Whitefly

by Abdelilah Hamdouchi

  Before Laafrit started the car, his cell phone rang. As soon as he held it up to his ear, he heard the commissioner screaming as if his tongue were on fire.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “At the morgue.”

  “You were at the morgue fifteen minutes ago. Where are you now?”

  “On my way to the station. Is there something new?”

  “Yes, very new! Get here immediately.”

  The line suddenly cut off. Laafrit tossed the phone on the passenger seat and started the engine. The car took off with a screech as it left the sidewalk.

  4

  LAAFRIT FOUND THE COMMISSIONER’S OFFICE packed with men. There was the chief of regional security, with his well-known elegance and striking features, and all the police commissioners from the area. Each was holding pictures of the murder victim’s face, which had been touched up with blush to bring out its normal features. The chief of security was flipping through the crime-scene photos, looking at them from different angles. It was as if he were searching for something that had escaped the photographer’s lens or hoping one of the pictures would somehow reveal the killer’s name.

  Laafrit formally greeted first the chief and then the others. He was confused, feeling as if he were intruding on a high-level meeting. Nonetheless, the commissioner introduced him with such celebration that what he said would have taken up half his case report. Laafrit took advantage of the opportunity to show the commissioner’s praises weren’t gratuitous.

  “I just returned from the coroner,” he said with a humility befitting his relatively low rank. “I found the medical examiner’s report lacking so I asked him to conduct an analysis of the victims’ stomachs.”

  “We agreed to that.” The commissioner cut him off gently, casting a friendly glance toward the chief. Laafrit had surprised him by speaking in the singular, as if he were trying to monopolize the brass’s attention.

  Laafrit got the hint.

  “After consultations with the commissioner,” he continued, “we asked the medical examiner to analyze the stomach contents of the drowning victims and the murder victim. It’s clear from the results that the three drowned men had no connection whatsoever to the shooting victim.”

  “And the proof?” the chief asked, moving his hand with the grace of a maestro in the police orchestra.

  “The proof, sir, is that the murder victim’s last meal consisted of salad, paella, chocolate flan for dessert, and more than a liter of red wine. The drowned men, however, only had a mix of vegetables in their stomachs. The conclusion we’ve drawn from this is that the murder victim most likely ate his last meal at a restaurant.”

  The commissioner picked up the phone, dialed a number, and gave an order to get a menu from every half-decent restaurant in the city. As he was calling, a fax came in. He held it up in front of Laafrit.

  “We just got information on the gun. It’s a Beretta nine- millimeter.”

  “And the victims’ identities?” asked Laafrit impatiently.

  “That’s all they’re working on at Central,” responded the chief.

  The detective felt the key element in the case was still missing. Without knowing the identity of even one of the victims, it would be difficult to come up with a solid lead on the killer or the motive for the murder.

  Laafrit went back to his office and relaxed in his chair. He put a menthol lozenge in his mouth, broke it apart with his teeth, and chewed the pieces slowly. He then got up and stood staring outside distractedly. He was thinking it was time to start using his insider information on Tangier and its labyrinths, gangs, and smugglers. He had informants all over the place. If it weren’t for the gun, he would have cracked this case in half a day.

  A Beretta nine-millimeter? But the real question was: who’d dare have a gun here in Tangier? Hash smugglers? He went over in his mind all the crazy hash barons he knew, one by one. Their styles just didn’t jive with taking that kind of risk. Even if they wanted to liquidate a snitch or protégé or informant, they definitely wouldn’t have resorted to using a gun. At the same time, Laafrit knew from the last time they cracked down on big-time smugglers that the police didn’t control the playing field like they used to. If the cops took one step forward, the smugglers always took two.

  Were they heading in the wrong direction? Laafrit was struck again by how little information they had. He couldn’t figure out a way to be convinced that the crime had taken place on land. But he thought it made sense to keep going on this assumption until something else turned up.

  The detective leaned back in his chair again and went through his mental list of informants. All of a sudden, the tension gripping him dissipated. He smiled to himself and pulled a phone number from memory. As he dialed it, his fingers began to tremble and he almost forgot what he wanted to say.

  The Pyramids was one of the most famous spots in Tangier, a place of real Dionysian pleasure. It had three floors and a basement nightclub that attracted the most beautiful women and biggest spenders in town. On the top floor was an air-conditioned American-style bar. Drinks were double what they cost anywhere else in town and only VIPs could get in. From the bar windows the lights of Gibraltar sparkled, even on cloudy nights, as if it were one of the districts of Tangier.

  Fifi, the most famous dancer in Tangier, was sitting in a corner of the bar. Not yet twenty-five, she had the best body a dancer of her age could hope to have. Her blonde hair moved like silk and her eyes were almond colored and hypnotic, emitting temptation. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress and had on the slightest touch of makeup. When she bent her head a little, her face bore the true meaning of pleasure.

  She asked Nadia, the bartender, to open a beer for her and then lit a cigarette. Fifi looked at the wall clock that had the name of a whiskey brand on it. It was seven fifteen. There were only two other customers in the bar, and they were sitting at a table next to the window overlooking the sea.

