Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 Page 12

  “Tomorrow you get back to those birds and get something moving.”

  “That may easier said than done.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They are suspicious of the police, for one thing. And there are other considerations.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I pay you to use those special skills I was told you possess to make this happen. You are here to help me.”

  “Yes, well, not entirely.” Painter jerked his head around to look at Greshenko and nearly clipped a battered pickup. “I am here because you contracted for my services. My other connections—”

  “You mean the Mafia.”

  “We do not use that term. That is what you call Italian gangsters. No, they permitted this trip away from Chicago so that I could take the pulse of the country, so to speak. They did not know about Botlhokwa, however. ”

  “But you do. Yes, I see. You mean you’re on a scouting mission for them to introduce the rackets.”

  “For them, for me, who can say how all this will play out. We do not do ‘rackets,’ by the way, Mr. Painter. We have other, more profitable interests.”

  “Like what?”

  Greshenko did not respond right away. “It would be better if you did not know. If that DIS agent were to query you, you will be ignorant. One of your presidents referred to it as deniability, you see?”

  Leo didn’t see. He’d brushed Greshenko aside after the meeting and insisted on driving the LADA back to the Safari Game lodge himself. That put him mostly on the wrong side of the road and driving at an unacceptably high speed given the circumstances. If he even saw the goats, he apparently had no intention of slowing down or even sounding his horn.

  Had he done the latter, the goats might have scattered and the Mma Santos would not have felt it necessary to solicit a moloi’s curse.

  CHAPTER 26

  After dismissing Greshenko with the caveat he might need him later and asking that he investigate one or two of the smaller properties on the river, he returned to his room. The phone blinked at him as he stepped in. A message. Sheridan Baker had called and reported everything Leo requested had been done as asked. The paperwork was in the mail and should be in Chicago today. Faxed copies had been sent to the lodge. Leo called the desk.

  “There should be some faxes for me. Would you please have them delivered to my room?”

  “Certainly. And sir, you had a long-distance call from San Francisco while you were out. The caller left a message.”

  “Send that along as well.”

  Fifteen minutes later the several papers were in his hands. He read through them to assure that the contents were correct on the one hand and useful on the other. The call from San Francisco had been placed by Cavanaugh. Thank you. You’re welcome. More than you will ever know, At least I hope so. That bit of his program done. Leo settled into a chair and smiled. This could turn into a good day, after all. Now he needed a sit-down with Travis, but first, he needed Bobby Griswold’s signatures on the transmittal forms. He called the latter’s room. Not surprisingly, Brenda reported him as unavailable.

  “You mean he’s drunk or close to it, I assume. Throw him in the shower and then tell him to get his lazy butt down here on the double.”

  He hung up and sat at the small desk. He arranged the papers he needed Bobby to sign on its surface and placed the others face-down next to them. He fixed himself a martini and settled in to wait for the boy. He liked the gin and wondered why the same label bought in the States didn’t taste the same. This had more flavor, more body, if that could be said about gin. He did not consider himself a gin snob, but he could taste differences between the cheap stuff he bought in his youth and what he drank now. He guessed the British version, which would be sold in Botswana, underwent a different distillation process than the American. Hell, the Brits practically invented the stuff. He’d take a case home with him; that and a couple dozen Cuban cigars.

  Bobby arrived thirty minutes later, bedraggled, his hair wet from the shower, a little worse for wear, but coherent. Leo sat him down and pointed to the places needing a signature. Bobby hesitated.

  “Problem?”

  “I’m just wondering, you know. Like, if I want to buy these shares back someday…They were my mother’s and all, and well.”

  “I know that. Sentimental value is it? That’s fine with me. As soon as you have the wherewithal to do that, they’re yours.”

  Leo studied the boy’s face for some hint at what really lurked in the dim recesses of his mind. He did not like what he saw, the slow, sly expression that Bobby could scarcely hide. Something was up.

