MICHAEL HEY'S

TALES FROM WARRI

I N D E X

Dateline Warri, Nigeria, 1st February 2004

Henry to the Rescue

Historically, three major tribal groups inhabit the swampy region of the Delta State. Ijaws, living in poverty and deprivation in the muddy inlets and channels of this part of the Niger Delta, Itsekiri, seen as the wealthiest, landowners and Urhobo, a kind of middle class, or merchant. In Warri these distinctions are hijacked by street gangs of disaffected youths battling for control of different swathes of the squalid town wherein they suck an evil living through protection rackets that gather piles of low value Naira notes from fearful stall holders, shopkeepers, small businessmen.

Behind and loosely controlling the street gangs, tribal chiefs play a crude game of territorial dominoes and front up with local political aspirants who stand for election of the few constituencies within the town. As an election season nears so the general level of local violence rises and early one year we had endured nearly three months of kidnappings by Ijaws. Kidnap income is used to stock up with small arms and ammunition and so gain an upper hand on opponents.

During the previous ten weeks seventeen expatriates had been taken at various times by Ijaw youths. Some had been taken at gunpoint from popular bars late in the evening. Two Eastern Europeans were grabbed as they came out of Lords, the only gambling hall in the town.  And most bizarre, the headmaster of the expatriate school and his four year old son were spirited away from the waterfront within the Shell residential camp at Ogunu. They were forced into the bottom of a dugout canoe, covered with blankets and paddled off to the nearest village. 

Henry, well known for his ability to obtain black market fuel during periods of shortage was sitting next to me now, in Joy’s bar, sipping a cold Star beer, hammering on with his usual doggedness about his business, I tried a distraction.

“Henry”

“I am Henry” he replied

“Henry, all this kidnapping and violence has only one outcome, it reduces the value of what the gangs are fighting for. Businesses are leaving this town and heading for Port Harcourt, the oil companies are shifting their operations to there and thus the total wealth here reduces.”

“Are you going to help me with that my import business?” Henry asked, by way of reply.

“Henry, we have been through this. It is a business you control and own and unless you are prepared to release substantial equity no-one will invest.”

“I do not want to work with any Nigerians” Henry insisted, “I need expatriate partner.”

It was an old discussion. Following its usual course and leading nowhere.

“Henry, what about *****ar, I said mentioning a medium sized freight forwarder with a good reputation. Why don’t you talk with them about importing goods from Europe and America.

He looked at me sideways.

“Don’t you have a good friend in there?” I asked, “You know, Gary.” Gary was an American, who had worked in the region for years. “What does he say?”

“I do,..” he hesitated for a moment, “Gary”

“Yes?”

“But I t’ink dey kidnapped him.” He said after a long pause.

“What do you mean kidnapped?”

“He ‘phoned and I was trying to talk to him and he would not listen to me then he get very excited, I am trying to arrange to meet him, then the ‘phone go dead.”

We were sitting on the barstools leaning forward against the bar top.  As I sipped my beer my imagination reconstructed the telephone call between them:

Ring-Ring!, Ring-Ring!  The telephone on Henry’s desk would be jumping.  He picks up the hand piece and speaks cautiously into it:

“Hello ... Hello?”

“HEY!!  Who’s there?  Who’s there?”

“I am Henry”

“Henry, its Gary ...  you know Gary, Gary from *****ar ... HEY Henry ... I need help, I NEED HELP!”

“I am Henry”

“I know you’re Henry, Goddam it!  Henry I need HELP!”

“Gary ... how is work?”

“Henry… GODDAM IT,”   sound of gunfire in the background,  “I am trapped in my office down here Henry.  The whole port is blockaded by mobs.  My Manager in Port Harcourt was on the ‘phone.  He told me to GET OUT OF HERE!”

“So Gary, how can I help?”  Henry’s measured, even voice would have spelled out the words slowly.

“Henry, HELP ME, how can I get out of my offices and out of this port without being taken by these mobs?”

“The road?”

