A Fire in the Sun (8 page)

Umm Saad gave him a little smile, as if she found his anger amusing. "I don't believe you've given sufficient thought to our problem. And you've made no provision for the future of your grandson." She covered Saad's hand with her own.

That was like a slap across the face. She was claiming to be Friedlander Bey's daughter or daughter-in-law. It explained why he wanted me to get rid of her, instead of doing it himself.

He looked at me. "My nephew," he said, "this woman is not my daughter, and the boy is no kin of mine. This is not the first time a stranger has come to my door claiming blood ties, in the hope of stealing some of my hard-won fortune."  Jeez, I should have taken care of her when he first asked me, before he dragged me into all this intrigue. Someday I'm going to learn to deal with things before they get too complicated. I don't mean that I really would have murdered her, but I might have had a chance to cajole or threaten or bribe her to leave us in peace. I could tell that it was too late now. She wasn't going to accept a settlement; she wanted the ball of wax whole, without any little chunks missing.

"You are certain, O Shaykh?" I said. "That she's not your daughter, I mean?"

For a moment I thought he was going to hit me. Then in a tightly controlled voice he said, "I swear it to you upon the life of the Messenger of God, may blessings be upon him and peace."

That was good enough for me. Friedlander Bey isn't above a little manipulation if it furthers his purposes, but he doesn't swear false oaths. We get along so well partly because he doesn't lie and I don't lie. I looked at Umm Saad. "What proof do you have of your claim?" I said.

Her eyes grew wider. "Proof?" she cried. "Do I need proof to embrace my own father? What proof do you have of your father's identity?"

She couldn't have known what a touchy subject that was. I ignored the remark. "Papa—" I stopped myself. "The master of the house has shown you courtesy and kindness. Now he properly requests that you bring your visit to an end. As he said, you may have the help of any of the servants of the house in your departure." I turned to the Stone That Speaks, and his head nodded once. He'd make sure that Umm Saad and her son would be out on the doorstep by the last syllable of the muezzin's morning call.

"Then we have preparations to make," she said, standing. "Come, Saad." And the two of them left the small dining room with as much dignity as if it were their own palace and they the aggrieved party.

Friedlander Bey's hands were pressed flat on the table in front of him. His knuckles were white. He took two or three deep, deliberate breaths. "What do you propose to do, to end this annoyance?" he said.

I looked up, from Kmuzu to the Stone That Speaks. Neither slave seemed to show the least interest in the    matter. "Let me understand something first, O Shaykh," I said. "You want to be rid of her and her son. Is it essential that she die? What if I take another, less violent way to discourage her?"

"You saw her and heard her words. Nothing short of violence will bring her scheme to an end. And further— only her death will discourage other leeches from trying the same strategy. Why do you hesitate, my son? The answer is simple and effective. You've killed before. Killing again should not be so difficult. You need not even make it seem accidental. Sergeant Hajjar will understand. He will not proceed with an investigation."

"Hajjar is a lieutenant now," I said.

Papa waved impatiently. "Yes, of course."

"You think Hajjar will overlook a homicide?" Hajjar was bought off, but that didn't mean he'd sit still while I made him look like a fool. I could get away with a lot now, but only if I was careful to preserve Hajjar's public image.

The old man's brow creased. "My son," he said slowly so I wouldn't misunderstand, "if Lieutenant Hajjar balks, he too can be removed. Perhaps you will have better luck with his successor. You can continue this process until the office is filled at last with a police supervisor of sufficient imagination and wit."

"Allah guide you and me," I murmured. Friedlander Bey was pretty damn casual these days about off-bumping as a solution to life's little setbacks. I was struck again by the fact that Papa himself was in no rush to pull any triggers himself. He had learned at an early age to delegate responsibility. And I had become his favorite dele-gatee.

"Dinner?" he asked.

I'd lost my appetite. "I pray that you'll forgive me," I said. "I have a lot of planning to do. Maybe after your meal, you'll answer some questions. I'd like to hear what you know about Reda Abu Adil."

Friedlander Bey spread his hands. "I don't imagine that I know much more than you," he said.

Now, hadn't Papa twisted Hajjar's arm to start an official investigation? So why was he playing dumb now? Or was this just another test? How many goddamn tests did I have to pass?

Or maybe—and this made it all real interesting— maybe Hajjar's curiosity about Abu Adil didn't come from Papa, after all. Maybe Hajjar had sold himself more than once: to Friedlander Bey, and also to the second-highest bidder, and to the third-highest, and to the fourth . . .

