Matthew watched her leave. In the corner of the bar, he caught some men watching them, something about the narrowing of their eyes suggesting they weren’t too pleased.
Achmed’s hand on his shoulder made him turn back, the touch strange and burning, breaking through the careful distance they’d kept for as long as Matthew had been there.
“Don’t look at them,” Achmed said. “Their envy is none of your concern.”
“Is that what it is?” Matthew asked. “Who are they?”
“None of your concern,” Achmed repeated, and took a sip of his drink.
“Who was she?”
Achmed looked at him. “You are very curious today.”
Matthew refused to take that as a threat. “I’m a journalist. It’s what I do.”
“This is what I do,” Achmed replied, and before Matthew could ask more, a young boy sat down in the vacated chair.
It was hard to estimate his age, but he was likely no more than fourteen. He talked quickly and nervously, gesturing with his hands and keeping half an eye on the door. The transaction was completed faster; only a minute later, Achmed produced the cash, peeled off some bills, and handed them over.
The boy left, equally nervous, and the men in the corner watched him go out before settling their attention on Achmed and Matthew again. It was unnerving, even more unnerving to sit with his back to them, and Matthew had to force himself to resist throwing glances over his shoulder every so often.
“Sit still,” Achmed said, voice steely with command. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
You’re getting on mine, Matthew thought, but refused to voice it. “Why are you doing this?” he asked instead.
“Curious again.” Achmed shook his head. “You are like, what do they say, a dog with a bone. Always looking, always sniffing for it.”
“Yes,” Matthew shot back, irritated at being kept in the dark.
Before the conversation could continue, another young woman stopped by. Matthew didn’t really bother to listen in on the transaction, since it was clear he couldn’t follow it anyway. She left a few minutes later with some cash, and Achmed rose, drinking the last from his can in one swallow.
Matthew hurriedly finished his own drink and followed him out, the heat hitting him like a ton of bricks as they stepped back into the sunshine. “Where are we going?”
Achmed shot him a brief look. “Stop asking questions.”
“It’s my job.”
“Bullshit.” Achmed rounded on him, and Matthew involuntarily took a step back and then cursed himself for it. “You are nosy.”
“Yes.” He stood his ground and resolutely ignored the fact this forced him to look up because Achmed was half a head taller. “I’m good at what I do.”
Achmed scrutinized him. “I could kill you, and no one would care.”
Matthew’s mouth went dry even though the threat wasn’t new. He refused to swallow, held perfectly still because Achmed was watching him intently. “You know people would care. It would bring a lot of trouble to your doorstep.”
Achmed was silent for a beat. Then he shrugged. “Maybe it would.” He took a step back. “Let’s go.”
Matthew tried to breathe out discreetly, tried to blame the soaking of his shirt on the afternoon heat, and knew that both of them were aware that it wasn’t the entire truth. He expected them to head back to the car, but instead Achmed walked into the street, without even checking that Matthew was following.
THEY walked for a good twenty minutes, the buildings around them changing from brick to wood, from firm structures to shacks, until they arrived at what could only be called slums. Shacks made of wood and sheets of corrugated plastic, stacked together in rough rows, surrounded by ditches filled with a few inches of stagnant, smelly water.
These were the images of Africa Matthew knew from cable news, the pictures that won photojournalists awards as they talked about poverty and debt relief and toured the charity circuit.
The reality was stark and noisy, the smell an overpowering mixture of sewage and cooking scents, the sound of voices and movement assaulting his ears. He could feel Achmed’s eyes on him, could feel the way he was being tested in the prickling of his skin, and refused to flinch or look away. He followed Achmed diligently and, when the first impression faded, began to spot the young children who peeked and then ran away, yelling at someone unseen, often with Achmed’s name caught in the mix of unintelligible words.
Older kids came up to him, and Achmed handed out money, coins and more of the bills, lower denominations this time. Achmed knew his way around, turning left here and right there, clearly going to a specific place. Finally, they stepped inside a hut.
The heat was as strong inside as outside, no brick walls to keep it from penetrating. It hit Matthew in the chest, momentarily seeming to constrict his breath, making him suck in a few mouthfuls of the stagnant air before he felt like there was oxygen coming into his system again. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he saw a young boy sitting on the floor, stringing beads together on thread with nimble fingers, creating a sparkling necklace at rapid speed.
Behind the boy, on a makeshift pallet of pillows and blankets, lay a woman, clearly ill, her skin pulled tight over her bones. He couldn’t tell if she was thirty or fifty.
Achmed spoke briefly to the boy before kneeling by the woman’s side and speaking to her. More money exchanged hands, and Achmed stood up. “Do you want to take her picture?”
Matthew was startled. “What?”
“Do you want to take her picture? Or is she not pretty enough for you?”
Matthew reached for his camera. “No, it’s okay, I—” He had no idea what to say. “Yes, I’ll take her picture, if she’s okay with it.”
“She said yes. You may take one of her son, too.”
Matthew turned on the camera, feeling it whir in his hands in protest, the heat making the batteries sluggish. He hoped it would survive this trip; for now, it did as he asked and charged up. As he worked, adjusting the settings and taking different shots, he could feel Achmed’s eyes on him, could feel the judgment being passed.
