Adventures in Bookkeeping

Marci slowly squinted her eyes open again, hoping he wouldn’t be there. He was. Same spot, completely still, mouth hanging open. She heard flies buzzing around the room.

There was a sharp knock on the door. She snapped to attention. Move, move, move. That was all she could think. She grabbed the book and deftly tucked it into the waist of her jeans. Into the bathroom, closing the door quietly. She looked up at the window. It was big enough. For the first time she was grateful for no glass and no screens on the windows. Unconsciously she itched one of the 20 mosquito bites on her arm.

There was another knock, louder this time. “Mr. American. Kushe! You need your laundry done?” Marci stepped up on the toilet, balanced one foot on the tank and shot through the window with her head and upper body. Her waist caught on the metal edge that used to hold the glass pane. It scraped away skin on her stomach something she would only notice later.

She gasped. It was too high up. She would break her neck dropping down this way. She slid back in, scraping her belly a little more. Steadying her breath to keep silent, she stepped back down on the toilet. She checked and made sure the book was still tucked into the back of the waist of her jeans. Balancing both feet on the tank, she lifted one leg and got it half out the window. It was a feat of flexibility and sheer panic, twisting and getting her legs then body out. Then hanging from her hands. Soft, weak, office hands.

“The adventures of Marci!” she mumbled the small joke to herself. Only able to hold for a mere 4 seconds. The skin on her fingers scraped off and she dropped heavily to the ground, rolling backwards ungracefully, dust and dirt getting up her shirt and in her hair. Move, move, move…. She got up gently and checked her body. Checked the book.

As casually as she could, she started walking, not even aware of which direction. She pulled her shirt down over her back, dusted off her arms and smoother her messy hair. There was a small tea stand across the road in the shade of a big cotton tree. She crossed the hot dirt road and sat on one of the small plastic stools.

“Kushe, ow di bodi?” she waved. “Kushe, di bodi fayn” said the woman.

“Tea, duya,” Marci ordered. The woman scooped a ladle of tea, warm, milky and sweet.

“Tenkey padi” she said as the woman put the tea down.

Marci gratefully sipped it down. Sipping tea in a bar by the roadside. What to do now. She couldn’t go back to her room, right beside his. She took stalk of herself, for the first time noticing she had no shoes. The adrenaline starting to wear off. She felt the wetness of her shirt on her back. The acrid smell of strong body odour wafting up out of the collar of her t-shirt.

“One more please.”

The lady gave an easy smile, pouring without even looking. She was looking down at Marci’s shirt. Marci glanced down and saw the blood. Lifting up her shirt, the scrapes showed, still fresh with blood.

“Football,” she said with her biggest smile. The women chuckled and handed her the full cup of tea.

She gingerly touched the book, stuck to her back with sweat. She peeled it away, the soft leather like a second skin gently peeling off.

The woman had gone to other side of the shack and started making akara dough. Marci glanced around to make sure no one was watching. She opened it up to the first page. Attached to the front cover was a key, taped on.

On the front page she saw:

Box 6324TL

Code: 23-22-18

6 E 39th St, New York, NY 10016, United States

She quickly flipped to the next page. A bunch of shorthand notes. What had he said on the plane?

……….

Ron leaned in, his breath sweet from the rum and cokes. “There is a whole lot more to do than accounting in Sierra Lione there little missy,” he drawled. Marci’s thick glasses, sliding down her nose, and her soft, doughy features put him at ease. “A bookkeeper from Canada coming all the way to Freetown to do the books!? Are them books made of gold or somethin’?” He laughed a booming, coarse laugh.

Marci chuckled nervously. The flight attendant came round again, after Ron gave a quick snap of the fingers and made eye contact, with a little wink thrown in. “Another rum and coke sir?” she smiled.

“Yes mam, and something for the bookkeeper here! Whadda ya having sweetie?”

“Oh, um, nothing for me.” Marci dipped her head down, letting her bangs cover her face.

“Nonsense! This is a trip of a lifetime! Time to celebrate!” He turned to the flight attendant, “And a screwdriver for her mam.”

The flight attendant looked at him in that don’t-give-me-any-trouble-way. She looked at Marci and raised her eyebrows. “Uh, sure, ok,” Marci smiled weakly.

“Check out your book there sweetie! It is the same of mine. This here black Moleskin. Whadda you keep in yours?” Ron whispered conciliatory. “Huh, ha, oh just work stuff,” she mumbled. “And my Krio lessons.”

“Creole? Like that pidgin English they speak there!? Aw sweetie, the only language you need to know is currency, and I am talking gold, and diamonds, and…” his voice faded out as Marci retreated to her mind to practice her Krio greetings.