I remembered when I was a hot-blooded fifteen-year-old. I promised my girlfriend, Nafissa, that I wouldn't even look at another girl. And I made the same pledge to Fayza, whose tits were bigger. And to Hanuna, whose father worked in the brewery. Everything was just fine until Nafissa found out about Hanuna, and Fayza's father found out about both of the others. The girls would have cut my balls off and scratched out my eyes. Instead, I slipped out of Algiers while the enemy slept, and so began 1 the odyssey that brought me to this city.

That's a dead, dry story and of little relevance here. I'm just suggesting how much trouble Hajjar was looking at if Friedlander Bey and Reda Abu Adil ever caught on to his two-timing.

"Isn't Abu Adil your chief competitor?" I asked.

"The gentleman may think we compete. I do not think that we are in conflict in any way. Allah grants Abu Adil the right to sell his beaten brass where I am selling my beaten brass. If someone chooses to buy from Abu Adil rather than from me, then both customer and merchant have my blessing. I will get my livelihood from Allah, and nothing Abu Adil can do will help or hinder me."

I thought of the vast sums of money that passed through Friedlander Bey's house, some of it ending up in fat envelopes on my own desk. I was confident that none of it derived from the sale of beaten brass. But it made a pleasant euphemism; I let it go.

"According to Lieutenant Hajjar," I said, "you think Abu Adil is planning to put you out of business altogether."

"Only the Gatherer of Nations shall do that, my son." Papa gave me a fond look. "But I am pleased by your concern. You needn't worry about Abu Adil."

"I can use my position down at the copshop to find out what he's up to."

He stood up and ran a hand through his white hair. "If you wish. If it will ease your mind."

Kmuzu pulled my chair away from the table and I stood up also. "My uncle," I said, "I beg you to excuse me.

May your table be pleasant to you. I wish you a blessed meal."

Frieollander Bey came to me and kissed me on each cheek. "Go in safety, my darling," he said. "I am most pleased with you."

As I left the dining room, I turned to see Papa sitting once again in his chair. There was a grim look on the old man's face, and the Stone That Speaks was bending low to hear something Papa was saying. I wondered just what Friedlander Bey shared with his slave, but not yet with me.

"You've got to finish moving in, don't you?" I said to Kmu7u as we walked back to my apartment.

"I will bring a mattress, yaa Sidi. That will be enough for tonight."

"Good. I have some work to do on the data deck."

"The report on Reda Abu Adil?"

I looked at him sharply. "Yes," I said, "that's right."

"Perhaps I can help you get a clearer picture of the man and his motives."

"How is it that you know so much about him, Kmuzu?" I asked.

"When I was first brought to the city, I was employed as a bodyguard for one of Abu Adil's wives."

I thought that information was remarkable. Consider: I begin an investigation of a total stranger, and my brand-new slave turns out to have once worked for that same man. This wasn't a coincidence, I could feel it. I had faith that it'd all fit together eventually. I just hoped I'd still be alive and healthy when it did.

I paused outside the door to my suite. "Go get your bedding and your belongings," I told Kmuzu. "I'll be going through the file on Abu Adil. Don't worry about disturbing me, though. When I'm working, it takes a bomb blast to distract me."

"Thank you, yaa Sidi. I will be as quiet as I can."

I began to turn the color lock on the door. Kmuzu gave a little bow and headed toward the servants' quarters. When he'd turned the corner, I hurried away in the opposite direction. I went down to the garage and found my car. It felt strange, sneaking away from my own servant, but I just didn't feel like having him tagging along with me tonight. I drove through the Christian quarter and then through the upper-class shopping district east of the Budayeen. I parked the car on the Boulevard il-Jameel, not far from where Bill usually sat in his taxi. Before I left the car, I took out my pillcase. It seemed like it had been a long time since I'd treated myself to some friendly drugs. I was well supplied, thanks to my higher income and the many new contacts I'd met through Papa. I selected a couple of blue triphets; I was in such a hurry that I swallowed them right there, without water. In a little while I'd be ramping with energy and feeling indomitable. I was going to need the help, because I had an ugly scene ahead of me.

I also thought about chipping in a moddy, but at the last moment I decided against it. I needed to talk with Chiri, and I had enough respect for her to show up in my own head. Afterward, though, things might be different. I might feel like going home as someone else entirely.

