Authors: Parker Bilal
Makana moved to the window and looked out. Nothing was out of the ordinary. At the far end of the street he could see a group of people gathered at the corner.
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Just now. My wife came screaming. I went back to fetch this from under the bed.’ He brandished the pipe. ‘By the time I got here they had disappeared into thin air.’
‘Did you call the police?’
‘The police?’ The man jerked back as if stung, a deep frown of incomprehension on his face. ‘Now why would I do that? I don’t want to cause problems for anyone.’ The man scratched his chin. ‘She’s a nice girl, I guess she’s just mixed up with the wrong people. It happens all the time. Take my brother’s son . . . Hey, where are you going?’
When he came out of the narrow doorway Makana looked both ways and then began running down the uneven alley towards the main street. The crowd he had seen from the window was gathered at the corner. People were offering their opinions, pointing at the moving traffic. A young man was picking up guavas and replacing them in a heap.
‘What happened here?’
‘What happened?’ The boy glared at Makana. ‘They came out of nowhere, knocked the whole corner down. Who do you think is going to pay for all that fruit?’
‘What kind of car was it?’
‘Who knows? Big and black and driven by a donkey.’
Makana made his way slowly back through the crowds and over the footbridge. Cassidy was leaning against the side of the car smoking.
‘Samari’s men have taken her and the boy. We need to find out where they went.’
‘Does it occur to that maybe you’re taking this a little personally?’
‘You’re here to avenge your son. If anyone can understand it ought to be you.’
‘I’m just saying, I thought we were looking for Kane.’
‘It’s the same thing. Kane can’t stop now. After this afternoon he’ll be on Samari’s trail. Find Samari, and sooner or later Kane will show up.’
‘But you don’t know where Samari has gone,’ Cassidy pointed out. ‘You haven’t a clue.’
‘No.’ Makana thought for a moment. ‘But maybe I know someone who can help us with that.’
They drove back down the Dowal al-Arabiya Street. Outside the white mosque Makana told Sindbad to pull over.
Zayed Zafrani was busy supervising the unloading of a van full of old clothes. On a row of tables heaps of them were being sorted through by a legion of women dressed in black.
‘More aid for the needy?’
‘Our work is never done.’ Zafrani clasped his hands together and allowed himself a little smile. The women rushed back and forth moving things from one trestle to another. Hard at work, they resembled a crowd of furious birds, pecking away. ‘What can I do for you today?’
‘Do you remember that the last time we met I asked you about a young man, Na’il Abdelkarim?’
Zayed Zafrani lifted his hands in a confession of ignorance. ‘I’m sorry. I have so many things to concern me. Why do you ask?’
‘I saw him this morning. He was quite dead. Someone tried to make it look like a road accident, but he had been beaten to death.’
‘Such a line of work.’ Zayed Zafrani shook his head in despair. ‘Allah willing, you will be rewarded in the next life.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that.’
‘I don’t understand why this concern brings you to me.’
‘The last time I saw that young man alive he was on the receiving end of your brother’s wrath.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I could teach my brother to be patient, but he has a troubled soul.’ Zafrani struck a tone of lament. ‘If I could change him I would do so in an instant.’
‘Ayad is mixed up with some important people. He’s trying to gain political interest.’
‘He’s an ambitious man, in his own way.’
‘He has some powerful friends, people he does favours for. Eliminating Na’il was partly that. A favour. But he also had his own reasons. He suspected Na’il was working for a rival, someone who was trying to muscle in on his territory. That’s why he beat him to a pulp.’
‘He has a furious temper.’ Zayed shook his head like a man dismayed.
‘The thing is, I can’t think of many people who would dare to go up against your brother. His reputation is rivalled by few. Of course you had a fairly formidable reputation yourself, before you took an interest in charity.’ Makana smiled.
‘Always a pleasure to talk to you, Makana, but as you can see, I am rather busy.’ Zafrani made to move away. Makana raised his voice.
‘I kept asking myself, who would dare to go up against a man like Ayad Zafrani?’
Zayed Zafrani pushed his spectacles back up his nose. Light glinted on the glass. Some of the women were now looking in their direction.
‘Na’il peddled recreational drugs. Amphetamines, Prozac, ecstasy, Viagra, the kind of things that allow the beautiful people to party all night, to indulge their lusts and float through this world on a happy cloud of chemical dust.’
‘Why is this of interest to you?’ Aware of their audience, Zayed Zafrani lowered his voice.
‘I’m trying to help someone who I believe is in danger.’
‘What has any of this to do with me?’
Makana produced his telephone. ‘Pharmaceuticals are produced in batches. They have serial numbers to help trace them. The police are searching his property now. I imagine they would be interested to know where he got his supplies. They might like to try and match them to the stocks you have here.’ Makana tilted his head towards the warehouse.
When Zafrani spoke again there was a hard edge to his tone. There was no trace of the old benevolence.
‘I shall give you some advice, Makana, as an associate, if not a friend. Do not interfere in matters that do not concern you.’
‘Perhaps I should have a word with your brother before I talk to my friends in the police. He might be more receptive.’
‘You are treading on dangerous ground. Better drop the matter while you still can.’
‘You’re the only person who is capable of challenging your brother. You said yourself that he steers his own course. You wanted to bring him back to the true path, didn’t you? You set up Na’il as your emissary, to peddle his drugs in order to convince Ayad that someone was trying to muscle in on his business. Then what, an anonymous call to the police? Perhaps close the club down for a while? It wouldn’t last long because he has powerful friends, but maybe it would encourage him to take your ideas about legitimising the business more seriously.’
‘Think what you are saying.’
