A Fire in the Sun (32 page)

"Did you think about that?" asked Mahmoud. "While it was all happening, I mean?"

It was time to take a long swallow of vodka, because I was getting really mad. When I set my glass down again, I looked from one to the other. "You know Indihar, right? Well, since Jirji's been dead, she's having a tough time paying her bills. She won't take a loan from me or Ghiri, and she can't make enough tending bar in the club."

Mahmoud's eyebrows went up. "She want to come work for me? She's got a nice ass. I could get her good money."

I shook my head. "She's not interested in that," I said. "She wants me to find a new home for one of her kids. She's got two boys and a girl. I told her she could spare one of the boys."

That shut 'em up for a little while. "Maybe," said Jacques at last. "I can ask around, anyway."

"Do it," I said. "Indihar said she might even be willing to part with the girl too. If they both go together, and if the price is right."

"When do you need to know?" said Mahmoud.

"Soon as you can find out. Now, I got to go. Saied, you mind taking a ride with me?"

The Half-Hajj looked first at Mahmoud, then at Jacques, but neither of them had anything to say. "Guess not," he said.

I took twenty kiam out of my pocket and dropped it on the table. "Drinks are on me," I said.

Mahmoud gave me a judicious look. "We been kind of hard on you lately," he said.

"I hadn't noticed."

"Well, we're glad things are straightened out between us. No reason things can't be like they were before."

"Sure," I said, "right."

I gave Saied's shoulder a little shove, and we headed back out into the sunlight. I stopped him before he got into the car. "I need you to tell me how to find Gay Che's," I said.

His face went suddenly pale. "Why the hell you want to go there?"

"I heard about it, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go. I'm not even sure I can give you directions."

"Sure you can, pal," I said, my voice grim and threatening. "You know all about it."

Saied didn't like being pushed around. He stood up straight, trying to give himself a little height advantage. "Think you can make me go with you?"

I just stared at him, my face empty of emotion. Then very slowly I raised my right hand up to my lips. I opened my mouth and bit myself savagely. I ripped a small gobbet of flesh loose from the inside of my wrist and spat it at the Half-Hajj. My own blood trickled down the corners of my mouth. "Look, motherfucker," I growled hoarsely, "that's what I do to me. Wait till you see what I do to you!"

Saied shuddered and backed away from me on the sidewalk. "You're crazy, Marîd," he said. "You gone fuckin' crazy."

"In the car."

He hesitated. "You're wearing Rex, ain't you? You shouldn't wear that moddy. I don't like what it does to you."

I threw back my head and laughed. I was only behaving the way he acted when he wore the same moddy. And he wore it often. I could understand why—I was beginning to like it a lot.

I waited until he slid into the passenger seat, then I went around and got behind the wheel. "Which way?" I asked.

"South." His voice was tired and hopeless.

I drove for a while, letting him worry about how much I knew. "So," I said finally, "what kind of place is

it?"

"Nothing much." The Half-Hajj was sullen. "A hangout for this jackboot gang, the Jaish."

"Yeah?" From the name, I'd pictured the clientele of Gay Che's like that guy I'd seen in Chiri's a few weeks before, the one in the vinyl pants with his hand chained behind his back.

"The Citizen's Army. They wear these gray uniforms and have parades and pass out a lot of leaflets. I think they want to get rid of the foreigners in the city. Down with the heathen Franj. You know that routine."

"Uh huh. I get the idea from il-Manhous that you spend some time there."

Saied didn't like this conversation at all. "Look, Marîd," he began, but then he fell silent. "Anyway, you gonna believe everything you hear from Fuad?"

I laughed. "What you think he told me?"

"I don't know." He slid farther away from me, up against the passenger door. I almost felt sorry for him. He didn't speak again except to give me directions.

When we got there, I reached under my seat where my weapons were hidden. I had the small seizure gun I'd gotten so long ago from Lieutenant Okking, and the static pistol Shaknahyi'd given me. I looked at the guns thoughtfully. "This a setup, Saied? You supposed to bring me here so Abu Adil's thugs could ice me?"

The Half-Hajj looked frightened. "What's this all about, Marîd?"

"Just tell me why the hell you told Fuad to show me that .45 caliber clip."

