Aftershocks

by Mark Parragh

  In the meantime, there was something else he could do here to help himself. The store clerk would know what Crane and his friend were looking for. He might even know where to find it. Einar knelt down again and pulled the crude knife from the would-be mugger’s side. He wiped it on the dead man’s filthy shirt, then concealed it against his leg as he strode out of the alley and crossed the street.

  The clerk’s second conversation would have to be a lot less friendly than the first.

  Chapter 44

  Club Paradis was at the edge of the Emombo district, on a street being gradually turned into a commercial and entertainment strip by foreign investment. The club was on the ground floor of its two-story building. The second floor held a double row of hotel rooms, though Yanis knew they were used more for prostitution than by travelers. Yanis sat in the owner’s office at the rear of the building with his feet up on the owner’s desk. The owner himself cowered in a corner, trying not to move or make a sound that might bring Yanis’s attention back to him. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose. There had been a disagreement about the cost to rent the club for a private function, but it had been settled quickly enough.

  “Party’s tonight, man,” Yanis said. “You going to have plenty of 33 on hand?” 33 Export was a popular local beer.

  “Yes, yes,” the owner said. “It’ll be here. The truck comes this morning.”

  “I’m counting on you, you hear? This is a special night. Everything needs to be right.”

  “It will be!”

  “You don’t want to embarrass me tonight.”

  “No. No. Club Paradis is the top. Best in Yaoundé. You’ll be happy.”

  Yanis didn’t actually care. True, the party was meant to show the locals that all was well with his crew despite the murders, and they’d built a reputation for doing everything first class. But their public image was easy enough to repair. They could knock a few heads around any time to remind people to take the Ibiza Boys seriously. The important thing tonight was to take down Romy Akema before she did any more damage.

  To make sure of that, he’d effectively taken over the club. It would be his boys on the door and patrolling the floor. They would control movement in and out of the club and the upstairs rooms. Once she came into the club, she wouldn’t leave again. And he’d done his best to make sure she’d come. It was just the kind of setup she liked. Drinks flowing and music. Dim light and a crowd to hide in. The smell of sex in the air to get her victim thinking with his dick. For the last two days they’d papered the city with flyers and put out the word. Come party with the Ibiza Boys at Club Paradis. If she were smart, she’d know it was a trap. But she had no way of knowing they’d made her. And if she was smart, she’d have stayed far away from him and his boys in the first place. No, something was driving her. The need for revenge had soaked deep into her soul and wouldn’t let her go. She’d come. She’d come to him tonight, and she’d die.

  “Wait here,” he told the manager as he stood up. “Deliveries show up, you take them. Any of your staff show up, you keep them here. It’s a normal day, you understand?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I’ve got to get ready. I can’t be watching you all day. Anything happens…” He threw a slap in the man’s direction, and he flinched.

  “It won’t! I won’t…please don’t hurt me. I’ll do what you want.”

  Yes, Yanis told himself as he walked out to the front of the house, restoring his reputation would be no problem at all, despite his father’s fears. Just kill the girl, and everything would be back to normal in no time.

  His crew had taken over the main floor. They’d found the bar, and Manu was playing at bartender while the others laughed and drank.

  “Cut that shit out!” he barked. Faces turned in sudden surprise.

  “Manu, get out from there. What the hell are you all doing? Over here, over here!”

  He gathered them on the open dance floor. The place looked grim and dreary by daylight, he thought. His crew gathered there didn’t look much better. Nzo had actually brought his drink over with him, the idiot. Yanis smacked it out of his hand.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Sorry, Yanis.”

  “I don’t need you all drunk off your asses by tonight. This isn’t a party! We’re here to kill someone. Act like it.”

  He looked over their sheepish faces. They were idiots, most of them. But they were hard. Growing up in Yaoundé’s slums or the desperately poor back country of Cameroon had ground out any softness in them. They were something he could mold into a weapon for his own uses. A blunt weapon, to be sure, but a deadly one.

