"The boys in the skiffs," Idris said. "Oh, it was a time. Being half drunk to hijack a ship and earn a hundred thousand dollars, often dropped from a plane. I had friends among the men in the middle, lawyers, fellows doing nothing for their money, making a few phone calls. They took care of me because they knew I could provide them with ships."
Dara said, "You wish you were still at it?"
"No, I've had enough. Fourteen ships." He said to Dara, "You like another glass?"
"Maybe half," Dara said.
"Lemme do it," Xavier said, picking up the martini pitcher. "I know what Miss Dara means she say a half." He had the reach to top off their stem glasses without getting up. He said to Dara, "You recognize the stone slab cocktail table and the bamboo furniture? Same as down at Eyl."
"I'm selling that house," Idris said. "Why would I want to go to Eyl? I have offers. Booyah Abdulahi, you remember him? He's still doing quite well. Booyah will give me two hundred thousand for the house. Everything in it, I told him it's worth three times that. We'll see."
Dara said, "You couldn't need money."
"No, I have it in banks I don't worry about."
"Then why are you and Harry still together?"
"He's a good friend."
"No, he isn't."
They heard a toilet flush.
Idris said, "He's always in the bathroom grooming himself. Always takes a pistol with him. All right, I thought he was a good friend at one time. I bought four hundred machine guns from him, Uzis, and sold them to warlords for twice what I paid. One of them pompous, I charged three times Harry's price. Harry comes out of the bathroom he's calm, almost himself, but I don't know what he's thinking."
"He has a home here," Dara said, "doesn't he, in the quarter?"
"He's afraid to go home and find Jama waiting for him. He doesn't say it, it's how he acts."
"How does Jama know where either of you lives?"
"Ask and find out. People always watching to see what we do, where we go. They're curious." Idris produced an eight-shot Sig auto from his clothes. "Jama comes, I'll be waiting to shoot him."
"Harry has money?"
"Of course he does. From the sale of arms."
"Then why don't the two of you get out of town?"
"We talk about it. Decide it's better to see it end here. Jama's a fugitive, he can't simply go about as he wants."
They looked up to see Harry come out of the hallway from the bathroom with a Webley revolver, the 1915 British Army model, held in his right hand. He looked quite himself in his starched shirt with epaulets, smiling at Dara, and came over saying, "Our lovely friend Dara," to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I must say we're in dire need of all the friends we can gather." He said, "My friend Xavier," and reached out to take his hand. "By any chance have you a notion of what we might do?"
Xavier said, "You look like you know what you doin."
Dara said, "Why don't you call the cops?"
"Have them sitting around the apartment," Harry said, "drinking tea? We had paid guardians before and they proved worthless."
"Well, let's keep in touch," Dara said, "all right? Call if you think Jama's around and you'd like Xavier to give you a hand."
It got Xavier looking at her.
"We ready to go?"
"As soon as I visit the facility," Dara said.
Xavier watched her walk off toward the bathroom while Harry poured himself a martini in Dara's empty glass and topped off Idris's drink.
"Jama comes by," Xavier said, "you fellas gonna be able to shoot him?" IN THE LIFT DESCENDING to the main floor Dara said, "Those guys kill me, sitting around drinking martinis with their guns out."
"You had two," Xavier said. "You all right?"
"I'm fine."
"I never heard you call the toilet a facility before."
"It's a gun room," Dara said, "AKs in the shower stall, one for each of them."
"The boys have their own style of doin things," Xavier said. They stood on the sidewalk along rue de Marseille, Dara getting a cigarette now from her bag and lighting it.
She said, "I noticed Djibouti Airlines down the street when we drove past."
"It's local flights," Xavier said. "Won't get us home if that's what you have in mind."
She said, "I don't know, maybe. We could give Billy a call, find out what he's up to."
"We done here, but you don't want to leave, do you?" He said, "Think about it while I go get the car." SHE SAW THE BLACK guy in the T-shirt coming along Marseille, the shirt hanging out, too large for him, the guy and his shirt shades of brown. A black flight bag hung from his shoulder.
Dara turned on her spy camera clipped to her shirt pocket and shot him coming straight on with her head turned, not looking at him, the guy in no hurry. Closer now he seemed to hesitate, break his step as he looked at her and said, "You makin it today?" She turned to him.
Passing her his hand went to his sunglasses to slide them down and up, like tipping a hat, and walked past.
Now Dara was shooting him from the rear.
The guy walking toward the Djibouti Airlines office, that direction, about twenty meters past her when she called out:
"James…?"
He stopped. Two, three…six beats before he turned around. Now he came back, almost to her, Dara saying, "I mean Jama. I don't know why I said James, you never told me your name. You know what? I think I started to say Jama and it came out James because I know you're American, you tell everybody."
"Yeah, but you recognize me."
"I've photographed you, I know what you look like," Dara said. "You're a much younger Jama-I almost said James again-without the beard."
"I don't recognize myself. I been al Qaeda gunhand too long."
"I doubt anyone else would recognize you. You have to remember, I shoot faces." She said, "What's the story that goes with Brown University?"
"That was a while ago."
"What hall were you in? I bet Harambee, with the black radicals. I had a friend went to Brown. He said the school motto was 'In God We Trust' because it's printed on money."
"Oh, you looking at my shirt. It's a friend of mine's."
"A classmate?" Dara said. "I can't believe you're still around, being on the dodge. I've got quite a few shots of you I'd like to use, with your permission. List your name among the credits. I would say you have the confidence of a movie star, walking around with police after you."
"You were filming me, weren't you, with that bitty thing? I recognize it, from you shooting us on the ship."
Dara said, "I would love to hear how you killed five people at the same time, one of them your leader." She kept talking, giving Xavier time to arrive on the scene. "I'd like to hear about that, too, why you felt you had to shoot him. I could film you telling about it, telling anything you want, your adventures with bin Laden…You'd get a credit up front."
"You saying this to me," Jama said, "you don't think you're taking a risk?"
Dara was shaking her head saying no-Jama heard that much before raising his eyes to Xavier appearing behind her, Xavier coming to stand a foot above her head.
He said, "Jama, how you doin? You stayin out of jail?"
Dara said, "It doesn't look like he's giving himself up."
Xavier said, "No, he's got a new thing. Gone college boy on us."
Jama, standing as erect as he could make himself, said, "You want to let it be or take some kind of action?"
Xavier said, "There wasn't a lady present I'd have your neck broke by now. Have it done before you pull the piece you done those people with. Gun you stuck in your jeans but didn't feel right, so you put it in your bag." Xavier said, "On second thought, I don't need to shoot you. We gonna give you to the police."
"You want, we can let it be," Jama said. "Couple of brothers run into each other-why not? And I'm on my way. Tell your grandkids you met me one time."
"Let you go?" Xavier said. "You too scary. First thing, I want you to slip the bag from your shoulder and hand it to me." Xavier took a step to stand in Jama's face. "Try to run, I'll bust your head on the pavement. Mess up your nice haircut." They stared in each other's faces till Xavier pulled the bag from Jama's shoulder and handed it to Dara.