  “Suppose you, like, died. I mean, I don’t think you will or anything, of course, but, you know, you had those heart attacks back then and…” His voice trailed off. Leo waited for what might come next. “See, I was hoping, like maybe, you could add them to the part of the will that’s about me.”

  “Will? What will would that be?”

  “Your will. I mean, Brenda said she talked to Farrah before we came over here and she thinks I’m in it, in your will.”

  “Ah, that will, my will, the one Farrah executed, you mean. I see, yes, of course. Well, as to that…” Leo considered what Bobby really had in mind. He didn’t like where his thoughts took him. He didn’t believe Bobby had the courage or audacity to take him on, but with idlers like this boy, you can never be sure.

  “Very well, this is what I can do for you. Look, here is a bit of white space between the last paragraph in the paper in which you assign the shares to me and the signature line. There is enough room, if I’m careful and write small, to add a statement that will serve as a codicil, so to speak, in the agreement.”

  Leo sat at the desk and started to write in a cramped hand, paused, and looked up.

  “It’s important we get this right. The date on that will was…yes, the second week in February. We don’t want some slick lawyer to find a loophole that will keep you from what you…” The greedy look on Bobby’s face said it all. Leo left off. What you deserve. “That which is rightly yours. Let me see, I signed it on Friday, the week after the Super Bowl. Okay…The will of February…” he added the year, reread what he’d written, and handed it to Bobby to inspect. He, in turn, screwed up his face in concentration and read, silently, his lips moving.

  “It says that in the event of my death, if these shares are still in my possession, they will be added to the corpus of your inheritance under the terms of my will dated February, etcetera, etcetera. Does that sound about right?”

  “Um, yes, yes, it does. I sign here?”

  “Right there where I put that little check mark.”

  Bobby signed both letters of transmittal and handed them to Leo, who signed them also.

  “You want to give me the money so I can pay off Travis now?”

  “No, I think it would be better if I, as they say, cut out the middle-man. I have both these documents. When Travis sees them he will sign the first and that will be that.”

  “But I thought—”

  “You needn’t bother yourself about it anymore. If Travis balks, I’ll call you. Now go enjoy yourself. Oh, and you haven’t said anything to Brenda about either the divorce or this matter, have you?”

  “No. Not yet. When would be a good time to do that?”

  “Wait until you hear from me. I need to have a chat with Travis first. You understand, he may have something to say about that. It would be beneficial if he could be persuaded to testify about their relationship, at the hearing, I mean. Save a lot of legal maneuvering, right?”

  “Um, okay, I guess so.”

  Leo doubted he did but it didn’t matter. The ill-disguised look of disappointment on Bobby’s face did concern him, though.

  “Fine, now run along.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The men had hunted with Sanderson most of the week. All they found of their lion were tracks indicating that he had not gone to Zimbabwe as they had originally supposed, but had veered off south and tak
en a path parallel to the Kasane road toward the Makgadikgadi Pans, the vast area of salt flats and ephemeral lakes, low scrub, the breeding grounds for tens of thousands of flamingos, and home to hundreds of varieties of birds and game. Rra Kaleke opined that if he made it there, he would not come back this way.

  “How many more days, Sanderson, do you wish this hunting to continue?”

  She considered how best to answer. She needed the appearance of a hunt at least until Mr. Pako took himself off to Maun.

  “No much longer. Do me this thing and continue for a while longer.”

  Rra Kaleke nodded his agreement. He understood that stupidity often held things in place long after the time they seemed useful or sensible, but he liked this Sanderson, and he grieved for her son.

  The sun began its descent in the west and the men gathered at the truck and piled into the bed. They had overcome their reluctance to ride with a woman at the wheel. She drove very well, they said, for a woman, and they admired the new coat of bright red paint she’d applied over the weekend.

  Sanderson dropped the men off and parked her HiLux, Michael’s HiLux, next to the door. Her daughter, Mpitle, had started supper. David Mmusi sat at the table as if he belonged there.

