Fish_Tales
Against the Current
- Joined
- Jun 24, 2011
- Posts
- 5,013
Holding the Tiger's Tail (closed for Nina)
He lit a match and the room brightened. The match burned and its flickering light bounced on the walls, the flame swaying from the draft. The match kept burning down till it was almost at his fingers and then he dropped it to the floor.
“Endiki,” he said. “Switch the light on.”
The light in the room came on. It was a bulb hanging from a twisted wire and it too was swinging in the draft. He'd replaced the battery a few days ago, but he didn't know howlong it would last. The room was just a shed with four corrugated iron walls. It wasn’t much bigger than a tool shed, but much hotter. Everything was much hotter in Africa. In the centre of the room there was a large black man tied to a wooden chair. His shirt was stained in sweat and his fat body strained against the ropes holding him in the chair. He looked at the man with the matches.
“Please, I can give you whatever you like. Any money. Women. Gold. Anything. Let me go,” he cried. “Please…”
He sobbed. There were tears running down his fat cheeks and the snot from his large nose was running onto his upper lip.
The other man looked at him impassively. There were no emotions on his face. The only thing on his face was short stubble, only slightly shorter than his hair. He was white, but he knew Africa was not a place for long hair. Too many things could get into it or too many things could use it.
To capture you.
To hold you.
He knew Africa.
He raised his hand to silence the fat man.
Fucking bullies. Always cry when you catch them.
“Shut…. The Fuck…. Up…. Cunt.”
The fat man looked shocked. He was not used to being spoken to like this. He was the Defence Minister of the piss ant government of a piss ant country. But he was rich. Very rich. His wealth flowed from the blood and tears of his countrymen. He knew his debt was about to be repaid and if he didn’t do something, the repayment plan wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Please,sir…please…” cried the fat man again.
“Shut up!” yelled the other man.
He wasn’t big, but he wasn’t small. He just was. He looked like he was strong. In his case, you could judge a book by its cover.
He turned his head and nodded to the three black men he had brought with him. They were thin and dark, almost purplish black. They were Kawigi, the tribe that had been persecuted by the fat man’s regime. They came forward. They were scared. They couldn’t believe that the Devil they had feared was sitting in the chair in front of them, tied up, crying and begging for his life. How often had their people done this for themselves? How often had they seen others do it? Only to be shot or hacked to death and then their own forced to bury them in mass graves. That’s why they had gone to the white man.
The man who could do anything.
The Fixer.
Jack Kelly.
They had put together all the money they had. They had known it was not enough for Kelly. The person who had told them about him had also advised them of his minimum fee and it wasn’t even close, but they had scraped it together and naively sent it to him. Across the ocean. Five thousand Zimbas. To them it was a fortune, the savings of their whole tribe. It wasn’t even five hundred dollars of Kelly’s money. For them, it was their life and their dreams. But they had no choice. They had to try.
For them.
For their people.
For their children.
Or else there would be nothing to live for.
Nothing….
Kelly had come. He had lived with them, spoken with them and he had watched their tears. For three days he had been with them and even for the bush men attuned to the rhythm of life, both human and animal, he had been inscrutable. They didn’t even know if this man felt anything, if he cared. All he did was ask questions, listen to the answers and take notes. One morning, he was gone. He had just left without warning, leaving behind no message. These three men standing in the room with him now had been admonished by their elders, by their tribe’s people and by their families.
How could you have been so foolish? Now we have nothing.
Nothing….
Then, weeks after he had disappeared, the media started to report from the capital on assassinations of government officials and ministers. There was a bombing here, a shooting there. The whole country was in a state of emergency and the Defence Minister, the same one sitting here with snot running out of his nose, had been on all the media warning that the perpetrators would be caught and dealt with in the most brutal manner.
Of course, any Defence Minister worth his salt would think he was safe as he had the full protection and backing of the Police Force and the military services. Jack Kelly knew that. When people think they’re safe, they get lazy. They forget things. They continue to visit their lairs. Their fun places.
Their women.
Kelly had visited a woman. A beautiful woman. She was Kawigi and had been taken from her family and brought to the city to be the plaything of a killer. She had told him exactly everything he needed to know about the Defence Minister. He’d found her family and she was now safely back with them.
