by Johnny Jacks
Islamic State of America - 5
Texas State Prison
Year -4
The prying eyes and disquiet atmosphere of the prison yard were absent in the library, allowing the inmates to feel more at ease. Even so Akeem’s hypnotic black eyes never blinked as he talked, which both fascinated and unnerved Carlos. Miguel was at ease and attentive, as usual.
Akeem began in a business tone. “There is a plan for you, one that will give you great power over many men, but first there is much to learn. I need to see your commitment and understanding. If you are serious, I will teach you. If you are not serious and waste my time, you will not like the taste of my shank when I shove it down your throat, cut out your tongue, and watch you choke to death on your blood.”
As Akeem’s words began to congeal and then crystallize, Carlos responded. “Don’t worry about me, Arab. I find the words of your prayers…” his veil of control slipped away for a second, exposing his soul, “take away my pain.”
Miguel snapped his head toward his stronger brother who never let down his guard.
Carlos recoiled at his own words; his eyes hardened and he morphed into an indescribable evil, sending a chill up Akeem’s spine.
Carlos ruminated over their prison yard conversation and knew he wanted the power this Muslim man claimed would be his. First, he had to devise a way to get past the reading and writing problem.
Miguel eyed his brother with curiosity. He had never seen him this deep in thought.
Carlos had bluffed his way through life thus far; what was one more ruse. He spoke to Akeem with false conviction. “Yes. I want to be a leader of many men. I want to learn to sing your prayers. I’ll do what you say, Arab, but if you play games with me…well,” Carlos shrugged with a smirk, “I have a shank of my own, and you can’t imagine how I’ll use it on you.” Pointing to Miguel, he added, “I want my brother in this too. We’ll do our part, if you do yours. Comprende?”
Regardless of his words, Akeem knew Carlos had not crossed into full commitment. He moderated his voice and turned to Miguel to test his resolve and give Carlos time to settle down. “What about you? Does your brother speak for you or do you speak for yourself? Do you also desire to learn the ways of Islam and become a Muslim? If so stay. Otherwise you must leave.”
“I’m with my brother. When I listen to you pray, it makes me feel the same as Carlos. It’s like something I heard before, some memory I don’t understand.”
Akeem nodded and returned his attention to Carlos. “You are not fully convinced, are you?”
Carlos didn’t reply.
It was time to push him over the line. Akeem narrowed his eyes and spoke in a flat tone, pointing a finger from one to the other. “Your father was a Muslim.”
Carlos’ muscles flexed like a panther ready to pounce. “Lying hijo de puta. I don’t know my father, except that he is dead. I remember my mother enough to be annoyed when I think of her. You lie to me, musulmán. You ready to die now?”
Akeem remained calm as his dark eyes bored into Carlos’ deep brown ones. “Your mother’s name is Maria Baomi Murtadha.”
Carlos and Miguel’s mouths dropped open.
“How do you know this?” Miguel demanded, his nostrils flaring.
Akeem ignored the question. “Do you remember that you had Muslim names?”
Miguel shook his head, but Carlos acknowledged the truth. “I remember. What else do you know, Arab?”
“You are a descendant of the prophet Mohammed—peace be upon him—and Allah calls to you.”
His brain struggling to process Akeem’s revelations while fighting to push faint memories back into their dark place, Carlos casually surveyed the bookshelves. He had never been in a library. He saw books he couldn’t read, computers that were a mystery, and a floor he was only capable of sweeping and mopping. He turned to Akeem, at the mercy of another man for the first time in his life. “I ain’t heard nobody calling. What now, Arab?”
“First, you must study many things about Islam and learn the Shahada. I will lead you and your brother, but know that to learn Arabic and a few prayers doesn’t make you a Muslim. Above all things, you must accept there is only one god, Allah, and Mohammed—may peace be upon him—is his messenger. You can be a part of it, Insha’Allah, but one thing at a time.”
Miguel could not control his enthusiasm. “I can do it!”
