A Fire in the Sun

by George Alec Effinger

  Then I realized that it couldn't be that simple. In the first place, I didn't have any such power to destroy him. Friedlander Bey was protected from lesser creatures like me by baraka, the almost magical presence possessed by certain great men. It would take a better person than I to lift a finger against him, even to sneak in and pour poison in his ear while he slept.

  Okay, that meant I'd misunderstood the lesson, but it wasn't something I was going to worry about. The next time I met an imam or a saint on the street, I'd have to ask him to explain the vision to me. In the meantime I had more important things to do. I put the moddy back in my briefcase.

  Then I loaded the file on Abu Adil and spent about ten minutes glancing through it. It was every bit as boring as I was afraid it would be. Abu Adil had been brought to the city at an early age, more than a century and a half ago. His parents had wandered for many months after the disaster of the Saturday War. As a boy, Abu Adil helped his father, who sold lemonade and sherbets in the Souk of the Tanners. He played in the narrow, twisting alleys of the medînah, the old part of town. When his father died, Abu Adil became a beggar to support himself and his mother. Somehow, through strength of will and inner resources, he rejected his poverty and miserable station and became a man of respect and influence in the medînah. The report gave no details of this remarkable transformation, but if Abu Adil was a serious rival to Friedlander Bey, I had no trouble believing it had happened. He still lived in a house at the western edge of the city, not far from the Sunset Gate. By all reports it was a mansion as grand as Papa's, surrounded by ghastly slums. Abu Adil had an army of friends and associates in the hovels of the medînah, just as Friedlander Bey had his own in the Budayeen.

  That was about as much as I'd learned when Officer Shaknahyi ducked his head into my cubicle. "Time to roll," he said.

  It didn't bother me in the least to tell my data deck to quit. I wondered why Lieutenant Hajjar was so worked up about Reda Abu Adil. I hadn't run across anything in the file that suggested he was anything but another Friedlander Bey: just a rich, powerful man whose business took on a gray, even black character now and then. If he was like Papa—and the evidence I'd seen indicated that's just what he was—he had little interest in disturbing innocent people. Friedlander Bey was no criminal mastermind, and I doubted that Abu Adil was, either. You could rouse men like him only by trespassing on their territory or by threatening their friends and family.

  I followed Shaknahyi downstairs to the garage. "That's mine," he said, pointing to a patrol car coming in from the previous shift. He greeted the two tired-looking cops who got out, then slid behind the steering wheel. "Well?" he said, looking up at me.

  I wasn't in a hurry to start this. In the first place, I'd be stuck in the narrow confines of the copcar with Shaknahyi for the duration of the shift, and that prospect didn't excite me at all. Second, I'd really rather sit upstairs and read boring files in perfect safety than follow this battle-hardened veteran out into the mean streets. Finally, though, I climbed into the front seat. Sometimes there's only so much stalling you can do.

  "What you carrying?" he said, looking straight out the windshield while he drove. He had a big wad of gum crammed into his right cheek.

  "You mean this?" I held up the Complete Guardian moddy, which I hadn't chipped in yet.

  He glanced at me and muttered something under his breath. "I'm talking about what you're gonna use to save me from the bad guys," he said. Then he looked my way again.

  Under my sport coat I was wearing my seizure gun. I took it out of the holster and showed him. "Got this last year from Lieutenant Okking," I said.

  Shaknahyi chewed his gum for a few seconds. "The lieutenant was always all right to me," he said. His eyes slid sideways again.

  "Yeah, well," I said. I couldn't think of anything terribly meaningful to add. I'd been responsible for Okking's death, and I knew that Shaknahyi knew it. That was something else I'd have to overcome if we were going to accomplish anything together. There was silence in the car for a little while after that.

  "Look, that weapon of yours ain't much good except for maybe stunning mice and birds up close. Take a look on the floor."

  I reached under my seat and pulled out a small arsenal. There was a large seizure cannon, a static pistol, and a needle gun that looked like its flechettes could strip the meat from the bones of an adult rhinoceros. "What do you suggest?" I asked.

