Chapter 14 - Ngambo and Bouvais

Before Bouvais had the chance to close the door behind him, Bodie had leapt forward, overpower him, covered Bouvais' mouth with his hand and pushed his gun hard into Bouvais' neck, right below what was left of one ear. 'One sound, and I'll blow off the other,' he whispered.

Making good use of the man's momentarily confusion, Bodie slammed him hard into the wall, head first. A sickening crack and following blood spatters on the wall told Bodie that Bouvais had broken his nose. The man's knees buckled, his cry muffled by Bodie's hand, but Bodie held him upright. Struggling from the pain and the shock, Bouvais clawed at Bodie's arm, but the CI5 agent just pushed the gun harder into his neck, effectively stopping Bouvais from his writhing. 'Where's Ngambo?' he hissed. 'Point.'

Bouvais tried to shake his head, as if he wanted to tell Bodie to go to hell, but Bodie increased his force, pressing Bouvais harder into the wall. The man's battered face twisted in pain. 'Come on. Give me one good reason not to splatter what little you have left all over the floor.'

Bouvais trembled, blood dripping from his nose. Then, a shaky finger pointed to the door of the living.

'Right. Go.' Bodie twisted Bouvais' arm painfully behind his back and with the man in front of him, he half-dragged, half-pushed Bouvais toward the living. His heart raced in his chest. What he was doing was close to madness, going in alone. He only assumed there'd be two or three people inside because he hadn't seen more shades behind the curtains. But there might be an entire football team in the back of the room, and he never would have noticed.

He tightened his grip on Bouvais even more, then stepped in. The room was warm, stuffed and reeked of old beer, sweat and mould. Faint traces of Chinese take-away still lingered in the well-lit room.

No army awaited him. There was only one man.

Against the far wall sat a heavily obese man in a wheel chair. He was the fattest person Bodie had ever seen. His eyes were little black spots, hidden deep in the folds of his bloated face. He lacked a neck – instead his ears gradually turned into the flesh of his shoulders. Sausage-like fingers with big, flashy rings brought the remains of a Swiss roll to thick moist lips. His entire body was one plump unrecognisable giant heap of flesh, covered in a colourful robe with pretty ethnic motives. Where his left lower leg should be, hung an empty trouser leg. His bare right leg was as thick as a woman's waist, all the toes were missing from his foot. Over his ebony dark face lay a sheet of perspiration, and every breath sounded like a pair of bellows at work, causing the three chins to quiver slightly.

It was, in one word, revolting.

Ngambo.

'Hello Bodie,' he said, his voice deep and with an unexpected jazzy tone to it, then lifted his right hand and without even the slightest hesitation he pulled the trigger of a gun twice. The first shot hit Bouvais right between the eyes. The second shot hit Bodie in the right shoulder. With a cry he slammed back against the wall, the dead weight of Bouvais he still held onto, bringing him down hard. His gun fell from his numb hand and Ngambo fired again, hitting Bouvais. His own hitman became a human shield for Bodie as he sagged to the floor. Then he stopped firing.

'Get up, Bodie,' Ngambo said.

It was almost surreal, watching that fat, practically immobile man sitting there, controlling the scene. Bodie knew it was Ngambo, he recognised the voice and the threat, but otherwise he might have doubted this was the same man he'd faced in Angola so long ago.

'Finally. Always wanted to finish you off in person,' Ngambo continued as Bodie struggled to get to his feet. The pain in his shoulder send stars to his vision. The collar bone must have been broken, for it was impossible to use his right arm. It hung limb, as if it didn't belong to him any longer. He could feel the sleeve of his shirt turning wet alarmingly fast, luke-warm blood running down his arm rapidly. 'You cost me my leg. Now I will take your life.'

'Why did you shoot Donna Sparks?'

Again the throaty sounds. 'Sparks was a nuisance. A louse. A profiteer. She was in my way.'