Five rum and cokes later, Ron was drawling fluently and leaning in a little too close. He looked around quickly, behind them and over the top of the chairs. The suspicious glance was futile because anyone could hear his loud whisper if they wanted to. Most people were tuned into their screens on the seats in front of them. Marci looked at her screen sullenly. She had been thinking about the airline movies she would watch for weeks. Silly, but she was only aloud to watch Christian shows at home.

“This here book…this book holds maps of all the areas I have staked my claim on. And a whole bunch a’ future prospects. Prospects…..” dramatic pause, “prospects people have died for.” His blood shot eyes looking her straight in the nose, and down to her chest, again.

Ew. He reminded her of Dave in her office. Three cubicles over, she could hear him over everything else going on, bragging about his weekends. Then he started calling Marci the Cat Lady. The joke wore out as soon as it started. Just because her mom had three cats; and she had that framed picture on her desk. She hated that cat hair, all over everything she wore.

“And this,” Ron was pointing with his large, rough finger to a scribbled list, “this here is all the players…each dirty dog one of um.” Marci came back to her reality. Seat 34B, 10 hours in, 3 hours and 45 minutes to go. All her hard work had paid off. School, focus, working for the charity. Late nights, while Dave was out partying. She was the most focused of all the staff, had dedicated all her time to the job. She was saving money, still living in her mom’s cat house. Employee of the year. Now this, solving the tough book-keeping problems at their sister office in Freetown. She happily sipped her second screwdriver. Ron continued to drawl on about diamonds and emeralds. “Coming down in the rivers…Rivers of gold! At one spot I even got enough for a baar.” “A bar? Like a drinking bar?” “Heh, heh, no sweetie, I am talking about a bar of gold,” he said the last part in a deep, low whisper. “10 ounces will get y’all $20,000 on the market these days.”

……….

She shouldn’t be any part of this. Just go back to the charity office she chided herself silently. But that work is done. That was done in three days, then she sat awkwardly in the heat, sweating and smiling at the other ladies for the last eight days. Home on Monday, three more days.

Someone must have broken into his room. That or too many drinks and he destroyed the hotel room in a drunken rage? Nah, he was one of those happy drunks. Nine rum and cokes on the flight showed her that. Nope, it was planned, it was an attack. They were looking for the book. They got the book, just the wrong one. A small wave of guilt washed over her. All her learning gone. Going off the rails. What happened to the faith, accountability and honesty she had lived up to? She didn’t care. He was a bad guy, in with bad people. It was just a temporary switch with the books, she was curious. It was just going to be for the night, read it over in bed. After all, she had endured dinner with him and all that bragging, on and on about gold and diamonds. She just wanted to know if it was true. It was an easy switch, his red eyes at half mast, almost sleeping. She was going to return it in the morning when he was still asleep. And there he was, lying still on the floor. She shuddered, suddenly cold in the heat of the morning. She had been too late.

………..

“A de go titi!” Fatou shouted. “A de go! Ah gladi fo mit yu!” Mariama hugged her. Marci couldn’t wait to get on the plane. The locals didn’t know what do with Ron. “Dem be swift and smart,” the lady at the hotel said. No family to contact, no friends in Freetown, no luck searching his name from his passport. No black book to be found. What a way to go, alone in a foreign country. Marci couldn’t wait to get home…. with one stop. Everything was arranged. Marci gave one last wave and hopped in the podi podi to the airport. The flight went by in a daze of excitement and anxiety. In memory of Ron, Marci had three rum and cokes. By the time the wheels hit the tarmac she was vibrating with excitement, or fear, or both.

She took the first cab to East 39th Street. “Hello Ms. Jones, we have been expecting you,” a man in a grey suit and matching grey tie held open the door in front of her. Marci put her head high, her new dress suit audibly swishing as she marched into the air-conditioned room. “And here we are Ms., box 6324TL. Please enter the code,” he said while looking away. She entered 23-22-18, and there was a mechanized click. “Ok then, I have the first key.” Another click. “Ah, there, I will leave you to have some privacy Ms. Jones,” the clerk said with a small bow and left the room.

Marci took a deep, calm breath. Inserted the key, a small click and out slid the box. There it was. A ten-ounce bar of gold. Beside it another stack of money and a tiny package. She opened the top of the package and out tumbled little sparkles into her hand. Diamonds. Marci took it all and put it in her purse, locked the box and walked outside. The sun shining brightly on her face as she disappeared into the flow of people on sidewalk.