The pretend beggars scattered like rats as Sam gained on the slow-moving vehicle. The boy at the wheel panicked when he saw Sam chasing him. He hit the brakes, threw open the driver’s door, about to jump out. When Sam came closer, he scrambled toward the passenger’s door instead. With no one at the wheel, the car rolled down the street, angling to the right—directly toward a flimsy-looking chain-link fence surrounding a massive liquid petrol tank with a bright red Danger. Explosives sign posted on it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Do a good deed and throw it into the sea.
– EGYPTIAN PROVERB –
Sam sprinted faster, reached into the open door, grabbed the steering wheel, yanking it to the left, away from the liquid petrol tank. He jumped inside, guiding the truck to a stop just inches from the fence. The kid, eyes wide, threw himself at the passenger’s door, working the handle.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam said, turning the car ignition off.
The boy, unconvinced, rammed his shoulder into the door, the chain links rattling as he tried to force it open.
Remi ran up. “Nice save, Fargo.” She peered into the still-open driver’s door at the boy, his futile efforts to escape hampered by the fence. “No one hurt, I hope?”
“Not that I can tell,” Sam replied as a police car pulled up behind them.
A uniformed officer approached, standing next to Remi, peering in at the boy, then saying something, his tone harsh.
The boy’s dark eyes widened and he shook his head, pressing himself farther into the door.
Sam, who barely understood the thickly accented English, was surprised when Remi smiled sweetly at the officer, saying, “You’re mistaken, sir.” Her gaze landed on Sam as she added, “This boy wasn’t the thief at all. He was waiting for us in the car when it rolled away. It’s our fault for leaving the keys in the ignition. Isn’t that right, Sam?”
It didn’t matter that Sam had no idea what his wife was talking about, or that they’d caught the boy dead to rights. He recognized that look in his wife’s eyes. “Exactly. I must have left it in neutral.”
The officer, not convinced, focused on the boy. “You didn’t try to steal it?”
Again, the boy shook his head.
“No harm, no foul,” Sam said.
Finally, the officer gave a curt nod. “Let me get my report form.”
Sam, at the driver’s door, blocking the kid’s only route of escape, waited until the officer was out of earshot. “What gives?” he asked Remi. “He almost got away with the car and all our luggage in the back. We’re just going to let him go?”
“Not him. Her.”
Surprised, Sam took a closer look. A fine layer of dust covered the child’s dark skin and close-cropped hair. She was a good half head smaller than the other boys, thinner, more delicate-looking, and her dark eyes widened in shock as though surprised they had discovered her secret. “Regardless. The girl’s a car thief.” He turned the full force of his glare on the kid. “Why’d you take our car?”
She hesitated for the barest of seconds, looking from Remi to Sam, perhaps sensing that whatever answer she gave could make the difference between being arrested or turned loose. “I found it.”
“You found it?”
Before he could question her further, she turned a pleading gaze toward Remi. “If they find out I’m a … You won’t let him take me, will you?”
“Of course we won’t,” Remi said. “What’s your real name?”
“Nash … Nasha.” The girl, seeing the officer returning with his clipboard, covered her face with her hands, making a loud sobbing noise.
“Do something,” Remi whispered. “We are not letting them arrest her.”
It didn’t matter that Sam was certain the girl was faking tears for their benefit. What did matter was that Remi had made up her mind. Hoping he wasn’t going to regret this decision later, he headed off the officer a few feet from their car. “Look,” Sam said. “There’s no damage to our car. Or the fence. Any chance we can make a quick report and be on our way? We’re delivering supplies to a girls’ school that’s being built out near Gashaka Gumti. It’d be nice to get there before dark.”
Remi, doing a superb job of blocking an immediate view of the girl, smiled at the officer as he mulled it over. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, angled it over the clipboard, then looked at Sam. “Name?”
“Sam Fargo. My wife, Remi Fargo.”
“What’s the boy’s name?”