Body blinked rapidly. Sweat dripped in his eyes. 'Bouvais?'

'Bouvais owed me. I made him do it. Found out about you. Travelled to England by boat. And now, I'll kill you.'

Bodie braced himself. This would be the last he would ever see of the world. A huge bag of fat, blacker than coal, would be etched on his retina. There was not a single shred of doubt in his mind that Ngambo wouldn't pull the trigger. Having spoken more than five sentences was already a lot more than Ngambo usually did. Next to that he was totally unscrupulous. Bodie saw the hand go up a little higher. He could try a last attempt, lunge at him, or sideways but...

Shots rang out, Bodie legs turned to rubber and he hit the floor. Ngambo screamed. The gun that he held, flew from his hand, and with a deep grunt that sounded like rumbling thunder, the fat man looked horror-stricken to his right hand, from which three fingers were now missing and half his wrist seemed eaten away by some kind of terrifying flesh-eating bacteria. Blood sprayed out like a fountain.

'Bodie!' Ray Doyle came running in, his gun still held high.

The final shot wasn't Ngambo's, it was Doyle's. He had taken out Ngambo before the fat man could kill him.

Doyle kneeled down next to Bodie, and assessed the shotgun wound quickly. 'Bodie?' All that blood, that was not good. But Bodie's eyes were open and clear, and the gratitude for his rescue and Doyle turning up, was written all over his face.

'Jabba the Hut shot me,' Bodie muttered. He looked frighteningly pale. 'Think I'm gonna pass out.'

'Not in here you won't,' Doyle promised. 'Come on, on your feet, mate. Get out of this stinking hell hole.'

He carefully pulled his friend up. Murphy was behind them. 'Get outside,' he said with a worried, warm smile for Bodie. 'I'll wrap things up here.'

'You can manage here?'

'He's not going anywhere,' Murphy said stoically. He took his RT from his pocket and called in HQ.

'Thanks Murph,' Doyle said, and Bodie offered him a similar look.

Bodie threw a glance back at Ngambo. The fat man was losing blood fast - Doyle must have hit a major blood vessel. The unearthly sounds he made, brought unexpected and unpleasant memories of the past back to the surface. The torture chamber, Ngambo laughing, Tin Man and Rawenski dying in his arms, Bear's stumps where his legs should have been, his own blood and guts, Donna... 'Get me out of here, Ray,' he moaned. God, he was grateful that it was over. He swayed towards the door, supported by the much more slender Doyle, who could hardly keep him straight.

'What are you wearing?' Doyle asked, tugging at Bodie's borrowed jeans. 'Not your usual style.'

'Shut up Ray,' Bodie mumbled.

Doyle grinned and exchanged looks with Murphy, who grinned back.

And then suddenly...

Just as Murphy picked up a towel for Ngambo to stop the bleeding, the fat man produced another, much smaller gun from beneath his colourful robe. No one had thought of frisking him - everyone assumed that the gun Doyle had so effectively shot from his hand, was the only one.

'Murph!' Doyle screamed out his warning, to which Murphy instantly dove the ground. Doyle's shot hit Ngambo in his many chins, and shattered the fat man's windpipe. The air that escaped from the hole rattled like fire crackers.

'Murph, you okay?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks Ray,' Murphy said and got up again. 'Didn't see that one coming. Should have frisked him.'

'He could be sitting on an armoury, with all that fat, and we'd never notice. Anyway, you don't need to now. It's over,' Doyle said with a nod. 'Bodie, what d'you want, sunshine?'

Bodie took one shaky step toward Ngambo. 'That's for Donna. And this is where it ends,' he said with all the effort he could muster. 'You're not worth treatment. Doctors. Nurses. They're too good for you.'

Ngambo was unable to speak. His tiny eyes widened when it hit him that he was dying, and as Doyle and Murphy helped Bodie out of the house and into the cool night air, he blew out his last breath.

Ngambo was no more.

(tbc)