Akeem ignored Miguel—special but not the first son, not the chosen one—and kept his focus on Carlos. “Allah is a demanding but generous god. Many hear the calling but answering it properly requires you to learn much, to take a new life, and follow Sharia, the law that pleases Allah, which I will teach you. I expect you to do as I instruct and follow the will of Allah. Do not betray me. Ever. We will see if you have the patience to master all you need to learn. Are you pledged to this?”
“Yeah.” Carlos spoke without Miguel’s enthusiasm. “We’re with you.” He was irritated that Akeem once again challenged him and made himself a promise: We are with you unless you betray us. Then we will destroy you.
Chapter 18
Merry Christmas
Year 1
Grayson shook his hand to release the cramp. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gripping the doorknob to Amanda’s bedroom, his head leaning against the door, his eyes closed. She shut her door eight months ago, where it remained. As long as the door stayed closed, somehow, Amanda was with him. He heard her on the other side talking to her Invisible Friend and singing a school song to JoJo. The moment he cracked it open her voice would vaporize and his beautiful daughter would be gone forever.
Taking a deep breath and saying a prayer, he eased the door open and stepped into the hushed room. A cacophony of emotions slammed into him. He slowly walked to her twin bed, his heavy feet resisting every step, and gently sat on it, the sheets smooth and properly made, just as Margaret taught her. He stroked the pink blanket with its collection of fairies and unicorns and stared at the photo on her nightstand. She sat in his lap while he read Goodnight Moon to her.
He wouldn’t be getting up before first light with Margaret on Christmas morning to watch Amanda run to check the empty glass of milk and plate of cookie crumbs Santa left from her offering, and no bits of grass beside the fireplace proved Santa took the hay she collected from last fall’s grass cutting to feed his reindeer. His throat released a tiny whimper.
His father’s advice to act like a man, no matter how hard life hit, prompted him to push off the bed deliberately. He slid open the door to the dark closet and turned on the light. It flickered, glowed brightly for a second, and burned out, blasting his brain with a flashback to a mortar round exploding nearby in a nighttime attack. It drained his resolve, and he collapsed to his knees, weeping loudly and cursing his father. He remained kneeling on the floor until no more tears would come, then forced himself to stand and shuffle to the hallway for a box to empty Amanda’s closet. Danny, come help me, son.
Grayson’s emotions sapped him well before he finished sorting things in the house into piles for the church thrift shop, trash, and the things he’d keep forever. Each door he opened reignited his pain. The master bedroom was exactly as Margaret left it, except for the night of the funeral when he moved his clothes to a pile in the dining room and began sleeping on the couch. He boxed her possessions slowly, caressing them with tenderness.
Guilt assaulted him in Daniel’s room when he realized he was thankful his son had taken most of his things to Louise’s house. He wondered if Daniel pitched the worn football haphazardly on his bed as a cynical reminder to him of the years the two tossed it to one another in the backyard.
Exhausted, his mind wandered too frequently to the new paths thrust upon him in the last eight months. What else did Satan have in store for him?
~~~
Absorbed with sorting the house and transporting boxes to storage, he left the heavy pieces until Joe could help. He didn’t focus on Christmas until he dropped, dog-tired, onto the sofa. There wo
uld be no shopping for the kids with Margaret; no selecting the perfect tree and decorating it; no Christmas music playing throughout the house; no taking Amanda to see Santa; no driving through neighborhoods to see Christmas lights; no dressing up and going to Mass; and no Christmas dinner with all the accompaniments. Christmas was dead and so was he.
Christmas Eve, he took pink poinsettias to the cemetery, staying until the sun was low on the horizon.
Chapter 19
Viva Las Vegas
Year 1
The feds running the seminar handed out stacks of paper—our tax dollars at work. Grayson laughed to himself. He planned to stay off the radar, enjoy room service, and draft the chief’s policy on his laptop during what he assumed would be a tedious, boring presentation. He wasn’t disappointed. When the last speaker closed the conference, Grayson remained in his seat and rushed to put the final touches on the drafted policy before his laptop battery died. When he closed the computer and looked up, he was surprised that two thousand attendees were almost all gone.
