by Jake Arnott
‘We’re going to sort out our business problems, that’s all.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better to inform the authorities?’
Harry laughed.
‘You’ve got to be joking.’
‘I could try pulling a few strings with the Consulate.’
‘It’s too late for that. Look Teddy. You’ve got to trust me. All right? Don’t you worry, we’ll sort this out. Then we can fuck off home.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘We’ve got to stick together. We’re on our own out here. Sorry I knocked you about.’
He patted the cheek he had slapped. I sighed.
‘That’s all right, Harry. You’re forgiven.’
And it was true. I bore him no malice. I just felt a sickening fear & a desperate longing to go home. Harry smiled at me.
‘Thanks Teddy.’
He pulled me to him & hugged me. As he slapped me on the back I felt something hard digging into my stomach.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘What?’
Harry pulled away from me, frowning.
‘That.’
I tapped gently at his stomach with dread. Harry grinned & opened his jacket to reveal the butt of a pistol lodged in the waistband of his trousers.
‘I told you, you can always find what you want down at the docks. I found something else, too.’
I closed my eyes & shook my head.
‘Oh, God,’ I muttered to myself.
‘Cheer up, Teddy. Come on. I’ve got something else to show you.’
He led me to another bar. It was full of uniformed sailors & young black boys. There seemed to be a few women as well but on closer inspection this proved not the case. On a small stage a drag act was miming to some torch song.
‘Come on.’ Harry cocked his head at me as I hesitated at the doorway. ‘The fleet’s in town. Let’s enjoy ourselves.’
Harry seemed to be indulging his own recklessness to the limit. Like my own predilection to gambling, I suppose. Faites vos jeux.I didn’t have much choice but to go along with it. For the time being, anyway.
Drank a good deal though I didn’t really feel the effect. My mind was racing too fast. We chatted with the sailors. Harry animated, laughing & joking with them. Making all sorts of suggestions. He persuaded a couple of them to come back to our hotel with us for a nightcap. We found our driver & went back to the Excelsior.
We went to my room & Harry produced a bottle of brandy. We had a few drinks together then Harry paired off with one of the sailor boys, gently leading him out of the room & along the corridor. I heard them giggling softly, like children.
The remaining jack sat on the bed looking languidly up at me, a cigarette drooping out of the corner of his mouth. I must confess, of all the services, I’ve always rather had a thing for sailors. Guardsmen are always greedy, asking for more money & threatening to turn nasty. But there’s an almost innocent generosity about sailors. Perhaps it’s just that the short bursts of shore leave mean that they’ve got plenty of money & vigour & very little time to spend either. There’s something wild & abandoned about them, maybe something about being away at sea for so long that frees them from dreary landlocked virtues. And the uniform. Especially the trousers. The way that they taper up from loose bell bottoms into the tight crotch with its exquisite buttoned fly flap. Undoing this quaint device, seemingly designed for the very purpose of slicklegging, produces such a frisson of pleasure in itself. I rubbed the boy off as he lay back on the bed and groaned listlessly. I couldn’t get a hard on myself. I was still too anxious & the booze hadn’t helped. So I just watched as he went into little spasms of delight from my ministrations.
Went into the bathroom & washed my hands. Splashed some cold water in my face & looked up into the mirror. Puffy features staring incredulously back at me. I dried them on the towel & went back into the bedroom. The sailor had rolled over on the bed & was already snoring in a deep slumber.
Sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, trying to think everything through. I could hear Harry and his boy in the next room. I fished out the piece of paper from my jacket pocket & picked up the telephone.
Saturday, 26 June
Woke up this morning & the sailor had gone. Dreadful hangover & the heat oppressive. Harry insisted that we wait so I had some tea & a copy of The International Herald Tribune brought to my room. Spent hours sitting on the bed sipping luke-warm tea & gazing at the paper. Not able to focus on anything for long. I was going out of my mind.
Finally Harry came into my room full of grim purpose.
‘Right,’ he ordered. ‘It’s the off. Let’s get going.’
‘Do I really have to come as well?’
‘Of course. We’ve got to stick together.’
