Oware Mosaic Read online

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m rambling about inconsequential things.”

  After I made a pot of coffee, we sat in my kitchen. Because of the House of Oware game, we had a history between us, an understanding, built on trust and a lot of time spent together solving cases in the VR construct. I looked at the door and thought about running. Running somewhere, anywhere, as long as I was far from those sorrowful eyes. She and her parents were facing the most heartbreaking times of their lives. The couple who took frequent vacations like they were always on their honeymoon saw their happiness ripped from under them, torn apart like a lion clawing out the heart of a rabbit.

  How can I ever tell her what I did?

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure. Okay. Like what?”

  “If Kofi and the twins are your siblings, how is Yajna your aunt?”

  I chuckled. “Oh. Simple. When Auntie Yajna took me in, she told me to call her that, but she prohibits us from referring to each other anything but brothers and sisters, even though she adopted the twins and me. Only Kofi is her true offspring.”

  “There’s no Mr. Yajna?”

  “He died a long time ago, but girl, Auntie Yajna couldn’t keep a man if she had him shackled to a wall in the basement. She’s too set in her ways to be in something as compromising as a relationship.”

  “Ahh, now I understand. And where are Yoni and Linga, now?”

  “When Kofi got off work, he took them to the market, along with some new friends they just made. There’s a playground on the far end.”

  “I know it well, used to take Jinni there before she started getting picked on by the other children. You didn’t tell your brother about the game, did you?”

  “No, no. I just told him that we’ve known each other for years, and you needed some time with a friend.”

  “And he bought that?”

  “I guess. Either that, or he wanted some quality time with the twins. He loves them so much.”

  Lamp’s eyes fell into a tearful daze.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No worries. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

  I got up and emptied my cold coffee in the sink, smiling at the writing on my mug that said I’M NOT A MISANDRIST, I JUST LIKE MY MEN DEAD written on it in fancy white lettering. “I guess I don’t make the best coffee, huh?”

  “The worst,” she said, and a wan smile crept up the corners of her mouth.

  I leaned my butt up against the kitchen sink, and she stood up and went to my sink.

  “Jinni sent me a neural message before she died,” she said, and poured her coffee in my sink.

  “About what? Your trip to South Africa?”

  “No. It was a peculiar letter that I didn’t think was anything more than her paranoia, until now.”

  “What was in the letter?”

  “I’ll send it to your neural mailbox, now.”

  Just like that, my corneal stream flashed, alerting me of an incoming message, and I read it:

  Dearest sister,

  I think someone is trying to harm me. If you asked me how, I’d hate to admit that I have no proof but like a premonition, I know that I’m being watched. I think someone doesn’t want me to help President Mbutu. Ever since I agreed to go, I’ve had this feeling. Please come home. I’m afraid something is going to happen to me. I know I sound schizophrenic. but I beg you, come home.

  Love Jinni

  I asked, “When did she send that?”

  “The night before last.”

  “And you’re sure it’s not a fake?”

  “I did a GAF network intrusion scan on her neural implant signature to establish if there was a TCP connection established.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means.”

  “In other words, yes, the neural message came from her. Did you do an autopsy, yet in the game?”

  “No, I didn’t get to it, yet. I was going to do it until I heard your parents in the back yard receiving the news about your sister.”

  “If someone was after her,” Lamp said. “Why? To stop her from breaking the code to allow First Lady Mbutu to open the vault which holds the retcon with her husband’s consciousness on it?”

  “There’s only one man I know who does not benefit with the President coming back in a clone.”

  We both said, “Bete Sibaya.”

  I sighed. “Which is strange because as far as I know, we haven’t yet developed the tech to safely transfer a retcon into a clone without a full wipe of the consciousness.”

  “Why kill my sister? I’m sure there are other ways to prevent her from moving forward. Why kill her?”

  “Maybe why she died had nothing to do with your trip.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Her body was found at the old water plant, right?”

  “Yeah, so what? You think since it was near Lake Volta, it was a trafficking thing?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  The more I think about it, why was she in that area to begin with? Was she left there to die? She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl that would be in the streets in that part of town at that time of night.

  “I have to find that witness,” Lamp said.

  “Hey! You know what?” I said. “I think I saw her today?”

  “Where?”

  I pointed in the direction of where we got our food rations, earlier at the market. “Right outside of my house, just around the corner!”

  “She lives in this area?”

  “I’d say the chances are pretty high. The CCTV probably has her walking around town. But how do we get access to it?”

  “Leave that to me. Now that we’ve met,” she said, looking out the window toward her parent’s back yard. “You know what I think we should do?”

  I grabbed a clean rag and poured a little dishwasher detergent on it. “Now what?” I asked and turned the water faucet on and started washing the coffee mugs in the sink.

  “After we locate the witness. Let’s talk to him, or her, together.”

  I stopped what I was doing and turned around. “You want me to help you solve the murder of your sister?”

  “Why not, Examiner?”

  “I’m not a real investigative medical examiner.”

