“Yeah, I just got her up,” Ketchup says. He backs out of the way so Mr. Omoko can approach me.
“I can see that,” he says, frowning.
Where is Bug Eye? I wonder. Mr. Omoko wouldn’t bring Ketchup and leave him behind.
The Goonda boss sits down in the chair across from me. “Wait for us outside, Mr. Ketchup.”
Ketchup glowers at his back. Mr. Omoko has somehow managed to make his name sound even more ridiculous than it already is. But Ketchup retreats silently.
Mr. Omoko pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and uses it to wipe my face. I don’t have much choice but to let him. After he puts it away, he says, “You skipped town. We were worried.”
Nothing about his composure looks worried.
The cold water has soaked my shirt, and I start to shiver. “I didn’t think Bug Eye would allow me to go. So I didn’t ask.”
“No. He wouldn’t. That’s because I wouldn’t have.” Mr. Omoko tilts his head quizzically. “What are you doing here, girl? Why leave, when you were so close to getting everything you wanted? I thought we had a plan. Dirt, money, blood.”
“I was going to be back by the time the data was decrypted and we were ready to go for the bank accounts,” I say, growing more and more tense under Mr. Omoko’s unwavering gaze. I’m starting to see something glittering in his eyes like the edge of a knife.
“Oh, but that wasn’t the deal, was it? Your instructions were to leave the Greyhills’ home as soon as you knew you had the data.”
I shift in my seat. Where is Michael? And Boyboy? Surely they’re looking for me by now.
“I don’t like being left in the dark, Tiny Girl,” Omoko says. And suddenly he’s right up in my face, so close that I have no choice but to turn to the side. For a second I feel the frantic need to get away, as if he’s about to bite me. But he just asks, “Why are you here? Don’t you know this place is dangerous?”
“I . . .”
He leans back and I let out a shaky breath. “Thankfully, you were not hard to track down,” he says.
“Look, Mr. Omoko, the data we took from Mr. Greyhill—”
Omoko interrupts me. “I have it. Or, I have your friend’s computer, anyway. I can take it from here. He’s not the only person in town who can hack bank accounts.” He studies his fingernails, a fat gold ring on his hand glinting in the low light. “But maybe I won’t even have to go to the trouble.”
“You have Boyboy’s computer?” I wait, feeling cold sweat prickle under my hair. “I don’t understand. Is Boyboy here? Is Michael?”
Mr. Omoko smiles indulgently. “You’re not one for playing by the rules, Tina, are you? Most of the time I like that about you. I ask for Greyhill’s treasures, and that’s what you bring me. Just not exactly how I’d expected.”
“What do you mean? The accounts—”
“Michael.”
Blood thrums in my ears. “What about Michael?” I ask slowly.
“With him, there’s no need to do all that work.”
I swallow, look around, as if I could see through the canvas. “Michael and Boyboy are both here?”
“Yes, exactly. The priest was supposed to round you all up together, but apparently he missed you. You do like to run off.”
“You drugged us,” I say.
“No, not me. I have people who do that sort of thing for me—that’s the benefit of being the boss. The priest helped me. When he told me you were in Kasisi I almost didn’t believe him. My Tiny Girl? In Congo? He was supposed to make sure you all stayed put until I got here. It took him a few tries, but he managed at last. He was lucky that whore called him up and told him where you were.”
“You paid Father Fidele?”
“We have an arrangement. I give his hospital a little breathing room from the militias; he keeps me informed. I’m sure he’s very conflicted about the whole thing, but that’s between him and God.” Omoko rubs his chin. “So. Plans. They’re a little off, but salvageable. I’m thinking you’ll have to forget the whole dirt part. That was never the highlight, anyway. No one cares about those sorts of news stories; they’ve heard it all before. One more white colonial type profiting off Africa. It’ll be back-page fodder at best. Let’s go straight to money, shall we? With a twist.”
His eyes gleam. “Instead of anonymously draining Greyhill’s bank accounts, we should have a little fun. Everything gets trickier, I admit, if we add kidnapping to the plan. But since it’s already done . . .” He shrugs, like, what can you do?
“And I have to admit, I’m going to enjoy watching Roland Greyhill beg when he learns that I have his son. And it’s going to be even better to see the look on his face as he transfers a rather significant sum to my accounts to get him back.” Mr. Omoko can’t keep from grinning. “It’ll be almost as fun as step three.”
I swallow. “Mr. Omoko, we don’t have to . . .”