City of Saints & Thieves(67)

As we walk toward the market, I check my phone to make sure Boyboy hasn’t tried getting in touch while we were on piki-piki, but the only call is from Ketchup. Again.

“Look,” Michael says, “you have to believe me. I didn’t know Mwika was dead. I wouldn’t have come all the way out here with you. I wouldn’t have let you go, period.”

He must think I’m being weird because I’m still mad at him. I scowl down the street, not responding. Should I tell him what’s going on with Kiki? No. She’s my sister and I’ll handle it. He would remind me that technically we’re both related to her the same way, but whatever. It’s not the same. I’ll call Bug Eye when we get back to the guesthouse, I decide. I can go find a quiet corner to talk where no one will hear me. I’ll convince him everything’s going according to plan.

I have to.

When we get there, my cousin’s shop is closed.

Of course it is.

And no one we pass in the busy market seems to be gossiping about the arrival of a rich, white stranger in their tiny town.

Of course they’re not.

I give the locked door of the overambitiously named Grace of Jesus MegaSuperMart a good kick. It scares away a bony cat that’s been sleeping in the tin shack’s shade, but nothing else moves.

Michael doesn’t even try to make me feel better, which is good, because I’m ready to kick him too. We just turn in silence and walk back the way we came, through women presiding over produce, young men hacking sugarcane into pieces for children to suck on, chickens in wire cages, pots and pans, sweet-smelling straw baskets, bold sides of meat hung for shoppers’ inspection.

Michael absently picks up a mango from a fruit seller’s stall, tosses it gently in his palm. “I’m as frustrated as you are that we didn’t find Mwika.”

I snort.

“How am I supposed to prove my dad didn’t kill your mother without his video?” he asks.

The mango seller eyes Michael over her piles of fruit. “Buy that or quit squeezing, kijana.”

“Sorry,” Michael says, and quickly replaces the mango.

As we walk away, I give him a sideways glance. “You really didn’t know he was dead? You didn’t just make this whole crazy bargain to distract me or something?”

Michael stops and reaches for my arm to stop me too. He comes around to face me. “No. I didn’t know he was dead. I promise. Why would I go to all this trouble? Basically running away to Congo? I could have taken Boyboy’s computer a long time ago. Or had you both fed to sharks.” He waits, trying for a smile.

My shoulders slump. I’m so tired. I feel a corner of my mouth lift without my permission. “All right,” I finally concede, “I believe you. Mostly.”

Michael returns my smile. “Come on.”

We’ve only gone a few meters when I feel it. My smile fades as I get that weird prickly sensation like someone’s watching me, and when I look up, I swear I see Ketchup duck into an alley. My heart pounding, I race to the gap between the buildings, but no one is there except a woman washing pots behind a restaurant.

“What?” Michael asks, catching up with me.

“Nothing,” I mutter. “Thought I saw someone.”

“Who?”

“No one. It wasn’t him.”

Ketchup is not here, I tell myself. You’ve just got him on the brain. I wish he were here. At least that way I wouldn’t have to worry about how close he is to Kiki.

The breeze has picked up and whorls of dust go flinging through the narrow lanes between the goods. Clouds are gathering, the clear skies of the morning a distant memory. Shoppers and hawkers start to take note of the change in weather. Women adjust their wrappers and fuss with their wares. They eye the sky, not wanting to pull plastic over their stacks until the last minute.

Suddenly Michael grabs my hand and lurches into a stall with blue tarpaulin walls.

“What are you doing?”

He pulls me past disemboweled electronics on the vendor’s tables and through to the other side. The vendor stares at us as we peer back around the corner.

“I—nothing.”

“Look, I didn’t see anyone back there,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

He continues to scan the shoppers. “Yeah, I know. It’s just that, right before you said you saw someone, I was trying to figure out if a couple of guys were following us.” He looks down and notices he’s still holding my hand. “Sorry,” he says, and drops it quickly, which for some stupid reason makes me blush and wish I’d pulled my hand away first.

I look around too, avoiding his eyes. “Do you see them now?”

“No.”

“There are plenty of people around. Nothing’s going to happen to us here.”

Michael gives me a look. “You say that like you’re expecting something to happen.”

I don’t respond. “Come on, let’s get back before the storm starts.”

We hurry, following the crowds toward the street. The purple sky looks like it’s about to explode. In the distance I see sheets of gray where rain is already coming down.

We aim for the spot we found piki-piki the day before. A drop plops down on my face, and I see the ground ahead freckle with rain. I look back at Michael, who’s still checking over his shoulder. “It’s nothing,” he says.