  Nadia herself was very beautiful. Her only flaws were a slight fleshiness and breasts that sagged a little. She clinked her glass against Fifi’s.

  “I almost didn’t believe my eyes when I saw you,” said Nadia with delight. “Fifi’s back! Last time you were with that friend of yours. About three months ago.”

  Fifi drank half the beer and put out her cigarette in the ashtray, even though she’d only taken two drags.

  “I’m waiting for the same friend today,” she said.

  Fifi gave her a special wink and Nadia understood she wanted to be left alone.

  Four strikingly elegant men entered the bar. The maître d’ met them with a broad flattering smile and led them to a table next to the window overlooking the sea. In the midst of welcoming them, he looked up quickly at the entrance. All of a sudden, the maître d’ called to one of the waiters to attend to the four gentlemen and then rushed over to the new arrival.

  “Welcome! Welcome! A blessing has been visited upon us!” he said to Laafrit in a clumsy outburst.

  The detective performed the obligatory replies and let the maître d’ lead the way to Fifi. The maître d’ held her hand ostentatiously to his lips and kissed it as if she were a princess. He then turned and made way for the detective.

  “Thank you for bringing Laafrit to us!” he said to Fifi.

  Confronted by such a scene, Laafrit couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

  “Nadia!” yelled the maître d’. “If I see empty glasses in this corner, I’ll demote you!”

  Nadia moved nimbly, her full breasts quivering. She greeted Laafrit with a slight bow and turned to the stereo to put on slower music. She then wiped off the counter in front of the detective.

  “I’m at the service of only you two tonight.”

  Laafrit swallowed the lozenge in his mouth and asked for a whiskey on the rocks. Fifi ordered another beer.

  Laafrit looked at Fifi closely and swallowed with difficulty.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said in an unsettled voice.

  Fifi looked
at him, enjoying his nervousness, and moved her face closer to his.

  “Thought I wouldn’t?”

  “No, no, it’s just I haven’t seen you in three months,” he stammered.

  Nadia brought the drinks and then gently backed away, as if in apology for disturbing them, even though they hadn’t even noticed her.

  Laafrit filled Fifi’s glass and lifted his own.

  “Cheers!”

  “Still dancing at Macarena?” he asked.

  “Every day,” said Fifi. “And Saturday and Sunday at Club East. But why’re you asking? You know where I dance.”

  Laafrit kept silent, staring at her lips. It was hard for him to ignore her seductive delicacy, burning sensuality, and penetrating scent. She was sitting enticingly on the barstool. Her soft, supple shoulders emanated tenderness and her hand, with its long polished nails, was moving in a steady rhythm as she lifted the glass to her lips.

  Laafrit was irritated at his weakness, so to regain his self-control he reminded himself of when she was in front of him, crying and kissing his hand, begging for mercy. That was three years ago at the Golden Castle, the private club for human traffickers, hash barons, and big-time traffickers. On that night alone, Fifi had raked in three grand on the dance floor and somehow brought down a millionaire smuggler who insulted her when he told her to pick up a wad of cash from the floor “with her ass.” As soon as Fifi’s escort heard that, he pulled a knife and plunged it into the smuggler’s stomach. During the investigation, Laafrit was shocked by the incredible treasure trove of information she gave him about dealers, hash barons, and human traffickers. After negotiations with the commissioner, he decided to release her, on the condition she worked as an informant. But Laafrit, now intoxicated by her beauty, thought she would’ve been better cast as a spy in a James Bond movie.

  Laafrit faced her and struggled not to drown in her deeply seductive eyes.

  “I know you dance at Scheherazade tonight,” he whispered firmly.

  “You’re a cop,” she said in a low voice, winking at him, “but I don’t know why you guys beat around the bush about every little thing instead of just saying what’s on your mind.”

  Laafrit finished his drink in two gulps. As soon as he put the glass on the counter, Nadia rushed to refill it.

  “It’s the business,” confessed Laafrit, smiling. “We play dumb to make the other guy feel smart. That way he offers up what he knows.”

  “Strange,” said Fifi, biting her lip. “I thought it was because you were attracted to me. Why don’t you come see me dance tonight? There won’t be anyone in the club except tourists.”

  “There’s a conference, right?”

  “Not exactly,” she said disdainfully. “A group of Spanish businessmen came here to invest in Tangier, if you know what I mean.”

  Fifi let out an insolent laugh that didn’t amuse Laafrit.

  “That reminds me,” she added. “What’s new with Luis? Are you in touch?”

  “He’s fine,” Laafrit replied tersely.

  The detective gave her a moment as she drained half her glass. He then leaned toward her.

  “I asked you to come because I need you,” he said discreetly.

  Fifi pulled away and looked at him carefully. Laafrit cast a glance around him and leaned over his drink. He took a sip and rolled the whiskey around his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

  “Heard of any pateras setting out recently?” he asked.

  Her lovely hand took a pack of cigarettes out of a purse that probably cost as much as Laafrit’s monthly salary. She put a cigarette between her lips and waited for the detective to light it, but Laafrit didn’t move. Fifi smiled at him, perplexed.