  “Mr. David Mmusi, you are in my house, and I do not know why. Can you explain this to me?”

  The boy started at Sanderson’s tone. Mpitle stepped toward her mother.

  “I asked him to stay a while. He has been telling us amusing stories and Michael has even had a laugh.”

  Sanderson looked through the open door where her son lay in bed. He smiled and gave a weak nod.

  “It is so, Mma. This boy is telling stories, and also, so you know for sure, I have made certain no funny business has transpired while we are waiting for you to come home. I have asked this man to eat with us this one time but, of course, that is for you to say.”

  Sanderson sat wearily in the best chair that had been kept vacant for her.

  “Yes, you stay, David, it will be an honor.” She turned to her daughter. “And what have you prepared for this wonderful occasion?”

  Mpitle grinned and showed her the stew she’d concocted from vegetables and impala, meat that Sanderson had brought home the day before. Rra Kaleke had insisted she have a share of the “hunt.”

  “When we are finished with this cookery, you and I must have an important talk together, Mr. David Mmusi.”

  ***

  The knock on the door interrupted Travis’ study of Earth Global’s most recent annual report. There wasn’t anything in it he hadn’t read many times before. And as he’d composed most of it himself, it wasn’t that he was enchanted with his own prose. After his brief chat with Leo, he looked for something he might have missed in the minerals and mining section. He shuddered at the thought of who might be calling. He believed he knew and considered remaining seated and not answering. Instead, more out of a concern she might cause a scene than out of a desire to see her, he answered the door.

  He’d guessed correctly. Politics, they say, makes strange bedfellows. Business has its own version of that axiom, and Travis now contemplated a personal application of it. He’d assumed correctly, and Brenda Griswold stood in his doorway, her fingers already at the buttons on her blouse. Travis never married and had no intention of entering that blessed state until after he’d secured the presidency of Earth Global, perhaps not even then. He found himself at the brink of accomplishing that coup, but to do so required him to accommodate the woman standing at his door. She hesitated for a second and then pushed past him into the room.

  “Bobby’s out talking to Leo or something. I told him I would be on another game drive, so we have all afternoon.”

  “How about we just talk for a minute?”

  “What’s to talk about? You need me, Bobby’s a loser, and since I control the shares you need to get what you want, we’re a team. Simple.” She finished unbuttoning her blouse and slipped off her shorts.

  Travis had no objection to conducting an affair. He’d done so in the past and guessed he would in the future. The fact that Brenda married Bobby Griswold and therefore should be off limits did not concern him in the least. He’d discovered affairs with married women to be a far safer undertaking than with singles. The former had more to lose if caught and tended to be discreet. Similarly, ending the liaison took far less effort, for the same reasons. Brenda, unfortunately, did not fit the married woman profile. No one would ever describe her as discreet, and terminating any liaison with her, should he wish to, could be very difficult. That ending would have to happen.

  But, for the moment, he needed her.

  “What’s your husband talking about with Leo? If he spills what we’re up to, this could all go south. I’d be out. You’d be out, and we’d have no future.”

  “Bobby doesn’t know squat. I mean, he knows I have the money lined up to redeem the shares, and he knows I’m fixing it so we have a payday and you’re involved in it. That’s all. He won’t tell Leo anything to screw it up. He’s not that quick.”

  “I don’t like it. If he finds out about us…”

  Brenda turned her back to him so he didn’t see the look that crossed her face. Had he, he would have had no compunction to toss her out of the room, half naked or not.

  “No problem, Travis. I have him under control.”

  He hoped so. He strolled to the slider and pulled the draperies across it. The room, without the sun streaming in seemed smaller, and Brenda’s perfume seemed to fill it. The scent was pleasant enough but, as Brenda apparently did not stint in its application, overwhelming. He returned to the bedside.

