He laughed in spite of himself and finally pulled on his pants. It was their fifth consecutive day in the rotation. Eventually, he realized he would have to unpack all his stuff. Eventually.
Chapter 14
Downy awoke to the caress of his wife Naomi’s hand against his forehead.
“Who won last night you or the bar?”
He suddenly remembered that he had lied to her about where he was. He hated the feeling. Butterflies filled his stomach and he decided pretending a bit of a hangover wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Ahhhhhh!” he said rolling over. “It was a tie I think--”
Naomi stretched herself and got out of the bed. He loved the view and the kiss from the night before had him especially charged. As Naomi tried to walk away he grabbed her by the boxer shorts, pulling them down before she could escape. She always slept in his boxers. He loved how she looked in them.
“Ah ah ah,” she said pointing her finger at him, “I have the luncheon with Max and Cynthia today, no time for shenanigans.” Downy could never keep up with her schedule. It was too bad.
“Your loss,” he said.
Naomi laughed reaching down between his legs giving him a squeeze. “Save it,” she said with a kiss. “Rain check.”
“Damn right,” he said.
He stared at the ceiling fan as it twirled and he could hear the birds chirping away outside the window. He thought of Samara’s conversation about Nazim. He also thought of how easily he had let her kiss him. And what had she meant about the principles of a man and a woman exactly? He wasn’t too self-righteous to recognize the truth when he heard it. He needed to let Naomi know about Samara as soon as possible. There was simply no way he could keep meeting with her alone without arousing suspicion.
“Hey!” he yelled, “you won’t believe who showed up to my class yesterday.”
“Who’s that?”
“Charlie’s daughter, Samara.”
Naomi suddenly appeared back in the doorway.
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not,” he said, “she’s been overseas and just came back to town. She wanted to surprise me, I guess. Remember, I told you her mom called and said she might be headed back to the states for school? I’d forgotten almost.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, “poor girl, how is she doing?” Questions like this he hated. Naomi would see her soon enough and it was dumb not to tell the truth. It would seem suspicious after the fact.
“She’s grown up now that’s for sure. You know the last time I saw her she was about twelve, I think. She’s really beautiful,” he said. “Reminds me of both Charlie in the eyes and her mom, of course.”
“Ohh, another beautiful girl in your life, eh, Professor?” she said half mockingly.
“Yeah, but--”
“I know, I know. I was just kidding.”
Even though she was in a hurry he now had her attention to a different degree. He shouldn’t have used the word beautiful.
“She actually wants to meet about something. I told her to come over whenever she wants.”
“What’s it about, any idea?”
“Not really, I get the sense it’s not school related though. You know she missed the funeral and maybe it’s something to do with that.”
Naomi pulled her straight black hair up into her headband and twisted it into a perfect knot.
“Maybe you two should meet alone then, I don’t want her to feel awkward and it’ll give you time to catch up.”
He marveled silently at his wife’s confidence, her willingness to accommodate and her perfect profile.
“Grab a coffee with her and then we can have her over for dinner or something.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
He thought of Samara’s lips against his and the pressing of her body, the way she had almost collapsed into him.
“I love you,” he said suddenly.
“I know you do, I’m so late,” she said, rushing to collect her things.
At thirty-four she was an absolute picture of beauty and confidence. He leaned over the edge of the bed like a boy and rolled off into the standing position, whispering into her ear.
“I still can’t believe your own sister had you whacked,” he said, thinking back to her time on set as Cleopatra’s unfortunate sister.
“Then again, stealing the throne of Egypt wouldn’t be hard with an ass like that.”
Naomi laughed chasing him back to bed. “Go back to sleep, you’re still drunk.”
He lunged for her again, but she was gone.
He took her advice and dozed off again, but his first dream was of Nazim. The family had seemingly turned their backs on Samara. Why? In his dream there was black smoke off in the distance and Nazim was whispering something to him, something terrible, frightening. He was weeping. He woke up with a start and threw on his pants. He would call immediately. It was evening already in Cairo and he wanted some answers.
Chapter 15
The phone rang and rang before he finally gave in and switched to Nazim’s cell. The only time he wouldn’t answer was if he was at the helm of his boat. It was off-season for travel in Egypt, not to mention late evening, so he expected Nazim’s voice to pick up instantly. The line went directly to voicemail instead. It was Nazim’s same generic message he had had for all the years Downy had known him.
“Nazim, it’s Noah. Please give me a ring as soon as you can.” Downy hated leaving messages and phones in general for all that. He realized he had absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the whole day. He thought of the backlog of messages at school and considered the unthinkable. Going in on a Saturday. The office would be quiet; he could get a ton of work finished in no time.
He suddenly realized Samara was going to be in his class for the whole semester. What had he been thinking letting her kiss him? Oh well, he could get used to it if he had to he supposed. It would certainly keep him on his toes. It was funny, so many people asked him about the lure of female students in his classes. The truth was nineteen year olds weren’t nearly as attractive as one might believe. For Downy at least the notion of having a romantic or sexual relationship with someone who was trying to get also get a grade from you was the very definition of unethical, and frankly not very sexy. The power dynamics were insulting to both. How could a student ever know whether or not she was simply being used for her body? And for that matter a teacher for a potential “A.” How could any teacher be objective when sex was involved? Gratefully, he found he had little intellectually in common with his students anyway. He certainly knew some professors who were willing to take advantage of the situation, but the aftermath was always a catastrophe.