He had a flash of recognition when a woman ten rows down turned sideways to reach for her laptop case. Oh, crap! It couldn’t be. Shannon Fisher—no doubt learning new ways to twist the tougher regulations to her advantage.
He stood quickly and hurried to escape before she discovered him. Fumbling with his laptop bag and a stack of papers, he managed to drop everything. She turned to see what the noise was all about and their eyes locked.
I’m screwed. How am I going to explain my presence?
“Officer Dean?” Shannon’s raspy voice notified his muscles to ready for attack; a hundred tiny spiders crawled over him.
“Ms. Fisher.” She must have flown in on her broomstick. He busied himself collecting and packing the spilled items. Move on, bitch. Move on. He could see the headlines: “Rogue Cop Returns to Gang Department: Chief Ramirez Fired.”
“I’m surprised to see you here. I’m glad this is over. I almost fell asleep from boredom.”
Grayson was on high alert. His voice finally kicked in, and he spoke in professional tones. “I dozed off once myself.”
Extending her hand, she smiled at him through her black horn rims and thick, smeared-on makeup. Her butch voice grated on him. “You headed back tonight?”
She can smile?
He stood to leave. “I’m hanging around a few days.” Walk away, bitch!
“My flight leaves late tomorrow morning.”
“Have a safe trip.”
Shannon was all smiles. She had him by the cojones and she knew it. “I’m staying at Caesar’s Palace. Would you like to have dinner at one of their better restaurants? The Old Homestead Steakhouse is very good.”
He rummaged for a response. I’d rather eat arsenic than sit across a table from you.
“My treat.” Shannon sounded strange; a sweet tone appended her guttural voice.
Grayson looked her up and down. She’ll nail my career to a cross before this is over. What the hell? Maybe he could get in a jab or two before it was a done deal.
“My momma always told me not to turn down a dinner request from a lady.” He managed a more sociable tone. Momma just turned over in her grave. Considering Shannon’s liberal leanings, he didn’t insult her by insisting he would pay the bill.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
Damn! “I’m staying at Caesar’s Palace, too.”
Her smile broadened. “Let’s meet at the Steak House at six-thirty. That’ll give me time to pack and get some sleep.”
No way in hell I’ll make an entrance with this woman.
His conscience made him offer her a ride. They left his rental car with valet parking and walked to the bank of elevators. She punched the same floor as his. What the hell! They got off the elevator and walked in the same direction down the same hall, and when she stopped at the room directly across from his, he thanked the good Lord he hadn’t run into her sooner.
Shannon was a revolting, anti-gun, leftist lawyer, someone he despised. Someone who currently held his life in her hands. He had dinner plans with a she-devil. A twinge of guilt hit his gut. I’ve never had a dinner date with anyone but Margaret!
~~~
He had a little time to contemplate how dinner would go as he showered, shaved, and dressed in casual slacks and a simple button-up shirt. There was no reason to put on a suit and tie to eat with the Brown Frump. He rushed to get downstairs before Shannon and reserved a remote table in a dark corner, irrationally fearing somebody he knew would see them. He took a seat near the host stand to wait. It was the Southern gentlemanly thing to do, regardless of the situation. My first dinner with a woman since losing Margaret, and it’s with one of the homeliest and most annoying women I know.
He had a perfect view into the open casino. It startled him that the ladies serving drinks in their very short, low-cut, and cleavage-revealing outfits caused a strong stirring in him.
Whoa, mule!
