Jack noisily let out a breath of air. “Warren, old sport, I don’t know how you manage to drop in on such a timely basis in my life, but it’s appreciated.”

“These scumbags were seen casing this place earlier tonight,” Warren explained. “It’s as if they think they’re invisible, despite their expensive threads and that big, black, shiny Cadillac. It’s kind of a joke.”

Jack rubbed his hands together in appreciation of the sudden change of power. He asked Angelo and Franco their names but got cold stares in return.

“That one is Angelo Facciolo,” Laurie said, while pointing toward her nemesis.

“Spit, get their wallets,” Warren ordered.

Spit complied and read out their names and addresses. “Uh-oh, what’s this?” he questioned when he opened the wallet containing the Ozone Park police badge. He held it up for Warren to see.

“They’re not police officers,” Warren said with a wave of dismissal. “Don’t worry.”

“Laurie,” Jack said. “I think it’s time to give Lou a call. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to talk with these gentlemen. And tell him to bring the paddy wagon in case he’d like to invite them to stay the night at the city’s expense.”

Laurie disappeared into the kitchen.

Jack walked over to Angelo and towered above him.

“Stand up,” Jack said.

Angelo got to his feet and glowered insolently at Jack. To everyone’s surprise, especially Angelo, Jack sucker punched him as hard as he could in the face. There was a crunching sound as Angelo was knocked backward over the sofa to land in a heap on the floor.

Jack winced, cursed, and grabbed his hand. Then he shook it up and down. “Jeez,” he complained. “I’ve never hit anybody like that. It hurts!”

“Hold up,” Warren warned Jack. “I don’t like beatin’ on these dog turds. It’s not my style.”

“I’m all done,” Jack said, still shaking his injured hand. “You see, that dog turd on the other side of the couch beat up on Laurie earlier this evening after they broke into her apartment. I’m sure you noticed her face.”

Angelo pushed himself up to a sitting position. His nose angled to the right. Jack invited him to come back around the couch and sit down. Angelo moved slowly, while cupping his hand beneath his nose to catch the dripping blood.

“Now, before the police get here,” Jack said to the two men, “I’d like to ask you guys again about what you’re afraid Laurie and I might learn. What is going on with this Franconi nonsense?”

Angelo and Franco stared at Jack as if he weren’t there. Jack persisted and asked what they knew about Franconi’s liver, but the men remained stone silent.

Laurie returned from the kitchen. “I got Lou,” she reported. “He’s on his way, and I have to say he’s excited, especially about the Vido Delbario tip.”

An hour later, Jack found himself comfortably ensconced in Esteban Ndeme’s apartment along with Laurie and Warren.

“Sure, I’ll have another beer,” Jack said in response to Esteban’s offer. Jack was feeling a pleasant buzz from his first beer and progressively euphoric that the evening had worked out so auspiciously after such a bad start.

Lou had arrived at Jack’s with several patrolmen less than twenty minutes after Laurie’s call. He’d been ecstatic to take Angelo and Franco downtown to book them on breaking and entering, possession of unauthorized firearms, assault and battery, extortion, and impersonation of a police officer. His hope was to hold them long enough to get some real information out of them about New York City organized crime, particularly the Lucia organization.

Lou had been disturbed by the threats Laurie and Jack had received, so when Jack mentioned that he and Laurie were thinking of going out of town for a week or so, Lou was all for it. Lou was concerned enough that in the interim, he’d assigned a guard for Laurie and Jack. To make the job easier, Jack and Laurie agreed to stay together.

At Jack’s urging, Warren had taken him and Laurie to the Mercado Market and to meet Esteban Ndeme. As Warren had intimated, Esteban was an amiable and gracious man. He was close to Jack’s age of forty-two, but his body type was the opposite of Jack’s. Where Jack was stocky, Esteban was slender. Even his facial features seemed delicate. His skin was a deep, rich brown, many shades darker than Warren’s. But his most noticeable physical trait was his high-domed forehead. He’d lost his hair in the front so that his hairline ran from ear to ear over the top of his head.

As soon as he’d learned Jack was considering a trip to Equatorial Guinea, he’d invited Jack, Laurie, and Warren back to his apartment.

Teodora Ndeme had turned out to be as congenial as her husband. After the group had been in the apartment for only a short time, she’d insisted everyone stay for dinner.

With savory aromas drifting from the kitchen, Jack sat back contentedly with a second beer. “What brought you and Teodora to New York City?” he asked Esteban.

“We had to flee our country,” Esteban said. He went on to describe the reign of terror of the ruthless dictator Nguema that forced a third of the population, including all of Spanish descent, to leave. “Fifty thousand people were murdered,” Esteban said. “It was terrible. We were lucky to get out. I was a schoolteacher trained in Spain and therefore suspect.”

“Things have changed, I hope,” Jack said.

“Oh, yes,” Esteban said. “A coup in 1979 has changed a lot. But it is a poor country, although there is some talk of offshore oil, as was discovered off Gabon. Gabon is now the wealthiest country in the region.”

“Have you been back?” Jack asked.

“Several times,” Esteban said. “The last time, a few years ago,” Esteban said. “Teodora and I still have family there. Teodora’s brother even has a small hotel on the mainland in a town called Bata.”

“I’ve heard of Bata,” Jack said. “I understand it has an airport.”

“The only one on the mainland,” Esteban said. “It was built in the eighties for a Central African Congress. Of course, the country couldn’t afford it, but that is another story.”

“Have you heard of a company called GenSys?” Jack asked.

“Most definitely,” Esteban said. “It is the major source of foreign currency for the government, especially since cocoa and coffee prices have fallen.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jack said. “I’ve also heard GenSys has a primate farm. Do you know if that is in Bata?”

“No, it is in the south,” Esteban said. “They built it in the jungle near an old deserted Spanish town called Cogo. They have rebuilt much of the town for their people from America and Europe, and they have built a new town for local people who work for them. They employ many Equatoguinean people.”

“Do you know if GenSys built a hospital?” Jack asked.

“Yes, they did,” Esteban said. “They built a hospital and laboratory on the old town square facing the town hall.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Jack asked.

“Because my cousin used to work there,” Esteban said. “But he quit when the soldiers executed one of his friends for hunting. A lot of people like GenSys because they pay well, but others don’t like GenSys because they have too much power with the government.”

“Because of money,” Jack said.

“Yes, of course,” Esteban said. “They pay a lot of money to the ministers. They even pay part of the army.”

“That’s cozy,” Laurie commented.

“If we were to go to Bata, would we be able to visit Cogo?” Jack asked.

“I suppose,” Esteban said. “After the Spanish left twenty-five years ago, the road to Cogo was abandoned and became impassable, but GenSys has rebuilt it so the trucks can go back and forth. But you’d have to hire a car.”

“Is that possible?” Jack asked.

“If you have money, anything is possible in Equatorial Guinea,” Esteban said. “When are you planning to go? Because it’s best to go in the dry season.”