meet the Big Man

"Optimus Khan" turned out to be local gangleader and big man Ojore Khalfani. I was painfully aware of his reputation. He was an import from the Congo, and took his lessons in cruelty from there. The guards laughed at Helmut as he filmed me walking up the steps. I was dressed professionally, but that didn't matter to them at all. When Helmut turned the camera to one of them, the guard's hand moved to his AK 47 and a scowl etched his coal-black face.

"Helmut, don't make them mad." I said, attempting a smile. "I am here to see Khalfani. I need his help with a story." I said. The angry gaurd turned his attention back to me. He wore large sunglasses and a maroon beret on a head that sat atop a mountain of black muscle. His machete had so many notches I thought that the handle might break. So when a slow grin split his sinister face, I felt my breath stop.

"Go on in. Boss LOVES stories." he said, stepping aside. "He stay here. Boss don't like cameras." Helmut didn't even attempt a protest. He shrugged, and lit up a cigarette. I stealed my resolve, and walked passed them. "Hey, sissy! Give me a cigarette." the guard said, walking toward Helmut. I secretly hoped I'd come out and see some bruises on that Swiss pansy.

I walked up a set of stairs flanked by chipped concrete walls that had more than a few bulletholes in them. The stairs were narrow, but opened up to a massive skylit room that was filled with boxes and crates from countries all over the world. Khalfani should have been the story, but I was to report on "the poor". In the center was a desk made entirely out of welded together AK47s. Behind it, he sat watching me approach.

Khalfani was in his early early 40's, but he might as well have been 60. Deep scars etched one side of his face from some ancient shrapnel blast, and his smooth bald head was peppered with tiny burns. A cigar burn was in the center of his forehead. Story goes that he was captured by a rival gang in his youth and marked. He stood to great me with a grim smile. He was lean and tall, his skin lighter than the locals by a fraction and covered in wiry muscle. "Ms DiAngelo. Welcome." he said, sitting back.

I looked around for a place to sit, and seeing none, said "Thank you for seeing me Mr. Khalfani. Our station is willing to compensate you for your hospitality." I tried to gauge his reaction, but there wasn't any. "Um, I'm to report on the local poor and.." was all I got out before he held up his hand.

"And you don't want my gang to get in your way so you pay us off. Look around you. I have everything I need." he said. I glanced around. Most of the crates were military. "I am fighting a war here. A "television station" can provide me nothing." he said, spitting on the ground. I saw him start to look me up and down and had to cut off his "payment" idea before it was fully formed.

"I can give you information on the other gangs." I said. Power, as always, trumps lust in the sociopathic mind. He grinned.

"And how you gonna do that? No one will talk to a reporter. Not tell them anything useful." He was right, and knew it. His eyes told me he was already seeing me pinned to the concrete wall with his hands up my skirt again.

It was my turn to smile. I said in Russian "No, but they will talk to me." and repeated it Italian, and then English. "I am an undercover reporter. I have many ways to get information." He nodded. I already had the answer to his next question.

"Pretty girls like you don't belong on the streets. Not in any respectable way. How you going to do it?" he said, imagining me hooking.

I smiled and said with a Russian accent "I'll work for you. Anya Petrovitch, ex KGB, at your service." He saw the plan and laughed in a great booming voice.

"I see. They see you with me, they invite you to their headquarters to try and sway you to their side, and you tell me where they are! I love it!" Boys. They always love to pretend they are more important than they are. I'd probably only have to this once by the time the games were over, but it was well worth knowing the most powerful gang was on my side.

"Now we seal the deal in the traditional way." he said, standing up. My heart skipped a beat but I kept a straight face.

"And how is that done?" I said, keeping the accent. If this was cover, I couldn't break it until I was back at the airport. He grinned widely, and I had an idea of what he was about to say next.