“NO!! NO, GODDAM IT!!  The gates are blocked.  They’ve just lifted two expats and taken them hostage ... HOSTAGE ... Do you HEAR?”

“Gary, go to the dockside, find a little boat and drive it down river to Warri Ramp where you get off and enter the Shell compound, where the swimming pool is.”

“AARGH!!  HENRY!!>>” 

And the ‘phone went dead.

Others at the bar confirmed there had been a kidnapping from the port during the day by tribes, possibly Ijaw and that they were being held to ransom.

“Henry! What are you going to do to help your friend?” I asked

“What I can do?”

“Offer them your Mercedes Benz in exchange for Gary”

Henry looked pained. “I need that my Mercedes.”

“Think how much your business would improve if you rescued him. They would give you an exclusive import deal at the very least.”

The word exclusive caught his attention. “But how I can go about this?”

“You need an intermediary. Someone who will negotiate for you.”

“You can lend me the money?”

“Henry, you have more money than I will ever have.”  But my mind was racing.  I thought of a way to get to a negotiator.

“Henry,”

“Yes?”

“Why do we not speak with Oddbon?”

“Why I speak with Oddbon?”

“Oddbon is a local chief and my friend.”

“You have no friends here. You are too trusting, you do not understand Nigerians.”

I smiled. Oddbon, whose first name is Okeke, reduced to OK, is distinguished by his diminutive stature, a wide gap between the front teeth, fizzing energy and an extended family on account of his three wives who varied in age stepwise each ten years older than the immediate junior.  And looking at the youngest of the three one would calculate a wedding to be on the agenda within the coming year or so.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Oddbon stared at me with disbelief. “His company will sort this.” He explained patiently.

“Oddbon, we want to do this quickly.” I insisted, “Corporate procedures take time, we can help our friend.”

Oddbon continued to stare at me. Finally,  “We talk with BestMan, “ he said

I climbed into his battered Nissan and we racketed away, out of town, past the refinery and deep into a shanty village on the very edge of the swamp. We pulled up outside a small concrete building. Openings in the walls, no windows. An open door onto a rough patio, plastic table, four plastic chairs. We sat down and I looked out straight into a river. The other bank was dense with mangroves, the water covered with green slime, the stench of raw sewage drifted about. A young female served two cold Star beers. Oddbon called her back and issued a stream of instructions in pigeon English. Then he lapsed into silence.

About thirty minutes elapsed and just after the second round of cold beer a shambling overweight male of indeterminate middle age arrived. He drew up a chair, looked at me coldly and then, grabbing both of Oddbon’s hands he uttered a few questions in a rough and guttural manner.

“Wat dis now Oddbond?” and “Wat dis Oyebo do heah now? Dis not safe foh Oyebo.” then “Why yo call Bes’ man?”

“Dis Oyebo Nigerian now.” Oddbon replied. “His fren’ taken by dese yo Ijaw frens, we wan him back.” Oddbon had slipped into a colloquial tongue.

BestMan turned a bloodshot eye in my direction.

“Yo pay two fity t’ousan Naira, fo, Bes’ man.” He said.

My eyes must have widened, the beer choked in my throat. Oddbon laughed. “Yo get mebbe twenty five t’ousan!” He said

But I was already out of my depth.

“Does BestMan know where they hold our friend?” I asked, “Ask him ... mention he is the American ... youngish, dark hair, taken from the office in his yard, Magibar ...”

Odbon replied with a stream of unintelligible pigeon, directed at BestMan, interspersed with several sidelong glances in my direction.

“He know where they are being kept. The tribes seek thirty million for each.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Tell him they can have Henry’s Mercedes, and that his fees will be covered.”

BestMan grinned. His teeth gleamed white in stark contrast. He rose and the meeting was over.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Two or three evenings later BestMan tracked me down at Joy’s bar. I was sitting with Henry. BestMan lumbered in and sat heavily down on one of the plastic picnic chairs under a mango tree. He looked at me with a fixed expression. I went over.