The boy had finished stringing the necklace and was tying it off when Matthew put his camera away again. Without missing a beat, the kid started on a new one, selecting different colors of beads and slipping them onto a new length of string. Achmed spoke briefly to him and the woman before heading back outside. Feeling completely surplus to requirements, Matthew said “Thank you” to the woman, waved at the boy, and followed Achmed out.
THEY walked back to the car in silence, the last of Achmed’s money disappearing into the hands of several people they met along the way. Matthew felt drained by the heat, and by the impressions and images that were burned into his mind’s eye. Achmed started the car and backed it out with only a cursory glance over his shoulder, and not even the squealing of tires and honking of horns could make Matthew do more than wince.
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of traffic and the yelling of voices, languages that he didn’t understand and couldn’t even separate into individual words, letting it wash over him.
When the bustle faded away and the road got bumpier, he opened his eyes.
“Back with me?” Achmed had one hand on the steering wheel and those infernal sunglasses back on his nose, a hint of a smile playing around his lips as he looked at Matthew, only sparing the occasional glance for the bare, dusty road.
“I never left,” Matthew said, feeling compelled to be contrary. Achmed made a disapproving sound, as if chiding a small child, and Matthew had had enough of being patronized. “I get that you think I’m a moron, really, you’ve made it clear, man. I get it. So if you want to test me, fine. Go ahead. You’ll win, and we both know it.”
Achmed’s only reply was a raise of an eyebrow, and Matthew really wanted to hit him.
“Oh, forget it. Fuck you.”
Achmed turned his attention back on the road,
keeping his eyes fixed on it as if the empty expanse before them required this studious scrutiny. Matthew stared at the unchanging landscape sliding by, the heat clinging cloyingly to his skin in spite of the air rushing past them, and hated this entire assignment.
“You wanted to know why I do it.”
Achmed’s voice broke the silence, his tone honest and open, and it made Matthew turn to look at him. Something he saw made him want to reach out and pull those sunglasses away, reveal the man he sensed was underneath, and he wrapped his fingers firmly around the edge of his seat to keep from doing exactly that, to keep from touching what he could not have.
Achmed looked at him. “That is why.”
“Those people?”
“Yes.” Achmed nodded. “Who else do you think takes care of them? The Westerners who come with their donations and their projects, they help some, and the government helps some, and the rest, the rest we have to help ourselves.”
Matthew shook his head, laughing all of a sudden. “Like a modern Robin Hood, you mean?”
“Who?”
Achmed’s confusion was genuine, and Matthew laughed again. “No one you would know. Steals from the rich to give to the poor.”
Achmed shrugged. “Then yes.”
“You don’t care that it’s wrong? That you hurt people? Kill them, even?”
The look Achmed gave him was clear even with the sunglasses obscuring his eyes. “The ships have money. They transport the oil that was pumped up here, the goods that our children made. Do we see the money they make? No. It’s our share.”
“And you’ll kill to have it.”
“Only if someone tries to stop me.”
Matthew stared at the blurred horizon. “Okay. I guess that makes sense in your world.”
“I thought you were trying to understand. That it is why you’re here.”
“It is.” Matthew sighed. “It is, Achmed, but… where I come from, we frown on killing people.”
“It’s a different world here.”
There was a trace of the old mockery in Achmed’s voice, and Matthew couldn’t help glancing at him, catching Achmed’s broad smile. He looked over his sunglasses to meet Matthew’s eyes, and Matthew had to laugh.
“Come with us tonight.”
It sobered him up. “I can’t.”
“Why not? I’m not asking you to shoot people.”
“And if you shoot someone while I’m there? Achmed, I can’t do it. I can’t be a witness to that and not try to stop it.”
“We’re on opposite sides.”
Matthew sighed. “Yes, in a way we are.”
“Then come as far as the boat. You don’t have to come on a raid, just come see how it’s done.”
He met Achmed’s eyes as he took off his sunglasses. “Why do you want me to come?”
“Because I want you to see.”
“See what?”
The car hit a bump and started to swerve, and Achmed cursed and hit the brakes, causing the car to slide sideways before coming to a stop across the middle of the road. Matthew unclenched his fingers from where he’d grabbed hold of the door and flexed them, trying to even out his breath. “See what?” he repeated.
Achmed looked away, staring out at the horizon. “We are not evil men.”
“I never said you were.”
“Matthew….”
“Yeah, okay.” He had been thinking it, in a way. “You want me to see you’re human.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t go on a raid with you. But I’ll come to the boat. Don’t suddenly change the plan on me, Achmed, or we’ve got a problem, you and me.”
Achmed grinned, restarting the engine. “I’m a man of my word. No raids while you’re on the boat.”
Matthew felt that cocky grin all the way down to his groin, and wondered how much trouble it would lead him into.
THE sky was almost completely dark when they arrived at the water’s edge, the same place where they had waited the night before, and the men peeled away the underbrush to untie the dinghy they’d left there. They all piled in, Achmed, Matthew, and the three others the pirate leader had brought, and set off.
