The Laughing Monsters by Denis Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

white linen outfit with a tunic, more Arab than Euro, except for his eyes, which weren’t brown, but a washed-out gray. He had his sleeve pulled back as he checked his Rolex Commander wristwatch. He wore six jeweled rings, three on either hand.
    “Exactly on time.”
    He handed me his phony business card, and I handed him mine.
    “Do you want something to eat?” he said. “A snack of some kind?”
    “Nothing, thanks. Have you ordered?”
    “Won’t you join me for some tea?”
    “If you haven’t ordered—”
    “Not yet.”
    “Good. Why don’t we walk on the beach?”
    “Nobody hears us. We can talk.”
    “I’m nervous indoors,” I said.
    “Come on, don’t be silly. Just tell me what you’ve got.”
    “You know what I’ve got.”
    “I want to know what I’m buying.”
    “Let’s walk. I don’t like it in here.” I wanted us out of the public eye, because I couldn’t be sure of his reaction to a bit of news I had for him. “Do you mind?”
    He sighed, and then he picked up his sunglasses.
    I donned my own as well, and we passed from under the roof and into a hot, steady breeze while the sunshine crashed onto our heads. Through the soles of my sandals I felt the beach burning. In our sinister shades, the only figures in view, I suppose we looked like nothing so much as a couple of crooks plotting mischief.
    When we got near the water’s edge, he stopped. “Now, before we get a stroke or dehydration or something—what have you got?”
    “Exactly what I told you I’d have. Maps of the US military fiber-optics cables throughout seven West African countries. Mali is one of them. Also I have a list of the GPS coordinates for twelve NIIA Technology Safe Houses.” Including, I might have added, the safe house in the basement beneath Elvis Documents.
    “You’re definite about Mali.”
    “Mali. Yes. That’s definite.”
    Mali was the current hot spot. With Mali I had him hooked. Talk about a thirsty face.
    “Let me establish something with you,” he said, “and please forgive me: Do you know what can happen to a party who sells false product?”
    “I would expect to be assassinated.”
    “Your expectation is precise.”
    “I’m not worried. It’s very good product.”
    “What about the transfer?”
    “A push of the button. I have things stored away.”
    “We can do it all digitally?”
    “Correct. You never have to touch the goods.”
    “Do you still stipulate cash payment?”
    “Correct. Cash only.”
    “And the price is twenty thousand US.”
    “No,” I said, “not twenty thousand. That’s no longer correct.”
    This was the bit I didn’t like.
    He started a retort, but stifled it. He must have been counting ten. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
    “The price is no longer twenty thousand. For you, out of your own pockets, the cost will be nothing—because we go in as partners.”
    “Partners for what?”
    “We’ll be equal partners in the sale you’re making. I’m providing the product, and you’re providing the client.”
    He bunched his mouth in an ugly way and made a sharp noise with his tongue. “It’s completely unacceptable.” He raised his sunglasses. “What are you thinking? You know nothing about my business.”
    “I think I do. The Chinese are all over this continent, and they’re paying ridiculous sums. If they’re not the people you’re selling to, you’re an idiot.”
    He replaced his dark glasses over his eyes. “I don’t like this conversation. You’re too forceful. You use a personal tone.”
    “I’m being emphatic, but only for the purposes of business. It’s nothing personal. I’m just saying the Chinese will pay plenty for something good. And this is good.”
    “It was agreed. Twenty thousand US. It was agreed.”
    “We’re beyond that point now. We’re talking about a partnership. This is excellent product with long-term potential. Very long-term. The loss of this material will never be detected.”
    He clicked his