Chiri's club was crowded that night. The air was still and warm inside, sweet with a dozen different perfumes, sour with sweat and spilled beer. The sexchanges and pre-op debs chatted with the customers with false cheerfulness, and their laughter broke through the shrill music as they called for more champagne cocktails. Bright bolts of red and blue neon slashed down slantwise behind the bar, and brilliant points of light from spinning mirror balls sparkled on the walls and ceiling. In one corner there was a hologram of Honey Pilar, writhing alone upon a blond mink coat spread on the white sands of some romantic beach. It was an ad for her new sex moddy, Slow, Slow Burn. I stared at it for a moment, almost hypnotized.

"Audran," came Chiriga's hoarse voice. She didn't sound happy to see me. "Mr. Boss."

"Listen, Chiri," I said. "Let me—"

"Lily," she called to one of the changes, "get the new owner a drink. Gin and bingara with a hit of Rose's." She looked at me fiercely. "The tende is mine, Audran. Private stock. It doesn't go with the club, and I'm taking it with me."

She was making it hard for me. I could only imagine how she felt. "Wait a minute, Chiri. I had nothing to do with—"

"These are the keys. This one's for the register. The

money in there's all yours. The girls are yours, the hassles are yours from now on too. You got any problems you can go to Papa with "em." She snatched her bottle of tende from under the bar. "Kwa heri, motherfucker," she snarled at me. Then she stormed out of the club.

Everything got real quiet then. Whatever song had been playing came to an end and nobody put on another one. A deb named Kandy was on stage, and she just stood there and stared at me like I might start slavering and shrieking at any moment. People got up from their stools near me and edged away. I looked into their faces and I saw hostility and contempt.

Friedlander Bey wanted to divorce me from all my connections to the Budayeen. Making me a cop had been a great start, but even so I still had a few loyal friends. Forcing Chiri to sell her club had been another brilliant stroke. Soon I'd be just as lonely and friendless as Papa himself, except I wouldn't have the consolation of his wealth and power.

"Look," I said, "this is all a mistake. I got to settle this with Chiri. Indihar, take charge, okay? I'll be right back."

Indihar just gave me a disdainful look. She didn't say anything. I couldn't stand to be in there another minute. I grabbed the keys Chiri'd dropped on the bar and I went outside. She wasn't anywhere in sight on the Street. She might have gone straight home, but she'd probably gone to another club.

I went to the Fee Blanche, old man Gargotier's cafe on Ninth Street. Saied, Mahmoud, Jacques, and I hung out there a lot. We liked to sit on the patio and play cards early in the evening. It was a good place to catch the action.

They were all there, all right. Jacques was the token Christian in our crowd. He liked to tell people that he was three-quarters European. Jacques was strictly heterosexual and smug about it. Nobody liked him much. Mahmoud was a sexchange, formerly a slim-hipped, doe-eyed dancing girl in the clubs on the Street. Now he was short, broad, and mean, like one of those evil djinn you had to sneak past to rescue the enchanted princess. I heard that he was running the organized prostitution in the Budayeen for Friedlander Bey these days. Saied the Half-Hajj glared at me over the rim of a glass of Johnny Walker, his usual drink. He was wearing his tough-guy moddy, and he was just looking for me to give him an excuse to break my bones.

"Where y'at?" I said.

"You're scum, Audran," said Jacques softly. "Filth."

"Thanks," I said, "but I can't stay long." I sat in the empty chair. Monsieur Gargotier came over to see if I was spending any money tonight. His expression was so carefully neutral, I could tell he hated my guts now too.

"Seen Chiri pass by here in the last few minutes?" I asked. Monsieur Gargotier cleared his throat. I ignored him and he went away.

"Want to shake her down some more?" asked Mahmoud. "Think maybe she walked out with some paper clips that belong to you? Leave her alone, Audran."

I'd had enough. I stood up, and Saied stood up across the table from me. He took two quick steps toward me, grabbed my cloak with one hand, and pulled his other fist straight back. Before he could slug me, I chopped quickly at his nose. A little blood came out of his nostril. He was startled, but then his mouth began to twist in pure rage. I grabbed the rnoddy on his corymbic implant and ripped it loose. I could see his eyes unfocus. He must have been completely disoriented for a moment. "Leave me the hell alone," I said, pushing him back down in his chair. "All of you." I tossed the moddy into the Half-Hajj's lap.