Kiss and Die

Chapter 27

Shrimp brought Rajini’s parents back from the morgue and left them at the entrance to the Mansions. He went to the middle of the ground floor where there was a plan of the Mansions’ layout. He took the stairs up to the next landing. The Africans stopped what they were doing to watch him pass. They followed him down corridors overcrowded with people, constantly moving. The smoke bit into his eyes. There was no ventilation in the narrow corridors. There was no natural light whatsoever. The wailing of an Indian woman singing was reaching a crescendo. There was not one part of China there.

He looked back to see if he was still being followed. Ahead of him the corridor had turned into a mini Lagos. The black men leant on walls, sat on the floor on rugs smoking. They filled the air with the boom of their deep voices. The air was thick, pungent with cigarette smoke and cooking. Shrimp was approaching the end of the corridor, now he was the only non-African on that side of the landing. He stopped, turned and started back down the way he’d come. Five of the men blocked his way. Shrimp recognized the man from the lift. He looked at his feet. He was the one with the cool trainers. Shrimp smiled. He grinned back. He was brutally handsome: his features were hardened by scars. His eyes had a light of some inner mischief. The others weren’t smiling.

‘Excuse me. Do you know where I can buy some trainers like that?’

‘Come with us.’

Shrimp felt a large hand on his shoulder. He was steered inside one of the shops selling all sorts of goods: sweatshirts wrapped in cellophane hung down from every part of the ceiling, boxes of shoes were stacked to the roof. A crate was presented for Shrimp to sit on.

‘Your name?’

‘Li. My name is Li. They call me Shrimp. And yours?’

‘David. You want trainers? Here.’ David pulled down box after box and lifted the lids. He left them stacked beside Shrimp. He stood and watched Shrimp pretend to choose. Then he knelt down next to him, so close that Shrimp could make out every open pore, every scar on his face. ‘I saw you with your friend in the lift. You helped the Kenyan girl, she’s in trouble bad with smack. You a doctor?’

Shrimp shook his head.

‘A policeman?’

Shrimp looked at the others. They stood around the doorway. The corridor outside was full of dark faces watching him, not speaking, not moving. Gone was the laughter; they were listening intently. Shrimp kept his eyes glued on David. He reckoned anything that would happen would happen with him. The rest would take orders. If Shrimp was aiming to get out alive he had to be very fast on his feet. He had the advantage of being slight, slippery as well as athletic, but when he looked at the size of David’s bicep, snagged on the t-shirt, he was having doubts about his chances. He nodded.

‘So, what you doing here?’ asked David.

‘We had some reports of trouble. I wanted to take a look for myself.’

David wiped the sweat from his upper lip. Shrimp had never smelt the smell of stale sweat so pungent as it was in the small room. ‘We are used to the heat,’ said David, as if reading Shrimp’s mind, ‘but we are not used to the humidity. You guys don’t sweat much, do you?’

‘I’m sweating now,’ Shrimp smiled.