The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  According to the State Department, mines kill 150 people a day around the world. And countries like China and Italy are still producing up to ten million anti-personnel mines a year.

  Locating and neutralising those mines is big business, Lennie.'

  Freeman put his chin up defiantly, as if daring Nelson to argue with his statistics. The banker smiled condescendingly. 'Look, you don't have to make a decision on this right now,' he said.

  'I realise it's a big step, and I know you're all going to have to give it some thought. I'll put out some feelers, see if I can come up with some manufacturers who CRW might be able to use.

  Hopefully I'll have something by the next meeting.' He looked at Jo, making sure that she was minuting everything he said. She smiled at him, her pen still scratching across her pad in careful shorthand. Lennie adjusted his tie. 'That's all I have to say,' he said, sitting down and placing his hands flat on the desk. The nails were immaculately manicured, Freeman noticed.

  Katherine looked at Freeman as if she expected him to say something else, but he was unwilling to be drawn into an argument with the banker. He ignored her and simply announced that if there was no further business the meeting was over.

  Nelson shook them all by the hand, one by one, then picked up his briefcase and left without a backward look.

  Katherine waited until Bill Hannah and Josh had left before she rounded on Freeman. 'I can't believe you let him ride roughshod over you like that,' she said.

  'What do you mean?' Freeman asked.

  'Oh, come on. You know exactly what I mean.' She stabbed out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray as if she were gouging it into his eye. 'You sat there and let him tell you how to run the company. Our company.'

  Anderson pushed his chair back and stood up. 'I'll catch you both later,' he said, sensing an argument.

  'No, you should stay, Maury,' Katherine said, her eyes still on Freeman. 'You're as much a part of this company as Tony and me.' He looked as if he'd prefer to go, but he did as Katherine asked, standing with his back to the wall as if he were facing a firing squad. 'My father must be turning in his grave,' Katherine continued. 'That man is suggesting we throw away everything he built. I won't stand for it.'

  Freeman couldn't help smiling. She was every inch her father's daughter, her confidence at times bordering on arrogance.

  'He's only looking after the bank's interests, honey,' he said. 'It's only a suggestion. It's going to have to go before a full shareholders' meeting, and the bank doesn't have any votes, remember. Between you and Bill you have more than enough votes to block any motion you don't like.' Katherine didn't seem mollified. She took out another cigarette and lit it with her gold lighter, a present from her father. She tapped the lighter on the packet of cigarettes. Her mouth was a tight line and her eyes were cold.

  Mr Kahn sipped his glass of water and looked at Mersiha through narrowed eyes. He put the glass down on the table and ran his index finger around its rim. 'You seem to be taking a very hostile attitude today,' he said levelly.

  'It's something I feel very strongly about,' Mersiha said. She had been arguing with him for more than half of their session, about par for the course. Mr Kahn came to the Freeman house once a week to tutor Mersiha in Muslim theology, but the older she got, the more Mersiha resented the time she had to spend with the teacher. She'd protested to both her mother and her father, but both were insistent. As part of the deal to get her out of Bosnia, they'd agreed that she be taught about her Muslim heritage, and even though they were now thousands of miles away from Sarajevo they were determined to abide by that agreement.

  'The views presented in the Koran might well be unfashionable in the more liberal atmosphere here in the United States, but nevertheless they are God's teachings, passed to Muhammad by the angel Gabriel.' Mr Kahn smiled at Mersiha, and it was a friendly gesture. He had a good heart, Mersiha knew. In all their hours together he had never once raised his voice or expressed any annoyance. He actually seemed to enjoy her spirited rebuttals and arguments, as if by testing his faith she only served to strengthen it.

  'But this is the twentieth century,' she complained. 'I mean, it's soon going to be the twenty-first.'

  'And throughout all those centuries, the word of the Koran has been listened to and obeyed. Why do you think that is?'

  Mersiha shrugged. 'Because it's easier to obey a book than it is to think for yourself.'

  Mr Kahn shook his head. 'But that's simply not true, Mersiha.

  It would be much easier to live your life as you wanted, without worrying about rules or laws. Choosing to live by the Koran means closing a lot of doors.'