“Thank God for the teacher’s union,” one professor had confessed to him. He had held his tongue, but never felt the same about the guy again.
He felt a ping of hypocrisy over Samara though, but then reminded himself that what had happened was certainly no love affair. And now that he knew what was going on he felt even more paternal toward her. He realized that feeling had a dangerous quality as well. It was only a kiss, but my god it had been electric. Her vulnerability only made things worse. He tried to remind himself that the word help had all sorts of connotations when it came to men and women. He needed to be careful going forward, for everyone’s sake.
As he drove toward the campus he stretched his arms in the air and let out a loud yelp. It was his relief yelp. They hadn’t slept together.
He yowled into the wind, “No sex for me, please. Thank you!” and laughed.
“I’ll be smart enough for the both of us,” she had said. What if she had had a room key in her pocket, Downy thought to himself. Seriously? Jesus. He’d be smarter than that he hoped.
The campus was certainly easy to navigate on weekends, so his trip took only minutes. He paused at the top of the stairs, thinking he heard someone. Who would it be on a Saturday? His office was situated on the western corner of campus; the “suite” as the other professors called it. There wa
s plenty of envy over the space, not to mention the personal secretary that came with it. He listened again, but the sound was gone. When he opened the door the room smelled musty and a pungent gust of body odor hit him in the face. There must have been a janitor at work he thought. On the shelf there was the bobble head of Julius Caesar and Mark Antony Charlie had given him after publication of his first book. Their heads still wobbled. He touched them and both stopped. The guy had dusted them too he supposed. Thorough if not overly motivated, he thought to himself, but the goddamn smell was certainly lingering. He sat down at his desk, propping up his feet and looking at the blinking light of his message machine. Still two messages, though his secretary was supposed to have returned all his calls with the usual ‘we’ll get back to yous.' Downy almost never did. It was one of the great things about being so in demand. You didn’t have to talk to anyone you didn’t want to.
Downy punched the button: “Uh, hello there, Professor Downy. I’m calling from the precinct, uh…actually, this is Detective Sullivan calling from—uh--sorry SDPD. Just needed to ask you a few questions and hopefully set up a time to get together. Shouldn’t take long and I’m completely flexible time wise.”
Downy grimaced. It was that again. Of course they would want to see the house. Downy grabbed his cell and pulled up Naomi’s number.
Guess what? Need to let the cops into the house again. Ahhhrghhhhh….” he texted.
This made the fourth time in so many years that police had come to their home. It had started to become annoying because Downy and his wife hadn’t even lived in the house when the crime had taken place. Every few years they were reminded of it by another visit from the police. They never gave details, of course, but it had been bad enough that they were still trying to find clues apparently. It had helped tremendously with the price of the house though, which was undoubtedly worth a million or more. He and Naomi had made an offer the day of because of the outrageously gorgeous views of the ocean, even when they were still barely in the pink because of his first book. The offer was accepted in immediately, even though they’d underbid. He had guaranteed Naomi there would be ghosts, but that hadn’t panned out. He wondered why the police were still interested, since everything had been redone and painted even before they had moved in. Whatever had happened, there couldn’t possibly be a trace left now. Downy hit callback and the same voice from the message answered the phone almost immediately.
“Detective Sullivan here.”
“Just returning your call, detective. Hey, I can leave you guys a key at the house, if you want to come in. It’s all been looked at a few times now--any idea how much longer this will be going on? You know, this makes the fourth time you guys have looked.”
Sullivan shuffled the phone. “I’m super sorry for the inconvenience. This is an old case and we’re just trying to tie up a few loose ends. If it’s all the same I was hoping to ask you a few questions as well.”
“Ok,” he said hesitantly, “but you know this all happened befo--”
“Yes, yes I know, I read through the file and of course you weren’t occupants of the house yet, but I am brand new to the case and I’m just trying to orient myself to the timeline. I’d really appreciate it. You tell me when and where and I’ll come to you, ok? Take fifteen minutes of your time at the most.”
“Sure,” he said finally giving up. “Come by my office Monday, say ten o’clock?”
“That’s perfect. Thank you very much, Professor Downy. See you Monday at ten.”
A silver lining, he now had an official excuse to skip class. Samara would wonder if he didn’t show, but he hoped to speak to her soon anyway. He wondered why Nazim wasn’t returning his call. He usually called back within hours. He represented huge income for Nazim’s family, not to mention their genuine friendship. What could be going on over there? It wasn’t yet time to worry, but it would be soon. He threw open the windows. The pungent smell was still wafting around the room and as he looked around the office he could see dust almost everywhere. The guy had done a shit job on everything but the bobble heads apparently. Standing there in the silence, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get any work done. Fuck it, he would head over to Woody’s then and toast to an old friend. He flicked Mark Antony one final time on his way out the door. Antony looked like he was trying to tell Caesar something important, but Caesar wasn’t listening.
