“Yes. But this time may be easier and more profitable. Len here tells me they have many friends.”
“How many?”
“Four. Three of them are Americans. And they’re carrying cash.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded, weighing the hammer in his hand as though testing his grip.
Kambili focused on the hammer. “What are you doing with that?”
“Nash stole their car, but got caught. So, one strike for getting caught. The other for stealing from us.”
“That boy is one of our best pickpockets. You’ll end that if you smash his fingers.”
Bako slapped the flat side of the hammer’s head against his palm, his gaze locked on Nash the entire time. “He’s also one of our best beggars. Think how much more he’ll bring in if he’s injured. Sympathy.”
Bako took a step toward Nash, raising the hammer.
“But not now,” Kambili said, stopping him. “If you’re serious about taking that truck, you need to leave now.”
Bako glared at Nash, then suddenly smiled, his stained yellowed teeth looking like fangs. “Later is better. I can take my time. One finger at a time.” He tossed the hammer onto the washstand, pushed Chuk from the room, and followed his two brothers out the door, slamming it closed.
Nasha heard the key turn in the lock, their footsteps receding down the hallway. She ran to the door, tried to open it, and slid to the floor, her knees giving out beneath her.
Bako had caught another boy stealing and had smashed every finger of his right hand. Two had become infected and had to be amputated. Though the boy had tried pickpocketing with his left hand, he couldn’t, and now had to beg to earn his keep.
Nasha, like her mother, was ambidextrous, able to use both hands equally. Even so, she wasn’t about to wait around and risk losing any of her fingers. She’d long ago given up any hope that her uncle was returning for her or Chuk.
The bus tickets had been their only hope.
And now that the Kalus knew they couldn’t trust her, they’d be watching her every move. The longer she stayed, the greater the danger.
Girls like her didn’t stand a chance. They disappeared like her aunt.
The door handle jiggled. “Nash? Are you mad at me?”
“You shouldn’t have told.”
“I just wanted to see how much we had. Bako caught me.”
She looked at the hammer, unable to tell if that was rust or dried blood on its head. And though her stomach turned at the sight, she picked it up, strode to the window, smashing the glass from the frame.
The door handle jiggled harder. “Nash. I’m sorry. You can have my money.”
She climbed up onto the sill.
“Don’t leave me! … Nash … You promised.”
She coul
d still hear his cries as she raced down the alley.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A child is a child of everyone.
– SUDANESE PROVERB –