  “You’re more than qualified to assist me on this case than anyone I have ever worked with in real life.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t know. Shouldn’t you wait for your parents to come back from identifying the body? Maybe now is not a good time to dig into something so—”

  “So what? Personal?”

  “Look. You know as good as I do who killed my sister.”

  My heart stopped. “What?”

  “One of those slave traffickers.”

  I exhaled a hard breath. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Xo, come on! It wasn’t a hit-and-run. You know that. I know that! Look where she was found! My sister’s ten years old. She wouldn’t be out in the bad part of town after midnight, wandering around. Not my sister! She was too smart for that. Jinni went to bed every night at nine.”

  “I—I don’t know, Lamp. Maybe we should just let the GAF handle the case.”

  “I am GAF!”

  It was obvious that she was too close to the case. I feared it may unravel her, but who was I to tell her no. If the shoe was on the other foot, no one in hell would stop me from finding out who killed my sibling.

  “Come on,” I said. “I know you’re GAF. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What are you trying to say, then? I’m not competent.”

  “No! No! I mean, you know? My brother. Grunt. Officers who aren’t personally tied to the case. You’re too close to this. It will tear you apart, and your judgment will be clouded.”

  She got right up in my face. “Let me tell you something, Examiner. There ain’t a damn soul in all of Africa who couldn’t do a better job at finding out
who killed Jinni than me.”

  “Hey, I hear you,” I said, and moved from under her. I walked to the kitchen door and glanced out of the screen. “Trust me. I know how incredible you are as an investigator. I’d never doubt that for a second.”

  “Then if you’re my friend, you’re in. Cut the bullshit.”

  I turned to her and nodded. “Yeah. I’m in. Let’s go! Let’s find your sister’s killer.”

  9

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  “How are we going to get there?” I asked Lamp, as she slid on a shoulder holster. “It’s way too hot to walk five miles in this sweltering weather.”

  She slid her revolver in the holster. “You do ride, don’t you?” she asked, checking herself out in the mirror.

  Lamp saw that I had changed into black jeans and a matching tank top and decided to get out of her uniform, slipping into blue jeans, and a midriff navy blue top. We both had on ankle-high boots.

  “When you say ride, you mean what? A motorcycle?”

  “Yeah,” she said, and walked into the kitchen area. “I’ve got two bikes.” She opened up a drawer under the kitchen counter and pilfered through junk until I heard keys jingling.

  “In the game, you were always on a bike. Was that just fantasy?”

  I was sitting on her parent’s couch, looking at all the family pictures on the coffee and side tables in their cluttered living room. The walls were covered with art from Kenya, and dozens of warrior statuettes planted everywhere there was room for them.

  “Oh, no, girl,” I said, getting up. “I learned how to ride at my second foster home. My big foster brother taught me.”

  She tossed me a key ring with two small keys on them. “Then let’s ride.”

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  “Xo, I just called in a favor to an ex-boyfriend and had him put his job on the line sending us a neural-video of all the pertinent footage with the witness in it. You damn straight I want to do this.”

  We walked outside of the house and Lamp unlocked the garage door. She manually pulled the door up. There were a ton of boxes everywhere, stacks of used paint cans and an array of furniture piled almost to the ceiling, but in the midst of all that junk were two spotless deep orange one-wheeled motorcycles.

  “Holy crap!” What the heck are these?”

  “It’s called an Uno. Custom fiberglass body, self-balancing. Dad maintained them for me.”

  “Where in the hell did you even find one of these? Besides scooters, auto manufacturers don’t even make vehicles anymore, except for the military.”

  “If I told you, I’d have to cut off your left tit.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said.

  She rustled through one of the piles of junk, producing a small leather satchel. “There are disposable gloves and a few other things you may need. It ain’t much but it’ll do the job.”

  I unzipped it and glanced in it. “It’s perfect. Where are we going, exactly?” I asked, shouldering the satchel.

  “We tracked the witness going to a house in Liati Wote. Stayed there overnight and left out in the morning. An older man and his wife, probably her parents, were in the yard doing various chores. I’m pretty sure that’s where she lives.”

  “Got it.”

  “It would be the rough part of Kumasi she lives in, eh?” she asked, disappearing behind the pile of furniture. She came out holding two motorcycle helmets.

  She handed me a helmet. “This helmet has iJet technology. You can pair your neural implant with it, I’ll put in the address I have for the witness and the navigation will show on the bike’s display.”

  I put it on. “That’s pretty wild.”

  “It’s all right. Look, I sent the CCTV footage of the girl to Major Grunt. He said he would put it through a face recognition program and see if anything came up.”

  “Sounds good.”

  My stomach growled and reminded me that I hadn’t fed in a while.

  “Damn, girl,” Lamp said. “I heard that over here. You want to grab something to eat? I don’t have any blood snacks, but I’ll wait for you to get some from your house if you want?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “When’s the last time you ate?”

  “I haven’t fed since yesterday.”

  “Why not? You’re sick?”

  “No, I just haven’t had much of an appetite. I’m good. I’ll feed tonight when we’re done!”

