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Street dogs of Banki Kalgasa
First, scattered gunshot across fat leaves. Then what sounded like an old shop shutter closing, being pulled down endlessly into an abyss; or a vast empyreal paper being crumpled, an unacceptable page, not badly written, but without any chance of passing the censors. Tossed into an incinerator. The deep inferno.
Or was it more than that? Not just a page, but a whole manuscript? A history, my history, the foundation of my inner self, my own personal Library of Alexandria going up in flames?
The dogs whimpered away from the ripples of wet. Beneath the leafy Tectona grandis, with a dead body serving as bolster pillow, I stayed remarkably dry. As did the Umbrella Man, expectedly. A man untouched by bullets, blades, water. He was standing a few feet away, more exposed to the rain, but his pixie assistant held the white umbrella firm, sacrificing her blue-gowned derrière to the steady lick of the deluge.
“First thing you do,” he said, handing me my hat, “is search him. Everywhere. Ears, mouth, teeth. There’ll be stash in that hand blade. Snow in the shoes. Phone somewhere. You getting this, Sax?”
One of the black-suited, now wet-suited bodyguards had demanded my cell phone. Seeing my stupefied state, however, he extracted the phone himself from my pocket. Scratched its chin. “No password, mister? Need a password on these things.”
He stood now, Sax, soggy hatted, his gun (what my wife would identify as a Mac-10 automatic) tucked beneath an upper arm. With his free hands he held the two phones — mine and his — gently lifting them up like infant twins at a zoo, letting them have a good look at my disgrace. “Yehuh, that’s a kill,” said Sax.
“Give him a duffel bag,” said the Umbrella Man, and Wet-Capped Custodian Number Two, whose name I’d learn was Goldy, tossed me a white plastic tote with a glossy orange image of a palm tree and a setting sun.
“Well? Let me help,” and the Umbrella Man knelt down, female sylph holding his halo. A deft removal of the boy’s shirt. Mini-packets of cocaine pinned to the inside. Then shorts (phone in pocket), shoes, necklace. Cash stuffed in hidden hollows, more powder. “Flying, no doubt. Like Icarus.”
He pulled out a pocket blade, flicked the gold earring from the boys left lobe. Then, with a sudden, unseemly exertion, he jimmied out two teeth and took the handkerchief which Goldy had proffered to wipe the blood from his fingers. He placed each item, including the carnassial hand-weapon, into the duffel bag, then held it open for Sax and his cellphones to gape at. “Under sixteen. Twenty-eight dollars cash. Couple grams white. Few cigs. Lumia 610 phone. Pair of wrist-gnashers. Nike Flynits, good condition. Gold earring, fillings, fake gold chain. Quartz watch — look at this, another gram in the casing.”
A moment later, Sax switched off my phone, plunked it into the bag. The Umbrella Man zipped it up, gave me a meaningful nod, pushed the bundle into my lap.
“Hold it tight, now. Nobody in Banki likes paying for things.” He stood up, the little umbrella imp stretching skyward like a ballet dancer. “What’s his name, Sax?”
“Pupkin.”
“What?”
“You know. The film.”
“Oh right. I know the one. That’s good. That’s perfect. Always so perfect, Sax. Password?”
“Puppydog99.”
“You got that, Pupkin? Don’t forget it, okay? Puppydog99. And don’t bother with the body. Dave’s been texted. Gravy-Davy. And if he don’t show, there’s always dogs. Dogs, rats, birds, bugs. Efficient.”
The rain gave up, or rather darted aside like a startled bird, and the tree-tops were already crowned with a nimbus of amber light. I could see the Umbrella Man walking away, his little handmaid beside him, his dry white slacks between the dark shapes of his phocine followers. Behind the muddy squelch of their shoes, a dread swept in, cold like the cold air after an even colder bath.
“I’ll pay you,” I called out. “I’ll pay you to protect me. I need to find my — ”
He turned. “What do you need find, Pupkin?”
“My car,” I said. “It’s just up the hill. Somewhere.”
“Okay, Pupkin,” he said. “We’ll get you safely to your car.”
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