As they rounded the beginning of the inlet and set out for open sea, Matthew became suddenly and uncomfortably aware that he was on his own, miles away from any help, with four pirates in a small boat. He shook the feeling off because he had to, because making himself sick over this served no purpose. He glanced sideways at Achmed and realized that he couldn’t really believe, in spite of all the threats, that Achmed was going to kill him.
Achmed glanced back as if he’d sensed Matthew’s gaze, but said nothing. The last vestiges of the setting sun caught him in profile, and Matthew swallowed hard against the urge to do something, to reach out and run fingers through Achmed’s hair or turn his face so Matthew could kiss him.
That would be a really, really stupid idea, sure to get him killed.
Near the horizon, the shadow of a ship became visible, and the man steering the outboard motor aimed for it, bringing them in close. It was a small vessel, probably once a fishing boat, floating steadily on the waves, anchor out. They came alongside it, and some words were exchanged with a man on the deck who was armed with an automatic rifle.
The pirates climbed on board the ship via netting hanging off the side, and when it was only Matthew and Achmed left, Achmed gestured for him to go first. Matthew swallowed his trepidation and took hold of the wet, slippery ropes, pulling himself up and trying to find a foothold, praying his hands wouldn’t slip.
Everything about this was a challenge, and he could feel Achmed’s eyes on him, weighing him again, weighing his worth, and hated him for it.
When he got close to the top, strong hands grabbed his arms and hauled him aboard, landing him face down on the steel deck. His face heated at this ungainly position, and he scrambled up, nearly thrown sideways by the rocking of the boat.
“So, this is it.”
He turned at Achmed’s voice. “What?”
“My boat.” Achmed gestured around. “She’s our main base at sea. From here, we raid the tankers and big ships in the shipping lanes.”
Matthew looked around. The men they’d come in with were already doing other things, disappearing below deck or talking to the guys who were apparently keeping watch. There were very few lights on, and he was squinting to see Achmed’s expression. “Can I take pictures?”
Achmed seemed to be taken by surprise by his question, and debated it for a while. “Later. When it’s dark. Maybe.”
It was unlike him not to make decisions straightaway, and it made Matthew wonder. “You can check them, if you like, delete any you think are dangerous.”
Achmed looked at him, long and hard. “I’ll think about it.”
The tension between them was suddenly sharp, and it made Matthew shiver in the cold sea air. Before he could think of something to break it, Achmed grinned and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Achmed’s fingers were digging into his skin, and Matthew could hear the unspoken command. He followed Achmed down to the hatch that led below deck. Achmed easily slid down the ladder and landed on the metal plating with firm feet; Matthew’s foot slipped on the second rung and he cursed as his full body weight became suspended from his shoulders. Hands landed on his waist, and he twisted away without thought.
Achmed’s voice was low and steady. “Just let go, you’re not that far from the deck.”
He was too aware of Achmed’s hands still on his body, the sudden closeness making him realize how much he’d craved that, and it was hard to unclench his fingers and drop into an unknown depth. He swallowed and let go, struggling against the panic that welled up when he felt his fingers slide off the metal bars.
A moment later, his feet made contact with the ground, and it was such a ridiculously short distance that his panic seemed stupid and childish. He stared at the peeling paint on the wall for a second, trying to get both his pa
nic and his libido under control before turning to face Achmed again.
Achmed was leaning back against a bulkhead, a hint of a smile playing around his lips, the mocking expression Matthew had become so familiar with.
“Yes, I know, I’m as green as they come.”
Achmed laughed curtly. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“Hmm. Somehow I doubt that.”
Achmed shrugged, then turned and headed down the corridor. Matthew scrambled to follow, cursing under his breath. His gait was unsteady because of the rocking motion of the waves while Achmed had adjusted without effort, walking in a straight line to where they needed to go.
Matthew caught sight of sleeping quarters, a galley, and stairs leading down to what looked and sounded like an engine room. At the end of the corridor there was a storage area, with tins of food stacked up next to boxes of ammunition. He swallowed.
There were voices calling out behind them, calling Achmed’s name, and the leader turned and headed back down the corridor to answer. Matthew charged up his camera without thinking too much about it, knowing these were the pictures that were both harmless to Achmed’s crew and worth a thousand words next to any story he could write about this.
He shot a few images, finding the right angles, then quickly switched the camera off and turned around.
He froze in place when he saw Achmed leaning against the doorway, a smile playing around his lips.
“I—” Matthew started, and then realized there was nothing he could say.
Achmed raised an eyebrow and stepped into the room, and Matthew pulled himself up to his full height. He slipped the camera off his shoulder and held it out. “Here, take it and get rid of the photos, if you want.”
Achmed still didn’t speak a word, and Matthew couldn’t help the fear that was making him shake and break out in a cold sweat, but he refused to cower.
“Achmed….”
Achmed took the camera from his hand and, to Matthew’s surprise, accessed the memory. He’d apparently been watching Matthew work and paid attention enough to be able to operate it himself. Achmed started to laugh and handed it back. “Food? You take pictures of food?”
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