  'Especially for women. The Koran says that women are not equal.'

  'That's true, the Koran does say that men and women are to be treated differently. But isn't that also the case in this country?'

  'Yeah, but the Koran isn't talking about women as the gentle sex. It describes them as being inferior. They have to cover their faces in public'

  Kahn shook his head. 'The Koran says only that women should cover their breasts, Mersiha. It does not mention faces.

  It's true that many women choose to cover their faces, but not because it says so in the Koran.'

  'Because their husbands insist.'

  'Perhaps.'

  'And what about adultery? The Koran says the woman has to be stoned, right?'

  Kahn smiled and shook his head. 'You've not been doing your homework,' he chided. 'The Koran says the punishment for adultery is public flogging. For both parties.'

  'That's barbaric'

  'Adultery is barbaric, Mersiha.'

  'And the Koran says it's okay to beat women if they do wrong.

  That a man can have many wives.'

  'Not many,' Kahn corrected. 'Two, three or four. No more.'

  'Whatever,' Mersiha said. 'But a woman can't have more than one husband.'

  'Very few Muslims in this country take more than one wife.

  They adapt to the customs here.'

  'So you're saying that the Koran isn't always right?'

  Kahn smiled. 'The Koran is the word of God. And God is always right.'

  Mersiha pulled a face. 'There's no God.'

  Kahn raised an eyebrow. 'Why do you say that?'

  'Because it's true. Because if there was a God the world wouldn't be such a terrible place.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Wars. Murderers. Serial killers.'

  'You can't blame God for that. It's men who are responsible.

  And if all men heeded the Koran, there wouldn't be so much evil in the world.'

  Mersiha sighed and leaned back in her chair. Arguing with Mr Kahn was as futile as trying to grab mist.

  'What about accidents? Natural disasters? Disease? You think God would allow AIDS?'

  'Only He knows what His plans are. We can only live in the world as it is.'

  'But if He knows the way things are, why doesn't He do something to change it? Why doesn't He make the world a better place?'

  Mr Kahn smiled smoothly. 'I cannot speak for God. I can only interpret the Koran. But I can say that often out of great suffering there comes great good.'

  Katherine came into the dining room and put a reassuring hand on Mersiha's shoulder. 'Is everything okay?' she asked.

  'You seemed to be having a spirited argument.'

  Mr Kahn stood and gathered up his books. 'A discussion, Mrs Freeman, nothing more than that. I consider myself lucky to have such an articulate student.' Katherine smiled down at Mersiha, pleased at the compliment. 'I wish that more of the youngsters I teach would take such an interest in the subject. But I'm not sure if your daughter accepts all my arguments.' He put his books into his black leather briefcase and shook Katherine's hand.

  'I'll see you out, Mr Kahn.'

  As she opened the front door, the teacher put his hand on Mersiha's shoulder. 'I meant what I said, Mersiha. I am glad that you put such thought into your beliefs. To accept blindly is not faith. Fai
th comes from belief, and I want you to believe in Islam. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.'

  'I will, Mr Kahn,' she lied. She watched him walk to his car.

  Mersiha's mind was already closed to the subject of religion. She went through the charade of listening to Mr Kahn only because her father insisted. She even enjoyed arguing with him, but for her there was no question of her ever believing in the existence of a supreme being. She had seen too much in her short life, too much killing, too much pain, too much cruelty. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was no God. At least not any more. Mr Kahn was fooling himself.

  Sal Sabatino sat back in his chair and studied the bank of video monitors on the wall. The Firehouse was jumping. The nightclub had been doing most of its business on Friday and Saturday nights, and in an attempt to boost trade early in the week he'd organised a wet t-shirt contest. It had paid off, pulling in a younger crowd than usual, but they seemed to have plenty of money and so far there'd been little in the way of trouble.

