Juba Good by Vicki Delany

did it go further than that? Slip money to the owner. He wouldn’t report that the woman never came back.
    The country was in flux after twenty years of war. Refugees were returning. Foreign workers poured across the borders in pursuit of jobs. Villagers came to the city in search of better lives. Many would soon turn around and go home. They had no ties here. No reason to tell anyone they were leaving.
    If a prostitute didn’t turn up at her regular spot again, no one would care.
    Until one dumb Canadian cop started asking questions.
    Traffic was less chaotic after dark than during the day. Most of the children and animals were off the streets. I shifted gears as I rounded a corner and sped up.
    The parking lot of the Blue Nile was almost full. I drove slowly, trying to look as if I was searching for a spot.
    Then I saw it. Parked close to the guard hut. A battered blue Toyota Rav 4.
    I circled around and drove away. No point in trying to go in. If the guards were the same ones who’d thrown me out on my previous visits, they’d recognize me. I couldn’t sit there watching Nigel’s car either.
    Chances were the guards were paid not to notice men leaving with women. They wouldn’t want me interfering.
    My phone rang.
    Deng. “I’m almost there. Where are you?”
    The restaurant was at the end of a long dirt road cut through the bush. A scattering of tukuls were shrouded in darkness. I pulled to the side of the road. A single headlight came my way. I flashed my lights.
    Deng pulled up. He was on a boda boda.
    I explained the situation. Nigel had stolen a car and he’d driven straight here. I was willing to bet good money that he was even now negotiating for a woman’s favors.
    I couldn’t go into the restaurant. They’d throw me out in a heartbeat.
    But Deng could.
    Nigel knew Deng. But if Deng kept his head down and stuck to the shadows, Nigel wouldn’t notice him.
    Deng gave me one of his looks. Then he drove away in a spray of exhaust fumes and dust.
    I turned the engine off. The thick hot air filled the car.
    I listened to the night. Small yellow eyes glowed from the bush. Foliage rustled. Something screamed. The shriek was cut off in mid-note.
    The occasional car went past, heading back to town. Laughter from the river. In one of the huts, a baby cried.
    I waited a long time. Then I heard men shouting farewells and the roar of a motorbike. Deng stopped beside me.
    I smelled beer on his breath. Not much I could say about that. I had sent him undercover into a bar.
    â€œHe’s there. Drinking with a woman. A South Sudanese woman. Young, pretty. Her smile is very false. You think this is it, Ray?”
    â€œYes, I do. I’m sure of it.”
    My gut churned. I was sure, all right.
    â€œWhat do we do now?”
    â€œThat, my friend, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
    â€œThe what?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œThis is the only road out,” Deng said. “We wait. We follow.”
    â€œSuppose we lose them?”
    â€œWe know where he is going.”
    â€œSuppose, this once, he changes the routine?”
    Deng shrugged. “You in the car. Me on the boda boda.”
    â€œI don’t want to split up. He’s going to be dangerous if cornered.”
    I thought for a long time. The bushes rustled. No matter what was out there, it was not the most dangerous animal in Africa.
    â€œI won’t use the woman as bait,” I said at last. “Get in.”
    Deng pushed the bike off the road and into a clump of ragged bushes. It might be there when he got back. It might not.
    I turned the vehicle around and headed to the Blue Nile.
    I parked the car by the gate. Blocking the exit.
    Deng and I climbed out. Lights were strong overhead. The guard swaggered over. “You are not allowed here. You must move your car.”
    â€œTough,” I replied. “This is police business.”
    He opened his mouth as if