  "How do you feel about splashing blood all over everything?"

  "Had enough of that last year," I said.

  "Then forget the needle gun, though it's a dandy side arm. It alternates three sedative barbs, three iced with nerve toxin, and three explosive darts. The seizure cannon may be too hefty for you too. It's got four times the power of your little sizzlegun. It'll stop anybody you aim at up to a quarter of a mile away, but it'll kill a mark inside a hundred yards. Maybe you ought to go with the static gun."

  I stuffed the needle gun and the seizure cannon back under the seat and looked at the static gun. "What kind of damage will this do?"

  Shaknahyi shrugged. "Hit 'em in the head with that two or three times and you've crippled 'em for life. The head's a small target, though. Get 'em in the chest and it's Heart Attack City. Anywhere else, they can't control their muscles. They're helpless for half an hour. That's what you want."

  I nodded and tucked the static gun into my coat pocket. "You don't think I'll—" My telephone began warbling, and I undipped it from my belt. I figured it was one of my other problems checking in. "Hello?" I said.

  "Marîd? This is Indihar."

  It seemed like they just weren't making good news anymore. I closed my eyes. "Yeah, how you doing? What's up?"

  "You know what time it is? You own a club now, Maghrebi. You got a responsibility to the girls on the day shift. You want to get down here and open up?"

  I hadn't given the club a goddamn thought. It was something I really didn't want to worry about, but Indihar was right about my responsibility. "I'll get there as soon as I can. Everybody show up today?"

  "I'm here, Pualani's here, Janelle quit, I don't know where Kandy is, and Yasmin's here looking for a job."

  Now Yasmin too. Jeez. "See you in a few minutes."

  "Inshallah, Marîd."

  "Yeah." I clipped the phone back on my belt.

  "Where you got to go now? We don't have time for no personal errands."

  I tried to explain. "Friedlander Bey thought he was doing me this big favor, and he bought me my own club in the Budayeen. I don't know a damn thing about running a club. Forgot all about it until now. I got to pass by there and open the place."

  Shaknahyi laughed. "Beware of two-hundred-year-old kingpins bearing gifts," he said. "Where's this club?"

  "On the Street," I said. "Chiriga's place. You know which one I mean?"

  He turned and studied me for a moment without saying anything. Then he said, "Yeah, I know which one you mean." He swung the patrol car around and headed for the Budayeen.

  You might think it'd be a kick to zip through the eastern gate in an official car, and drive up the Street when other vehicular traffic is forbidden. My reaction was just the opposite. I scrunched myself down in the seat, hoping no one I knew would see me. I'd hated cops all my life and now I was one; already my former friends were giving me the same treatment I used to give Hajjar and the other police around the Budayeen. I was grateful that Shaknahyi had the sense not to turn on the siren.

  Shaknahyi dropped the car right in front of Chiriga's club, and I saw Indihar standing on the sidewalk with Pualani and Yasmin. I was unhappy to see that Yasmin had cut her long, beautiful black hair, which I'd always loved. Maybe since we'd broken up, she felt she had to change things. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and got out. "How y'all doing?" I said.

  Indihar glowered at me. "We lost about an hour's tips already," she said.

  "You gonna run this club or not, Marîd?" said Pualani. "I can go work by Jo-Mama's real easy."

  "Frenc
hy'd take me back in a Marrakesh minute," said Yasmin. Her expression was cold and distant. Riding around in copcars wasn't improving my status with her at all.

  "Don't worry," I said, "I just had a lot on my mind this morning. Indihar, could I hire you to manage the place for me? You know more about running the club than I do."

  She stared at me for a few seconds. "Only if you give me a regular schedule," she said, "I don't want to have to come in early after staying late on night shift. Chiri made us do that all the time."

  "All right, fine. You got any other ideas, let me know."

  "You're gonna have to pay me what other managers make too. And I'm only gonna get up and dance if I feel like it."

  I frowned, but she had me in a corner. "That's okay too. Now, who do you suggest to manage at night?"

