Part 24 (1/2)
The man who Emmanuel a.s.sumed was Fernandez moved to stroke the gold chains hanging around his neck. The green silk s.h.i.+rt he wore was unb.u.t.toned low enough to display his ample cleavage. ”No.” He shook his head. ”I have no memory of this man.”
”Perhaps someone else who works here does remember. It's not worth my life to return to South Africa without his order and this is the address he gave me.”
”Ahmed,” the Portuguese bullfrog called with a loud croak. ”Ahmed!”
A wiry, dark-haired man with nervous seal pup eyes darted out of a back room and hovered close to Mr. Fernandez. He looked to be a mix of Arab and black African and wore a white lab coat; he smelled of chemicals and sweat. A crocheted skullcap was attached to his head with four oversize hair clips.
”Ahmed. This gentleman is looking for an order for a...” Fernandez paused dramatically and looked to Emmanuel for help.
”Willem Pretorius. Big man with a broken nose.” Emmanuel repeated the description for Ahmed, whose attention bounced from one object in the room to another without settling on anything in particular.
”Mr. Fernandez?” Ahmed tapped his boss on the shoulder with yellow-stained fingers and waited patiently for recognition.
Fernandez maneuvered his bulk counterclockwise and stared at his a.s.sistant. ”Answer this gentleman's query so that he can be a.s.sured that he is in the wrong place.”
”The samosas. Rose has delivered the samosas and coffee. They are still hot.”
The fat man, animated by the promise of fried food and caffeine, heaved his weight out of the chair and struggled to his feet. ”I'm sorry we have not been able to help you locate your friend's order but now we are closing the studio in honor of my saint's day. Ahmed, show the gentleman to the door and lock up behind him.”
”Of course, Mr. Fernandez.” The lab a.s.sistant scuttled to the front door and swung it open with a flourish. ”This way, please.”
Emmanuel reviewed his options and found the only one open to him was to leave and return when the abundant Mr. Fernandez was fed and rested. As he stepped through the doorway, Ahmed leaned closer.
”You must go for a swim and then have an ice cream.” The a.s.sistant spoke in a loud stage whisper. ”At five o'clock you must go to the Lisbon cafe. I will be there at that time also.”
”Five o'clock, the Lisbon cafe?”
”Yes. If I am late you may wish to order the fish curry. It is very good.”
The door shut behind him and Emmanuel saw his little guide waiting farther up the street. The boy ran to his side.
”I need to buy a pair of bathers,” Emmanuel said. ”You know a place?”
”Of course,” the boy replied. ”But first I will take you to a place to exchange your money. I will get the best rate for you, baas. Then I will take you to get the bathers. At this shop I will get the best price for you.”
”Okay,” Emmanuel said. ”Can you get me to the Lisbon cafe at five o'clock sharp?”
”Yes. I can do this for the baas,” the guide said. ”When you are there, you must have the fish curry. It is the best in Lorenzo Marques.”
The a.s.sistant from the photo studio slipped into the cafe and performed a quick check of the patrons. He clutched a slim leather satchel in his arms. Emmanuel lifted his hand in greeting and Ahmed made his way over to the table.
”Mr. Curious White Man.” The a.s.sistant sat down next to him and angled his chair to face the door. ”I, Ahmed Said, have decided that I must talk to you.”
”About?”
”The photos, of course.” The a.s.sistant removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead. He was sweating a river. ”But first, I think you must buy me a drink. Double whiskey, if you please.”
Emmanuel nodded at the knitted skullcap covering Ahmed's glossy head. ”I thought drinking was against your religion.”
”It is,” Ahmed replied without rancor. ”But I am a very bad Muslim. Which is why I have come to talk to you about this policeman's photos. I will tell you all I know as soon as my throat is not so dry.”
”Double whiskey and a strong coffee.” Emmanuel gave the order to a pa.s.sing waiter, then turned back to his informant. ”How do you know the man I was asking about was a policeman?”
”Please. What else could he have been? Even his khaki shorts had a pleat down the front, just like a uniform.”
”You always so observant of the clients who come into the studio?”
”Only the ones who ask for me by name. They are the ones willing to pay Mr. Fernandez for my extra-special service.”
Emmanuel paid the waiter and paused until he'd moved to another table.
”Developing p.o.r.nographic photos?”
”Art photographs,” Ahmed corrected him with a smile. ”The client must specifically ask for Ahmed to develop art photos or we do not touch the film.”
”The policeman knew what to ask for?”
”Certainly.” Ahmed worked the whiskey tumbler with spinster-like sips. ”At first I thought he might be spying on us, trying to get evidence to shut us down, so I said I wasn't taking in any more art photos.”
”Then?”
”He was cool, that one. Most men are sweating like I am now, afraid they'll be caught red-handed, but not him. He looked me straight in the eye and said, 'Don't worry, these are for my own personal use.'”
Emmanuel swallowed a mouthful of tar-black coffee. ”And were they 'personal use' photos?”
”Oh, yes.” The a.s.sistant's dark eyes lit up. ”And very good ones, too. None of the usual images of women licking p.e.n.i.ses like lollipops or being done from behind like a cow. These were very...unusual.”
”Two girls?” Emmanuel ventured a guess.
”No.” Ahmed checked his watch, then drained his gla.s.s in one gulp. ”I see that kind of thing every day. These photos are not like the others, but I promised myself that I would not tell you too much. You must see them for yourself.”
”You have copies?” Emmanuel sat up. This was more than he could have hoped for. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd knocked him cold wouldn't be the only one with access to the evidence.
”That is why I'm here.” Ahmed sighed. ”I am a bad Muslim who is about to marry a good Muslim woman. Much as it pains me, I must cleanse myself of the filth I have gathered over the years.”
”You have the photos with you?”
Ahmed stood up abruptly. ”No. They are in the safe at the photo studio. You must break in and steal them in ten minutes.”
”What?”
”Mr. Fernandez is cheap,” Ahmed explained. ”The night watchman comes on duty one hour after the studio has closed. That gives you one hour to go in, get the photos, and leave Lorenzo Marques before the police are alerted.”
Emmanuel couldn't believe his ears. ”I have to steal the photos? I thought they belonged to you.”
”They do.” Ahmed checked his watch again. ”We must get moving. I will explain on the way.”
The buzz in the cafe increased as a large group of sunburned tourists came in for an early dinner of cheap wine and prawns. Breaking and entering was as much a crime here as it was back in South Africa, and Ahmed was not the ideal accomplice; his s.h.i.+rt and jacket were soaked through with sweat and they hadn't even set the wheels in motion yet.