“Oyebo, yo’ no interested in dat yo’ fren?”

“Yes, I am, but the money is too much..”

“Who dat yo’ drink de beer wit?”

“That’s Henry, he has a Mercedes Benz, he will swap it for the American.”

“Mercedes?”

“It is parked outside, I’ll show you.”

Henry glanced with an artificial disinterest as I walked out of the open air bar and onto the road. BestMan followed me. Henry’s Mercedes suddenly looked battered and ordinary.

Bestman said nothing. He walked back to the bar and sat back in his plastic chair, which bent heavily under his weight.

“I speak with Henry” I said

BestMan remained expressionless.

“Henry”

“I am Henry”

“Henry ... that is BestMan. He is chief negotiator for the Ijaw and he will get Gary free ... but you must promise him your Mercedes.”

“I told you, I never do business with Nigerian.”  Henry said.

“Henry. You are One Hundred per cent Nigerian. Go and talk with him. Just think of the big picture. How much reward *****ar will give you for rescuing Gary. Listen to me!”

Henry stood up to his full height and squared his shoulders. I was reminded of the posture of a heavyweight wrestler about to go into the ring with Big Daddy. He sat down next to BestMan with an expression of total disgust. I watched them.

Within minutes they were engaged in animated discussion. From the occasional glances in my direction I knew what to expect. And soon it came my way.

“Michael”

“Henry”

“BestMan want two hundred fifty thousand Naira”

“Yes, I told you that”

“But I do not have that money now, so you mus’ lend it to me”

“And when will I get it back?”

“Next month”

“When will Gary be released?”

“First we meet with the Eze Logbo of Effurun, this BestMan he take us tomorrow”

I knew of the Eze Logbo.  A king of one of the minorities, he lived in a crumbling mansion behind the Edewo estate near the centre of town. The grounds extended to several acres, an incongruous island of calm amongst the crowded, stinking streets.  But I had never met him.

I looked at Henry and thought. I was drawing myself into someone else’s battle, a kind of insane curiosity dragging me along, each step irreversible. Then I thought of Gary, sweating in an infested swamp, no clean water, swarms of mosquitos, desperate.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

“Remember,”  Henry said the next day as we drew up to the compound, “When you address the Eze you go down on one knee and hold your left elbow with your right hand. It is a show of respect.”

“How much are we paying him?”

“Dis is a courtesy call”

“How much?”

“Sixty t’ousan.” Henry had a brown bag stuffed with Naira, part of the three hundred thousand that I had drawn from the bank that day.

Several flunkies hung around the entrance to the mansion. BestMan lead the way. The doors were immense, carved mastonia wood, they eased back with a scrape across the cement floor. Inside was gloomy, a fan stirred the thick air and finally we were in his presence. He must have been expecting us. He sat on a high backed, highly ornate chair, his hands gripping the ends of the carved arms. He looked at Henry. We both bent on one knee. I gripped my left elbow.

“What yo bring?”

It was not the Eze who spoke. The voice emanated from the shadows behind his chair

“Dis” Henry passed the brown paper bag over.

“What yo want?”

“Release that our friend Gary, the American, he is held in the swamp.”

Silence, a pair of bloodshot eyes bored into me.

“Why dat Oyebo heah?”

“He is Gary’ fren’”

Then a grunt, a fly whisk waved and we were outside standing by Henry’s car.

Henry was silent. “What now?” I asked

“First I hand over that my Mercedes.” His gloom deepened, “An’ we pay dat two huner’ and fifty t’ousan Naira … then we wait.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Later that week I returned home, to Scotland, for few weeks break. I had not seen Henry again but on the flight I found myself sitting next to a youthful and ebullient character.

“I am Prince Endugu,” he said engagingly, “My family that owns Nigeria’s largest private airline, and several hotels in Lagos and Abuja.”

“Ah,” I said, “Well I work as a consultant in the Oil Industry.”

“So?” He replied, “Do you hear of our company *****ar?”

“That is yours?” I replied, stunned by the coincidence.