  Indihar shrugged. "I don't trust none of those sluts. Talk to Chiri. Hire her back."

  "Hire Chiri? To work in her own club?"

  "It's not her own club anymore," Yasmin pointed out.

  "Yeah, right," I said. "You think she'd do it?"

  Indihar laughed. "She'll make you pay her three times what any other manager on the Street gets. She'll give you hell about it too, and she'll steal you blind out of the register if you give her half a chance. But she'll still be worth it. Nobody can make money like Chiri. Without her, you'll be renting this property to some rug merchant inside of six months."

  "You hurt her feelings real bad, Marîd," said Pualani.

  "I know, but it wasn't my fault. Friedlander Bey organized the whole thing without talking to me about it first. He just dropped the club on me as a surprise."

  "Chiri doesn't know that," said Yasmin.

  I heard a car door slam behind me. I turned and saw Shaknahyi walking toward me, a big grin on his face. All I needed now was to have him join in. He was really enjoying this.

  Indihar and the others hated my guts for turning cop, and the cops felt the same way because to them I was still a hustler. The Arabs say, "You take off your clothes, you get cold." That's advice against cutting yourself off from your support group. It doesn't offer any help if your friends show up in a mob and strip you naked against your will.

  Shaknahyi didn't say a word to me. He went up to Indihar, bent, and whispered something in her ear. Well, a lot of the girls on the Street have this fascination with cops. I never understood it, myself. And some of the cops don't mind taking advantage of the situation. It just surprised me to find out that Indihar was one of those girls, and that Shaknahyi was one of those cops.

  It didn't occur to me to add this to the list of recent unnatural coincidences: My new partner just happened to have a thing going with the new manager of the club Friedlander Bey had just given me.

  "Got everything settled here, Audran?" Shaknahyi asked.

  "Yeah," I said. "I got to talk to Chiriga sometime today."

  "Indihar's right," said Yasmin. "Chiri's gonna give you a hard time."

  I nodded. "She's entitled, I guess, but I'm still not looking forward to it."

  "Let's mount up," said Shaknahyi.

  "If I got time later," I said, "I'll drop in and see how y'all are doing."

  "We'll be fine," said Pualani. "We know how to do our jobs. You just watch your ass around Chiri."

  "Protect your middle," said Indihar. "If you know what I mean."

  I waved and headed back to the patrol car. Shaknahyi gave Indihar a little kiss on the cheek, then followed me. He got behind the wheel. "Ready to work now?" he asked. We were still sitting at the curb.

  "How long you known Indihar? I never seen you come into Chiri's club."

  He gave me this wide-eyed innocent look. "I been knowing her for a long time," he said.

  "Right," I said. I just left it there. It didn't sound like he wanted to talk about her.

  A shrill alarm went off, and the synthesized voice of the patrol car's comp deck crackled. "Badge number 374, respond immediately to bomb threat and hostage situation, Cafe de la Fee Blanche, Ninth Street North."

  "Gargotier's place," said Shaknahyi. "We'll take care of it." The comp deck fell silent.

  And Hajjar had promised me I wouldn't have to worry about anything like this. "Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Raheem," I murmured. In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful.

  This time as we rode up the Street, Shaknahyi let the siren scream.

  6

  THERE WAS A CROWD gathered outside the low railing of the Café de la Fée Blanche's patio. An old man sat at one of the white-painted iron tables, drinking something from a plastic tumbler. He seemed oblivious to the crisis that was occurring inside the bar. "Get him out of here," Shaknahyi growled at me. "Get these other people out of here too. I don't know what's happening in there, but we got to treat it like the guy has a real bomb. And when you got everybody moved back, go sit in the car."

  "But—"

  "I don't want to have to worry about you too." He ran around the corner of the cafe to the north, heading for the cafés rear entrance.

  I hesitated. I knew backup units would be getting here soon, and I decided to let them handle the crowd control. At the moment, there were more important things to worry about. I still had Complete Guardian, and I tore open the shrinkwrap with my teeth. Then I chipped the moddy in.