  One of the video cameras downstairs was trained on the small stage where girls were lining up to dance around in a see-through shower cubicle. Sabatino leaned forward to look at one of the girls, a brunette with shoulder-length hair and a great body. She was just the way Sabatino liked them: long legs, tight backside, trim waist and small breasts. And young. That was the most important thing. It had been a long time since Sabatino had had sex with a girl over eighteen years old. The girl on the screen was perfect. She had the innocent look that he craved, as if she was just a little out of her depth. She kept looking around, seeking reassurance that she was doing the right thing, standing on the stage in a t-shirt and bikini bottom, about to show them all what she was made of.* 'See that one, Vincenti? What do you think?'

  Vincenti leaned across Sabatino's desk and scrutinised die girl on die screen. He licked his fleshy lips and screwed up his eyes before nodding. 'Sweet.'

  'Sweet,' repeated Sabatino. 'Yeah. Sweet. A perfect description.

  Almost ripe, huh? Another fruit analogy, huh? You'd appreciate that, huh, Vincenti?'

  Vincenti scowled but didn't reply. Sabatino raised his eyebrows and wiggled them suggestively. He loved goading Vincenti. He was his best man, totally dependable with a cruel streak that appealed to Sabatino, but he did have one weak point his homosexuality. Vincenti had the rugged good looks of a sporting-goods model and he was used to turning female heads as he walked through The Firehouse, but his tastes ran to moustached body builders, ideally dressed in leather.

  Sabatino reckoned diat much of the man's inherent viciousness sprang from his suppressed sexual nature. Only Sabatino knew of his true sexual orientation, and he teased him about it only in private. Sabatino's view was that so long as Vincenti did his job, he could screw whoever or whatever he liked.

  The blonde in the shower cubicle scampered out, soaking wet, and her place was taken by an overweight black girl with breasts the size of melons. The crowd was howling and she jiggled up and down for maximum effect. Sabatino shuddered. She was repulsive. Vincenti went back to sit on a couch by the window.

  There was nothing on the video monitors to hold his attention.

  The brunette didn't look as if she was more than sixteen years old. They were supposed to be at least eighteen to get in, but the guys on the door had been told to use their discretion.

  They knew that nothing pulled in die big spenders more than wall-to-wall pussy. And the brunette looked like she'd have a pussy as tight and hot as any Sabatino had ever experienced.

  She was laughing at die big black girl bouncing around under the stream of water, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

  It was a child-like gesture and one that aroused Sabatino even more.

  Someone knocked on the door to his office. 'Yeah?' he called.

  It opened and Jacko, one of his security men, stepped into the room. His tuxedo was straining at his shoulders. Sabatino had never seen the jacket buttoned.

  'Sorry 'bout this, Mr Sabatino,' he said.

  'No sweat, Jacko. What's up?'

  Jacko stepped aside to reveal a young black girl, her hair piled up on top of her head in a beehive. She was wearing a white silk shirt and tight white pants with cheap gold jewellery around her neck and on her fingers. Her chin was up defiantly, but Sabatino could see from her eyes that she was worried. Behind her stood another black security guy with a tuxedo and shoulders that matched Jacko's. Both men were wearing Ray Ban sunglasses.

  'This bitch was dealing,' Jacko said, his face impassive.

  'Crack?'

  'Coke.' Jacko walked over to Sabatino's desk and dropped three small plastic packets next to his Rolodex. There was maybe a gramme in each bag, no doubt diluted by brick dust or talcum powder.

  'I wasn't dealing. I was buying,' the girl protested.

  Sabatino crooked his finger at the girl. 'Come here,' he said.

  She was wearing high-heeled white boots and they clicked along the floor as she walked into the centre of the office. Jacko stood guard by the door but Sabatino waved him away. 'I can handle this,' he said. Vincenti left the room without being asked.

  He knew what was going to happen and that his presence wasn't necessary. He closed the door behind him.

  Sabatino looked across at the television monitors. The brunette was third in line, tugging at the bottom of her t-shirt as if trying to cover her thighs. Sabatino licked his lips. 'No one deals drugs in my place,' he said.

  The girl raised her eyebrows. 'I wasn't…'

  Sabatino held up a hand. 'Don't fuck with me, okay? Just don't fuck with me.' He picked up one of the small bags and threw it in her face. 'You wanna do some blow in the John, that's fine.