We went downstairs & Harry waved to our driver. Obviously being kept on a retainer. Harry had planned everything with his usual precision. But I don’t think he noticed as we pulled away from the hotel that we were being followed.
We picked up Rico from a quayside then drove around the harbour crossing over to an island across a huge bridge.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, nervously checking behind to see that we were still being tailed.
‘We’ve found Ogungbe,’ Harry replied.
‘We make him give us our money,’ Rico added darkly.
‘Yeah,’ Harry growled & stroked the gun in his waistband.
‘Harry,’ I croaked. ‘I cannot abide violence. I’m just no good at that sort of thing.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll deal with that side of things.’
‘But there’s no need for me to come along. I’ll only be a liability.’
‘Oh no, Teddy. We need you. You see, me and Rico here, we’ll do the hard stuff. We need you to do the soft stuff. Quiet persuasion combined with a lot of menace. Never fails.’
I was suddenly overcome with a surge of nausea. I wound down the window & puked onto the dusty tarmac. The driver sucked his teeth audibly. Harry patted me on the back.
‘Yeah,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Better out than in.’
I turned my head to see that we were still being tailed by the car that followed us from the hotel. A hot wind flowed over the back of my head. I puked again. Only bile came up. I’d hardly eaten in the last twenty-four hours. My stomach groaned but I felt an odd sense of calm. Everything that was happening was now completely out of my control. All the danger that surrounded me was just some horrible gamble. Nothing was predictable. As I watched a line of nondescript office blocks file backwards in my field of vision I realised that this is how we travel. Looking backwards. Seeing what has just passed.
‘Teddy,’ Harry called to me. ‘Are you all right?’
I slumped back into the car seat & wiped my mouth with a handkerchief.
‘Yes. Just getting some air.’
We pulled up in front of a low-rise whitewashed concrete flatblock. Thought I recognised the design of the dwellings and wondered why. Then I realised that it was the same architecture on the plans for the residential part of the Enugu scheme.
Rico pointed out a flat.
‘Are you sure that’s the right number?’ asked Harry.
Rico nodded. Harry leant forward & gave some instructions to the driver. Then he sat back in his seat & all was still for a while. Harry closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. His face became very calm, he breathed deeply a couple of times. Then his heavy lids slitted open. His jaw clenched and his mouth tightened. His face had become a mask.
‘Let’s go!’ he hissed sharply.
All at once we moved quickly out of the motor car. Onto the street. We looked ridiculously conspicuous but Harry led us swiftly up to a doorway & banged heavily against it. Five seconds & then he banged again, harder. A few curious black faces gazed up from the street. Harry took a couple of steps backward & charged at the door, forcing it open with his shoulder. He rushed in & we followed. A half-dressed Ogungbe was trying to scramble out of a window at
the back of the flat. Harry grabbed him & dragged him across the room.
‘Not so fucking fast, Sambo!’ he shouted.
He was using his fists on him now & kicking him into a ball of submission on the floor in front of us. Harry grabbed a chair and planted it in the middle of the room. He pulled out a few lengths of rope from his pockets & handed them to Rico.
‘Tie him to the chair,’ he ordered.
Rico pulled Ogungbe off the floor, seated him & proceeded to bind him in place. Harry rubbed at his skinned knuckles thoughtfully. He nodded at Rico who started to slap Ogungbe’s face.
‘Hijo de puta! You fuck me with your fucking demurrage clause!’ he shouted.
Ogungbe’s head twisted from side to side, trying vainly to avoid the blows. Rico stopped & looked towards Harry who nodded slowly. Ogungbe’s screwed-up face loosened a little. Harry waited until he opened his eyes then he pulled out the gun, worked the action on it & then pointed it at the end of Ogungbe’s nose. His yellowy eyes widened and went cross eyed towards the barrel.
‘I say we kill this little bastard now,’ he said coldly.
‘No, please,’ Ogungbe begged.
‘Shut up!’ he snapped.
He drew the pistol down Ogungbe’s face. Forcing it against the lower lip he shoved it into his mouth. Ogungbe shut his eyes, his face trembling, sweat pouring down his brow. A muffled sound came from the back of his throat. Harry turned around & smiled at me. With his free hand he beckoned me over and nodded. Your turn.
