He was so concerned about the gifts because Ombuti was the Immoharen of the Tuareg tribe. The Tuareg tribe believed in many myths and nitpicked many things. The Immoharen position was a noble status, and they were very prideful. Of course, Ombuti was the kind of person who would gladly wear the pants, no, the skirt that his master bought for him.
He wanted to give him something meaningful, as much as he was an overbearing uncle and loyal person to him. Behind the identity of Azrael and the Angel of Death was Mu Ssang, a shy Korean man. Off the battlefield, Black Mamba was a Korean youth who had plenty of love to share and knew how to take care of the elders.
West Africa was like Franceâs front yard. There were plenty of DGSE agents who lived in Africa. What kind of gifts would please a Tuareg Immoharen? He wouldnât have to worry if he had asked.
His 'something should happenâ mindset was the problem.
âWait, no one dislikes gold. I should find a jeweler.â
Black Mamba snapped his fingers as though he had a big revelation. If there was no appropriate gift, he could give money instead. However, the Tuareg tribe considered the gifting of money as a great offense. Ombuti wouldnât take it that way, but he would comment about his masterâs wealth and save it in his stead. Gold had the highest monetary value. The loud engine sound rang across NâDjamenaâs central Tombalbaye street.
âWhat the hell, this is like trying to locate a countryside farmer in Seoul.â
Not a single jewelry store came into sight despite searching for over an hour. He couldnât find a flower shop or a jewelry store. All he could see were clothing stores or food stores. Well, there was no reason for the locals to desire extravagant things when there was a shortage of clothes and food in the first place. That was the reason why Ombuti had set up a company that handled crops and edibles. This damned country was overflowing with flies, mosquitoes, and sandstormsânot a single desirable aspect. He truly began to hate the country called Chad.
âDamn it. I should have brought some gold bars.â
It was too late for regrets. His gold bars were resting peacefully in the underground vault of BNP Paribas bank. Black Mamba rubbed the pink-colored diamond in his pocket. If he didnât plan on giving it to his mother, he would have given it to Ombuti.
Wait, Edel!
Heâd forgotten about Edel, who was with Ombuti. Ombuti came in second. He wasnât thick-skinned enough to shove his face in front of a woman he hadnât met for a year.
âUgh, Iâm about to go mad.â
He spent three hours on the street. His eyes stung from trying to find a jewelry shop. The Dassault Falcon, which had departed Paris at nine in the morning, landed in NâDjamena Airport at two in the afternoon. Currently, it was five in the afternoon. Mentally exhausted, Black Mamba collapsed on the staircase of a building and smoked his Cohiba Siglo.
What the hell am I doing?
He looked pathetic, crouching on the staircase while exhaling donut-shaped smoke. The actions heâd taken despite flying over to Africa on a private jet was illogical.
Huh?
As he exhaled smoke after smoke, his wandering eyes came to a halt. There was a circular plate nailed to the buildingâs pillar. The French writing on the circular plate grabbed his attention.
âTotal jewelers! All the metal around the world?â
Black Mambaâs face creased. He immediately moved himself a few paces back from the building and looked at it from top to bottom. No matter how hard he stared at it, the three-story building was not a jewelry store. The buildingâs granite wall was thick enough to repel 75-millimeter artilleries, and the windows were the size of a palm. The closed wooden door was encased in iron bars and plates. It was a fortress, not a jewelry store.
Whether they handled gold or gems, the jewelers he knew of had clear windows for their entire storefront, and they were illuminated inside. They were designed in such a manner to create the urge to buy. This damned shop was the opposite. It didnât announce its presence. Perhaps this was why he couldnât find a jewelry store. Although the building was made in consideration of the substandard social safety in Chad, that was too concealed.
Boom boom boomâ
He had a hunch that the door was at least a palmâs width wide.
Clackâ
The palm-sized window clicked open. He could barely see the mouth of a white man with shining oily skin.
âI came to buy gold.â
âShow me your money.â
His thick lips, which looked as though it could serve an entire plate if cut with the Kukri, moved despicably.