  You wanna shoot up, that's fine. But you don't deal. If you get caught dealing, my place gets closed down. Am I getting through to you?'

  She looked as if she was going to argue again, but Sabatino glared at her. 'Yeah. I hear you.' She started towards the door.

  'Hey! Where do you think you're going?' Sabatino barked.

  'I was gonna go.'

  Sabatino smiled. 'You were gonna go? You're not going anywhere until I say so.'

  'Yeah?'

  Sabatino leisurely reached over to his intercom and pressed a button. 'Come back in here, Vincenti,' he said, his eyes on the girl.

  The office door opened and Vincenti reappeared. Sabatino nodded towards the girl. 'This bitch is giving me a hard time,' he said.

  Vincenti said nothing. He simply walked up to the girl and punched her in the stomach. The breath exploded from her lips and she doubled over, her hands clutched to her midriff.

  Her chest was heaving as she gasped for air and she slowly dropped to her knees. Sabatino watched the brunette on the video monitor. So young. Sabatino loved the texture of young flesh. The tautness of it. The smell of it.

  Vincenti stood over the black girl as she slowly recovered. He leant down and with one huge hand pulled her to her feet. 'You do as Mr Sabatino, says, you hear?' he said.

  The girl nodded, then coughed. She massaged her stomach with her gold-ringed fingers. Vincenti held on to her long enough to make sure that she could stand unaided, then he went outside again.

  Sabatino tore his gaze away from the screen. 'Anyone who wants to buy anything in The Firehouse, they come to me, okay?'

  The girl nodded. 'Okay,' she said.

  'Usually if we catch someone dealing, Vincenti takes care of it.

  He takes care of people for me. He especially likes taking care of young girls. Am I getting through to you?'

  'Yeah,' she gasped.

  'The only reason he's not taking care of you right now is because he thinks I might have a good time with you. Do you know what I mean by that? I'd hate there to be any misunderstanding.'

  'A good time? Yeah, I know what you mean.'

  'So are you gonna give me a good time? Or do I get Vincenti back to take care of you?'

  The girl swallowed. She nodded slowly.

  'I can't he
ar you,' Sabatino said.

  'Yeah. I'll give you a good time,' she said.

  Sabatino smiled. 'Good,' he said. 'Now, take your shirt off.'

  The girl undid the buttons of her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders. She wasn't wearing a bra but she made no move to cover her breasts, as if she knew instinctively that to do so would only annoy Sabatino. She looked around for somewhere to put the shirt.

  'Drop it on the floor,' Sabatino ordered. She obeyed instantly.

  'Now the boots. And the pants.'

  Sabatino leaned back on his chair and watched the girl strip.

  Her skin was a glorious brown, the colour of milk chocolate, and it was totally unmarked. In Sabatino's experience, black skins tended to scar easily and heal badly and the contrast emphasised any imperfections, but this girl's skin was perfectly smooth and even. She was wearing red panties, cut high up the legs and low at the front. Through the flimsy material he could see her pubic hair, trimmed into a neat triangle.

  'Take them off,' Sabatino ordered. He stared as she slipped her thumbs either side of the panties and eased them down her long, smooth legs. They fell to the floor and she stepped out of them, naked except for the jewellery. The gold only served to emphasise her nakedness. Sabatino rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers. It wasn't just her looks that turned him on, it was the power. The fact that he could compel her to stand naked in front of him. He wondered how many men she'd taunted with her beauty, how many men she'd refused to go out with. He could imagine her leading on would-be suitors, then turning them down with a snide remark and a sneer. Not Sabatino, though. She'd do anything for him, anything he wanted. Sex wasn't about looks or personality or even money. It was about power and fear.

  'How old are you?' he asked.

  'Eighteen,' she said.

  Sabatino kept looking at her, up and down, and eventually she averted her eyes, staring down at the floor.

  'Get your black ass over here.'

  She looked up sharply and for a second it seemed that she was going to reply, but she could see from Sabatino's face that it wouldn't be a smart thing to do. She walked slowly over to his desk. Sabatino looked at the bank of screens. The brunette was next to go into the cubicle.