the meantime.
“Rog, do you think he’s all right?”
“Who?”
“Barry.” I moved up a bit so we were side by side.
“I’m sure he endured worse in that suitcase.”
“Yeah. Well, I guess you would know all about that. I know it’s a bad economy, but how low does someone have to go to smuggle reptiles for a living? I guess that’s why you were in Atlantic City, right? That snake show?” He wouldn’t look at me. “Are you going to answer me? I arranged a free trip for you, not to mention the sex. I deserve an explanation,” I said, struggling to stay beside him. He sped up. So did I. “Really, why are you doing it? Is it just for the money?”
“Conservation through confiscation.”
“What?”
“If we don’t get these animals out of places like Madagascar, their habitats are going to disappear and they’re going to become extinct, anyway. If we can get the rare animals into the hands of people who’ll care for them and breed them, we can save them.”
“People like Bunty? Are you out of your mind? Did you see that torture lab? They make Michael Vick look like Gandhi. Besides, I thought that’s what zoos were for.”
I passed under a vine and stopped. In front of me was a clearing and a small water hole about a quarter of an acre wide. I grabbed Roger’s hand and stopped him. Three hippos lolled in one corner and a lone crocodile was submerged on the other side. His yellow eyes and horny head sat just inches above the filthy water. There were herons and gazelles there too, just out of the crocodile’s range, I hoped.
A few monkeys came down to the edge and sipped. I’d read that at the end of the dry season, natural enemies were forced together around these water holes for survival. I didn’t let go of Roger’s hand until we moved on. I felt a rock in my shoe and I leaned against a tree that smelled like an unsanitary spa resort.
“Cyd,” Roger said, his voice low the way it was when we first turned the lights off in Atlantic City. I stopped. A pang went through me for the fiftieth time that day, heartsick that I could have been so wrong about him. Was I ever going to make an intelligent decision about men? I put my shoe back on, but when I went to go forward, I couldn’t move my feet. The soles of my shoes wouldn’t seem to budge. Roger tried to take a step and almost fell backwards, stuck too.
“What the hell?” I said.
“Looks like bird lime.”
“Bird what?”
“Bird lime. It’s a special native glue. Poachers use it to catch birds. They usually use it on tree limbs. Well, we’ll just have to lose our shoes.”
“Another pair of shoes?” I whined.
“You need a special potion to dissolve it.” He bent over to take off his sandals and wham, we were jerked, shoes and all, up into a massive, thick woven net. Roger was thrown on top of me and we swung there from the wide branch above, like a bag of oranges.
Chapter Thirty-two
Great. We were stuck in net in the jungle at least ten miles from Phoenix Tours and not nearly far enough from Bunty’s compound.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” I said.
“Bunty? He doesn’t trap things himself. Most of the villagers around here work for him, though,” Roger said.
“Great. Could you move your leg a little?”
“I can try,” he said, squishing me more.
“Ow.”
“Do you have anything sharp?”
“Down there,” I said, looking wistfully down at my bag on the ground. I had broken the cardinal rule of the bag—never lose physical contact.
I asked Roger to grab my shoes, thinking I could work the heel through the fabric, but they were stuck to the net and the heel was on the wrong side. Finally, after he’d spent five minutes reaching through my legs to grab a heel, we gave up. Imagine playing Twister in a macramé plant holder.
“You’re a guy, don’t you have a Swiss Army knife?”
“Every guy doesn’t carry a knife.”
“Every guy I know does. Even I have a knife, it’s just in my purse.”
“We could try to swing toward the trunk and see if I can get a branch loose.”
“A branch? Really?” In the distance, a sawing sound started up, the same noise I’d heard at the compound. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“Nothing. But just in case, stay still and try not to look like food.”
“When have I ever looked like food?”
“You looked pretty edible the night we met.”
I made my best effort to knee him in the groin and only hit his thigh. “Stop it. Are you actually flirting with me, after all this? You are unbelievable. I can’t believe I slept with you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I mean it. What did you think was going to happen when I found out?”
“I guess I didn’t think you’d find out.”
“Right. You assumed I was an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot, Cyd. At all.”
“Yes, yes I am. I was totally wrong about you. Totally. I’m thirty-two. It’s humiliating. My uncle was right about me. I should spend the rest of my life as a geographically challenged spinster.” I was not going to cry, dammit.
Roger patted my leg, then took a breath. “Look, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone or reference it or accidentally mention it, ever?”
“That’s a pretty tall order, smuggler boy.”
“First, I had no idea you were going to stow away in that truck.”
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