“My father learned from Americans then set it up. We are the biggest freight forwarder in the country.”

“I know… but this is amazing, we have just been trying to obtain the release of one of your people.. Gary ******, an American engineer. He was kidnapped by Ijaws”

He looked at me puzzled. “But Gary has been in the US for the past three months, part leave and part training.” he said, “He could not have been kidnapped.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

I never came across Henry again despite fervent efforts. I heard he travelled to Port Harcourt to run his business from there, and also that he had acquired a gleaming new Mercedes..

© Michael Hey; All Rights Reserved

Dateline Warri, Nigeria, 28th July 2003

Julie

Head out on the PTI Road, just before The Petroleum Training Institute turn left along a dirt track and instead of turning right towards the King Wilkinson compound carry on and at the second pair of steel gates press sharply on the horn.  Behind the gates and immediately on your right stands the Multinational Expertise Limited (MEL) guest-house.  It is a standard three-bedroom bungalow and between it and the wall of the camp there is a neatly housed standby generator.

It was at this property that Prof. Daniel Mortimor and his colleague Dr William (Bill) Higgins arrived, fresh from their Redbrick University in the West Midlands, sometime early in the year, before the rains started.  Daniel was a pipe smoker, who enjoyed long, rambling discussions and a few whiskies before bedtime. Bill was more of a social animal.  He liked to get out and meet people, new people, immerse himself in any new environment, absorb the local culture, understand local politics and see the way local people lived.

Their favourite watering hole of an evening became the OTS bar, just down the track and across to the other side of the PTI Road behind the high doors.  A converted bungalow, the bar had the atmosphere of an English pub.  There was a small satellite TV high up in the wall, a pool table and a dart-board.  And on Sunday evenings there would be a live band,the bar-b-cue was lit and excellent beef and chicken suya was offered.

And it was on one such Sunday evening, after downing several chilled bottles of Star beer that Bill first saw Julie.

She was tall, as tall as he was and generously proportioned.  Her hair was short, her lips carmine and her eyes held him spellbound.  He stood at the bar staring as she gyrated on the little dance floor, seemingly moving for him alone, her hips swaying with a lovely, graceful sense of rhythm that escaped the awkward, angular movements of the white women he had known.  Daniel was talking intently to him but he did not hear the words.  His whole attention was hers and she knew it.  Every few moments she flashed a tight little smile at him and his pulse raced.  His blood surged, he had to have her, HAD TO have her, a fever swept through him and for a giddy minute there were only two of them in the bar. 

The music stopped with a long sigh and she swept off the floor and perched on the stool next to him.  Her leg gently touched against his thigh then she pulled it back and smiled. Her hand, slender fingers, rested on his arm, her black skin a sharp contrast to his pale flesh.  He could smell a heavy, musky perfume from her, something natural and primitive, dark and bewitching.

“I am Julie,” She said simply, her voice soft, “What is your name?”

“Bill”

“Are you from America, Bill?”

“England actually, Birmingham..”

“Birming-Ham?  Is it to do with pigs?”

“Hah,” A short, nervous laugh escaped him,  “That’s a good one.  I should jolly well say so!”

“Excuse me a moment Bill, I go to pee.”

“OK” And he watched as she moved with a natural grace across the room and through the door at the back.

“I’d be a little careful there old chum” Daniel was saying, “HIV and all that, better have a stiff drink than a stiffy ... that’s what I say.”

Bill wasn’t listening.  He was waiting for her to return.

“Look old chum, I know you like get close to the locals, very meritorious, but be warned.  I’ve heard some pretty rum stories around here, I’ll tell you.”

The barman, Jerry, was leaning forward to Bill in a conspiratorial way.  “She a good girl sah.  A good girl, not like these night flights, no, she a regular good girl.  You don’ need worry about her sah.” He repeated.

They were the words Bill wanted to hear, not that anything, ANYTHING was going to stop him.  He watched her as she returned, looking at him, smiling, sitting gracefully down, close to him.