One day, when the Defence Minister had gone to visit his woman, she hadn’t been there. Neither had her guards. The fat man had gone in expecting sex, except he got Kelly and he wasn’t in a romantic mood. The only butt he had on offer was the butt of a pistol. The fat man had cried for help, but there was no one. For once in his murderous life, he could do nothing.
Nothing….
Kelly had gone back to the Kawigi, back to Endiki, the leader of the men who had decided that enough was enough. He'd said he needed to see them. Now, Endiki and two of his people stood here with the manifestation of their Devil in front of them, tears rolling down his cheeks and snot running out of his nose.
And Kelly.
Endiki was the tallest of the men and he took two strides and crossed the dusty floor to stand next to Kelly. He was taller than Kelly’s six foot. He stood so that Kelly was between him and the Defence Minister. Even as helpless as he was, the tyrant’s years of terror still caused him to be scared. Even when he was crying.
Pleading.
Begging.
“Sir, said Endiki, “what do we do now?”
Kelly looked to the fat man and then back to his client.
“I guess that’s up to you,” he said. “I know what I’d be doing.”
Endiki looked at him innocently, his eyes betraying nothing.
“You mean imprison him?”
Kelly laughed.
“Look at the size of him. Your people couldn’t afford to feed this fat fucker.”
Endiki stepped back a little, surprised by Kelly’s laughter and his language. The white man had always confused him even though he had seemed empathetic.
“Sir, that is all we can do. We cannot kill him, we are not like that.”
“You may not be,” he said, looking Endiki directly in the eye, “but it wouldn’t be wise to keep this man alive. It will give his supporters hope, a reason to fight. Also, I don’t think there’s much of a market for psychopathic murders with an interest in genocide.”
Kelly took a gun out of his pants. The Defence Minister started to wail loudly again.
“Please…sir….please…whatever you want….please…….”
Kelly looked at Endiki and rolled his eyes.
“As if,” he said loudly so that the Defence Minister could hear him, “I wouldn’t waste a bullet. Too quick.”
He turned back to the Defence Minister.
“How many Kawigi have you killed?” he said softly. “How many?”
“Sir, please…” cried the fat man. He was totally blubbering now. He had no shame. He wanted to live. Not like the people he’d murdered. Bullies were always like that.
Kelly knew.
“How…Fucking…Many?” yelled Kelly, the veins on the side of his neck sticking out.
Endiki took a step back. He was not used to this and there was still a fear of the Defence Minister.
“Sir, it was all for the country, sir…”
“Fuck me, I just want a straight answer. How many people did you kill?”
The fat man just wanted to please him now. To say anything that might bring him favour. Maybe save him. There was nothing to lose.
Nothing….
“I don’t know,” he cried, sniffling between breaths, “maybe thousands.”
Kelly put the gun back in his pants. He’d forgotten he’d been holding it. He held out his hand.
“Endiki, give me your knife please,” he said calmly. All of the tribesmen carried knives.
Big knives.
He heard Endiki unsheathe his knife and then he felt the handle in his hand. He looked at it. It was a big knife alright and its edge had been sharpened hundreds of times. It had probably cut the throat of hundreds of antelope, warthogs and many other animals. Today it was for the Devil.
For a big man.
A fat man.
A murderer.
“I think I’ll have to do the maths for you,” he said, just holding the knife casually. “In 1997, there were 1.6 million Kawigi in this country. Now, fifteen years later, there are just over seven hundred thousand of them.”
The Defence Minister was shaking his head with his eyes closed, tears pouring from under his closed eyelids. He was straining against his ropes, but there was nothing he could do.
Nothing….
Kelly walked closer to him and continued.
“So that means you’ve killed nine hundred thousand people in less than fifteen years,” he said. “Nine hundred thousand innocent people, whose only crime was to be born to a different tribe.”
Kelly was tossing the knife casually in the air and catching it by the handle. He liked that trick. Do it wrong and…. but Kelly never got it wrong. He kept walking towards the Defence Minister strapped to his chair. He was now only a few feet from the fat man.
