This is for Real (1965) by James Hadley Chase

Author:James Hadley Chase [Chase, James Hadley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

***

Samba Dieng pulled up outside the bungalow type house and got out of his battered Deux Chevaux. Two tall Africans appeared out of the shadows and converged on him.

“It's me,” he said uneasily. “Dieng. I have to report to Mr. Jenson.”

One of the Africans ran his big hands over Dieng's clothes, making sure he had no gun, then led him into the bungalow.

Malik was sitting at the table, studying a map. Dieng paused in the doorway. A heavily-built man, completely bald with a savage, ruthless face made fierce by drinking too much vodka stood behind Malik. He was known as Ivan. He was one of the best pistol shots in Russia. Malik and he made a team.

One was always to be found with the other.

Malik looked at Dieng and motioned him to come to the table. Dieng came forward reluctantly. He was worried. He knew he hadn't had a successful evening, but he was anxious now to receive the money Malik had promised him.

“Well?”

“I followed him as I was instructed,” Dieng said. “He drove to the Florida Club which is in rue Camot. He spent the evening drinking and dancing, then he returned to the hotel.”

Malik studied the African, his evil green eyes glittering.

“Is that all?” he asked in his guttural French.

Dieng lifted his thin shoulders in a gesture of resignation.

“All Americans drink and dance when they visit Dakar, sir,” he said. “This one was no exception.”

“Who did he dance with?”

Dieng shifted his feet.

“A coloured girl. Her name is Awa.”

“She is there regularly?”

“Yes. She is one of the hostesses: a prostitute. She is always there.”

“She would be a friend of Rosa?”

Dieng nodded.

“Yes. Rosa also is a hostess and a prostitute.”

“Did this man dance with any of the other girls?”

“No. He danced only with Awa.”

“How long was he there?”

“About two hours.”

“You watched them all the time.”

“All the evening in a mirror above the bar. The man didn't see me watching him.”

“And they talked?”

“Yes. They talked.”

“What about?”

“About nothing of any importance.” Dieng said loftily. “I asked her when he had gone. They didn't even speak about Rosa.”

“Did he give her any' money?”

“No.”

“So she danced with him for two hours for nothing?”

Dieng scratched one of his big ears.

“I didn't see him give her anything.”

“So you really have nothing to report?”

“I did my best.” Dieng said reproachfully. “Nothing happened.”

Malik gave an irritable shrug. He took from his hip pocket a thousand franc note and gave it to Dieng.

“How well did you know Rosa?” Malik asked, reluctant to let the African go without squeezing some information out of him.

“I often spoke with her,” Dieng said. “She was very high class. She was never friendly. Her protector was very rich and powerful.”

“Her protector?” Malik leaned forward. “Who is he?”

“I don't know who he is but I do know he has a lot of money.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

“Yes. When Rosa was in the club, he came every night.”

“What does he look like?”

“He is a Portuguese: fat with a moustache.”

Malik stiffened.

“A Portuguese. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Malik got to his feet.

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