Beautiful Death by Fiona McIntosh

like this and yet — it was so strange — he was capable of befriending women, making them laugh and sharing conversations with them they’d normally reserve for their girlfriends. That was part of the problem. No one ever saw Namzul as a potential lover. He hated that someone like Moshe not only had a dutiful wife but cheated with the sluts he could afford to pay and make all his dreams a reality.
    He watched the girl arrive at the station, laugh at something one of her mates said, shove her paper bag into her jacket as if to say it was all hers and then disappear down the station steps to the warm platform.
    Namzul hunched deeper into his parka and walked to the kosher café — Milo’s — that was open round the clock and where they’d arranged to meet. Moshe was already tucking into one of the famous cream cheese and smoked salmon bagels.
    ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Namzul said, although he didn’t mean it.

    ‘You missed out. You’ll have to get your own,’ Moshe said, barely looking up from the Hebrew newspaper he was reading.
    Namzul didn’t show his disgust but politely put down his things and went to the counter to order a salt beef sandwich, equally renowned as a delicacy in this café that baked all of its own bread and bagels.
    When he returned balancing his food and a small pot of tea, Moshe finally looked at him.
    ‘I hear you delivered.’
    Namzul nodded but said nothing, simply busied himself pouring his tea. It was far too weak, he hadn’t let it draw properly, but he didn’t care. He was here purely for the salt beef and for his money.
    ‘Schlimey said she was perfect,’ Moshe continued between mouthfuls. ‘Not that I care if she doesn’t match. The orders are so broad anyway, I presume they use only the parts they want.’
    ‘I did my best,’ Namzul replied noncomittally.
    ‘It seems you did, which is why we’ve been asked to source another.’
    He shook his head now. ‘No, Moshe. No more like this.’ He leaned closer, but still whispered. ‘I’ll find kidney donors but Lily was —’
    ‘Lily?’ Moshe’s eyebrow arched before he made a tutting sound. ‘I told you long ago, Namzul, don’t trade with people you know.’
    He didn’t want to know the answer but still the question forced its way through his lips. ‘Is she dead?’
    ‘I have no idea. Probably. I don’t care but you obviously do because you knew her, and that’s a mistake,’ Moshe said, seemingly unaware of the cream cheese in his beard.
    ‘The deadline was unreasonable,’ Namzul complained. ‘I had no choice.’

    Gluck made a sound of admonishment. ‘She could lead the police to you.’
    ‘I doubt it. Where’s my money?’ he said, sipping the tea, but realising talking about Lily had turned it sour in his mouth. He hadn’t slept since Schlimey had collected her. Beautiful, graceful Lily.
    ‘I have half of it, Namzul.’
    ‘Why only half?’ he asked, stirring sugar into his tea, working to keep his voice even and not show Moshe any of the emotion churning inside him. His salt beef sandwich sat untouched beside the teapot. His appetite had fled.
    ‘We want to keep you interested, that’s why. You’re too good. The order is for a white girl this time. She needs to have that really pale skin, rather than a honey colour. You know, it usually comes with red hair or that really whitish blonde. Know what I mean?’
    He shook his head deliberately. ‘I said no.’
    ‘They will pay for her twice over. I can pay you for kidneys as well. Everything if you agree to this one.’
    Namzul looked up. Together it would add up to a deposit on a flat of his own. He could disappear . . . if only Gluck would leave him alone. His private argument raged only briefly. His fury made him reckless. ‘I want it all up front today.’
    Gluck’s expression was one of surprise. ‘That’s a lot of cash. What do you plan to do with it, Namzul?’
    ‘That’s my business. Do you have it on you?’ he asked, knowing full well