I gently extricated the gun from Ogungbe’s mouth & rubbed his bruised face.
‘Now, now,’ I said. ‘There’s no need for all this, is there?’
Ogungbe started breathing heavily.
‘W-w-what do you want?’
Harry clouted him on the ear with the pistol. Ogungbe shrieked. He looked up at me plaintively.
‘Make them stop,’ he sobbed.
‘Now, be reasonable John. They’re very upset. And understandably so.’
Rico punched him in the stomach & he collapsed, groaning horribly, held up in the chair by his bonds. I somehow felt terribly calm amidst this violence. I had a part to play. I had to reason with him.
‘Now John,’ I continued softly. ‘You owe these gentlemen money. It’s only fair to expect that they want it back. Isn’t it?’
Ogungbe’s body started to shake. At first I thought that he was having some sort of a fit. He was panting like a dog. Then he lifted his head & we could see he was laughing.
‘What’s so fucking funny?’ Harry demanded, moving towards him.
I held him back. I smiled at Ogungbe & cleared my throat.
‘My friends here don’t quite get the joke, Ogungbe. Maybe you’d like to explain it all.’
‘Your friends thought that they could make plenty money out of stupid Africans. Think we’re dumb natives. My country is a land of negative miracles. So rich in resources that are stolen from us and then sold back at a profit. We’ve learnt well from our colonial masters, our imperial gangsters.’
‘Well, that’s a fine speech, Ogungbe. But it doesn’t really help. You see, we invested money in your scheme in good faith.’
‘You wanted a quick profit from crooked money.’
Harry raised the gun again, pointing it at Ogungbe’s temple.
‘That’s enough fannying around. Give us our cash back or I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
Ogungbe flinched. I cleared my throat.
‘I would suggest that you comply with my friend’s demands,’ I implored.
Suddenly there was the sound of people coming in through the broken front door. Everyone swung around. Three men in khaki fatigues rushed into the room with service revolvers drawn.
‘Hold still, everybody!’ the leading one shouted.
He waved his revolver at Harry.
‘You! Drop your weapon!’
Harry let the pistol fall to the ground.
‘Police?’ he asked.
‘Na so police. At all. We soza.’
Ogungbe laughed.
‘Behold our country’s glorious armed forces, gentlemen.’
The leader of the soldiers came forward and slapped Ogungbe hard.
‘Shut up! You not get mouth. No more palaver from you. You think you clever. Go to England college. Learn big big grammar. Well, I go England college too. Sandhurst. Learn big big grammar too. Maintain military discipline at all times. Implement counterinsurgency tactics. And so on. We learn order. This country is a mess. Tiefman taking over everywhere. Chopping big big bribe from everyone. People like you. Soon soza take over. Restore order.’
‘Thank you, lieutenant,’ a voice came from out of the room.
Dr Chukwurah entered. He looked around the room, nodding.
‘Well,’ he said, smiling. ‘Here we all are.’
He lit a cigarette & nodded over at me.
‘Thank you for leading us to Ogungbe. I don’t think we would have found him so quickly without you.’
Harry frowned at me.
‘You?’
I shrugged back.
‘So, we’ll take over from here. You’ll be escorted to the airport and put on the next flight home.’
‘What about our fucking money?’ Harry demanded.
Chukwurah took a sharp draw from his cigarette.
‘You have caused quite enough trouble in our country already. And broken many of its laws. I’m sure that you’ve seen enough of our penal system not to want to hang around and face the consequences. All the assets of Ogungbe’s little scheme will be confiscated by the proper authorities. Believe me, he’s tried to embezzle as much from the government grant I secured for him.’
Chukwurah walked up to Ogungbe, flicking ash at him.
‘You have a big eye, Ogungbe,’ he said. ‘And a long throat. But ambition and greed have got the better of you.’
He stubbed the cigarette out in Ogungbe’s face. There was an awful scream. Chukwurah turned his head. He glared at us.
‘Now, fuck off back to your own country,’ he said.
Sunday, 27 June
Lagos Airport, 3 a.m. Long wait for the next flight home. Harry v. sullen. Dreams of his little empire, his place in the sun, all gone. Me v. relieved to be finally getting out of this god-forsaken place.