Chapter 16
The man climbed the slope of the grassy hill slowly. The time underwater had completely drained him and his muscles still burned. Finally, reaching the covered carriage he peered in anxiously. His prisoner was out cold. Whoever had come past the water must have moved on unaware. In the dark almost no one would recognize him anyway, but the daylight was another matter. It could just as easily have been a gang of thieves. The roads were no place to be in this part of the world in any case. Any sane man knew that. It would be daybreak in less than an hour and he realized he was too tired to move again. He would camp here for the morning. He could find the ruins easily when his energy returned. He was technically way ahead of schedule anyway. He wouldn’t need to be at the pond until three more moons had passed. It was too difficult keeping up with the days of the week, so the movement of the moon and stars would have to suffice. It was an ancient means of measuring, but incredibly accurate. What good was a clock in a place like this anyhow? Half of the zodiac was clearly visible in the night sky so he knew dawn was near. The ruins were barely a day’s ride, even at a slow pace. He had to give credit to the members of the network. They had made the inherent difficulties of the situation easy to overcome, even for someone like him with limited language skills. They had been thorough. Men of science had always appealed to him for this reason, but certainly they were weak in other ways. Who was more self-centered, more pointlessly arrogant, than the man of science? There was at least a sense of one’s place in the grand scheme in the religious man, and even if he himself could never sense the real presence of a god, he preferred the man of some belief over the fool who could imagine nothing bigger, nothing grander than himself. Religious men knew how to die well at least. Men of science died like little squealing pigs. He’d seen it himself. He’d spared almost any man who showed poise at the moment of death, no matter how much of an enemy they had been. It was an internal rule he’d always obeyed. He reached into his pocket for the sugar cubes and took two. One for now and one for later just in case he slept too long. A gentle wave of euphoria overtook him.
In the moonlight he could see down his leg. Blood had dried around the cuts from the rocks. It stung. Otherwise he was clean. He thought of the boy, his corpse now at the bottom of the river. He had died probably never realizing exactly what had happened, which was for the best. Choices had to be made. The worst kind of killing was that of a youth though. Older men had had time to accumulate plenty of sins, for which death was almost always a justice served. He knew he had to stay focused on his goal no matter the body count. If he was successful all wrongs could be justified, all could be set right again. He looked into the back once more and could see the prisoner’s lips moving, but his eyes were closed, his mouth agape. It would be wise to chain him just in case. The man pulled the shackle from the bag in the back and slid it up the ankle, locking it securely in place. He doubled the chain around the center axle and fastened the smaller lock. With the clicking of it in place his prisoner let out a low moan. From here on out he had to prepare himself for when he woke up. That would come soon. Then the hysteria. He would make sure not to let his face be visible this time and hope the memory of the shock wouldn’t be too fresh. The boy had insisted it was the only way to convince his uncle. It had backfired, as he knew it would. Once they reached the ruins he could safely lock his prisoner in a cell. The second wave of the sugar cube erased the need for further thought and the man fell asleep almost in the sitting up position, eyes flickering behind their lids, a half smile across his lips. He dreamed he was Icarus flying through the clouds, higher and higher. He heard a voice in
the dream. It was his first lieutenant shouting that the way had been cleared. He was back on the battlefield then, where he truly belonged. He should never have returned home in the first place; perhaps none of this would have happened if he’d stayed with his men. Fate was impartial though, wasn’t she, and without much effort could sway events one way or the other.
Chapter 17
The scurry and bustle of Monday mornings in San Diego was less hectic than he had expected and he had inadvertently shown up to work early. He made sure everyone saw him as he passed their desks. Who could say when it might happen again? Finally, he sat down at his chair drinking a large coffee from Donut Haven. It had turned out to be a great spot to review the files, since no one spoke a word of English in the place. They smiled fluently though and he genuinely appreciated the silence. Then just to drive home the stereotype they had insisted on taking his picture with one of those ancient Polaroid cameras, which the woman running the place had then dutifully added to the wall. It was a motley crew of faces. They were the expressions of people who still insisted coffee should never cost more than 99 cents. Sullivan looked at his watch. It was still two hours before his meeting, though he would need to leave early since he really didn’t know his way around the campus.
“You know there’s a Starbucks a block away from us if you need something with taste.”
He looked over his shoulder. It was Tierney. Tierney looked too fresh for the morning; his shave was immaculate and his clothing starched to within an inch of its life. He sat down in the seat opposite Sullivan.
“Detective I wanted to update you on some protocols you may not be used to. It is imperative here that I know where to find you and that if asked I can speak with authority about what you have and have not done when it comes to police work. Your laptop is connected to the main feed here,” he said pointing to endless rows of computers and people with headsets clicking away at them. “Please make sure to orient yourself to the software and log all of your appointments, ok? Technically those are Homeland Security folks over there, but I managed to carve out a little of the budget for us as well. I know where you come from being a wolf and hunting alone is the norm. It’s the opposite here. Methodical is the word. It’s the only word.”
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