  “It’s your body. So, yeah, um. In real life, have you ever fired a gun?”

  “Yep. Plenty. Kofi’s takes me target practicing all the time. I’m a better shot than he is, believe it or not.”

  “Cool beans,” Lamp said, and started the bike.

  I hopped on the other one-wheel bike and started it, feeling a bit awkward at first, but like she said, it was able to self-balance itself and I backed it out of the garage. I held Lamp’s bike while she shut the garage door and locked it.

  Lamp said, “I’m receiving a call. It’s Mom. Hold on.” She walked over toward the rusty swing set. “Where are you guys? …Accra? What are you doing there?”

  I gave her some space to talk, besides, I wanted to get a feel of the bike a bit and rode it down the dirt driveway to the road. A couple of older guys were walking by, and their eyes nearly popped out of their heads when they saw the bike. I sped past them before they could get a word out to me. They just whooped and hollered.

  Before I turned around, Lamp was zipping by me, and off we rode. We were on Mampong Road toward Old Tafo in less than five minutes. I checked the time and saw that the news program I listened to every day was just about over, so I tapped into it with a mere thought and caught the last bit of the tough-voiced girl again making threats. I told Lamp that I believed this was the witness based on her voice, and to tune in to the broadcast.

  It was not pretty. She said: People of Liati Wote, you will no longer be able to turn your head and say nothing. Nearly seven-to-ten thousand children are abducted and trafficked for labor and sex slavery! How? I don’t care how many mouths you have to feed in your family, you don’t barter a child so that the rest can get by! You lambs! You insufferable lambs. You sold away your children’s spirit, but at what cost? I’ll tell you the cost! The price of this madness is that now, you must pay with your soul. So tonight, you die!

  Liati Wote. That’s where we’re headed. How does that skinny albino girl expect to follow through on her threats? Frankly, I believed it was all talk. What was she going to do, bomb the village? That is the same girl I heard speak last night on the radio after the accident. One thing for sure, I can relate to the pain she must’ve endured. There were many times I wanted to kill my foster parents for all the crap they put me through.

  We rolled into the sleepless neighborhood and passed several streets that were filled with men hanging on the corner, drinking, talking and smoking jots. Some women hung out of their windows and talked back and forth to guys and girls passing by their house. The navigation led us down a narrow alley between two dilapidated old buildings. We dodged through street debris, overstuffed garbage bins, and homeless people. Some were asleep while others glared at us ride past on the shiny one-wheeled bikes. I started thinking that it was a bad idea to have these expensive motorcycles in an area like that.

  I was about one block away from the witness’s home when Lamp sped past me and made a right down an industrial area across from the boat docks. I figured she knew what she was doing so I followed her. We stopped in front of an old warehouse. The building’s paint job looks like it was last done in the stone age. There was a metal garage with graffiti tagged all over it.

  Lamp got off her bike and took off her helmet. “This area used to have the most amount of auto shops in all of Ghana. Now, there’s only this one, and it’s the best-kept secret.”

  Lamp tapped her helmet against the metal door, and in seconds it rolled up, making a metallic clanking sound. Inside the garage was so dark, I couldn’t make
anything out.

  “We’ll leave the bikes in here,” she said, and rolled hers inside.

  “Is someone going to turn on the lights?” I asked, rolling the bike in, and kicking the stand out so that it leaned next to her bike.

  “Negative. But I trust this place.”

  “Whose shop is this?”

  “A friend of mine. An older guy I met a few years back. He’s sort of my uncle in a way, been looking out for me since I was a kid and went out on my own.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I’ve been calling him Old Man, ever since I’ve known him. He gets a little sensitive whenever I bring up the past, so I don’t”

  Lamp stopped walking. “I’m getting a neurocall from Grunt.”

  “That was fast,” I said.

  “Yeah, Lamp, here…Frankie Lomas. Got it. You got a name for the folks?…Thomas and Meredith Benja. Good work, Major Grunt. You, too. Yeah. Right. Thanks.”

  She turned to me. “You get that?”

  “Most of it. Different last names, Lomas and Benja.”

  “Yeah, I caught that, too.”

  “When I heard her speak on that radio broadcast the first time, she mentioned something about having nine or ten siblings, and how her parents died early, and her grandmother trafficked her to work as a labor slave at Lake Volta.”

  “Jeesh, no wonder she’s all confused. And to top it off, she’s probably been ostracized because she’s an albino.”

  “She’s had it rough, to say the least, but haven’t we all? Doesn’t mean you can go off killing people.”

  “No argument there,” Lamp said.

  “How’d Grunt get her name so quick? She has priors?”

  “He didn’t specify, but he said a group of boys were fishing and found Kofi’s car in Lake Bosumtwi.”

  “What?”

  How could they be so dumb?

  Lamp laughed. “Easy, easy. Why are you acting like it’s your car?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just surprised. I mean, I used to drive it a lot, so it does feel like it was my car.”

  “That makes sense. Grunt said not to worry, though. He and Kofi went to check it out. He said the funny thing about it was your brother just junked it, yesterday.”