  Audran was sitting at a table in the dimly lighted San Saberio salon in Florence, listening to a group of musicians playing a demure Schubert quartet. Across from him sat a beautiful blond woman named Costanzia. She raised a cup to her lips, and her china blue eyes looked at him over the rim. She was wearing a subtle, fascinating fragrance that made Audran think of romantic evenings and soft-spoken promises.

  "This must be the best coffee in Tuscany, "she murmured. Her voice was sweet and gentle. She gave him a warm smile.

  ''We didn't come here to drink coffee, my darling,'' he said. '' We came here to see the season's new styles. "

  She waved a hand. "There is time enough for that. For now, let's just relax."

  Audran smiledfondly at her and picked up his delicate cup. The coffee was the beautiful color of polished mahogany, and the wisps of steam that rose from it carried a heavenly, enticing aroma. The first taste overwhelmed Audran with its richness. As the coffee, hot and wonderfully delicious, went down his throat, he realized that Costanzia had been perfectly correct. He had never before been so satisfied by a cup of coffee.

  "I'll always remember this coffee," he said.

  "Let's come back here again next year, darling," said Costanzia.

  Audran laughed indulgently. "For San Saberio's new fashions?"

  Costanzia lifted her cup and smiled. "For the coffee," she said.

  After the advertisement, there was a blackout during which Audran couldn't see a thing. He wondered briefly who Costanzia was, but he put her out of his mind. Just as he began to panic, his vision cleared. He felt a ripple of dizziness, and then it was as if he'd awakened from a dream. He was rational and cool and he had a job to do. He had become the Complete Guardian.

  He couldn't see or hear anything that was happening inside. He assumed that Shaknahyi was making his way quietly through the cafe's back room. It was up to Audran to give his partner as much support as possible. He jumped the iron railing into the patio.

  The old man at the table looked up at him. "No doubt you are eager to read my manuscripts, " he said.

  Audran recognized the man as Ernst Weinraub, an expatriate from some Central European country. Weinraub fancied himself a writer, but Audran had never seen him finish anything but quantities of anisette or bourbon whiskey. "Sir, " he said, "you re in danger here. I'm going to have to ask you to go out into the street. For your own safety, please move away from the café."

  "It's not even midnight yet," Weinraub complained. "Just let me finish my drink."

  Audran didn't have time to humor the old drunk. He left the patio and walked decisively into the interior of the bar.

  The scene inside didn't look very threatening. Monsieur Gargotier was
standing behind the bar, beneath the huge, cracked mirror. His daughter, Maddie, was sitting at a table near the back wall. A young man sat at a table against the west wall, under Gargotier's collection of faded prints of the Mars colony. The young man's hands rested on a small box. His head swung to look at Audran. "Get the fuck out, "he shouted, "or this whole place goes up in a big bright bang!"

  "I'm sure he means it, monsieur," said Gargotier. He sounded terrified.

  ''Bet your ass I mean it!'' said the young man.

  Being a police officer meant sizing up dangerous situations and being able to make quick, sure judgments. Complete Guardian suggested that in dealing with a mentally disturbed individual, Audran should try to find out why he was upset and then try to calm him. Complete Guardian recommended that Audran not make Jun of the individual, show anger, or dare him to carry out his threat. Audran raised his hands and spoke calmly. "I'm not going to threaten you, "Audran said.

  The young man just laughed. He had dirty long hair and a patchy growth of beard, and he was wearing a faded pair of blue jeans and a plaid cotton shirt with its sleeves torn off. He looked a little like Audran had, before Friedlander Bey had raised his standard of living.

  "Mind if I sit and talk with you?" asked Audran.

  "I can set this off any time I want," said the young man. "You got the guts, sit down. But keep your hands flat on the table. "

  "Sure." Audran pulled out a chair and sat down. He had his back to the barkeeper, but out of (he corner of his eye he could see Maddie Gargotier. She was quietly weeping.

  "You ain't gonna talk me out of this, " said the young man.

  Audran shrugged. "I just want to find out what this is all about. What's your name?"