“Do you like me?” She asked

“I like you” he replied

“What do you like?”

“Your eyes”

“My eyes?” She said quizzically, “Just my eyes?  That all?  My eyes?”

“Your eyes bewitch me” he said

“I like your eyes,”  She replied gazing directly at him,  “Kind eyes.  Not like black men.  Back men beat, black men cruel.”

A wave of sympathy swept over him, “Such a hard life for people here,” he said

“Yes,” she said, “We all just try to survive.   That’s all this place is, survival”

“Would you like to try to survive, … with me?” He asked

“I would”

“I’m not very reliable,” he said

“Not reliable?  Come , let us dance together..”  She held out an inviting hand, he slipped awkwardly off the barstool and followed her onto the small dance floor, already alive with wannabe John Travoltas and their acquiescent, dark skinned Olivias.

She folded into him soft and warm, her eyes lingering on his face.  One hand slid up behind his neck and he lost himself to the music and her embrace.

Later in the evening, after several more bottles of  Star, he was seriously in love.  Daniel had returned to the guest-house and had sent the car and driver back to collect him when he was ready.

The evening slowly wound down and Bill was unsure what he should do.

“Come on” Julie said softly, “Let us go”

“OK”  he replied reluctantly, “Where?”

“To your guest-house of course,”  she said

“But Daniel”

“He will not mind,” she replied, “It is quite normal here, many expat have girlfriend ... don’t you want me be to be your girl friend?”

“I want, yes I want” he said

She smiled and linked arms with him.  They left the bar and said farewells to the remaining revellers.  They sat in the back seat of the car together holding hands, linking fingers tightly.  Then he kissed her for the first time and it was a long, warm and soft kiss, full of passion, like the first kisses he remembered from his teenage years.  The excitement was unbearable.

They reached the guest-house.  Daniel had gone to bed and they stumbled into the front room, arms locked around each other …

…….

… it was early the next morning as she lay with her head on his shoulder that she first whispered to him of money ...

“Bill, ... Bill,” she called softly. 

“Yes my dear,” he replied, his head full of rich memory, the touch of skin that was like velvet, black velvet, racing passions and long, pleasurable moments.

“Bill, ... can you help me, please honey, just a little?”

“Help you?  Why sure ... anything, just say it, anything”

“Bill, I need a little money..”

“OK , my dear,” said Bill, the request did not surprise him and he had a generous allowance, he could easily dispose of some Naira.

“Thank-you honey,”  she said,  “It is God that has done this for me, it is God that has found you.  I thank God for this pleasure.”  And she snuggled in closer to him.

When he arose she dressed with him and sat at the breakfast table with him and Daniel.  Bill felt faintly embarrassed by her presence, Daniel was polite, a little cool, she was demure and charming.

They finished their breakfast, tropical fruits, toast and coffee and gathered their things to go to the car before being driven to the offices of C*****, an Oil company where they worked as consultants, several miles away, out on the express.

“Please, drop me at the end of the road,”  Julie asked

“Not a problem,” Bill replied.

Then as they were leaving the house and waiting for the car, standing beside the generator Julie sidled up to Bill and whispered “Remember, honey, you promised me some money..”

Bill quickly reached into his pocket and removed a bundle of Naira, it was at least two thousand.  He handed it to her and it vanished rapidly into her purse.  She squeezed his arm and smiled.  He glanced around, Daniel had not noticed the transaction.

They climbed into the car and dropped Julie off at the main road.  The remainder of the journey was silent.

That evening Julie appeared at the guest-house at about seven o’clock.  Daniel was polite, but chilly.  Bill was pleased to see her.  The memory of the previous evening had been with him all day and he had looked forward with anticipation to seeing her again.

She went with him to a little bar in town, inside a converted container, crowded with expatriates and locals.  The atmosphere was electric,  the band lively and the beer cool and inexpensive.