He sagged unhappily in his seat. "I went to Shaykh Reda because I was confused, Marîd, that's all. Maybe it's too late now, but I'm real sorry. I just didn't like standing around while you got to be the big hero, when you got to be Friedlander Bey's favorite. I felt left out."

My lip curled. "You mean you set me up to be killed because you were fucking jealous?"

"I never meant for anything like that."

I took the empty clip from my pocket and held it in front of his eyes. "An hour ago, Jawarski emptied another one of these at me, in broad daylight on Fourth Street."

Saied rubbed his eyes and muttered something, didn't think this would happen," he said softly.

"What did you think would happen?"

"I thought Abu Adil would treat me the way Papa's treating you."

I stared at him in amazement. "You really hired yourself out to Abu Adil, didn't you? I thought you just told him about my mother. But you're one of his tools, right?"

"I told you I was sorry," he said in an anguished voice. "I'll make it up to you."

"Goddamn right you will." I handed him the seizure gun. "Take this. We're going in there and we're gonna find Jawarski."

The Half-Hajj took the weapon hesitantly. "I wish I had Rex," he said sadly.

"No, I don't trust you with Rex. I'm gonna keep wearing it." I got out of the car and waited for Saied. "Put your gun away. Keep it out of sight unless you need it. Now, is there any kind of password or anything?"

"No, you just got to remember nobody in there's very fond of foreigners."

"Uh huh. Come on, then." I led the way into the bar. It was crowded and noisy and all I saw were men, most of them dressed in what I guessed was the gray uniform of this right-wing Citizen's Army. It wasn't dimly lighted and there wasn't music playing: Gay Che's wasn't that kind of bar. This was a meeting place for the kind of men who liked dressing up as brave soldiers and marching through the streets and not actually having shots fired at them. What these jokers reminded me of was Hitler's SS, whose main attributes had been perversion and pointless brutality.

Saied and I pushed our way through the mob of men to the bar. "Yeah?" said the surly bartender.

I had to shout to make myself heard. "Two beers," I said. This didn't look like a place to order fancy drinks.

"Right."

"And we're looking for a guy."

The bartender glanced up from his tap. "Won't find him here."

"Oh yeah?" He set the beers in front of the Half-Hajj and me, and I paid. "An American, might still be recovering—"

The bartender grabbed the ten-kiam bill I'd laid down. He didn't offer any change. "Look, cap, I don't answer questions, I pour beer. And if some American came in here, these guys'd probably tear him apart."

I took a gulp of the cold beer and looked around the room. Maybe Jawarski hadn't been in this bar. Maybe he was hiding out upstairs in the building, or in a nearby building. "Okay," I said, turning back to the bartender, "he ain't been in here. But you seen any Americans around this neighborhood lately?"

"Didn't you hear me? No questions."

Time to bring out the hidden persuader. I took a hundred-kiam bill from my pocket and waved it in the bartender's face. I didn't need to say a word.

He looked into my eyes. It was clear that he was torn by indecision. Finally he said, "Let me have the money."

I gave him a tight smile. "Look at it a little longer. Maybe improve your memory."

"Well, stop flashing it around, cap. You'll get us both roughed up." I put the money on the bar and covered it with my hand. I waited. The bartender went away for a moment. When he came back, he slid a torn piece of cardboard toward me. I picked it up. There was an address written on it. I showed the cardboard to Saied. "Know where this is?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said in an unhappy voice, "it's about two blocks from Abu Adil's place."

"Sounds right." I handed the hundred kiam to the bartender, who made it disappear. I took out the static pistol and let him see it. "If you've fucked me over," I said, "I'm coming back and using this on you. Understand?"

"He's there," said the bartender. "Just get out of here and don't come back."

I put the gun away and shoved my way toward the door. When we were on the sidewalk again, I looked at the Half-Hajj. "See now?" I said. "That wasn't so bad."

He gave me a hopeless look. "You want me to go with you to find Jawarski, right?"

I shrugged. "No," I said, "I already paid somebody else to do that. I don't want to have to come near Jawarski if I can help it."

 Saied was furious. "You mean you put me through all that grief and dragged me into that place for nothing?"

I opened the car door. "Hey, it wasn't for nothing," I said, smiling. "Allah probably agrees it was good for your soul."