He stopped.
“You said you had something you could give me,” he said. “Tell me.”
He stood in front of the sobbing fat man, looking at the knife. First one side of the blade, then the other.
Big fucking knife.
“Money….I have money,” he blubbered. “And gold. I have lot….of gold.”
Kelly nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “Very good. How do I get it? It’s all in Switzerland.”
The fat man could see a chance. He regained some of his composure. He could see a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.
“I can wire it to you,” he said, his crying abating. “I can send it to your account.”
Kelly paused, as if in thought.
“Mmmmm. We can do it now. I need the account number.”
“I have it here,” the fat man said, some of his confidence returning. “In my head.”
Kelly nodded again. He looked like he was thinking.
“Ok.”
Kelly reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He pressed a couple of buttons and the screen came up onto the website of a bank. He typed in an alphanumeric string and then an account came up.
Kawigi Rebuilding Fund.
He smiled.
At least the office had set that up right. They’d been fucking up a lot lately. His helicopter better be there when this was finished….
Don't fuck up the helicopter.
Then he opened another website on his computer. This one was for a Swiss bank.
“Ok,” he said to the fat man. “Your account number and password.”
The fat man gave him the number.
“And the password?” said Kelly.
“Ungawa simba.”
Kelly smiled.
Let’s go lion.
How appropriate.
Kelly punched in the number and password and watched as the fat man’s account opened up. He watched as the details came up and he whistled. Two hundred and sixty five million dollars. The wages of genocide. Two hundred and sixty five million dollars would go a long way to helping Endiki and his people.
He smiled again to himself.
Two hundred and sixty four million dollars.
He pressed some more buttons and watched the screen as he transferred most of the money to the Kawigi Rebuilding Fund. When that was done, he transferred a million to another account.
His.
The website asked if he was sure as the fat man’s account would be closed if it was emptied.
Never been surer.
He pressed a button to continue the transaction and it was over in seconds. He left the browser window open on the Kawigi Rebuilding Fund account and then threw the phone to Endiki.
“Look at the screen, Endiki. That’s what you and your people have now. You’ll have more soon. I’m sure this government is ready to fall over and I’m sure you’re going to help it fall over. Then you will own everything again.” He paused. “Your people.”
Endiki looked at the screen and a single tear started to roll down his cheek. It was the first tear of happiness he had shed for many years, maybe ever. Kelly wondered how he even had any tears left to shed.
“Sir,” he said, “we can never repay you for this. Money can never repay what you have done.”
Kelly winced. This was the hardest part of his job. The gratitude. The emotion. He had done this many times, but he still found it hard.
He raised his hand and shook his head.
“The best way to repay me, Endiki, is to free your people and look after them. It’s going to take a long time, but from what I’ve seen of you and of them, you can do it.”
He smirked at Endiki.
“Not saying I don’t like your country, but I don’t want to be coming back in a hurry, so make sure you get it right.”
The tall black man understood. He smiled.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”
Kelly turned back to the fat man. He’d stopped crying and the heat had already caused the dry snot to form a dry crust on his upper lip. He looked at the knife in his hand and then at the fat man. He shook his head and held out the knife with his arm extended. Endiki reached out and took it back. A loud exhalation of breath came from the fat man. He’d been holding it, waiting.
“Now,” Kelly said, talking to Endiki, but keeping his eye on the fat man. “I have one final problem to clean up and we’re done.”
He reached into his pants and pulled out the gun. He watched the fat man’s bottom lip start to quiver.
“But you said….” he started to say.
Kelly cut him off.
“Shut up!” he shouted. Then in a softer tone he said, “Endiki, you might want to go outside for a while.”
The tall black man nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Endiki and his two silent companions walked out of the door. When the door shut, Kelly turned back to the Defence Minister.
“No…. this is not right,” cried the fat man, “I gave you everything you wanted….no….please….”
Kelly pulled the slide on his gun. His face was impassive. This was another part of the job he didn’t like, but it had to be done.
“Not quite everything,” he said softly.
Endiki and his two companions stood outside the shed in the heat. The flies were buzzing around and they could see the vultures in the distance.