  “Manu, Christian, you’ll be on the door. They’ve got walkies for the bouncers. Use them. Bili, I want you on the back stairs. Nobody goes up or down.”

  He pointed over to the main stairway up to the second floor. There was a narrow balcony that overlooked the dance floor and stage, and beyond that the hallway to the six bedrooms.

  “I’ll be up there. Henri and Coco, you’re with me.”

  They nodded. “Right, boss,” said Coco.

  “Up there, it happens in Room Three. She goes for someone, you tell her you’ve got a room upstairs. You take her there. Martin and Diboue, you’ll be in Room Two for backup. Other rooms stay locked tight, you got that? I don’t want some stranger taking a piece of tail up there and getting in our way.”

  “So how do we know this girl, boss?” Christian asked. “Gonna be a lot of girls. And what do we do when she show herself?”

  “We’ll have a spotter,” said Yanis. “Up on the balcony, so he can get a good look down here. The rest of you, be on the floor. Move around, show yourself. It’s a party and you’re having a good old time. But keep your eyes open, hear me? Some girl moves fast on you, go with it. If she’s good to go, bring her upstairs. If it’s not her, we’ll wave you off and send you back down.”

  There was a bit of groaning at that. He picked one of them at random and snarled, “Get her fucking number, Simon! You can call her up tomorrow night! When this is done you can get laid until your balls shrivel up. Tonight, you be on point, or maybe you end up a pile of wet meat like Sammy and Michel. You hearing me?”

  The boys nodded and murmured, cowed for now.

  “If it’s her, you take her into Room Three.” He gestured toward Henri and Coco. “We’ll be right behind you, and Martin and Diboue will come through from next door. That’s six of us. That should be enough to take one little girl.”

  He heard the front doors open and Maurice called out.

  “Back here, Maurice,” Yanis called, and a moment later Maurice appeared, strong-arming the girl’s friend alongside, the one who recognized her at Sam’s wake. Yanis thought until the name came to him. Daniel Massila. “Daniel!” he said, with a warm smile that wasn’t meant to convince.

  “What do you want from me? I told you all I know already!”

  Yanis patted his back and put an arm around him. “I know, I know. Thank you. Don’t worry, Daniel, it’s going to be all right. You’re going to a party. There’ll be dancing and drinks. And you’re going to see an old friend.”

  Crane edged the Toyota through the streets as the late afternoon sun glared through the windshield. Georges was on his phone in the passenger seat. Their networking had paid off. Whoever had called had obviously seen Romy.

  “Right. I’ve got it, thank you,” Georges said. He kept asking questions, punctuated with an occasional nod or “uh huh.” Then he was quiet for some time, listening. Crane glanced over and saw from his expression that something was wrong.

  “Oh no,” Georges said quietly. “When? No, thank you for telling me.”

  When he hung up, Georges said nothing for a moment.

  “I’ll take the good news first,” said Crane.

  Georges let out a breath and put his phone back in his pocket.

  “That was Alice Nydo, from her old singing club. I’d forgotten about her. She wasn’t on my list. But she h
eard from someone who heard from Odila. Romy stayed at her place last night. She left just a few hours ago. We just missed her.”

  “Did she know where your sister was going?”

  “Maybe,” said Georges. “She left behind a flyer. Kamkuma’s throwing a big party tonight. Someplace called Club Paradis over in Emombo. DJ, open bar, all of it. All are welcome. Come celebrate with the Ibiza Boys. It’s a trap.”

  “Of course, it is,” said Crane. “Will she fall for it?”

  Georges thought. “I don’t know. She’s very stubborn once she sets her mind to something. If she thinks they still don’t know who she is…”

  “Either way, that’s where we’re going,” said Crane. “If she doesn’t show up, then she’s safe. If she does, we’ll be there. Now what else?”

  “Antoine? The clerk we spoke to? He’s dead.”

  “How?”

  “Alice didn’t know much. Just what the gossip network told her. The police say it was a robbery. They found the killer dead in an alley across the street. It must have happened right after we left.”