‘I have thought,’ said Makana. ‘This was all about the two of you and Na’il paid the price. And he’s not the only one. Indirectly, it caused the death of a woman. What happened about showing benevolence to others. Isn’t that written in the Quran?’
Zafrani was quiet for a long time. Behind him the women carried on working, apparently oblivious to the conversation.
‘I don’t want any unpleasantness with my brother.’
‘I understand.’
‘What are you asking for your silence?’
‘Information.’ Makana struck a match. ‘The Iraqi Kadhim al-Samari. I need to know where he is. You have networks at your fingertips. You have people who work the streets, politicians, policemen, and you have those outside the law. If anyone can do it, you can.’
Zayed Zafrani thought for a long time and then he nodded. ‘I will do this for you on one condition, that you never speak of this matter again. The trust between brothers is sacred.’
‘Like so many things,’ said Makana, ‘only when it suits our needs.’
Light was fading as the three of them gathered on the upper deck of the awama. Sindbad picked up the telephone to order food. Cassidy leaned on the railings and smoked a cigarette. Makana joined him.
‘There’s no chance you have anything to drink around here, is there?’ Makana looked at him but said nothing. ‘I should have guessed,’ Cassidy sighed. ‘Okay, what happens now?’
‘Now we wait.’
‘That’s your plan?’
‘If Samari is in this country, Zayed Zafrani will find him.’
‘How do you know he’ll come through?’
‘It’s in his interest. He wants to buy my silence. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘Time is the one thing we don’t have a lot of.’
‘We have no choice.’
‘We’re giving Kane a chance to get ahead of us.’
‘If you have a better plan I’d be happy to hear it.’
Cassidy grunted something unintelligible and turned to gaze moodily down at the river.
Makana eased himself down into his big chair. He was in some pain. The thumping the bouncer had given him, along with general wear and tear, left him feeling battered and bruised. He seemed to have gone beyond normal fatigue and was floating through the world on a haze of cigarette smoke. His thoughts were with Bilquis. Why had Samari taken her and the boy? Revenge? He could have had her killed on the spot. Taking her with him suggested he had something else in mind. He could be planning to spend some time on her with his knife – not a thought that bore dwelling on. There was also the possibility that they were already dead and lying by the side of a road somewhere. Things were moving swiftly and Makana knew that Cassidy was right. They didn’t have time to spare. There was also Kane to consider. There was no telling what his next move might be. Another reason to find Samari fast.
Somewhere upstream there was a party going on. Far enough away thankfully for the noise to be negligible. From time to time a purple streak would fly up into the night sky and burst into thousands of starry fragments that glowed for a moment or two before falling to earth, extinguishing themselves in the darkness.
‘They’re pretty aren’t they?’
Makana turned to see Aziza standing beside him in the gloom. She put her elbows on the railing and gazed upwards at another rocket.
‘Did you solve the case yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Makana.
‘But you will.’
‘You sound more sure of it than I am.’
‘You always do.’ She pushed herself away from the railing just as another gigantic fireball exploded into orange-and-green shards that floated dreamily down. ‘They’re pretty,’ she decided, with the kind of logic that makes a child so self-assured, ‘but they’re just a distraction.’
As she disappeared Makana checked his telephone again. It wasn’t that he thought it might suddenly have stopped working so much as that he felt the need to do something. A boy on a noisy motorcycle turned up carrying bags full of fiteer, pancakes topped with cheese and meat and all manner of things. It was a mistake to let Sindbad order, he realised. He assumed everyone had the same gargantuan appetite as he did. Cassidy wandered over to take a look.
‘What is that, some kind of local pizza?’
‘
Bizza
? Yes, yes, bizza. Very good.’ Food was a universal language as far as Sindbad was concerned. He held up a box for the American to try one. ‘Bizza, Egyptian style.’
Cassidy chewed and gave it his approval.
‘Not bad.’
He sat down alongside Sindbad, who was delighted. Having endured Makana’s general indifference towards the business of sustenance, he was overjoyed to finally discover a kindred spirit. When his phone rang Makana got to his feet and stepped towards the railings, only to discover it was Sami.
‘Tell me you weren’t involved in that Wild West shoot-out this afternoon.’
‘Only as an observer.’
‘I knew it.’ Sami cursed under his breath. ‘You need to be careful who you trust.’
‘You found something?’
‘Your American friend, this man, Frank Cassidy. He was there also?’
‘Why do you ask?’ Makana glanced back to where Cassidy and Sindbad were cheerfully engaging in some kind of culinary exchange using sign language.
‘Someone claims to have seen him in a café near the Carlton. Did he shoot someone?’
‘He saved my life.’ Makana recalled the moment just before Cassidy shot Eddie Clearwater, when he had expected to be shot himself.
‘Well, he needs to stay low, the police have an alert out for him. I take it you have a plan?’
‘I think so.’ Makana paused. ‘We’re going after Samari, to get the girl back.’
‘Are you sure you that’s wise?’
‘Ask me that in twenty-four hours.’
‘I hope so. Take care, Makana. If there’s anything I can do to help . . . Oh, and by the way, Rania and I have decided to have a child.’
‘Well, that’s progress.’
‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ Sami said. ‘I’m not ready for this.’
‘You’re probably more ready than you think.’
‘Why am I taking advice from a solitary man who lives the life of a hermit?’
Makana rang off and turned to face Cassidy, who was still chewing enthusiastically. ‘What is it?’
‘This may seem obvious, but do you happen to possess a gun by any chance?’
‘I don’t like guns,’ said Makana.
‘I’m not asking you to adopt one. I just think it might come in handy.’