Snakepit Read Online Free Page A

part of such occasions, with armies of pseudo-wrestlers moving from wedding to wedding, their oiled bodies on display.
    There were many weddings Bat attended because General Bazooka or Bureaucrat One had no time and sent him in their stead. It was at one such gathering that he met Victoria Kayiwa. The reception was in the Nile Perch Hotel gardens. The afternoon was dying away, slowly letting in a cool evening. Bat was nursing his drink while listening to an army officer with bad breath who was going on about CIA infiltration and sabotage, and how all missionaries were secret agents stringing for foreign countries. He had tried to attract her attention on two occasions, but each time she had been talking to a bullish general with medals down to his knees. In fact, he had gotten the impression that she was the wife of a general. For many of these northerners a young southern wife was a status symbol to go with the six-door Boomerang 600 or sporty 300 break horsepower Euphoria. The staunch polygamists often paraded their harems, led by fellow northerner first wives and flanked by the younger southern trophies. Finally, he saw her walking towards him out of the corner of his eye. She was impressive, with a lean, tubular frame that made her cow most women. He could see her breasts swollen under the red cloth of her dress, her thighs carved by the long, flowing garment, her head carried by a long neck. As if on cue, the officer who was lecturing him slipped away, making her arrival all the more pleasing. There was a preliminary exchange of greetings and banter, during which both of them knew that something was going to happen between them.
    â€œWhich security organization are you representing tonight?” Bat said lightheartedly.
    â€œAre you accusing me of being a spy, sir?” Victoria said, looking Bat straight in the face, the corners of her mouth forming a smile.
    â€œOtherwise, what would you be doing here amidst this sleaze?” he said, making a sweeping motion with his glass.
    â€œI was invited just like you, sir. This is beginning to sound like a police interrogation,” she complained with a face that showed the opposite emotion.
    â€œIt is a police interrogation. These days one has to move like a snail, with the antenna up, picking up all the necessary signals for survival,” he replied, smiling.
    â€œYou are right, sir,” Victoria said, draining the last of her drink.
    â€œWhat are you drinking?”
    â€œSoda, just like everybody else.”
    Bat signalled a waiter to bring her a drink. His stomach felt heavy with the Pepsi he had been drinking all afternoon to combat the heat and for lack of any alternative. He watched as she picked a glass with care and raised it in a modest toast. To us, to danger, to adventure, he said under his breath, feeling a sweet recklessness rising inside him. He wanted her, this mysterious girl, and he was ready to take the risk. He didn’t see much of a future with her, not with somebody floating in these murky circles, but she had to be a terrific fuck, a good way to relieve the pressure of work. After hours of poring over dry material, digesting estimates and mathematical projections, he needed to revel in unreason, and indulge in a bit of impulse. He craved intoxication, real physical satisfaction. What speed could not massage away, a thick crotch might.
    â€œWhere do you live?”
    â€œIn the city, like everybody else,” she replied, looking at him over the rim of her glass. “How about you, sir?” she said, baiting him with yet another sign of respect—after all, he was a big man.
    â€œEntebbe, by the lake, near the State House,” he said with boyish airs, unable to resist this opportunity to show off. It actually felt good although it was obviously overkill.
    â€œIt sounds very exciting.”
    â€œThe setting is so aesthetic,” he said, enjoying yet another boast and realizing that, because he was unable to