Brief Encounters With Che Guevara_ Stories - Ben Fountain [66]
“Look at those bastards.”
She was at the bar, sipping her third drink of the evening. Dennis Hatch slid onto the stool next to her, jutting his chin at the TV; CNN was running a story on the latest crop of tech billionaires.
“What are you doing here?”
“Meeting.” His eyes stayed fixed on the TV. “Kind of makes you want to puke, doesn’t it.”
“In a way you’ve got to hand it to them. They had the energy, they went for it. They pulled it off.”
“You got any money in the market?”
“Not a cent.”
“Me either.” He laughed. “I can’t wait for the damn thing to crash.”
Jill supposed she sympathized; supposed she even agreed. “So who are you meeting?”
“Some WFP honchos from Conakry, we’re tightening up the strategic stocks plan. Just in case.”
“Could be a good move.”
“Star beer,” Dennis said to Bazzy, then he turned on his stool to look over the terrace. The tables were packed with an ecumenical mix of whites and Africans. Thrashing, bass-heavy music played on the sound system, while waiters hustled up and down the steps with drinks. A stunning hooker with blond cornrows passed two feet in front of Dennis, raking him out of the corner of her eye. He turned to Jill with a smirk.
“Always a party at the Royal.”
“Somebody’s gotta do it.”
“How come you’re sitting up here?”
She followed the line of his gaze to Starkey’s table, where the people and chairs were stacked three deep. “He’s having office hours.”
“So?”
So—she felt like a whore when she sat at his table? “I’d just rather sit up here.”
Dennis turned back to the bar; they talked shop, traded gossip about their fellow expats, speculated on the political situation. Jill didn’t mention the co-op; she made herself wait for Dennis to bring it up, and when he didn’t she was gradually given to understand that there would be no money from the government. Despairing as she nodded and sipped her drink, maintaining, minimizing the personal side; by now it was second nature. Presently Starkey walked over to the bar, giving Dennis a bland smile as he ordered a Sassman’s. Jill introduced the two men.
“Ah, USAID,” said Starkey. They shook hands around Jill. “Still a growth industry, what?”
“Unfortunately yes.”
“I should think the only one in Salone at the moment.”
“I don’t know, I understand you diamond guys are doing pretty well.”
“On the contrary, they’ve put a ban on our product. Or haven’t you heard.”
“I didn’t think a little thing like the law slowed you guys down.”
Jill kept her eyes on the television, one hand on her drink. She wasn’t especially shocked that they’d gotten into it, just surprised that it happened so quickly.
“Please,” said Starkey, “let me enlighten you. My man’s sitting up in Koidu with six months’ worth of stones and I can’t get to him even if I wanted to. And everyone here is in the same boat, we’re all slowly bleeding to death. Another month or two of this and we’ll be closing up shop.”
“Cry me a river,” Dennis said through his teeth.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Cry me a river, it’s an expression. Basically it means all you guys can go fuck yourselves.”
“Oh. Well. That’s awfully sentimental of you.”
Dennis snorted into his beer.
“You think I’m being facetious? I’m quite serious actually, the whole embargo concept is a sentimental crock. It gets the human-rights chaps all warm and fuzzy, but what it’s really about is De Beers keeping a lock on the market. Seems so righteous of them, lobbying for the ban and all that—they’ll shut down the juniors in the name of good citizenship, then they’ll move in and open up the tap again. It’s all a farce, son, a sham. I shouldn’t think a smart fella like you would need me to explain.”
“It’s never clean,” Dennis said. “I sure as hell don’t need the likes of you to tell me that.”
“Yes, well said, it’s never clean. But you’re wrong if you think things are actually going to change. People will buy and sell