The loud shot from inside the shed startled them.
Now there was one less vulture.
And the others could eat.
He lit a match and the room brightened. The match burned and its flickering light bounced on the walls, the flame swaying from the draft. The match kept burning down till it was almost at his fingers and then he dropped it to the floor.
“Endiki,” he said. “Switch the light on.”
The light in the room came on. It was a bulb hanging from a twisted wire and it too was swinging in the draft. He'd replaced the battery a few days ago, but he didn't know howlong it would last. The room was just a shed with four corrugated iron walls. It wasn’t much bigger than a tool shed, but much hotter. Everything was much hotter in Africa. In the centre of the room there was a large black man tied to a wooden chair. His shirt was stained in sweat and his fat body strained against the ropes holding him in the chair. He looked at the man with the matches.
“Please, I can give you whatever you like. Any money. Women. Gold. Anything. Let me go,” he cried. “Please…”
He sobbed. There were tears running down his fat cheeks and the snot from his large nose was running onto his upper lip.
The other man looked at him impassively. There were no emotions on his face. The only thing on his face was short stubble, only slightly shorter than his hair. He was white, but he knew Africa was not a place for long hair. Too many things could get into it or too many things could use it.
To capture you.
To hold you.
He knew Africa.
He raised his hand to silence the fat man.
Fucking bullies. Always cry when you catch them.
“Shut…. The Fuck…. Up…. Cunt.”
The fat man looked shocked. He was not used to being spoken to like this. He was the Defence Minister of the piss ant government of a piss ant country. But he was rich. Very rich. His wealth flowed from the blood and tears of his countrymen. He knew his debt was about to be repaid and if he didn’t do something, the repayment plan wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Please,sir…please…” cried the fat man again.
“Shut up!” yelled the other man.
He wasn’t big, but he wasn’t small. He just was. He looked like he was strong. In his case, you could judge a book by its cover.
He turned his head and nodded to the three black men he had brought with him. They were thin and dark, almost purplish black. They were Kawigi, the tribe that had been persecuted by the fat man’s regime. They came forward. They were scared. They couldn’t believe that the Devil they had feared was sitting in the chair in front of them, tied up, crying and begging for his life. How often had their people done this for themselves? How often had they seen others do it? Only to be shot or hacked to death and then their own forced to bury them in mass graves. That’s why they had gone to the white man.
The man who could do anything.
The Fixer.
Jack Kelly.
They had put together all the money they had. They had known it was not enough for Kelly. The person who had told them about him had also advised them of his minimum fee and it wasn’t even close, but they had scraped it together and naively sent it to him. Across the ocean. Five thousand Zimbas. To them it was a fortune, the savings of their whole tribe. It wasn’t even five hundred dollars of Kelly’s money. For them, it was their life and their dreams. But they had no choice. They had to try.
For them.
For their people.
For their children.
Or else there would be nothing to live for.
Nothing….
Kelly had come. He had lived with them, spoken with them and he had watched their tears. For three days he had been with them and even for the bush men attuned to the rhythm of life, both human and animal, he had been inscrutable. They didn’t even know if this man felt anything, if he cared. All he did was ask questions, listen to the answers and take notes. One morning, he was gone. He had just left without warning, leaving behind no message. These three men standing in the room with him now had been admonished by their elders, by their tribe’s people and by their families.
How could you have been so foolish? Now we have nothing.
Nothing….
Then, weeks after he had disappeared, the media started to report from the capital on assassinations of government officials and ministers. There was a bombing here, a shooting there. The whole country was in a state of emergency and the Defence Minister, the same one sitting here with snot running out of his nose, had been on all the media warning that the perpetrators would be caught and dealt with in the most brutal manner.
Of course, any Defence Minister worth his salt would think he was safe as he had the full protection and backing of the Police Force and the military services. Jack Kelly knew that. When people think they’re safe, they get lazy. They forget things. They continue to visit their lairs. Their fun places.
Their women.
Kelly had visited a woman. A beautiful woman. She was Kawigi and had been taken from her family and brought to the city to be the plaything of a killer. She had told him exactly everything he needed to know about the Defence Minister. He’d found her family and she was now safely back with them.