Chapter16

The Westphalian sedan was headed north, away from Hamidiyya. I had my English daddy chipped in and I was speaking on the phone to Morgan. "I found him," I said.

"Great, man." The American sounded disappointed. "That mean I don't get the rest of the money?"

"Tell you what I'll do. I'll give you the other five hundred if you baby-sit Jawarski for a few hours. You got a gun?"

"Yeah. You want me to use it?"

The idea was very tempting. "No. I just want you to keep an eye on him." I read off the address on the piece of cardboard. "Don't let him go anywhere. Hold him till I get there."

"Sure, man," said Morgan, "but don't take all day. I'm not crazy about hangin' around all day with a guy who's killed twenty-some people."

"I got faith in you. Talk to you later." I hung up the phone.

"What you gonna do?" asked Saied.

I didn't want to tell him, because despite his earnest confession and apology, I still didn't trust him. "I'm taking you back to Courane's," I said. "Or you rather I drop you off somewhere in the Budayeen?"

"Can't I go with you?"

I laughed coldly. "I'm gonna visit your favorite kingpin, Abu Adil. You still on good terms with him?"

"I don't know," said the Half-Hajj nervously. "But maybe I ought to go back to Courane's. I thought of something I got to tell Jacques and Mahmoud."

"I'll bet."

"Besides, I don't need to run into that bastard Umar

ever again." Saied pronounced the name "Himmar," by changing the vowel just a little and aspirating it. It was an Arabic pun. The word himmar means donkey, and Arabs consider the donkey one of the filthiest animals on earth. This was a clever way of insulting Umar, and when he was wearing Rex, the Half-Hajj may even have said it to Ab-dul-Qawy's face. That may be one of the reasons Saied wasn't popular around Hamidiyya anymore.

He was quiet for a little while. "Marîd," he said at last, "I meant what I said. I made a bad mistake, turning my coat like that. But I never had no contract with Fried-lander Bey or nothing. I didn't think I was hurting anybody."

"I almost died twice, pal. First the fire, then Jawarski."

I pulled the car to the curb outside Courane's. Saied was miserable. "What you want me to say?" he pleaded.

"You got nothing to say. I'll see you you later."

He nodded and got out of the car. I watched him walk into Courane's bar, then I popped the tough-guy moddy. I drove west and north, to Papa's house. Before I confronted Abu Adil, I had two or three other things to take care of.

I found Kmuzu in our temporary apartment, working at my Chhindwara data deck. He looked up when he heard me come into the room. "Ah, yaa Sidi!" he said, as pleased as I'd ever seen him. "I have good news. It will cost less to organize charity food distribution than I thought. I hope you'll forgive me for examining your financial situation, but I've learned that you have more than twice what we need."

"That a hint, Kmuzu? I'm only going to open one soup kitchen, not two. You got an operating budget worked out?"

"We can run the food center for a full week on the money you get from Chiriga's on a single night."

"Great, glad to hear it. I was just wondering why you're so excited about this project. How come it means so much to you?"

Kmuzu's expression turned solidly neutral. "I just feel responsible for your Christian moral education," he said.

"I don't buy it," I said.

He looked away. "There is a long story, yaa Sidi, "he said. "I do not wish to tell it now."

"All right, Kmuzu. Another time."

He turned to me again. "I have information about the fire. I told you I'd found proof it was deliberately set. That night in the corridor between your apartment and that of the master of the house, I discovered rags that had been soaked in some flammable fluid." He opened a desk drawer and took out some badly scorched cloth remnants. They'd been burned in the fire, but hadn't been totally destroyed. I could still see a decorative pattern of eight-pointed stars in pale pink and brown.

Kmuzu held up another cloth. "Today I found this. It's obviously the cloth from which those rags were torn."

I examined the larger cloth, part of an old robe or sheet. There wasn't any doubt that it was the same material. "Where'd you find this?" I asked.

Kmuzu put the rags back in the desk drawer. "In the room of young Saad ben Salah," he said.

"What were you doing poking around in there?" I asked with some amusement.

Kmuzu shrugged. "Looking for evidence, yaa Sidi. And I believe I've found enough to be certain of the arsonist's identity."