If possible Bill and Julie became closer.  He felt he was in love with her, something had completely intoxicated him,  he would live with her, he would do anything for her …

“Honey,” she whispered to him as they sat at the bar, “Remember, it is God that has brought us together, it is God”

“It is something”  Bill replied

“It is God, and remember honey, what God has brought together, no man may put asunder ...”

Bill smiled, the look of complete devotion in her eyes disarmed him, he felt as though he had a slave at his feet, one that he could love and live with..

“Honey,” she said,  “Will you take me to Europe with you?”

“Have you ever been abroad?”  he countered

“Never, I would love to go, please take me, say you will, please take me”

Bill smiled and tried to imagine himself abroad with her, what his friends would say, or think …

He looked into her eyes again, and then they danced some more, chatted, drank, and returned back to his guest house.

The next morning he slipped her some more Naira, she smiled her thanks, but he missed the little chill in her eyes.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The days went by and Bill and Julie were seeing each other regularly.  Even Daniel had become friendly as he accepted that Bill was happy in his relationship with Julie.  It seemed they could not take their hands off each other.  Whenever they were together they would touch or kiss or whisper.  And Julie was useful in the house, she would prepare breakfast, cook sometimes and clear the kitchen.

Each day Julie would ask for money and Bill would hand over Naira, until one morning she asked him for dollars.

“Please honey, give me dollars, you know these Nairas is rubbish.”

“But Julie, I’ve given you a lot of money,  ... I must have given you hundreds of dollars of Nairas in the last ten days alone”

“Are you counting honey, really, why are you counting?  There is no need to count the money”

“I have to, it is my habit, and if I don’t count it I lose it”

“But it is so little, honey really, please honey, please, give me dollars,” and she looked at him with large eyes and he felt his resistance crumbling.

“Alright then, how much”

“Just fifty, honey,  I can pay my rent and, honey, there is only you in my life, I cannot jig-a-jig with anyone else, there is only you, so please honey, please ...”

Bill smiled and handed over a crisp new fifty dollar bill.  Her response was so warm that he was angry with himself.. ‘After all,’ he thought to himself, ‘it is nothing compared to what I am earning whilst out here.’

But a few days later she wanted a hundred, then a hundred and fifty dollars and Bill became alarmed.

“No, No Julie, I cannot give you that much money,” he said urgently to her late that night, “I’ve given you plenty, much more than most people here earn in a month,  No, I really cannot”

“But honey, I need clothe-ez,  do you want me to look like a bush girl?  I need money for clothe-ez”

“Look, I’ll give a you a regular amount, say fifty dollars per week, but that will be it.”

“Huh”  she looked at him, a coldness entering her eyes for the first time.  She managed to sneer.  “You want to jig-a-jig but you don’t want to give any money?  Honeey ...”  she said with a cooing in her voice, “Come on honeey , be a honey ... “  and then she pouted.  But Bill’s resolve held.

The next morning Bill said to Julie, “Look Julie, I think we need some time apart, for a few days, OK?”

She looked at him with wide eyes, tears beginning to glisten at the corners. “I’m sorry honey, I’m sorry, It is the DEVIL who make me say dose tings,  it is de DEVIL.  I cast out De DEVIL!”  she cried.

Bill was momentarily disarmed,  but he replied, “OK  dear, It was the Devil, old Lucifer himself.  But let us cool it off, just for a few days?”

Julie nodded.  And that evening and for a few more after that Bill and Daniel went out together and Julie was not around.

In fact it was eight days later that the Police came, in the evening, at about six p.m.  They came in two vehicles, the leading one a pick-up with an extended cab and following a grey Peugeot saloon with several officers inside.  The leading vehicle carried four in the cab plus two heavily armed constables in the back.  These two had been beating a path through the traffic with heavy sticks, their semi-automatic weapons slung casually over their shoulders whilst the blue flashing lights rotated and the siren wailed up and down.

They roared through the gates of the MEL compound and skidded to a halt in front of the guest-house where Bill and Daniel were staying.

They jumped out of the vehicles and strode, a large phalanx, up to the door and banged on it.