Yesterday, as we were being escorted back to our hotel to pick up our belongings, Rico was dropped off at the dockside. We looked out at the ships for the last time. Rico pointed out one that was listing badly in the water. He became agitated, cursing loudly in Spanish. They had been moored there for so long that moisture had got into the cement, solidifying it, adding more & more weight to the cargo. The ships were starting to sink.
3
Jack the Hat
Open the soap duckets. The chimney sweeps. Talk to the sword.
Shut up; you got a big mouth. Please help me up.
Henry . . . Max . . . come over. French-Canadian bean soup.
I want to pay, Larry. Let them leave me alone.
Dutch Schultz’s last words
Soho Square. Park the cream and blue Mark II Zodiac and walk around to The Flamingo on Wardour Street. Mod club. Spade music blaring out below the pavement. R&B. Soul, they call it. Tip some hat brim at the doorman and slip him a note with a sly grin. In. Downstairs. Check the bag in the inside suit pocket. Pills. All kinds. Purple hearts, french blues, nigger minstrels, black bombers. Enough to keep all those mod boys and girls dancing all night to that spade music. Uppers, leapers, they call them. And sure enough there they all are leaping around on the dancefloor. Doing The Monkey or The Hitchhiker or whatever. But this mod thing is changing. Hair getting longer, clothes getting more lairy. Still a demand for the pills, though. That’s the important thing. Keep some of the black bombers for myself. Keep me going. Keep me together.
New record starts. Needle scratch static. Engine noise. Rat-tat-tat gunfire. Car tyres squealing. Crash. A lairy spade voice mouths off. AL CAPONE’S GUNS DON’T ARGUE. Then this funny
old beat starts jumping along with horns wailing over the top like sirens. All the mod boys and girls jerk about like spastic. Cagney moves. Shoulders shrugging, fingers pointing two-gun style. This ain’t soul. This is something else. Funny rhythm, moving on an up beat like. The kids kind of stomp around to it. What the fuck is this? What have the spades gone and come up with now? No singing, just this Jamaican coon going chicka, chicka, chicka. And fannying on like he reckons he’s a bit tasty. DON’T CALL ME SCARFACE. MY NAME IS CAPONE. C.A.P.O.N.E. CAPONE. Silly cunt. But it’s catchy. Chicka, chicka, chicka, chicka a boom a chicka. Picks up on that black bomber buzz I’ve got inside. I do a little waddle myself as I cross over to the bar. A bird on the dancefloor checks the hat and grins. I dance around her a bit and give her the old leer.
Get to the bar and order a bacardi and Coke. Lean back and take it all in, pushing the hat back from my brow. Slow number now and suddenly all the young things find a partner and sway about a bit, the blokes grabbing at these tarts’ arses as they stagger about the floor. Slow, mournful church-organ chords as a spade sings when a man loves a woman, she can do no wrong. Now this is soul. It’s like some sort of hymn except this blackie’s talking about love and all the trouble it brings. And I kind of well up. As if I’ve got anything to feel sentimental about. Maybe it’s guilt thinking about what a bastard I’ve been with birds. Madge. That horrible accident in the motor. Shudder and remind myself it was an accident. Christ’s sake, Jack, pull it together. Maybe it’s just the booze. And the black bombers.
‘All right Jack?’
It’s Beardsley come over and I give him the nod. He’s wearing some crap light-blue seersucker. Cut far too tight on him. Kind of eye-tie look. He’s still into the mod thing. If anything his hair’s shorter than usual. I’m wearing my check serge number. I cut enough of a dash with this crowd, I reckon. Could teach them a thing about dancing too. I wander over to the gents for the drop and expect him to follow in a decent enough interval.
Run some cold water in the basin and take off the hat to splash some in my face. It’s steaming hot in this dive or is it just me? Check the mirror. Count the wisps of hair on top. Bald. No two ways about it. Bald. Old Jack is bald as a coot. Fucking joke. All these kids growing their hair long just as I’m losing mine. Diabolical. Put the hat back on. Get the angle right. Become the Hat. Jack the Hat.