âShow my money?â
Forcing a customer to show his money! He couldnât tell whether the man was looking for a fight or running a business.
âIf you donât have money, leave.â
He had unhesitantly made the request.
Ha, look at this damn b*stard talk.
Black Mamba tried his best to calm his rising temper. He nearly planted his fist through that manâs shiny mouth. He helplessly took out a bunch of francs from his pocket and shoved it in the manâs face.
âYou are a customer.â
The heavy door creaked open. The white man closed the door immediately after Black Mamba stepped in. Black Mamba felt as though he was being confined.
It was a jewelry store, all right. Display cases were spread all around. The owner removed the iron plates, which covered the cases. Gold, white gold, diamonds, opals, pearlsâall kinds of jewelry exuded their brilliance. For a shop handled by an inhospitable owner, there were many products.
âLook. I swear to Allah, they are all real.â
âB*stard, itâs suspicious,â Black Mamba murmured in Korean.
Havuç mentioned that those who swore to Allah amid their conversation were always liars.
âHow much is this?â he asked, holding up a heavy golden donkey statue.
Most of the African locals were nomadic or from farming tribes. They regarded animals as their companions and friends. They also regarded camels, goats, and donkeys as the highest form of congratulatory gifts. The number of livestock in their house represented their wealth.
The Maasai tribe and Tuareg tribe did not consider those without livestock part of their community. A golden donkey statue was the best offering for a member of the Tuareg tribe. Although it wasnât knowledge that Black Mamba could have possibly known, he was lucky.
âWhat should I get for Edel? Maybe a ring? Is that too inconsiderate?â
He recalled how embarrassed he had been, looking at her happy expression after receiving a cheap purse. He lifted a bracelet embedded with diamonds and asked. It seemed quite expensive.
âHow much is this?â
â32,000 francs.â
âFine. Wrap it.â
One should inquire about the worth of gold before making a purchase, but he didnât. He was skeptical but decided to bear with the rip-off. In the first place, it was wrong to expect an enjoyable shopping experience in NâDjamena. Still, his pride didnât allow him to glare at an average citizen either.
âBlack agate misbaha, bon, bon.â
The owner offered him a misbaha that glimmered in black. The object was commonly seen in Arab countries. The misbaha were sacred objects that the Muslims used during prayer. The misbaha looked similar to the Catholic beads, but instead of the cross, a Quran was attached. The misbaha was made from the finest black agate. That was due to their belief that black agate chased away ghosts and evil creatures.
Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad were all born around the fifth century. The Catholic beads took inspiration from the Buddhist prayer beads. The misbaha took inspiration from the wooden fish and stick chants. The three great religions shared many religious aspects. They were only picked apart and divided by humansâ whims.
âHow much?â
âIâll just give it to you for 1,000 francs.â
Black Mamba tilted his head. Although many knew the worth of gold, the worth of agate was still unknown to many. He didnât know the market prices, but agate wasnât cheap gems. They were comparable to amethyst.
1,000 francs was equivalent to 260,000 Korean won. The amount was absurd, according to Chadâs market price. The owner was ripping him off because he was a foreigner.
âYou b*stard, do you think Iâm an idiot?â
Black Mambaâs eyes turned cold. The anger, which he had been repressing, exploded. He glared at the owner, who was shaking his fats around. If the owner hadnât said âjust give,â he would have been less mad.
He placed the misbaha on the row of display cases and tapped it with his palm.
Whooshâ
Dust rose. 10 black agate beads shattered. It was an imitation made of sand and coated with black gloss. It was a good imitation too.
âOh?â
No!
Like magic, the bloated ownerâs white face turned dark. Black Mamba himself was surprised. Heâd doubted but didnât think it was actually fake. Initially, he had intended to break the black agate and give the owner a difficult time.
âYou f****** b*stard!â
Upset, he grabbed a golden bracelet and used his strength.
Crackâ
The bracelet broke. Its inner surface was bluish-white. It was an imitation, with gold paint painted on lead. It was a method often used by swindlers.
âWhat are you doing!â the owner shouted, his face now the color of the fake bracelet.
