A Fire in the Sun (29 page)

I saw them exchange uneasy glances. No one said anything. It was just as I expected. "Allah grant you peace and well-being, Shaykh Marîd al-Amin," murmured the woman, backing toward the door.

I'd earned an epithet! She'd called me Marîd the

Trustworthy. "Allah yisallimak," I replied. I was glad when they left.

About an hour later, a nurse came in and told me that my doctor had signed my release from the hospital. That was fine with me. I called Kmuzu, and he brought me some clean clothes. My skin was still very tender and it hurt to get dressed, but I was just glad to be going home.

"The American, Morgan, wishes to see you, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu. "He says he has something to tell you."

"Sounds like good news," I said. I got into the electric sedan, and Kmuzu closed the passenger door. Then he went around and got in behind the steering wheel.

"You also have some business matters to take care of. There is a considerable amount of money on your desk."

"Uh yeah, I guess so." There should be two fat pay envelopes from Friedlander Bey, plus my share of the take from Chiri's.

Kmuzu let his glance slide over to me. "Do you have any plans for that money, yaa Sidi?" he asked.

I smiled at him. "What, you got a horse you want me to back?"

Kmuzu frowned. No sense of humor, I recalled. "Your wealth has grown large. With the money that came while you were in the hospital, you have more than a hundred thousand kiam, yaa Sidi. Much good could be done with that great a sum."

"Didn't know you were keeping such close tabs on my bank balance, Kmuzu." He was such a friend sometimes, I tended to forget that he was really only a spy. "I had some ideas about putting the money to good use. A free clinic in the Budayeen, maybe, or a soup kitchen."

I'd really startled him. "That's wonderful and unexpected!" he said. "I heartily approve."

"I'm so glad," I said sourly. I really had been thinking along those lines, but I didn't know how to begin. "How'd you like to study the feasibility? All my time is taken up with this Abu Adil-Jawarski thing."

"I would be more than happy. I don't think you have enough to fund a clinic, yaa Sidi, but providing hot meals to the poor, that is a worthy gesture."

"I hope it's more than just a gesture. Let me know when you have some plans and figures for me to look at."

 The nice part of all this was that it would keep Kmuzu busy and out of my hair for a while.

When I went into the house, Youssef grinned and gave me a bow. "Welcome home, O Shaykh!" he said. He insisted on wrestling my suitcase away from Kmuzu. The two of them followed me down the corridor.

"Your apartment is still being rebuilt, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu. "I've made us comfortable in a suite in the east wing. On the first floor, away from your mother and Umm Saad."

"Thank you, Kmuzu." I was already thinking about the work I had to do. I couldn't take any more time off to recuperate. "Is Morgan here now, or do I have to call him?"

"He's in the antechamber of the office," said Youssef. "Is that all right?"

"Fine. Youssef, why don't you give that suitcase back to Kmuzu. He can carry it to our temporary apartment. I want you to let me into Friedlander Bey's inner office. You don't think he'd mind if I used it while he's in the hospital, do you?"

Youssef thought about that for a moment. "No," he said slowly, "I don't see any problem."

I smiled. "Good. I'm gonna have to take care of his business until he's healthy again."

"Then I'll leave you, yaa Sidi," said Kmuzu. "May I begin working on our charity project?"

"As soon as possible," I said. "Go in safety."

"God be with you," said Kmuzu. He turned toward the servants' wing. I went on with Youssef to Papa's private office.

Youssef paused at the threshold. "Shall I send the American in?" he asked.

"No," I said, "let him wait a couple of minutes. I need my English-language add-on, or I won't understand a word he says. Would you mind fetching it?" I told him where to find it. "Then when you come back, you can show Morgan in."

"Of course, O Shaykh." Youssef hurried away to do my bidding.

I felt an unpleasant thrill when I sat in Friedlander Bey's chair, as if I'd occupied a place of unholy strength. I didn't like the feeling at all. For one thing, I had no desire  to step into the role of Junior Crime Lord, or even the more legitimate office of International Power Broker. I was at Papa's feet now; but if, Allah forbid, something terminal were to happen to him, I wouldn't hang around to be anointed as his successor. I had other plans for my future.

I glanced through the papers on Papa's desk for a few minutes, finding nothing racy or incriminating. I was about to start rummaging through the drawers when Youssef returned. "I've brought the entire rack, yaa Sidi," he said.

