imagination.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’re in power now, we probably share contacts.’ She brushed past him heading for the door. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, held up her gloved hand, ‘I’m sorry you’ve taken a hardline attitude, I’d hoped for your cooperation.’
‘Hardline!’ Ducky Donald almost choked on his beer. But Sheemina February was gone.
‘Jesus,’ said Pylon, ‘I remember her. She got ten years for treason . Round about the late eighties. Almost died under torture, was the story I heard.’
‘Pity she didn’t.’ Ducky Donald launched across the room to slam the club door shut. ‘She’s trouble. Major trouble.’
‘You still going to open?’ Mace asked.
‘Nose of ten the doors swing wide,’ said Ducky. ‘What you say, Mattie?’
Matthew nodded, not the happiest club owner in town.
9
Outside it was dusk, but warm, a berg wind blowing.
Pylon said, ‘What’s with the February woman getting onto Oumou?’
Mace shrugged. ‘Intimidation. Christ knows. Maybe she thinks I hold some sway with the Hartnells.’ He paused. ‘You said she got done?’
‘The way I recall it, she and two sisters planned a car bomb, going to take out the president on his way to parliament. Something like that. Got them high profile attention in the papers. Mostly because of their pretty faces. And ten years for conspiracy. Come the political amnesty, they walked. Probably did no more than a couple of years.’
Mace rocked on the curb edge, irked by a detail he couldn’t get to. ‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘Only I don’t know what. She’s familiar.’
‘She’s scary.’
‘No kidding. Her personally and what’s behind her. The crazies. One thing, Sheemina February’s not going to be hands on. She’s done that.’ Mace sighed. ‘Once it was so easy, hey. Us and them. Now us is them. Sometimes worse I think.’
‘Ah, come on.’
‘No, true as. Look at this shit Ducky Donald’s pulling.’
‘He said something more?’
‘Doesn’t have to does he?’
Pylon clucked his tongue, stared off at the end of the street before he said, ‘Time to talk? About you.’
The last thing Mace wanted. ‘Uh uh.’ He shook his head. ‘Tomorrow.’
Pylon looked dubious.
‘Tomorrow, okay.’
‘I’m not kidding, Mace.’ He flicked the automatic lock on the Merc, one of their luxury client cars. ‘And this lot?’ - jerking a thumb at the club. ‘They’re going to blow it?’
‘Probably. Probably tonight I’d guess.’
Pylon slid into the car. ‘That’s just so exciting.’ The side window came down. ‘Another thing I remember about that Sheemina February, in jail she sharpened a hairbrush, stuck it into a warder’s stomach.’
‘Dangerous lady.’
‘We should try the police. That Captain Gonsalves, maybe he’d be interested.’
‘Doubt it. Like the man said, no bomb threat. What’s to be worrying about? Gonsalves’ll tell me to piss off.’
‘Try him.’
‘You try him.’
‘He’s white. There’s your commonality.’
They agreed to meet at ten.
Three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday Mace swam with two others in the pool at the Point Health Centre. Tyrone impressed him as a suit, probably in management; Allan favoured chinos and polo shirts. He figured him for a marketing type. They didn’t talk much except to greet and maybe comment on the obvious: weather, news, sport. Their rule was swimming started at six-thirty. Five minutes grace if someone was late but they didn’t wait longer than this.
Tyrone and Allan were younger than Mace, Tyrone the stronger swimmer, Allan more in the iron-man league. They had a routine. For the first half-hour Mace set the pace in deference to the ten, fifteen years he pulled on them, then Allan took over for a quartile, and Tyrone hauled them through the final sector, powering it on until Mace’s arms screamed and he wasn’t sure if his lungs were big enough for the air he needed. At the end he was
‘Hardline!’ Ducky Donald almost choked on his beer. But Sheemina February was gone.
‘Jesus,’ said Pylon, ‘I remember her. She got ten years for treason . Round about the late eighties. Almost died under torture, was the story I heard.’
‘Pity she didn’t.’ Ducky Donald launched across the room to slam the club door shut. ‘She’s trouble. Major trouble.’
‘You still going to open?’ Mace asked.
‘Nose of ten the doors swing wide,’ said Ducky. ‘What you say, Mattie?’
Matthew nodded, not the happiest club owner in town.
9
Outside it was dusk, but warm, a berg wind blowing.
Pylon said, ‘What’s with the February woman getting onto Oumou?’
Mace shrugged. ‘Intimidation. Christ knows. Maybe she thinks I hold some sway with the Hartnells.’ He paused. ‘You said she got done?’
‘The way I recall it, she and two sisters planned a car bomb, going to take out the president on his way to parliament. Something like that. Got them high profile attention in the papers. Mostly because of their pretty faces. And ten years for conspiracy. Come the political amnesty, they walked. Probably did no more than a couple of years.’
Mace rocked on the curb edge, irked by a detail he couldn’t get to. ‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘Only I don’t know what. She’s familiar.’
‘She’s scary.’
‘No kidding. Her personally and what’s behind her. The crazies. One thing, Sheemina February’s not going to be hands on. She’s done that.’ Mace sighed. ‘Once it was so easy, hey. Us and them. Now us is them. Sometimes worse I think.’
‘Ah, come on.’
‘No, true as. Look at this shit Ducky Donald’s pulling.’
‘He said something more?’
‘Doesn’t have to does he?’
Pylon clucked his tongue, stared off at the end of the street before he said, ‘Time to talk? About you.’
The last thing Mace wanted. ‘Uh uh.’ He shook his head. ‘Tomorrow.’
Pylon looked dubious.
‘Tomorrow, okay.’
‘I’m not kidding, Mace.’ He flicked the automatic lock on the Merc, one of their luxury client cars. ‘And this lot?’ - jerking a thumb at the club. ‘They’re going to blow it?’
‘Probably. Probably tonight I’d guess.’
Pylon slid into the car. ‘That’s just so exciting.’ The side window came down. ‘Another thing I remember about that Sheemina February, in jail she sharpened a hairbrush, stuck it into a warder’s stomach.’
‘Dangerous lady.’
‘We should try the police. That Captain Gonsalves, maybe he’d be interested.’
‘Doubt it. Like the man said, no bomb threat. What’s to be worrying about? Gonsalves’ll tell me to piss off.’
‘Try him.’
‘You try him.’
‘He’s white. There’s your commonality.’
They agreed to meet at ten.
Three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday Mace swam with two others in the pool at the Point Health Centre. Tyrone impressed him as a suit, probably in management; Allan favoured chinos and polo shirts. He figured him for a marketing type. They didn’t talk much except to greet and maybe comment on the obvious: weather, news, sport. Their rule was swimming started at six-thirty. Five minutes grace if someone was late but they didn’t wait longer than this.
Tyrone and Allan were younger than Mace, Tyrone the stronger swimmer, Allan more in the iron-man league. They had a routine. For the first half-hour Mace set the pace in deference to the ten, fifteen years he pulled on them, then Allan took over for a quartile, and Tyrone hauled them through the final sector, powering it on until Mace’s arms screamed and he wasn’t sure if his lungs were big enough for the air he needed. At the end he was
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