Gorilla Republic: Deutschland: Part 11
24th December 2024
This was Marbella. Here lay possibility. Once a threadbare fishing village nestled in the heart of the Costa del Sol, which at the end of the Second World War barely boasted 10,000 residents, it had burgeoned into a thriving city; a major jet-set resort in the Mediterranean. Marbella was where celebrities escaped the grind, where retirees withdrew to bask in an agreeable climate and exotic surroundings, eventually meeting their ends.
On any given day, one might encounter Hollywood personalities, sports icons, politicians, royalty, and the odd rogue chasing fortunes in the city’s labyrinthine underbelly. The British, in particular, had taken to Marbella, trading the dreary swathes of England for sunshine and opulence.
Makhlouf liked Marbella because it reminded him of Tangier. The city’s level of underground activity astounded him. Quietly, he operated as the unseen hand behind a sprawling network, using the city as a base for consolidating goods of questionable origin that would later cross the Strait. With numerous properties under his name, many of which he had not set foot in for years, Marbella was his playground of shadows. Banou and Mapacha would soon find refuge in one such safe house.
The dawn’s tranquillity shattered as the Alfa Romeo Giulia screeched through the city’s winding streets, its guttural roar echoing against whitewashed walls. The car finally came to a halt outside a modest villa in the Fisherman’s Quarter. As if summoned, the city’s birds erupted into song, flocking towards the small harbour to await the first catch of the morning.
Odria stepped out of the car, stretching as the golden light of sunrise outlined her silhouette. It was only then that Banou and Mapacha truly saw her.
Slim, yes, but now it was evident she was also powerfully athletic. Standing just shy of five and a half feet, Odria carried herself with the kind of confidence that bordered on ferocity. Her hair, tied into a bun, revealed delicate curls. Honey-glazed skin, speckled with freckles, complemented her brown doe eyes, which sat above an all-too-large nose. Full lips gave her a distinctively North African pout.
Dressed in black from head to toe, a T-shirt, jeans, a leather bomber jacket, and combat boots, Odria exuded a no-nonsense air. Mapacha found himself momentarily transfixed by her presence.
“An action girl,” he muttered under his breath, convinced that Odria could turn violent at the slightest provocation.
“Typical Moroccan,” Banou whispered, a flicker of envy colouring her tone as she noticed Mapacha’s gaze linger on Odria.
Oblivious to their attention, Odria strode confidently to the villa’s door. Her sharp eyes scanned the surroundings before she knocked twice. The door swung open almost instantly to reveal a short, stout woman with a weathered face and piercing eyes.
Odria exchanged brief words with her before returning to the car.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Banou’s musette as Mapacha slung his backpack over his shoulder.
“This is one of Makhlouf’s safe houses,” Odria explained. “We will rest here until evening, then travel overnight.”
The villa’s unassuming exterior belied its true nature. Behind the lime-coated adobe walls was a cleverly concealed compound. The main house dominated the centre, flanked by two smaller apartments. The ingenuity of the design was not lost on Banou, who marvelled at Makhlouf’s foresight. From the street, no one would suspect the compound’s size or significance.
Inside, the stout woman, Zaira, greeted them in thickly accented Andalusian Spanish. “Bienvenido a Marbella. Venga, sígueme. (Welcome to Marbella. Please follow me).”
She led Banou and Mapacha to separate apartments, each surprisingly spacious. Banou’s room featured a lounge area with leather armchairs, a small kitchenette, and an en-suite bathroom. A wrought-iron chandelier hung from wooden beams that spanned the ceiling, while a massive bed dominated one corner of the room.
“Freshen up, madam,” Zaira said with a practised smile. “I will fetch you for breakfast shortly.”
After settling into their respective rooms, Banou and Mapacha joined Zaira for breakfast at a small table. The spread was simple but hearty hot tea, tostada con tomate y aceite, and a generous bowl of fresh fruit. Banou ate with gusto, while Mapacha approached the meal cautiously, his mind preoccupied.
Odria, visibly weary, excused herself and retreated to one of the other rooms. Once breakfast was over, Banou returned to her apartment, stripped down, and climbed into bed. Sleep enveloped her almost immediately.
In the adjoining apartment, Mapacha followed suit, removing all but his underwear. He inspected his revolver before tucking it under his pillow and slipping into a light sleep.
**
The sharp rap of knuckles against her door dragged Banou from the depths of sleep.
“Banou! Banou! Are you awake?”
Groaning, she buried her head beneath the pillow, willing the noise to stop.
“Banou, wake up. Can you hear me?”
The knocking grew louder.
“Banou!”
With gritted teeth, she forced her eyes open. “Alright, alright! Estou vindo! (I’m coming!)” she shouted hoarsely, staggering to the door.
She opened it to find Mapacha staring back at her.
“Why are you waking me up so early?” she demanded, shielding her eyes from the harsh light.
Mapacha raised an eyebrow.
“It is evening, Banou. We need to leave soon. Odria’s already prepping the car.”
Her groggy brain struggled to process his words.
“Evening? I slept the whole day?”
“Yes.”
“All right, give me a moment.”
Mapacha nodded, but before he could respond, Banou shut the door. She slumped onto the bed and lit a Gitane, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling. Reality began to set in, and with it, a pang of doubt.
The action phase of their journey was about to begin. As she pondered their next move, a thought struck her.
“At least I convinced him to come along,” she murmured, finding some solace in Mapacha’s presence. “Can he count on me?”
She stubbed out the cigarette, headed to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. Her bloodshot eyes stared back at her in the mirror. Sleep-deprived or not, there was no turning back now.