  “Human traffickers aren’t welcome at discos or nightclubs any more,” she said. “Their golden age is over, especially in this area. These days, hrig’s bustling in Sebta.”

  Laafrit lit the cigarette for her.

  “What do you have on Sebta?” he asked, taking a sip from his glass.

  “Interested in what goes on there?”

  “Tell me what you know and we’ll see.”

  “Last week, I was with Essabtawi,” revealed Fifi.

  “You mean with Wald Lakbira?” said Laafrit, surprised.

  She nodded and took a few sips from her glass without the least bit of enjoyment.

  “He scored big time,” she said, almost bragging. “He made it past the coast guard on a patera with thirty harraga. They all got to Spain safely except for three or four who drowned.”

  Laafrit finished off his drink in a single gulp. Nadia suddenly appeared in front of them and took the glasses and the empty bottle of beer. Fifi stopped her.

  “No more beer for me. I’ll have a whiskey.”

  Laafrit tensed up. Despite the stiff drink, he needed one of his menthol lozenges to get a grip on his nerves.

  “Wald Lakbira’s still in Tangier?”

  “He spent two days with me and went back to Sebta,” she said.

  “You sure about the number of drowned he told you about?”

  “I told you: three or four. Even he doesn’t know for sure.”

  Laafrit fell silent. He wondered if the bodies that washed up in Tangier could be the same ones Wald Lakbira had told Fifi about. How much distance would a corpse have to cover between Sebta and Tangier?

  Nadia brought the drinks and left. Laafrit and Fifi were speaking so seriously Nadia thought there wasn’t much affection between them. For his part, Laafrit knew his dry style was clashing with Fifi’s delicacy. He was treating her like she was a man.

  Laafrit let out a laugh, wrapped his arm around her, and squeezed her tender forearm. Fifi was taken by surprise and stared at him, confused.

  “Let’s try to act natural,” he said. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

  She let out a laugh, but pretended to be upset when Laafrit took his hand off her.

  “Put it back!” she gasped, feigning protest.

  Laafrit couldn’t stop himself from laughing. How sweet it was to embrace this warm gazelle. If he kept this up, Laafrit knew, he wouldn’t be able to resist her. He took a gulp from his glass and went back to work, trying to keep up as relaxed an appearance as possible.

  “Does Wald Lakbira have a piece?”

  Fifi shook her head.

  “What do you mean? A gun?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does he have a place here in Tangier?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Where does he stay when he comes to town?”

  “At posh hotels.”

  “Ever notice any kind of weapon on him?”

  Fifi hesitated, then said: “He has a special kind of knife and a small electrified club that can paralyze someone.”

  Laafrit looked at her insistently.

  “Who did Wald Lakbira meet with when he was here in Tangier?”

  She took a small sip from her glass.

  “He visited his aunt in Marshan and gave her some money. He spent the rest of his time with me. As I said, he was only here two days.”

  “You were together even during the day?” Laafrit pressed.

  Fifi laughed.

  “We were up all night and spent the day sleeping,” she revealed with a coy smile.

  Laafrit stayed silent and gave her a cold look. A sudden feeling of jealousy erupted from deep within. He found himself imagining what Fifi would look like if she stripped off her clothes. He realized he was forgetting work and getting dangerously close to her. He wondered if he would respond to the appeal of her eyes or keep his desire under wraps. As if she wanted to help him decide, she pushed her thigh forward and rested it on his. A sweet ache he’d never experienced before reverberated through his body. Laafrit knew if he kept sitting there and drinking whiskey like that, he’d definitely cave in. He decided to pull himself back and return to reason.

  “You’re real close with most of the big shots here in Tangier,” he said,
moving his thigh away gently. “You’ve been to their houses and danced at their private parties. In all this time, did you ever see something like a firearm or gun at their places?”

  Fifi kept quiet for a few seconds and looked at Laafrit cautiously. She shrugged and took out another cigarette. This time, Laafrit lit it instantly. Looking somber, Fifi took a deep breath and finally shook her head.

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Don’t press me, please,” she said nervously. “You know I’m never stingy with help.”

  The temperature was rising in the bar as more customers came in. Nadia changed the music to something livelier. She took a quick look at the two sitting in the corner and moved to the other side of the bar. Nadia sat with a guy at the counter, trying to distract him from paying too much attention to Fifi.

  Laafrit wrapped his arm around her again.

  “A body just washed ashore . . . shot dead,” he whispered softly in her ear.

  She pulled away from him.

  “When?” she asked, astonished.

  “Yesterday.”

  “Is that why there are so many patrols in the streets?” she asked, crossing her legs. “I danced for only ten people yesterday.”

  “It’s best you take a vacation,” said Laafrit, only half joking. “The situation won’t calm down until we have that gun.”

  Fifi sat up suddenly with a cryptic expression on her face. She stared Laafrit in the eye as if she were afraid to speak.

  “Remember something?” he asked, louder than he should have.

  “I don’t know,” she said, collecting her thoughts. “Maybe I did hear something about a gun.”

  Laafrit straightened up, face twitching. He thought it was better not to interrupt.

  “You know Faouzia? The girl they arrested doped up on pills?”