"Dembe! Are you all right?"
He startled at the sound of Red's voice and snapped, "What? I'm fine!" as he whirled from looking out the window to face the man next to him. Regretting his response immediately he apologized, "I'm sorry, Raymond. I did not mean to sound so harsh."
The two men were in a taxi stuck in traffic on Cordelia Street in London. They were on their way to lunch at a pub Raymond had said served the best bangers and mash he had ever tasted. Raymond was staring at him now in that peculiarly disturbing way that made him feel like he was being looked through. "I'm not that fragile, Dembe, no need to say you're sorry." He watched for a few more seconds silently before asking again, "Are you all right?"
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Because I spoke to you twice and you didn't answer. It was like you hadn't heard me." The traffic began moving just as Raymond looked past Dembe to the street and sidewalk. "What or who did you see that changed your mood?"
"Nothing and no one, Raymond. I was just…daydreaming." He watched as Red simply nodded and leaned back in his seat. If I were to tell him that I thought I saw a man who used to frequent Owite's brothel in Nairobi, a man who used me as his sexual plaything until I was fourteen, Raymond would kill him.* Aloud he said, "Would it be a problem if we got this meal to go? I'm starting to feel unwell."
"Of course not. I'll call ahead so the food will be ready when we get there." He slid the privacy divider open to speak to the cabbie. "Change of plans; I'm going to go inside and get takeaway and then you'll drive us over to Aberfeldy and Dee."
The two men ate their lunch in companionable silence in the safe house's kitchen. The food was as good as Red had said, but Dembe's appetite was off. "Maybe you are coming down with something," Red opined, "I made sure your sausages were beef. Are they not to your liking?" He knew that Dembe wasn't above eating pork, but he preferred beef.
"They're good. I'm not as hungry as I thought."
"Why don't you stay here while I go meet The Quartermaster? I need him to do obtain some things for me before we fly on to Spain. I'm not anticipating any problems. I'll bring dinner."
"If you are sure." At Red's nod, he reached behind him and pulled his gun. "Take it, Raymond, I will feel better knowing you have two weapons."
"Thanks, I'll wear my ankle holster." He patted the side of Dembe's face affectionately. "Feel better. I'll call when I'm on my way home."
Dembe stood at the window and watched Red drive away in the rental before pulling his phone and pushing "six" on his speed dial. "Glen, this is Dembe. I need you to find someone for me and you cannot tell Raymond."
*ref. my stories "The Mombasa Cartel Legacy" and "Memories Past," both published on this site.