The warlord grunted and father and son went inside to join the arms dealer. Adorning the walls of Yaxaas’s office were African tools of war from the last ten thousand years: iron axe heads, copper spear tips, and dozens of knives and daggers. It was an impressive collection, worthy of a museum—or a slaughterhouse.

Cawar rose from a rattan sofa and greeted his host. He gave Yaxaas a three-foot-long Ngulu sword. Its question-mark-shaped blade was designed to catch and sever a man’s neck.

“I will find a place of honor for it.”

“I am sorry for arriving unannounced,” said the arms dealer, “but if I hadn’t, I believe that you would wish I had.”

“All is forgiven. We have been friends for many years and survived many trials together.”

Cawar smiled. “Like the Ethiopians?”

Yaxaas snorted and slowly shook his head.

The arms dealer turned to face Nacay. “It was many years ago, when your father was still working for Madowbe and I had not yet acquired my trading business. We were driving an old truck on a dirt trail at night, with no muffler and no lights, when we were suddenly blinded. There were so many spotlights, headlights, and searchlights that I thought we had driven straight into the sun. We were surrounded by Ethiopian security forces.”

“There must have been fifty of them!” added Yaxaas. “All yelling and pointing weapons at us. We stepped out of the truck with our hands up when their officer approached and demanded to know what we were up to.”

“I told him we were delivering vegetables,” Cawar admitted sheepishly.

“We had no bananas, no cucumbers, absolutely nothing to support the fiction. Old Cyclops here couldn’t even remember what kind of vegetables we were supposed to be carrying when the soldier asked him.”

“The officer opened the back of the truck and there was nothing there. We told him we’d sold everything and were on our way home, but he didn’t budge, so Cawar offered him twenty U.S. dollars. He took it but still didn’t move, so Cawar gave him another twenty.”

“I saw him shift on his feet,” Cawar said, “so I knew we had him. I gave him a handful of Ethiopian notes, probably worth another five dollars, and told him it was all we had. The soldier waved us on, and we made it home a day and a half later, none the worse for wear.”

“They were looking for poachers,” said the arms dealer.

“And we had a quarter of a million dollars hidden in the truck’s spare tire!” said Yaxaas. “That army officer could have been rich.”

The three men were still laughing when the young girl knocked on the door and entered. Cawar examined every curve of her body as she poured three glasses of tea through a strainer and walked out of the room.

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” Yaxaas said.