“That it would,” Sam said. “But Pete and Wendy prefer to work with the smaller businessman, trying to keep the money local.”
Hank wiped his brow, then looked out across the street at a restaurant. “Are you going to be a while? I’m starving and dying of thirst. Probably should have eaten a bigger breakfast.” He glanced at Sam. “Or am I being presumptuous? I should have asked if we had time.”
“No,” Sam said. “You’re fine. Remi and I just wanted to add a few extra things to our replacement order. They’ll still have to load the truck. Maybe an hour?”
“Plenty of time,” Hank said. “Amal? You’re welcome to join me.”
“Thank you, no. I’m going to wait here in the shade. Stretch my legs a bit.”
He crossed the street and stopped in surprise as a group of children ran up and surrounded him, some actually tugging on his shirt. At first he shook his head, but then reached into his pocket, pulling out some coins, tossing them into the air. Thinking to make his getaway, he turned, only to run into more kids coming in from the other direction. For a moment, it looked as though he’d be mobbed, but a police car drove by and the children scattered.
“Let’s hope he was smart enough to hold on to his wallet,” Sam said. He looked at Remi. “Shall we?”
“I’ll meet you inside.” She glanced over at Amal, worried about leaving her out there alone. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in with us?”
Amal, looking at her phone, dropped it, staring almost in disbelief as it hit the ground.
Remi, concerned, picked up the phone, tried to hand it to her, but from the expression on the young woman’s face, it was almost as if Remi wasn’t even there. “Amal . . . ? Are you okay?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
No matter how good you are to a goat, it will still eat your yam.
– NIGERIAN PROVERB –
It was several seconds before Amal moved. She waved as though trying to clear cobwebs in front of her. “Throw back . . . your veils . . .” she said in French. And then, as quickly as it came over her, she seemed fine. “I . . . I think I had one of my spells.”
“It certainly looked like it.” Remi, afraid to leave her behind, guided her into the store. “Maybe you should wait in here until we’re done shopping.”
“Good idea.”
The white-haired clerk, seeing there was some sort of issue, brought out a plastic chair and placed it next to his counter. “I’ll watch her.”
“Thank you,” Remi said. She hovered over the young woman a few moments.
“I’m fine,” Amal said. “Really.”
“We’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Go. Please. I promise I’ll sit right here until you get back.”
Sam nodded toward Remi. “Sooner we get this done, sooner we can get on the road.”
* * *
—
“It was so odd,” Remi said, once they were out of hearing. “Almost as if she was looking right through me.” She followed him down the aisle, accessing the text Wendy had sent that morning of the additional items they needed for the school. “Ten buckets.”
Sam’s attention was on a boy, about twelve or so, standing near the endcap, peering at them through the shelves of liquid detergent. He’d been one of the children who’d crowded around Hank just before he’d walked into the restaurant across the street. “Buckets of what?”
“Of what?” Remi looked up, her green eyes filled with exasperation. “Seriously, Fargo. You’re beginning to worry me. Buckets for the school.”
“Sorry.” He glanced at the list on her phone, glad that the bulk of supplies were preordered, and waiting to be loaded on the truck out back. “Ten buckets,” he said.
Remi eyed him, then the boy at the end of the aisle. “You can’t think he’s any sort of problem. The first gust of wind would blow him away.”
Sam looked over at his wife, almost surprised. They were usually on the same page when it came to potential threats. “It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s his gang of pickpockets and thieves waiting outside for us. You saw them surround Hank.”
“You’re worried about Hank? Living in Tunisia, I imagine he’s got plenty of experience avoiding—”
“Not him. Us. We’ve been marked as a target.”
“Noted,” she said, going back to the list. “Except I’d amend that to you being marked as a target. I seriously doubt that I have anything they want.”
In that respect, Remi was correct. Prepared for their trip into the bush, she was dressed in khaki slacks and an olive green button-down shirt. They both knew this area of Jalingo was rife with gangs, which was why Remi wasn’t carrying a purse or wearing any jewelry. Amal, Sam noticed, had taken the same precautions. Remi, like Sam, was carrying a concealed gun, hers in a slim holster beneath her shirt, his holstered behind a secret panel in his safari vest. Other than that, the only thing Sam carried that might fall prey to a pickpocket was his wallet—not that he was worried. He’d moved his billfold up to his top vest pocket, zipping it tight, before he ever left the supply truck.
With the last item checked off, they reached the front of the store, where Amal still waited. Sam paid for the supplies, arranging to have everything boxed and stacked on pallets for delivery. The clerk read the name on the purchase order. “Fargo . . .” he said. “That sounds familiar. We just filled this earlier in the week. The girls’ school near Gashaka Gumti, yes?”
“It never made it,” Sam said. “This time, we’re delivering it personally.”
The man turned a dubious glance toward Remi and Amal, then back to Sam. “These days, the roads can be dangerous. It might be better to pay someone to deliver it for you.”
“We appreciate your concern, but we’ll be fine. What time will it be ready?”
The man looked over the paperwork, picked up the phone, talked to someone in a melodic language Sam didn’t recognize. “They just started to load the truck. Maybe an hour?”
“We’ll see you then.”
The clerk nodded, caught sight of the boy, who was pretending interest, reading the label on a jug of bleach near the front door. “Out of here, you.” The boy left, and the clerk turned to Sam, handing over his copies of the purchase order and receipt. “Terrible thing, what is happening here. It used to be only in the big cities like Lagos. Now, it’s everywhere. I’ve heard that the boys are forced to steal.”