"Thank you, Youssef. Please show Morgan in now."

"Yes, O Shaykh." I was getting to like all this subservience, but that was a bad sign.

I chipped in the English daddy just as the big, blond American came in. "Where y'at, man?" he said, grinning. "I never been here before. You got a nice place."

"Friedlander Bey's got a nice place," I said, indicating that Morgan should make himself comfortable. "I'm just his errand boy."

"Whatever you say. Now, you want to hear what I got?"

I leaned back in the chair. "Where's Jawarski?" I said.

Morgan's grin disappeared. "Still don't know, man. I got the word out to everybody, but I haven't heard a clue. I don't think he's left the city. He's here somewhere, but he's done a damn good job of evaporating."

"Yeah, you right. So what's the good news?"

He rubbed his stubbly chin. "I know somebody who knows somebody who works for some business front that's owned by Reda Abu Adil. It's a shady package delivery service. Anyway, this guy my friend knows says he heard somebody else say that this Paul Jawarski wanted his money. Seems like your friend Abu Adil arranged to make it easy for Jawarski to blast his way out of the pokey."

"A couple of guards died on account of it, but I don't suppose that bothers Abu Adil none."

"I suppose not. So Abu Adil hired Jawarski through this delivery company to come to the city. I don't know what Abu Adil wanted, but you know what Jawarski's specialty is. This friend of mine calls it the Jawarski Finishing School."

"And now Abu Adil is making sure Jawarski stays unstumbled on, right?"

"The way I figure it."

I closed my eyes and thought about it. It made perfect sense. I didn't have hard evidence that Abu Adil had hired Jawarski to kill Shaknahyi, but in my heart I knew it was true. I also knew Jawarski had killed Blanca and the others in Shaknahyi's notebook. And because Lieutenant Hajjar was two-timing both Friedlander Bey and the halls of justice, I was pretty confident that the police were never going to dig Jawarski up. Even if they did, Jawarski would never be prosecuted.

I opened my eyes and stared at Morgan. "Just keep looking, buddy," I said, "because I don't think anybody else is."

"Money?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

"You got any money for me?"

I stood up angrily. "No, I ain't got money for you! I told you I'd pay you another five hundred when you found Jawarski. That's the deal."

Morgan stood up. "All right, man, just take it easy, okay?"

I was embarrassed by my outburst. "I'm sorry, Morgan," I said. "I'm not mad at you. This whole business is making me crazy."

"Uh yeah. I know you were good friends with Shaknahyi. All right, I'll keep at it."

"Thanks, Morgan." I followed him out of the office and showed him to the front door. "We're not gonna let them get away with it."

"Crime don't pay, right, man?" Morgan grinned and slapped my burned shoulder. The pain made me wince.

"Yeah, you right." I walked with him down the curving gravel driveway. I wanted to get away from the house, and if I left right now, I could escape without Kmuzu tagging along. "Like a ride to the Budayeen?" I asked.

"No, that's all right. I got some other stuff to do, man. See you later."

I turned back toward the house and got the car out of the garage. I thought I'd drop in on my club and see if it was still in one piece.

The day shift was still on, and there were only five or six customers. Indihar frowned and looked away when I caught her eye. I decided to sit at a table, rather than at my usual place at the bar. Pualani came up to say hello. "Want a White Death?" she asked.

"White Death? What's that?"

She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Oh, that's what Chiri calls that awful gin and bingara thing you drink." She grimaced.

"Yeah, bring me a White Death." It wasn't a bad

name.

Brandi was on stage, dancing to the Sikh propaganda music that had suddenly become wildly popular. I hated it a lot. I didn't want to listen to political rantings, even if it had a great beat and a catchy two-bar figure.

"Here you go, boss," said Pualani, dropping a cocktail napkin in front of me and pinning it in place with a highball glass. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Huh? Oh, sure."

"Want to ask you about something. I'm thinkin' of, you know, havin' my brain wired so I can use moddies?" She cocked her head to the side and peered at me, as if I might not comprehend what she was telling me. She didn't say anything more.

"Yeah," I said at last. You had to respond like that with Pualani or you could spend the rest of your life trapped in the same conversation.