âShut up, f*****.â
He was an idiot who had never considered the existence of a human who could snap a thick lead bracelet into two. Perhaps, he couldnât discern the situation since Black Mamba had discovered his scam. Frustrated, Black Mamba took out the golden donkey statue and placed it on a display case. When he was about to slam down on it with his palm, a pair of chunky hands grabbed the golden donkey statue, the bracelet, and misbaha before disappearing into the inner room. That movement was faster than the market stand gestures.
âHa, heâs faster than I am. Now, how do I scold him so that rumor will spread?â
Black Mamba laughed. He couldnât use force against a citizen, but this b*stard had crossed the line. He sat on an iron chair and waited until the ownerâor swindlerâreappeared. He found the man repulsive, but it wasnât a crime deserving of death. If the man apologized, he would consider flicking his forehead as a means of forgiveness.
The fat swindler reappeared from the room. The situation progressed differently from his expectations. Instead of the real deal, he reappeared alongside two built black men with intense glares.
One was spinning a folding knife, and the other was licking an ax. They looked exactly like typical street gang members. Both of them had looks that could kill.
They had flat noses, torn lips, and a few knife scars on their faces. That kind of face would make any kind-hearted customer scream. Heâd heard that some had fled the FROLINATâs defeated battalions and southern FAP to NâDjamena. They were of the same kind.
âOh, youâre asking for it.â
âTalkis al quadir, kunta jaba-nan![1]â the swindler shouted with confidence.
âNaqud, dod ingil mel. Katu you meh-oud al-mawt.â
The man with the ax revealed his yellow teeth, muttering incomprehensible words. Although he didnât understand the meaning of the sentence, he understood the words ânaqud[2]â and âal-mawt[3].â The man was saying that heâd be killed if he didnât hand over his money. Those street members were as ignorant as they looked.
âLook at this guy talk! Heâs saying things that will get him in trouble. Killing a customer and stealing their money? Isnât this exactly like those scenes that I saw in movies? Hahaha!â
Black Mamba laughed in astonishment. Those b*stards were attempting to kill him, even when they should be groveling on the floor. It was a completely different story from what he had predicted.
There was a reason behind the fortress-like entrance and windowless walls. They were operating a specialized business that mooched off wealthy foreigners.
Black Mambaâs eyes grew cold. The menâs fates were decided the moment they revealed their weapons and killing intent. What a sad self-centered world they lived in, unable to foresee the future because greed had blinded them!
âAre you guys originally thieves or b*stards who act like thieves when needed? Iâve never killed civilians before. If you apologize, Iâll walk away with a few of your teeth,â Black Mamba warned with a low voice.
The swindler with the protruding belly hesitated. Didnât that man fear his friends who held an ax and a knife? The fat manâs face creased, understanding the customerâs words immediately.
âQutil![4]â
âHehehe!â
At the simple order, the man holding the knife with the twisted lips laughed. The b*stardâs eyes glinted in anticipation for the forthcoming violence. A pungent smell filled with bloodlust swelled. His brain picked up the scent instead of his nose. That b*stard was someone who had killed several times. Black Mambaâs eyes turned colder. Barely a day passed since his decision not to spatter any more blood on the ground. His efforts to see less blood was futile.
The b*stard with the knife ran forward and stabbed the entrance handle.
âHa!â
Black Mamba could only laugh. He was foolish for locking the door in an attempt to catch a tiger that had entered his home. What idiocy.
Whooshâ
The knife swung toward his chest without a single word of notice. There was no hesitation in that hand movement. The African must have learned how to handle a blade. It was like a ghost trying to attack a general.
Slapâ
âHuh?â
The eyes of the man who wielded the knife widened. He didnât know how it had happened, but his knife was in the other manâs hand.
âHuh, Opinel!â
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Black Mamba had exclaimed several times today. Opinel was a folding knife created by Franceâs blade specialist, Opinel, at the end of the 19th century. Its blade was made of Damascus, and its handle was made of ivory. A street gang member couldnât possibly possess such an object. It was clearly stolen from a customer, who was presumably dead.