Blood Is Dirt Read Free Page A

chains to make.’
    â€˜Perhaps Air Briggs is concerned that he’s done something illegal,’ said Bagado. Napier kicked himself back off the window and turned on him. ‘Transferring funds from overinvoicing on a government contract. Whose money is it?’
    â€˜Ah, yes,’ said Napier, backing down, leaning against the window, easing another smoke out, keeping the chain going. ‘Embarrassing.’
    â€˜What percentage did they offer you?’
    â€˜Forty. Thirty-five for...’
    â€˜Who was the other five for?’
    â€˜Someone called Dan Emanalo. He doesn’t exist, nor does the company he works for.’
    â€˜Which was?’
    â€˜Chemiclean Limited. I supplied them with chemicals in drums. They had a government contract to supply sewage treatment systems.’
    â€˜But they didn’t exist?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜But they miraculously paid you for supplying the chemicals?’
    Napier Briggs fell silent. He wasn’t a topnotch liar. He was pretty good at shutting up or spinning out half truths and he was an outstanding smoker, but lying... he just didn’t have it.
    â€˜You’re binding up on us again, Napier.’
    â€˜I have to think about this.’
    â€˜Nothing’s going out of this room, Napier. Strictly P and C and all that.’
    â€˜Where’s that coffee?’ he asked.
    â€˜Coming.’
    Napier clasped the back of his neck and tried to squeeze the anguish out.
    â€˜Why can’t I think?’
    â€˜Maybe you’re scared, Napier?’
    â€˜Did you have particular need of this ten million?’ asked Bagado.
    â€˜Ten million?’
    â€˜Thirty-five per cent of thirty million dollars.’
    â€˜Yes. No,’ said Napier, and his face crumpled. He was losing it. We sat in the silence left over by the traffic. The coffee and croissants arrived. Two
cafés au lait
for Bagado and I, and a double tarantula juice for Napier. He sipped it, rattling the cup back into the saucer each time. Thinking. Thinking. The brain turning and turning like a hamster’s wheel.
    â€˜What did you make supplying the sewage treatment chemicals?’
    â€˜Two per cent of the shipping, about three thousand dollars, but I did the product as well. Took five per cent of that. I don’t usually do product.’
    â€˜Who did you get the product off?’
    â€˜Dupont,’ he said, too quickly.
    â€˜French Dupont?’
    â€˜Yes, it was,’ he said, wanting to fill that out a bit more but having nothing else to say.
    â€˜Sweet deal?’
    â€˜Very.’
    â€˜What are we talking about? Two hundred, three hundred grand?’
    â€˜Something like that.’
    â€˜Takes care of your running costs for a bit.’
    â€˜Sure.’
    â€˜Now, the ten million dollars, that’s different. That’s retirement money. Don’t have to push the pen any more, hump the phone to your ear. It can solve big problems, too, that kind of money.’
    â€˜Like?’
    â€˜Debts. Payoffs. Muscle.’
    Napier slugged back the last dram of tar and refitted the cup. He lit another cigarette and threw the old butt out on to the balcony. He folded his jacket over his arm and shook his legs in his trousers, which were clinging to those parts where dogs like to stick their noses. He picked up his zip-top briefcase by the ear.
    â€˜It’s like going to a shrink, Napier,’ I said. ‘You have to relive the trauma to get over the neurosis. Have a think about things. Straighten them out in your head. Come back and talk to us again.’
    â€˜Do you have a home number?’
    â€˜I do, but I don’t give it out. This kind of business and a happy home life don’t go together. You’ve got a card, I take it?’
    â€˜Yeah. The guy in the British High Commission gave it to me.’
    â€˜We have an answering machine here. Office hours are eight a.m. to one p.m. and five p.m. to eight p.m.