"Well, everybody says you know more'n anybody about it. I was wonderin' if you could, like, recommend somebody?"

"A surgeon?"

"Uhhuh."

"Well, there's plenty of doctors around who'll do it for you. Most of 'em are pretty reliable."

Pualani gave me a pretty frown. "Well, I was wonderin' if I could go to your doctor and use your name."

"Dr. Lisan doesn't have a private practice. But his assistant, Dr. Yenjknani, is a good man."

Pualani squinted at me. "Would you write his name down for me?"

"Sure." I scribbled the name and commcode on the cocktail napkin.

"And also," she said, "does he do tits?"

"I don't think so, honey." Now Pualani had already

spent a small fortune modifying her body. She had a cute ass that had been rounded with silicone, and cheekbones accentuated with silicone, and her chin and nose reshaped, and she'd already had breast implants. She had a devastating figure, and I thought it was a mistake to blow up her bust any more; but I'd learned a long time ago that you can't reason with dancers when it comes to breast size.

"Oh, okay," she said, obviously disappointed. I took a sip of my White Death. Pualani snowed no sign of going away. I waited for her to continue. "You know Indihar?" she said.

"Sure."

"Well, she's havin' a lot of trouble. She's really broke."

"I tried giving her a loan, but she wouldn't take it."

Pualani shook her head. "No, she won't take a loan. But maybe you could help her out some other way." Then she got up and wandered toward the front of the club, and sat down next to a couple of Oriental men wearing sailor's caps.

Sometimes I just wished real life would leave me alone. I gulped a little more of my drink, then stood up and went to the bar. Indihar noticed me and came over. "Get you something, Marîd?" she asked.

"Jirji's pension ain't gonna help you very much, right?"

She gave me an annoyed look and turned away. She headed for the other end of the bar. "Don't want your money," she said.

I followed her. "I'm not offering money. How would you like a low-hassle job where you can live free and watch your kids all day? You wouldn't have to pay a babysitter."

She turned around. "What's this all about?" Her expression was mistrustful.

I smiled. "I mean bringing Little Jirji, Zahra, and Hakim and moving into one of the empty apartments in Papa's house. Save you a lot of money every month, Indihar."

She considered that. "Maybe. Why would you want me in Papa's house?"

I had to come up with some phony but real-sounding

reason. "It's my mother. I need someone to keep an eye on her. I'd be willing to pay you whatever you wanted."

Indihar patted the bar with one hand. "Already got a job, remember?"

"Hey," I said, "if that's the problem, you're fired."

Her face lost its color. "The hell you talking about?"

"Think about it, Indihar. I'm offering you a nice home, free rent and meals, plus good money every week for a part-time job making sure my mom doesn't do anything crazy. Your kids'll be taken care of and you won't have to come into this bar every day. You won't have to take your clothes off and dance, and you won't have to deal with the drunk jerks and the lazy-ass girls like Brandi."

She raised her eyebrows. "I'll let you know, Marîd," she said. "Soon as I figure out what kind of hustle you're trying to pull. Sounds too good to be straight, sweetheart. I mean, you're not wearing a Santa Glaus moddy or nothing."

"Yeah, you think about it. Talk it over with Chiri. You trust her. See what she thinks."

Indihar nodded. She was still watching me uncertainly. "Even if I say yes," she said, "I'm not gonna fuck you."

I sighed. "Yeah, you right." I went back to my table. A minute after I sat down again, Fuad il-Manhous let himself drop into the other chair. "I woke up the other day," he said in his high-pitched, nasal voice, "and my mama says to me, 'Fuad, we don't have no money, go out and take one of the chickens and sell it.'"

He was starting one of his dumb fables. He was so desperate for attention that he'd make himself look like a total fool just to make me laugh. The sad thing was that even his most fantastic stories were based on Fuad's actual fuck-ups.

He looked at me closely, to make sure I understood him so far. "So I did. I went out to my mama's chicken coop and I chased those chickens around and around till I caught one. Then I carried it down the hill and up the hill and over the bridge and through the streets till I came to the Souk of the Poultry Dressers. Well, I never took a chicken to market before, so I didn't know what to do. I stood there in the middle of the square all day, until I saw the merchants locking their money up in boxes and loading their leftover stuff onto their carts. I'd already heard the sunset call to prayer, so I knew I didn't have much time.