One day, when the Defence Minister had gone to visit his woman, she hadn’t been there. Neither had her guards. The fat man had gone in expecting sex, except he got Kelly and he wasn’t in a romantic mood. The only butt he had on offer was the butt of a pistol. The fat man had cried for help, but there was no one. For once in his murderous life, he could do nothing.
Nothing….
Kelly had gone back to the Kawigi, back to Endiki, the leader of the men who had decided that enough was enough. He'd said he needed to see them. Now, Endiki and two of his people stood here with the manifestation of their Devil in front of them, tears rolling down his cheeks and snot running out of his nose.
And Kelly.
Endiki was the tallest of the men and he took two strides and crossed the dusty floor to stand next to Kelly. He was taller than Kelly’s six foot. He stood so that Kelly was between him and the Defence Minister. Even as helpless as he was, the tyrant’s years of terror still caused him to be scared. Even when he was crying.
Pleading.
Begging.
“Sir, said Endiki, “what do we do now?”
Kelly looked to the fat man and then back to his client.
“I guess that’s up to you,” he said. “I know what I’d be doing.”
Endiki looked at him innocently, his eyes betraying nothing.
“You mean imprison him?”
Kelly laughed.
“Look at the size of him. Your people couldn’t afford to feed this fat fucker.”
Endiki stepped back a little, surprised by Kelly’s laughter and his language. The white man had always confused him even though he had seemed empathetic.
“Sir, that is all we can do. We cannot kill him, we are not like that.”
“You may not be,” he said, looking Endiki directly in the eye, “but it wouldn’t be wise to keep this man alive. It will give his supporters hope, a reason to fight. Also, I don’t think there’s much of a market for psychopathic murders with an interest in genocide.”
Kelly took a gun out of his pants. The Defence Minister started to wail loudly again.
“Please…sir….please…whatever you want….please…….”
Kelly looked at Endiki and rolled his eyes.
“As if,” he said loudly so that the Defence Minister could hear him, “I wouldn’t waste a bullet. Too quick.”
He turned back to the Defence Minister.
“How many Kawigi have you killed?” he said softly. “How many?”
“Sir, please…” cried the fat man. He was totally blubbering now. He had no shame. He wanted to live. Not like the people he’d murdered. Bullies were always like that.
Kelly knew.
“How…Fucking…Many?” yelled Kelly, the veins on the side of his neck sticking out.
Endiki took a step back. He was not used to this and there was still a fear of the Defence Minister.
“Sir, it was all for the country, sir…”
“Fuck me, I just want a straight answer. How many people did you kill?”
The fat man just wanted to please him now. To say anything that might bring him favour. Maybe save him. There was nothing to lose.
Nothing….
“I don’t know,” he cried, sniffling between breaths, “maybe thousands.”
Kelly put the gun back in his pants. He’d forgotten he’d been holding it. He held out his hand.
“Endiki, give me your knife please,” he said calmly. All of the tribesmen carried knives.
Big knives.
He heard Endiki unsheathe his knife and then he felt the handle in his hand. He looked at it. It was a big knife alright and its edge had been sharpened hundreds of times. It had probably cut the throat of hundreds of antelope, warthogs and many other animals. Today it was for the Devil.
For a big man.
A fat man.
A murderer.
“I think I’ll have to do the maths for you,” he said, just holding the knife casually. “In 1997, there were 1.6 million Kawigi in this country. Now, fifteen years later, there are just over seven hundred thousand of them.”
The Defence Minister was shaking his head with his eyes closed, tears pouring from under his closed eyelids. He was straining against his ropes, but there was nothing he could do.
Nothing….
Kelly walked closer to him and continued.
“So that means you’ve killed nine hundred thousand people in less than fifteen years,” he said. “Nine hundred thousand innocent people, whose only crime was to be born to a different tribe.”
Kelly was tossing the knife casually in the air and catching it by the handle. He liked that trick. Do it wrong and…. but Kelly never got it wrong. He kept walking towards the Defence Minister strapped to his chair. He was now only a few feet from the fat man.
He stopped.
“You said you had something you could give me,” he said. “Tell me.”