  That was too much coincidence for Crane. Apparently for Georges as well.

  “It was them, wasn’t it? Kamkuma’s thugs.”

  “Probably,” said Crane. “They had the same idea we had. Beat the bushes, work through her friends, find out who’s seen her. We need to wrap this up.”

  Georges looked up the address of Club Paradis and punched it into the car’s GPS. Crane followed the instructions as the sun began to set over Yaoundé. He’d begun this intending to just find Romy and get her out of Cameroon. But the stakes were rising now. It was looking more and more like it was going to end up being more than that, that the only way to protect innocent lives was to take down Yanis Kamkuma.

  The most likely explanation for the store clerk’s death was that Kamkuma had had him tortured to reveal what he knew about Romy Akema, then killed to keep him quiet. But he’d apparently done a fine job of throwing the police off his trail, complete with another dead body to serve as the patsy.

  Yes, Crane thought, he was definitely going to have to take this fight to Kamkuma before it was done. And it sounded like Yanis might be more formidable than he’d thought.

  Chapter 45

  The flyers blanketing the city had done their job. The street was packed with cars, bikes, the youth of Yaoundé in their cruising finery. Taxis honked and young men shouted at the girls walking in small clusters. Romy moved through it all with quiet efficiency. She watched the crowd for threats and scanned the alleys and surrounding buildings, identifying the escape routes she’d mapped out earlier on her phone.

  Romy was dressed to fit the party in a bright yellow cocktail dress, a purse hanging from her shoulder by a chain. The purse held nothing but a chunk of flagstone she’d picked up on the way here. It was just a part of her costume and a backup weapon she could drop if necessary. Her clothes, makeup, all the things she didn’t need right now were in her traveling bag, stashed in a utility shed near Alice Nydo’s house. The things that really mattered she wore close to her body. She carried the phone in a stretchy fabric underarm pouch beneath her dress. Her primary tools—the syringe and her two small, sharp blades—were strapped to her thigh, easily reachable under the dress’s short hemline.

  The party was already in full swing as she approached Club Paradis. House music spilled from the neon-lit entry. A few people were dancing in the street. A couple big men in suits manned the doors. Romy stopped short as she recognized them. They were Kamkuma’s boys. They’d taken the place over. This was indeed the trap she’d assumed. They were hoping to draw her in. She scanned the street but didn’t see any more members of the gang. The bouncers were the outer line of defense.

  For a moment she wondered whether she should just keep walking and never look back. This was crazy of her. Surely, she was insane. But no, the wound in her was still there, gaping and painful. If anything, coming home had made it worse. Reconnecting with old friends showed her the outlines of the life she should have had. These men tore that life from her with their stupid greed and brutality. Nothing had been right since that day. She wanted her life back, or at least a new one free from the fear and rage that burned everything she tried to build. She couldn’t live at peace in a world that included them. They had to die. Even if it made her a killer, someone she barely recognized in the mirror. The person she’d been was long gone anyway. If the new Romy was vengeful and deadly, with blood on her hands, it was because they’d made her that way.

  “Hey,” she called out to the men guarding the door. “There a cover tonight? This a private party?”

  They looked up and she felt their eyes sweep her.

  “Nah, darling,” one of them said. “Open house tonight. Compliments of the Ibiza Boys.”

  “Come in and party with us, pretty girl!” the other one called.

  She studied their faces for tension, a trace of recognition, but saw none. They knew someone was hunting them, and they’d set a trap. She knew it would get harder with each one as they learned her methods. She would have to adapt. But they didn’t know who she was. Not yet, at least. This could still work.

  Romy smiled and walked between them into the club.

  Inside, she moved through the press of people, scanning faces. The music was loud, and she felt the thick bass beat in her bones. It was a fast beat, urging her on. She spotted more of Kamkuma’s boys scattered around the place. She looked for the exits and memorized the routes. Main stairway to the rooms upstairs. Doors to restrooms, the kitchen, the service stairway. She closed her eyes and visualized the ways out if something went wrong. Then she edged around the crowded dance floor and headed for the bar. She’d play it cool for a while, get the vibe of the place, see if any of them approached her. If not, she’d decide who looked like the easiest target and move in herself.

