"Well, Hajjar and the qadi will be getting back aboard the shuttle in a little while, right? After that, I guess we're on our own. Then we can contact these friends and get some nice, soft beds to spend the rest of the night in."
Papa gave me a sad smile. "Do you truly think our troubles end here?"
My confidence faltered. "Uh, they don't?" I said.
As if to justify Papa's concern, Hajjar and the qadi came out of the building, accompanied now by a burly guy in a cop-like uniform, carrying a rifle slung under his arm. He didn't look like a particularly intelligent cop or a well-disciplined cop, but with his rifle he was probably more than Papa and I could handle.
"We must speak soon of revenge," Papa whispered to me before Hajjar reached us.
"Against Shaykh Reda," I replied.
"No. Against whoever signed our deportation order. The amir or the imam of the Shimaal Mosque."
That gave me something else to think about. I'd never learned why Friedlander Bey so scrupulously avoided harming Reda Abu Adil, whatever the provocation. And I wondered how I'd respond if Papa ordered me to kill Shaykh Mahali, the amir. Surely the prince couldn't have received us so hospitably tonight, knowing that when we left his reception we'd be kidnapped and driven into exile. I preferred to believe that Shaykh Mahali knew nothing of what was happening to us now.
"Here are your prisoners, Sergeant," Hajjar said to the fat-assed local cop.
The sergeant nodded. He looked us over and frowned. He wore a nameplate that told me his name was al-Bishah. He had a gigantic belly that was pushing its way to freedom from between the buttons of his sweat-stained shirt. There were four or five days of black stubble on his face, and his teeth were broken and stained dark brown. His eyelids drooped, and at first I thought it was because he'd been awakened in the middle of the night; but his clothes smelled strongly of hashish, and I knew that this cop passed the lonely nights on duty with his nor/Hah.
"Lemme guess," said the sergeant. "The young guy pulled the trigger, and this raggedy-looking old fool in the red tarboosh is the brains of the operation." He threw his head back and roared with laughter. It must have been the hashish, because not even Hajjar cracked a smile.
"Pretty much," said the lieutenant. "They're all yours now." Hajjar turned to me. "One last thing before we say good-bye forever, Audran. Know what the first thing is I'm gonna do tomorrow?"
His grin was about the most vicious and ugly one I'd ever seen. "No, what?" I said.
"I'm gonna close down that club of yours. And you know what's the second thing?" He waited, but I refused to play along. "Okay, I'll tell you. I'm gonna bust your Yasmin for prostitution, and when I got her in my special, deep-down hole, I'm gonna see what she's got that you like so much."
I was very proud of myself. A year or two ago, I'd have smashed his teeth in, goon or no goon. I was more mature now, so I just stood there, looking impassively into his wild eyes. I repeated this to myself: the next time you see this man, you will kill him. The next time you see this man, you will kill him. That kept me from doing anything stupid while I had two weapons trained on me.
"Dream abouMt, Audran!" Hajjar shouted, as he and the qadi climbed back up the gangway. I didn't even turn to watch him.
"You were wise, my nephew," said Friedlander Bey. I looked at him, and I could tell from his expression that he had been favorably impressed by my behavior.
"I've learned much from you, my grandfather," I said. That seemed to please him, too.
"Aw right," said the local sergeant, "come on. Don't wanna be out here when they get that sucker movin'." He jerked the barrel of his rifle in the direction of the dark building, and Papa and I preceded him across the runway.
It was pitch black inside, but Sergeant al-Bishah didn't turn on any lights. "Just follow the wall," he said. I felt my way along a narrow corridor until it turned a corner. There was a
Papa gave me a sad smile. "Do you truly think our troubles end here?"
My confidence faltered. "Uh, they don't?" I said.
As if to justify Papa's concern, Hajjar and the qadi came out of the building, accompanied now by a burly guy in a cop-like uniform, carrying a rifle slung under his arm. He didn't look like a particularly intelligent cop or a well-disciplined cop, but with his rifle he was probably more than Papa and I could handle.
"We must speak soon of revenge," Papa whispered to me before Hajjar reached us.
"Against Shaykh Reda," I replied.
"No. Against whoever signed our deportation order. The amir or the imam of the Shimaal Mosque."
That gave me something else to think about. I'd never learned why Friedlander Bey so scrupulously avoided harming Reda Abu Adil, whatever the provocation. And I wondered how I'd respond if Papa ordered me to kill Shaykh Mahali, the amir. Surely the prince couldn't have received us so hospitably tonight, knowing that when we left his reception we'd be kidnapped and driven into exile. I preferred to believe that Shaykh Mahali knew nothing of what was happening to us now.
"Here are your prisoners, Sergeant," Hajjar said to the fat-assed local cop.
The sergeant nodded. He looked us over and frowned. He wore a nameplate that told me his name was al-Bishah. He had a gigantic belly that was pushing its way to freedom from between the buttons of his sweat-stained shirt. There were four or five days of black stubble on his face, and his teeth were broken and stained dark brown. His eyelids drooped, and at first I thought it was because he'd been awakened in the middle of the night; but his clothes smelled strongly of hashish, and I knew that this cop passed the lonely nights on duty with his nor/Hah.
"Lemme guess," said the sergeant. "The young guy pulled the trigger, and this raggedy-looking old fool in the red tarboosh is the brains of the operation." He threw his head back and roared with laughter. It must have been the hashish, because not even Hajjar cracked a smile.
"Pretty much," said the lieutenant. "They're all yours now." Hajjar turned to me. "One last thing before we say good-bye forever, Audran. Know what the first thing is I'm gonna do tomorrow?"
His grin was about the most vicious and ugly one I'd ever seen. "No, what?" I said.
"I'm gonna close down that club of yours. And you know what's the second thing?" He waited, but I refused to play along. "Okay, I'll tell you. I'm gonna bust your Yasmin for prostitution, and when I got her in my special, deep-down hole, I'm gonna see what she's got that you like so much."
I was very proud of myself. A year or two ago, I'd have smashed his teeth in, goon or no goon. I was more mature now, so I just stood there, looking impassively into his wild eyes. I repeated this to myself: the next time you see this man, you will kill him. The next time you see this man, you will kill him. That kept me from doing anything stupid while I had two weapons trained on me.
"Dream abouMt, Audran!" Hajjar shouted, as he and the qadi climbed back up the gangway. I didn't even turn to watch him.
"You were wise, my nephew," said Friedlander Bey. I looked at him, and I could tell from his expression that he had been favorably impressed by my behavior.
"I've learned much from you, my grandfather," I said. That seemed to please him, too.
"Aw right," said the local sergeant, "come on. Don't wanna be out here when they get that sucker movin'." He jerked the barrel of his rifle in the direction of the dark building, and Papa and I preceded him across the runway.
It was pitch black inside, but Sergeant al-Bishah didn't turn on any lights. "Just follow the wall," he said. I felt my way along a narrow corridor until it turned a corner. There was a
Similar Books
