The Secret Chamber by Patrick Woodhead Page B

always a big night in Goma.
    Louis clasped the bouncer’s hand, ignoring the rowdy queue outside, before swaggering through the entrance tunnel and past the pool tables to his right. Some local hookers were idly leaning against the cues, using each shot as a chance to hoist their skirts a little higher and tease the men at the bar. A couple of them glanced up as he passed, smiling suggestively but only half-heartedly.
    Once through the heaving crowd, Louis approached one of the low tables on the edge of the dance floor. Fabrice was already there, wearing his trademark white suit and Gucci sunglasses. Seated to one side of him was his girlfriend, Marie, her long hair spilling halfway down her low-backed dress. She sipped her cocktail, shoulders twisted away from him and lips slanted in surly frustration. He was doing his best to ignore her and they sat there in silence, the aftermath of yet another argument. As Louis arrived, Fabrice leaped up from the table, overjoyed at the excuse to break the deadlock. He shook Louis’s hand, twisting his palm round in the African style, then poured him a massive shot of vodka from the bottle chilling on the table in front of him.
    ‘Hey, Marie, you remember my friend Louis,’ he shouted, nodding towards their guest. The burn marks on the left side of Fabrice’s face caught the light. They ran across the top part of his cheek and all the way back into his hairline.
    Marie pulled a Swarovski-encrusted mobile from her handbag and pointed it at the centre of Fabrice’s chest as though taking aim.
    ‘You promised,’ she said. ‘No work tonight.’
    ‘But, baby, you know how it is in the club. This is my office.’
    Fabrice raised his palms imploringly, then winced as he caught Marie’s smouldering glare.
    ‘I’ll see you later, dear,’ she purred with mock affection. ‘I’ll be at the bar.’
    ‘Baby, wait a second …’ Fabrice called, reaching out his hand , but she tossed her hair over her shoulders and stalked off.
    Both men watched in silence as she moved through the throng of people, before Fabrice finally took a huge gulp of his drink, the ice clanking against his white teeth.
    ‘She’s too much,’ he said, exhaling heavily. ‘Every day she busts my balls about something else. I tell you, Louis, she talks more than your mama.’
    Louis raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’re done with Marie, get yourself one of those big mamas down by the lake. You know, all booty and big love. Give them a bag of corn and they’re nothing but grateful.’
    Fabrice smacked his lips.
    ‘Oh, yeah, got to love that big booty,’ he said, thrusting his hips forward in time with one of the girls on the dance floor. ‘None of this skinny-assed “Why you working so much?” bullshit.’ He pointed towards the bar, knowing full well Marie wasn’t watching. ‘’Cos with me you get paid, girl. That’s why!’
    Thumping his chest a couple of times, he stared at the back of Marie’s head defiantly, before adding ‘Yeah’ to no one in particular.
    While Fabrice settled back in his seat and minutely adjusted his sunglasses, a couple of white men walked in at the far end of the nightclub. With their thick-set frames and cropped haircuts, they looked like off-duty MONUC forces. Fabrice caught the attention of one of the girls playing pool and, with a flick of his wrist, motioned towards the new arrivals. The girls immediately downed their cues and began scything through the crowd.
    ‘Goddamn’ UN,’ Louis muttered. ‘That’s about the only thing they leave their compounds for. Screwing our women.’
    ‘Should keep them busy, though,’ Fabrice answered. Wiping the table with a few paper napkins, he motioned that they should get down to work. Louis dutifully placed the package on the table, carefully peeling back the edges.
    ‘So they’ve been running this every week?’ Fabrice said, taking a shard of the rock between his fingers and turning it under the candlelight.
    ‘Every week. AKs