He stood in front of the sobbing fat man, looking at the knife. First one side of the blade, then the other.
Big fucking knife.
“Money….I have money,” he blubbered. “And gold. I have lot….of gold.”
Kelly nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “Very good. How do I get it? It’s all in Switzerland.”
The fat man could see a chance. He regained some of his composure. He could see a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.
“I can wire it to you,” he said, his crying abating. “I can send it to your account.”
Kelly paused, as if in thought.
“Mmmmm. We can do it now. I need the account number.”
“I have it here,” the fat man said, some of his confidence returning. “In my head.”
Kelly nodded again. He looked like he was thinking.
“Ok.”
Kelly reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He pressed a couple of buttons and the screen came up onto the website of a bank. He typed in an alphanumeric string and then an account came up.
Kawigi Rebuilding Fund.
He smiled.
At least the office had set that up right. They’d been fucking up a lot lately. His helicopter better be there when this was finished….
Don't fuck up the helicopter.
Then he opened another website on his computer. This one was for a Swiss bank.
“Ok,” he said to the fat man. “Your account number and password.”
The fat man gave him the number.
“And the password?” said Kelly.
“Ungawa simba.”
Kelly smiled.
Let’s go lion.
How appropriate.
Kelly punched in the number and password and watched as the fat man’s account opened up. He watched as the details came up and he whistled. Two hundred and sixty five million dollars. The wages of genocide. Two hundred and sixty five million dollars would go a long way to helping Endiki and his people.
He smiled again to himself.
Two hundred and sixty four million dollars.
He pressed some more buttons and watched the screen as he transferred most of the money to the Kawigi Rebuilding Fund. When that was done, he transferred a million to another account.
His.
The website asked if he was sure as the fat man’s account would be closed if it was emptied.
Never been surer.
He pressed a button to continue the transaction and it was over in seconds. He left the browser window open on the Kawigi Rebuilding Fund account and then threw the phone to Endiki.
“Look at the screen, Endiki. That’s what you and your people have now. You’ll have more soon. I’m sure this government is ready to fall over and I’m sure you’re going to help it fall over. Then you will own everything again.” He paused. “Your people.”
Endiki looked at the screen and a single tear started to roll down his cheek. It was the first tear of happiness he had shed for many years, maybe ever. Kelly wondered how he even had any tears left to shed.
“Sir,” he said, “we can never repay you for this. Money can never repay what you have done.”
Kelly winced. This was the hardest part of his job. The gratitude. The emotion. He had done this many times, but he still found it hard.
He raised his hand and shook his head.
“The best way to repay me, Endiki, is to free your people and look after them. It’s going to take a long time, but from what I’ve seen of you and of them, you can do it.”
He smirked at Endiki.
“Not saying I don’t like your country, but I don’t want to be coming back in a hurry, so make sure you get it right.”
The tall black man understood. He smiled.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”
Kelly turned back to the fat man. He’d stopped crying and the heat had already caused the dry snot to form a dry crust on his upper lip. He looked at the knife in his hand and then at the fat man. He shook his head and held out the knife with his arm extended. Endiki reached out and took it back. A loud exhalation of breath came from the fat man. He’d been holding it, waiting.
“Now,” Kelly said, talking to Endiki, but keeping his eye on the fat man. “I have one final problem to clean up and we’re done.”
He reached into his pants and pulled out the gun. He watched the fat man’s bottom lip start to quiver.
“But you said….” he started to say.
Kelly cut him off.
“Shut up!” he shouted. Then in a softer tone he said, “Endiki, you might want to go outside for a while.”
The tall black man nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Endiki and his two silent companions walked out of the door. When the door shut, Kelly turned back to the Defence Minister.
“No…. this is not right,” cried the fat man, “I gave you everything you wanted….no….please….”
Kelly pulled the slide on his gun. His face was impassive. This was another part of the job he didn’t like, but it had to be done.
“Not quite everything,” he said softly.
Endiki and his two companions stood outside the shed in the heat. The flies were buzzing around and they could see the vultures in the distance.
The loud shot from inside the shed startled them.
Now there was one less vulture.
And the others could eat.