The Silicon Road by Cheah Kit Sun

Author:Cheah, Kit Sun
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2020-09-29T00:00:00+00:00

18

Nobody You Need to Remember

They departed immediately after checking out. Lee asked the doorman to call for a taxi. The doorman grinned brilliantly, tapped his temple, and yammered in a high-speed creole of French and assorted African tongues.

Fifteen minutes later, a car rumbled into a view. At least, Morgan hoped it was a car. It had four wheels, a more-or-less intact frame caked in layers of mud and dirt, and a time-worn luggage rack riveted on the top. Its rear lights were missing, the doors were battered and dented in a hundred places, the front license plate dangled precariously, and an unhealthy whine emanated from the engine.

“I said taxi car!” Lee said.

“Oui!” the doorman said. “This is taxi car!”

Morgan looked at the alleged taxi. At the road, at the chaos of smoke-belching motorcycles, overloaded pick-ups, minivans and taxis stuffed with passengers and goods, armies of zemidjans carrying impossible loads of pillions and household wares. A car in far worse condition than this one trundled past, filled to bursting, with heads and arms and goats poking out the windows, and a half-dozen more people clinging on the bustle rack, itself carrying a mountain of crates and tables and milk jugs and other odds and ends.

“We’re not going to get much better out there,” Morgan said.

Lee sighed dramatically. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

The doorman went above and beyond, recommending a price of twenty thousand francs to the driver. Morgan couldn’t tell if it were exorbitant, only that Lee accepted it without complaint.

The driver swung the trunk lid open without unlocking it. Eden and Knight dumped their bags inside. A frayed cord magically appeared in his hands, and he tied the trunk down in place.

“Is that safe?” Knight muttered.

“Perfectly safe, Madame!” the driver replied.

The rest of the luggage went up top. More straps materialized, and the driver lashed everything down. Even so, Morgan dug out mil-spec carabiners from his backpack and messenger bag and clipped them on to the luggage rack. Lee did the same.

Morgan climbed in and reached for the seatbelt. His fingers found only bare metal, sun-softened plastic, and a frayed strap where the buckle was supposed to go. He hunted for a handhold and saw only broken nubs.

Next to him, Knight lowered her head and clasped her hands.

Traffic, Morgan mused, was probably the single greatest killer in Lomé. Maybe even all of West Africa. Taxis and zemidjans paid scant attention to traffic lights and speed limits. People casually crossed the road anywhere they pleased. Crosswalks were a novelty, what few of them remained after decades of use. Here and there, the car swerved around large potholes and craters. But not all of them.

The suspension was shot. The car bounced and shuddered all over the place. There was no air conditioning, and no way to lower the windows. The door didn’t quite close all the way. Peeking over the front seat, Morgan saw a thick layer of dust covering the instrument panel. The only thing that worked was the radio, blaring in rapid-fire French.

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