“Maybe you can save your entire village and yourself.” Paul holds out his hand. “Attah.”
The Walrus ambles over, begrudgingly relinquishing his weapon. Paul walks to us, holding the butt of the rifle out to Papa.
“Perhaps now you will reconsider my offer and do what you must to save your people, your children, your family. Will you sacrifice the one to save the many? Does your loyalty run that deep, Chief?”
He does not have to say the words for me to know what Paul means for Papa to do. The choice is sickening, one no one should be forced to make.
My father is beside himself. “Surely you jest? Daniel has done nothing. These villagers are innocent.” He looks imploringly at the man he was once schoolmates with. “Take me if you wish. I am not a threat. We can renegotiate. We can talk about opening up the village to your business.” Papa’s voice cracks. “But please, have mercy, Paul. Please.”
My father is begging. Pleading for the life of his brother, his blood, the future of their Fanti village, which he left in order to learn how to be a good leader from Papa. Daniel, who is only six years my senior and is supposed to continue school abroad. Will he be able to still?
Paul’s face is impassive for so long as the two of them stare at one another. Suddenly, he breaks into a conciliatory smile, and a glimmer of hope peeks its way through.
“Yes, you’re right. Mercy.” He shakes his head, flipping the gun muzzle so it points in the air. “What have I done? How could I ever ask you to do such things?”
Papa visibly begins to relax, his body deflating with each measured breath.
Paul’s violence is so sudden there is no time to react, to even comprehend what is going on.
My uncle jerks as a succession of bullets explodes from the muzzle, slamming into him with such force he’s propelled backward. His jaw locks in a grimace of surprise; his body spasms. Bena and the other intruder yelp like hyenas, jumping away so Paul’s bullets do not hit them. Within seconds, Daniel drops to the ground.
The gunfire reverberates even after Paul stops firing. My uncle’s eyes stare, unseeing, motionless in a perpetual state of incomprehension. His face in death is forever seared into my memory, not the bright, enigmatic young man who introduced me to horror books and movies and comforted me when my mother died.
Paul approaches, leaning over me so they sandwich me, the slice of meat between Papa, the angel, and Paul, the demon. Through all the commotion around us, Paul’s words to my father are clear. For the rest of my days, I will never hear words more chilling, more filled with promises of utter doom.
“Tonight”—his voice slipping over me like a funeral shroud, coiling itself around me, feasting on my insides—“your world will cease to exist. All you love will suffer and die. Your sons will die. You will die. And your princess will sell to the highest bidder. You, Michael Asym, who have had every damn blessing imaginable, have run out of them tonight.”
11
AFTER
Georgia Baxter turned out not to be as sleepy or traumatized as Nena had thought. She began talking and didn’t stop until they made it to her house. Nena figured it was nerves. During the ride, she told Nena what she already knew, that her dad was a federal prosecutor. Nena’s fingers tightened around the wheel, a tell she wasn’t proud to be displaying. She shot a quick look at the girl to see if she’d noticed. She hadn’t. Nena shrugged away any more thoughts of divine intervention and pressed the petrol to get the girl home a little quicker.
She’d barely pulled the Audi to a stop when the front door to the ranch-style home flew open and Georgia’s father burst through the doors, still in his suit, top buttons undone and tie slackened.
Georgia muttered, “Shit,” under her breath. She hesitated before opening the door of the idling car. She sneaked a quick look at Nena. “Thanks again for—um—you know. Earlier.” She couldn’t seem to reconcile what had happened to her. “And for the ride home.”
She didn’t give Nena a chance to respond before she was out the door and heading her dad off in the middle of the walkway. Nena watched as he gesticulated wildly, his anger and fear apparent. He peered over Georgia’s head, no doubt wondering about the strange car and who was in it.
Nena weighed her options. She could just toot the horn and drive away, like she’d seen one of those carpool moms do in a movie when she’d dropped neighbor kids off. If she got out, there would inevitably be questions. But something drew Nena out of the safety of her car, curiosity maybe, because now she wanted to see her mark up close and personal—this man the Council said had to go.