  Strange bedfellows, he thought.

  CHAPTER 28

  Leo Painter did not achieve success by being stupid. If anyone were to ask him for the keys, he would say that any jackass can run a company; just look at the idiots running the banks and Wall Street. To make money, however, required a person both to have a feel for the doable and a willingness to do it. He might have added that it didn’t hurt to have a streak of ruthlessness as well. Sometimes that characteristic played out in the boardroom, in the hurly-burly of power brokerage. But more often it allowed one to recognize it in an opponent and take anticipatory measures. Thus, Travis did not realize it, but he would soon have his ears pinned back.

  Leo picked up the sheaves of papers he’d placed face down and read them carefully. Early that morning, before he’d met with Greshenko and had the disastrous meeting with Botlhokwa’s people, he’d called his office and had his administrative assistant pull all the statements from the phone company for the past three months for both the office sets and the Blackberries used by Travis and Farrah. He asked her to copy them and fax them to the lodge. Since the company paid those bills, he assumed he had the right to access the records. He’d supplied all his chief executives with the devices precisely for that reason. Lex facit regem. Actually, at Earth Global, it’s the other way round: the king makes the law, and until he said otherwise, he would remain king.

  Farrah thought Leo bugged his Blackberry, and Leo did not disabuse him of the notion. He hoped it would discourage disloyal behavior. It seemed it had not. As it happened he did not have direct access to their devices, but he could review all the calls in and out, and that is what he occupied himself with for the next hour. He mixed another martini. He recognized most of the numbers. Farrah, since his divorce, had few friends and not much of a social life. It did take some study to figure out some of Travis’ calls. He had to check his own pocket diary to identify a half-dozen.

  “Travis, Travis, you are breaking this old man’s heart. Is there any hope for you, or must I toss you to the dogs?” He glanced out the window at the river. “Make that the crocodiles.” Leo shook his head and sipped his martini.

  “Why are you young people in such a hurry to go to hell? Patience is not only a proverbial virtue, but in business, it is an absolute necessity. Take a lesson from the great poker players. Fold more hands than you play, and know that all
the big pots are won after midnight.”

  There was no one in the room to hear Leo’s musings, and even if there had been, it’s unlikely it would have mattered. Leo sighed and drained his glass: time to go to the main lodge for dinner.

  “Mark Twain said, ‘There are some things a man can only learn by swinging a cat by its tail.’ Travis, my boy, with my help, you are about to swing a cat. And when I’m finished with you, I will have a long chat with Henry Farrah.”

  ***

  The gray monkey, after his near miss with the lion, made a point of staying close to the lodge and would do so until the memory of his close encounter with death faded or his innate curiosity overcame caution and he ventured out once more. But now, his interest centered on the lodge’s many rooms and chalets. He’d come to Leo’s sliding glass door the on balcony side of the room in the hopes of prying it open and executing a grab-and-run on the contents of what he took to be a bowl of fruit. He’d done it many times before. If he’d thought about it, he would have been thankful that the tourism board encouraged so many absentminded visitors to explore his territory to be charmed and cajoled out of food. He sat staring through the door, watching the man rifle through his papers and mutter to himself. And then, watched as he straightened his shirt, donned a jacket, and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, the monkey went to work on the slider. Fortunately for Leo, he’d secured the papers in his briefcase and well away from the bowl of fruit.

  ***

  Bobby did not, for one second, believe Brenda had joined another game drive. He’d seen the truck pull out, and she wasn’t in it. She would be back with Travis. Okay, let her. He had a plan, and then she, no all of them, would get what they had coming. He rummaged through the pile of clothing and parcels Brenda had piled up on the bench at the foot of the bed and found what he sought. He hesitated. It wouldn’t do to touch it with his bare hands. The gloves from her ridiculous safari outfit lay on the floor. He retrieved one of them and forced it on. Too small to fit over his hand but he did manage to insert his fingers.