Ivory Nation, Andy Maslen [e manga reader .txt] 📗

guys said, pushing himself off the bonnet of his Beemer. ‘Plenty of upscale joints in Extension Ten.’

Stella whipped her head round and glared at him, closing the distance between them to less than a foot for good measure.

‘Good. Because I’m not a tourist. Now get out of my fucking way.’

Gabriel closed in to Stella’s left side, as Eli mirrored the move on the right.

The young man hesitated, then kissed his teeth with a raised chin and sidled back to his friends.

Ignoring the threatening murmurs, Gabriel followed Stella inside. The place smelled of expensive perfume, aftershave and tobacco smoke. Subtle lighting created an intimate atmosphere, enhanced by circular leather-benched booths around the walls.

A band occupied a corner of the bar, painted black to demarcate the performance space and framed by two pole-mounted PA speakers. Two guitarists, a bass player, drummer and singer were playing a lilting mid-tempo number. The singer nodded at Gabriel as he caught her eye.

They attracted a fair number of curious and even hostile gazes from the all-black clientele, but that was to be expected. Clearly this was the right place. Tailored suits and expensive-looking designer gear were much in evidence. Lots of gold, plenty of ice sparkling at women’s necks, wrists and earlobes, chunky watches on display beneath pulled-back shirt cuffs. Tall glasses of champagne, ice buckets, cigars.

‘Follow my lead,’ Stella said.

Stella marched up to the bar as if she owned the place. She raised an index finger and crooked it when the barman turned her way. Gabriel and Eli turned outwards and surveyed the room.

Stella was gratified to see that most of the starers turned back to their own conversations, drinks or card games.

‘Yes, madam, what can I get you?’ the barman asked her.

‘Champagne. A bottle. And two glasses.’

He raised his finely arched eyebrows.

‘Two? Not three? Is one of your,’ a pause, ‘friends not drinking?’

‘Neither of them is. And they’re not my friends. They’re my employees.’

‘Then—’

She leant over the bar and dropped her voice.

‘One for me and one for the guy I need to talk to about ivory.’

He stood a little straighter.

‘I don’t know what you mean, Madam. I’m sorry. Let me get you the champagne.’

He arrived back in front of her a few minutes later with a bottle of Moët in a sweating ice bucket and two flutes on a tray.

‘That will be one hundred dollars US, please, Madam,’ he said with a small smile.

Stella turned to her left and spoke to Gabriel.

‘Case.’

He nodded, maintaining the unsmiling expression beloved of personal protection officers all over the world. The case made a satisfyingly loud thump as he plonked it down on the wooden bar top.

Stella popped the catches and lifted the lid, making sure the barman got an eyeful of the neatly arranged, blue-banded stacks of fifty-dollar bills. She slid two from beneath one of the paper ribbons and handed them over. As he extended long, delicate fingers to take them, she slid a third note into the breast pocket of his white jacket.

‘Thank you,’ she said, closing the lid. ‘Send him over to my table, would you? I have a business proposition for him.’

The barman’s gaze flicked over her left shoulder before he regained eye contact with her. He thanked her for the tip and turned away to serve another customer. She waited at the bar while Gabriel and Eli found an empty booth then beckoned her over.

Stella opened the champagne and filled the two flutes to within half an inch of their rims, before scrunching the bottle back into the ice.

‘You think he bought the act?’ Eli asked.

‘Yep. Whoever he is, our man’s in the room. Or someone who can take us to him is. Just wait.’

She took a sip of the champagne. Remembered a bottle she’d shared outside a bar in Taormina on her honeymoon. The man with whom she’d shared it was dead now. So was their daughter. But that was in the past. She slammed the heavy door in her mind that protected her from her memories.

They didn’t have to wait long.

24

Bald pate shining in the gleam of the recessed lighting, the man on his way to their table slipped his six-foot-plus, heavily-muscled body between the tables with a dancer’s grace.

When he reached the table, he smiled and bowed. Gabriel caught a glint of gold on his left wrist beneath the French cuff fastened with a polished knob of white.

‘Good evening,’ he said to Stella, ignoring Gabriel and Eli. ‘I am Peter Mafombe.’ He spread his hands wide. ‘This is my place. May I join you?’

Stella held out a hand, palm upwards.

‘Be my guest, Mr Mafombe.’

He pulled out a seat on the open side of the booth and leaned across the table. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

‘I am afraid you are labouring under a misapprehension, Miss…?’

‘Call me Joyce.’

He smiled again.

‘Joyce. There is no ivory trade in Botswana. It is banned under CITES. That’s the—’

‘Convention on Trade in Endangered Species, yes, I know.’

Gabriel had one eye on Mafombe, and one ear on his conversation with Stella. The other two organs he employed to survey the rest of the bar. Eli would be doing the same.

He saw fewer pretty young women in revealing outfits. And more muscular men standing in small groups, glancing in his direction.

The double doors, which had been flung wide when they entered, were now closed. The band was still playing, but the musicians were exchanging worried glances.

Gabriel’s pulse ticked up a notch. He let his right hand, currently lying on the tabletop, slide off the polished wood and rest on his lap. Just below his waistband.

‘Then, forgive me,’ Mafombe said, ‘but why do you come to my bar asking about ivory?’

‘Because blood diamonds are too hot these days and I need a new asset class to invest in.’

‘Blood diamonds? I have not heard of them. Are they some kind of ruby?’

‘Right!’ Stella said, getting to her feet. ‘I’ve had enough of this. We’re leaving.’

Gabriel and Eli stood in a fast, coordinated movement that had Mafombe rearing