Bill opened the door and faced a red-eyed, angry Police sergeant.

“Are you Mr Bill Higgins?”  He asked in a loud voice

“I am..” Bill replied, nervously

“We are told you been having drugs in dis place and we are here to search the premises and arrest you for possession of drugs and dealing in drugs.”

And with that he strode into the house,  his fellow officers behind him.

Bill was struck dumb.  The blood drained from his face and he felt an urgent need to relieve his bowels.

He was grasped roughly by the arms and dragged towards the Police car.  He was flung into the back seat and two Policemen sat either side of him.  One fiddled with handcuffs, but before he could be bound the car had driven off, away towards the Police station.

The Police station was a soot stained concrete building on the outskirts of town.  It was noisy, dark, crowded and stank of urine.  Bill was thrown into an unlit cell, scrabbling sounds greeted him from the shadows and he landed on the greasy, wet floor with a heavy thump.

“What is going on?” He cried, “You cannot do this.  I have nothing to do with drugs.  You must let me go!!”

“Magistrate see yo in mornin’ Oyebu”  someone said from outside the bars. 

And then he was left, with strange companions crawling forward to inspect him, with nowhere to sit but on the damp floor, nothing to breathe but the fetid air and nothing to drink or eat.

The next morning he was exhausted.  He had fouled his clothes and he stank.  His beard was beginning to show and he felt as though a thousand lice had inhabited his body.  His skin itched and his nose ran.  He was gasping for water and his stomach churned with hunger.

At about eleven o clock he could hear the sounds of someone calling for him.  It was Daniel. ‘Thank God’ he thought to himself, then footsteps and suddenly the cell bars were opened and there was Daniel and Julie standing. Looking at him with expressions of great concern on their faces.

“Honey, honey,”  Julie cried, “Oh my honey ... are you alright?”

Bill looked at her blankly for a moment.  The he turned to Daniel “Can I get out of here?  What happened last night.. What is going on?”

“It is alright Bill,”  Daniel said, “they found no drugs.”

“They’ll drop the charges?”

“Not as easy as that”  He replied

“Julie, Julie, can’t you do something?”  Bill was begging.

“I speak to them,” Julie said and she turned to the officers who were standing round and gabbled rapidly and unintelligibly in pidgin English.

“They will let you go ... but first you must pay some money”

“Anything, anything, only get me out of here ...”

Julie nodded and turned back to the police

“Fourteen hundred dollars,” she said, “That will keep you out of here, like bail”

“OK, OK, I’ll pay it” Bill gasped.

“Are you sure old chap?” Daniel asked, “They don’t have a case against you, don’t see why you should pay the blighters”

“I’ll cover it from my own funds”  Bill replied

“OK, old chum”  Daniel said and he produced fourteen hundred dollars from his money belt and peeled it off to the rapt attention of the surrounding policemen.  Then he turned to Bill, “Fourteen hundred you owe me old chap,” he said, as though Bill was going to vanish before his very eyes without repaying him.

At last they were out of the station.

Julie clung to his arm.  “Honey, honey oh Honey.  I am so sorry-o. So sorry-o.  I hope you are alright honey ... I hope you are alright.”

“I feel better now, thanks Julie”  Bill said to her.

“Good honey, honey, look, I get you into the shower when we get to the house, I get you into the shower.”

“Thank you for coming to rescue me Julie,” Bill said.  “Thank you.  I would still be in there if not for you” and he flashed a poisonous glance at Daniel who was busy with his pipe.

“It is God who helped you Honey,” she replied.  “It is God.  God sent me to see you this morning, God who sent me to your house, God who led me to rescue you.  Thanks to God, honey, thanks to God.”

“Thanks to God indeed,” said Bill and he gripped her arm tightly as they walked toward the car and release.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

But then when he had stumbled out of the Police building into the fresh air Bill had not seen Julie take five hundred dollars from the hands of the Police officer and with a tight little smile, slip it into her handbag.

© Michael Hey; All Rights Reserved