  She found a spot at the bar and ordered a drink. The DJ faded into a new track. Someone tried to chat her up, but she quickly shot him down. He was cute, but he wasn’t what she’d come here for. The gangers were on alert, she realized as she studied the place. They were positioned in zones around the floor, acting friendly, but watching.

  A crack of doubt appeared in her confidence. Would she be able to peel one of them off and get him away? This wasn’t a real party like the last one. They were on the job. If she tried to approach one, she’d have to overcome suspicion. Even if she did, she’d have to get him away from the others, and they’d be watching.

  Perhaps seduction had outlived its usefulness. Perhaps the time had come for direct attack.

  Then her heart leapt as she spotted another familiar face on the balcony. Daniel Massila. Their eyes met and she saw him flinch as they recognized each other.

  Shit!

  That was Kamkuma beside him, a tight grip on Daniel’s arm. They’d made her, she realized with a terrible certainty. They knew exactly who they were looking for.

  Romy slid off the bar stool and started toward the front. She cut into the dance floor, threading between the bodies. Adrenaline rushed through her system until her heart beat faster than the music. Then she saw one of the gang angling toward her, one hand inside his jacket. She turned and moved away, but there was another. This one had an earpiece. Kamkuma would be directing them from the balcony.

  Keep your cool. Stay ahead of them.

  She turned and headed back the way she’d come. At the back end of the bar was the fire door to the service stairs. That would get her off the floor at least. Upstairs, she could look for another way out of the building. There should be a fire escape at the rear. If she could make the roof, the buildings on either side were the same height as this one.

  She pulled the fire door open and slid through into pale light and gray cement walls. She started for the stairs, but then a shape hurtled in from the side and slammed into her. A powerful arm pinned her right arm against her chest, and she felt hot breath on her neck.

  “Come on,” his voice grunted in her ear. “Y
ou coming with me.” He was strong, the arm like a vise around her chest. He dragged her up the steps as she struggled in vain to break his grip. The purse slid from her shoulder and fell with a heavy thump on the stairs. She stomped back against his calf, but the blow slid ineffectually off his leg.

  She fought back the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Her left hand reached beneath the hem of her dress, and she felt for the syringe strapped there. She was pulled two more steps up. Off balance, her fingers slipped off the hard plastic. Finally, she managed to pull the syringe free. She caught the edge of the cap on the strap and popped it off. Then she thrust back hard and jammed the long needle deep into his groin.

  He shouted out in pain and she felt the grip on her chest loosen.

  “You bitch!” he shouted and shoved her against the wall. Then he punched her in the face. The shock was like nothing she’d ever known. He threw another punch and her head slammed back against the cement wall. Her vision blurred, and she grabbed at the gritty metal railing to keep from falling.

  He was drawing back to hit her again when he stopped. His eyes lost focus, and he sank in a heap on the stairs. Romy shook off the fog in her head and knelt beside him. She ran her hands over his body and felt the hard outline of a pistol in his pocket. She pulled it out. It was a cheap revolver. She took it and looked up the stairs. He’d been taking her upstairs, not back out to the floor. That was where they meant to kill her. She had to change the situation, break the trap.

  She kicked off her shoes and ran down. As she opened the fire door, the muffled pulse of the music exploded into the stairwell. One of Kamkuma’s boys was there, just about to open the door himself. He looked at her in surprise, and Romy shot him point blank in the heart. He collapsed and didn’t move.

  She kept firing up over the heads of the dancers until the pistol clicked dry. Panic swept through the club like fire through dry brush. She heard screams through the pulsing music. She glimpsed people running, falling over each other. Then the fire door swung closed, and Romy turned and dashed up the stairs. At the top, she dropped the empty pistol and yanked one of the blades from the strap around her thigh. Then she pushed through the door.