A gorgeous, leggy, perfectly figured redhead in a thigh-length, tight black-silk dress that plunged in the right places swayed down the hallway. Her flat stomach, followed by her perfectly rounded, tight derriere reflected in the full-length wall mirror behind her, fought for his attention. The curves of her firm, smooth breasts were deliciously on display. The redhead swayed down the hallway with that enticing model walk—one foot directly in front of the other. As the ravishing woman approached, he was aware of her faultlessly sculpted makeup. Margaret and her Mary Kay business had taught him well. Smoky eyes, sexy red lipstick, and matching nails. Her flashing diamond necklace and earrings adorned the woman with a sparkle any man would give his right arm to spend a night with. How did she escape from her millionaire boyfriend? Lucky bastard.
When the woman stopped two feet away and looked directly at him, he caught his breath and stood as if called to attention by a gruff drill sergeant.
“Close your mouth and extend your right elbow, please,” came a soft, silky command.
“I’d love to lady, but I’m waiting on someone.”
“Mr. Dean, you are waiting on me.”
Grayson’s eyes blinked rapidly while his brain processed the information at light speed. His elbow popped into position robotically and he stood tall and proud. The pride of an unchallengeable alpha male engulfed him, as he watched every man in the place stare at his prime female. He bathed in their envy. As counterfeit as it was, he enjoyed feeling like a man again.
Taking their seats, he soberly reminded himself he was having dinner with his arch nemesis. What the heck is she up to? How…what…?
He felt conspicuous in his casual slacks and shirt and as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and not the least stunned by the sexual tension at the table.
Shannon ordered wine without consulting him. Once the waiter left the table, they attempted small talk, until he could no longer restrain himself. “Ms. Fisher—”
“Call me Shannon,” her sultry voice purred.
The sommelier appeared, decanted the wine, and moved the glass towards Grayson for approval. Shannon quickly reached and took the glass. She swirled the wine, checked the bouquet, sipped it, and gave her approval.
Grayson was not accustomed to a woman at the table taking the lead. He was curious about what was going one, but wasn’t about to lose his manhood and dignity to this bitch, no matter how gorgeous she was. She likes to pull the strings, so try this.
“Shannon, let’s get the elephant out of the room. You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Why do you dress like a…er—”
“Hag.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “If you prefer not to answer, I’ll withdraw the question. I have to admit that I’m starting to believe in the Fairy Godmother.”
“I object, your honor.” She returned the smile.
“Objection sustained. No further questions.” He held up his glass for a toast. They clinked glasses, sipped wine, and studied their menus as though editing the U.S. Bill of Rights.
Thr
ee glasses of wine during dinner and a brandy after dessert gradually loosened their tongues and allowed their personal histories to enter the conversation.
“Grayson, give me a few quick sentences that tell your life story.”
He considered his options. “I will if you will.”
“Okay. You go first.”
“I grew up in a Central Texas farm community and married the love of my life. I’m a patriot, so I joined the Army and became a Special Forces soldier. I got my bachelors in law enforcement while on active duty and left the Army to complete my masters. Margaret and I had two children….”
His smile dissolved, and silence joined them at the table.
“I thought you were a simple-minded, Tea Party conservative who couldn’t see past his bigoted nose,” her voice was soft and apologetic.
“You were wrong!”
Shannon’s face grew warm. “Sorry. I have a direct way of speaking after too much wine.”
“Lady, you have a direct way of speaking before wine.” Grayson forced a brief smile. “I don’t agree with your politics, but I respect that you unabashedly fight for what you believe in. It’s your turn. Who is Shannon Fisher? Where’re you from? Siblings? Husband? Kids?”
She twisted her brandy snifter a few times, turned her head, and looked into a nonexistent distance before answering. “No kids.”
Grayson waited for the awkward moment to pass, then gave her an out. “You a football fan?”
She held up her hand. “A deal’s a deal. You told your story, I’ll tell mine. I was born to Cajun parents in Louisiana.”
That explains the fire in her soul and the swish in the caboose.
“I have a wonderful sister, Jillian. My husband, Larry, and I met at LSU then moved to Seattle for work. No luck having children. Larry’s grown more distant over time. He suffers the love-making routine but doesn’t have his heart in it anymore.” What the heck? I only share this stuff with Jillian.