make the deal. No-one wants to anger Ash-Shumu’a – even bossman is scared of them.”
“So who killed her?”
“That I don’t know. Everyone was looking for her. I don’t know why.”
“Everyone?”
“The Wolves and Onyx. All of us seek her at the same time. I think the Wolves maybe found her first.”
That made no sense.
There was no reason for Dubai’s other two criminal gangs to stray from their turf and interfere in Euphoric’s business. This wasn’t like any other city. Each mafia group could only operate so long as it had a local family protecting it.
Just as legitimate businesses run by foreigners had to have a local investor – not only for legal reasons but also to serve as both a protector and a guide to cultural sensitivities – so did the underworld.
Of course, most of Dubai’s leading families were straight and honourable; which explained why, given that there were fourteen principle power-broking clans within the Emirate, there were only three criminal enterprises.
Any unaffiliated organization would be crushed, not only by mafia rivalries, but also by the full force of the state. It also explained why it was worth the time of the existing three operations to get along smoothly with one another.
In a perverse way it also had to be the way these organizations did business. After all, if you needed 150 visas for Romanian or Ukrainian or Bulgarian girls, no questions asked, only a local family had the clout to push them through the byzantine bureaucracy.
Mehr broke the silence.
“If the Russians killed that girl, for whatever reason, it means they’ve declared war on Euphoric,” he said. “That means a fight could break out between Dubai’s kingmaker families. The entire country could destabilize.”
The full implications of the situation began to dawn on Asp.
“What the hell have we become mixed up in?”
12
Blake climbed into his Audi and drummed his hands on the steering wheel. He wanted to punch the living daylights out of something.
“Swallow the anger,” he whispered to himself. “That path leads to a very dark place.”
He switched on the car’s engine. He couldn’t go back in the office, not without losing his cool. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out the puzzle box.
He turned it over in his palm. The side panels were clearly moveable. He clicked a few around to see what happened.
Nothing.
If anything the patterns of coloured wood on the outside appeared even less well arranged than before.
“Perhaps you contain a clue to a story that’s actually worth covering?” he thought.
The more he studied it, the more the box looked like an over-sized Rubik cube. He’d never been any good at rearranging the 1980’s craze. He thought through his contacts.
Qasid Al Ghaf.
“Sod it,” he said. “I may as well do something useful. Let’s see if a local expert can help me get into you.”
He picked up his phone and shot his Emirati friend Qasid a text to say that he was dropping by. He then drove out of the car park and began towards the old financial district.
His phone began ringing.
He put it in the dashboard cradle and inserted his hands free kit into his ear. He hated the device. It made him feel like the communications officer from an old Star Trek show.
“Hello?” he said as he overtook two Range Rovers full of teenage kids out cruising the streets.
“Hey baby, it’s me!”
The joyful tones of his wife. Blake’s heart lifted. Eleven years married and it still seemed like the best decision he’d ever made.
“Hello my angel – how’s everything with you?”
“Fine, fine,” Cathy replied, “but you answered the phone gruffly. You only ever do that when that bitch has been riding your case again. What’s Malice done now?”
Blake eased onto the motorway and increased speed to match the traffic.
“Let’s not even go there,” he replied. “Same old, same old. I’m not even sure why I let it get to me when I know
“So who killed her?”
“That I don’t know. Everyone was looking for her. I don’t know why.”
“Everyone?”
“The Wolves and Onyx. All of us seek her at the same time. I think the Wolves maybe found her first.”
That made no sense.
There was no reason for Dubai’s other two criminal gangs to stray from their turf and interfere in Euphoric’s business. This wasn’t like any other city. Each mafia group could only operate so long as it had a local family protecting it.
Just as legitimate businesses run by foreigners had to have a local investor – not only for legal reasons but also to serve as both a protector and a guide to cultural sensitivities – so did the underworld.
Of course, most of Dubai’s leading families were straight and honourable; which explained why, given that there were fourteen principle power-broking clans within the Emirate, there were only three criminal enterprises.
Any unaffiliated organization would be crushed, not only by mafia rivalries, but also by the full force of the state. It also explained why it was worth the time of the existing three operations to get along smoothly with one another.
In a perverse way it also had to be the way these organizations did business. After all, if you needed 150 visas for Romanian or Ukrainian or Bulgarian girls, no questions asked, only a local family had the clout to push them through the byzantine bureaucracy.
Mehr broke the silence.
“If the Russians killed that girl, for whatever reason, it means they’ve declared war on Euphoric,” he said. “That means a fight could break out between Dubai’s kingmaker families. The entire country could destabilize.”
The full implications of the situation began to dawn on Asp.
“What the hell have we become mixed up in?”
12
Blake climbed into his Audi and drummed his hands on the steering wheel. He wanted to punch the living daylights out of something.
“Swallow the anger,” he whispered to himself. “That path leads to a very dark place.”
He switched on the car’s engine. He couldn’t go back in the office, not without losing his cool. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out the puzzle box.
He turned it over in his palm. The side panels were clearly moveable. He clicked a few around to see what happened.
Nothing.
If anything the patterns of coloured wood on the outside appeared even less well arranged than before.
“Perhaps you contain a clue to a story that’s actually worth covering?” he thought.
The more he studied it, the more the box looked like an over-sized Rubik cube. He’d never been any good at rearranging the 1980’s craze. He thought through his contacts.
Qasid Al Ghaf.
“Sod it,” he said. “I may as well do something useful. Let’s see if a local expert can help me get into you.”
He picked up his phone and shot his Emirati friend Qasid a text to say that he was dropping by. He then drove out of the car park and began towards the old financial district.
His phone began ringing.
He put it in the dashboard cradle and inserted his hands free kit into his ear. He hated the device. It made him feel like the communications officer from an old Star Trek show.
“Hello?” he said as he overtook two Range Rovers full of teenage kids out cruising the streets.
“Hey baby, it’s me!”
The joyful tones of his wife. Blake’s heart lifted. Eleven years married and it still seemed like the best decision he’d ever made.
“Hello my angel – how’s everything with you?”
“Fine, fine,” Cathy replied, “but you answered the phone gruffly. You only ever do that when that bitch has been riding your case again. What’s Malice done now?”
Blake eased onto the motorway and increased speed to match the traffic.
“Let’s not even go there,” he replied. “Same old, same old. I’m not even sure why I let it get to me when I know
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