Duck

"What the fuck is Bata Kubwa". That was rude but he explained he was American and believed in direct speaking. I explained a version of the company called Big Duck. The eyes of the crew, all sultry murder, implied the old man was being old, soft and malleable.

"You know" he said, like they do in Westerns, a Tammy Lee Jones drawl, all fake since he had come that day from California ( one of their States).

I waited. The obvious answer was no I don't. But I was very sure he was ready to tell me. He needed a big breath for the big lie and the big threat. I savoured, committed to memory, watched the teleprinter write a few spontaneous, of the moment, versions of the moments a new enemy, a new obsession, was made. The crew had worried about him, his promises and platitudes, that I too would believe. They were pleased to see some new anger grow in babu

"You understand, Mike, that this means I own the place"

His eyes narrow, to give effect, Fischer drew rasping on his thin tobacco free joint. I looked back red eyed and silent, Muhsin split his sphinx face for a moment of grin, wide, and mirthless. Zanzibar has consumed for no return many a wiser man than this Amerikan.

We planned our leaving anyway. There had been an air of departure around. It was the building encroaching along our track, the failing of the messaging systems, the disquieting sense of being too well known in the bar. The greetings by name, the idea that we were of them. Shelly was always the most nevous, she prefered us to be moving always concerned about pursuit. She had spent ten years in the is Amerikans prison, had more reason than me to hate them, but fear overode. But even I was a moment frisson when a Norwegian woman said "I hear you are a white washer".

Shelly voiced what I think we had all been musing.

"Shall we make a mark of this Amerikan"

"Is there a difference between one Amerikan and another"

To themselves but I think not to us: they are their leader.

It is rare for me to be the voice of moderation in my crew, my band of outlaws. Most of them hope one day to have home comforts. But this time, they getting hot, I thought I should comfort them.

"They will come bearing lawyers"

But I doubt it will come to that. Their empire is collapsing, we are the ouposts, their first retreat, and this Fischer, was never their Ceasar, though he had a picture of himself as that. I did as well.

He would huff and puff though, whine and squawk, be encouraged by his nodding dogs.