by Rebecca Cantrell
On the left, wearing a rumpled trench coat and reeking of Scotch, is Sam Spade. He’s a tough looking customer, with the face to prove it. But he’s out of his element without his trusty gun. Still, it’s not going to be easy to take him down. In his corner, he has Effie, his disillusioned secretary. She looks as likely to stuff the threadbare towel down his throat as throw it in. One red lacquered fingernail taps against the liquor bottle.
On the right is a large figure covered by a robe with a hood. It moves with such calm authority that Sam gets even more edgy. He’s not a big guy. His opponent has height, weight, and probably reach on him. And no one’s allowed out of the cage.
The figure shrugs off the robe, folds it neatly, and passes it through the cage bars. Her brightly patterned dress matches her blue and white head scarf. She waves and Sam flinches.
It’s Precious Ramotswe.
In her corner sits JLB Maketoni. He doesn’t look the least bit nervous. With him are two children, Motholeli and Puso. Motholeli holds a steaming cup of red bush tea.
The opponents walk toward each other in the ring. Sam’s head is down, his fists are up. Precious’s arms are loose by her side.
The lights flicker. Go out. The crowds gasps. The audience babbles so loudly no one can hear what’s going on in the ring.
The lights blaze back to life a few minutes later. Sam is sobbing on his knees in front of Effie. He apologizes for his past behavior and proposes to her on the spot.
Mma Rawotse sips her red bush tea with a mysterious smile. Peeking from between her fingers is a slip of paper. On it? The location of the real Maltese falcon, of course.
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