Artificial Flowers

by J. A. Hailey

  When the gate was up high enough, the girl went in and placed the food bowl on the floor. She then picked up the water bowl, as the dog gulped down a few mouthfuls of his meal. But he was desperate on other fronts too, and ran out again to nose around, seeking a suitable spot to do his body business. In that time, Diana rinsed his drink bowl under the garden tap, refilled it and returned it to its usual spot. She spoke into the phone, and went to sit on a chair in the garage.

  After a few minutes of waiting, she went back to the wall.

  “Oh, look!” shrieked Esmeralda. “I knew it. He’s bitten her leg. She has no chance. He’s gonna kill her.” She commenced sobbing, her face in her hands.

  “No, Esme,” said BC. “The dog’s not biting her. He’s actually preventing her climbing the wall. And he’s now transferred his grip to her wrist. He doesn’t want her to go away.”

  “Really?” asked Esmeralda, peeping fearfully from between her fingers.

  “That serial killer mutt loves your sister,” laughed BC. “Often tries to hold her back. She’s in no danger from him.”

  “Okay, darling, agreed. Now let’s turn our attention to the other killer in Diana’s life.”

  “You mean immediately, like right now?”

  “No, BC, darling. Tomorrow we start. Okay? Unless some immediate danger exists for Diana from him.”

  Tomorrow,” said BC. “I’ll take you into his depraved world. Very distressing.”

  The next afternoon, after spending the morning with visitors - Candice and Omar – the lovers sat to probe Riad Mubarak’s sick life and sordid world.

  “Here he is, observe the PMB. See?” said BC, showing Esmeralda some current images of the fellow. “And there is a hostage in Iraq, from last year. Very tough viewing, Esme. He’s a young American boy. See him being made to kneel? Now watch that hooded guy with the sword, at the back. He comes forward; notice the movement; repositions the boy’s head by pushing it with the sword. And now he swings and beheads the kid. Recognize, through PMB?”

  “Disgusting.” Esmeralda was revolted. “How can they do that sort of stuff? It’s Riad Mubarak. And he’s Diana’s boyfriend. Ugh! The PMB is so clear.”

  “These are videos from Humanside. But they can’t do posture, movement and body signature, and, because their courts never accept without face proof, foul criminals like Riad roam free. Of course, they argue interminably about jurisdiction, too. Where was the crime, and whose laws apply? Passing buck and blame, and never accepting responsibility to enforce rule of human rights laws throughout the world.”

  “Let’s keep an eye on him, BC. I only need to know what he plans with Diana. Why he is with her.”

  “Look, Esme, that’s his Arab woman, and she looks badly beaten up. It was off camera, so I didn’t see it happening, and wasn’t listening. Yesterday. Morning okay; afternoon like this. He was there. I have his mobile phone movement record.”

  “Oh, poor Zineb. Look at her swollen face. Darling, tell me more about Riad.”

  “He has a lot of money on him. It’s sent from the Middle East, but very difficult to track precisely, for police purposes. He is an organizer, for sure, of terror attacks, and I have tracked him enough to be able to find cross-linked meetings, and to be certain. But there is nothing that could count as proof in a Humanside court. He also, strangely, doesn’t seem to be a fanatic, which may explain why he’s not being monitored by Intelligence Agencies. My opinion is that he’s a brutal, remorseless and instinctive killer, who actually enjoys killing, and who’s also a very good planner and organizer, and is doing this stuff as a business. He gets a lot of money. And accounting for expenses, when paid to hidden terrorists, is entirely based on his word. He really has an easy lifestyle, and lots of money.

  “The terror people meet, 90% of the time, to hand money over, so that sleeper cells have basic money for daily life, and only 10%, at most, of their meetings are for planning and giving instructions.

  “Terrorists in Europe have gone beneath so many layers of secrecy that it is impossible to get anything other than circumstantial evidence – you met so-and-so is about all, if that. Never get any court to agree. In any case, courts are irrelevant. Charges themselves cannot be framed under existing laws.

  “I’ll tell you where they meet. There are a dozen sleazy hotels in Paris’ Latin Quarter, all staffed by Arabs. Hundreds of Arab origin people go in and out of those places daily. Hundreds? Thousands, actually. Like bazaars. Fixed security cameras? Disabled and destroyed by terror coordinators, who use the same known boys every time. Taken to court, they admit guilt. Drunk, they say, pay the fine for destruction of property, and go back to destroy any replacement cameras. So there is no way, for Humanside cops, of knowing who’s meeting whom inside those places. And who’s paying whom.

  “This is mass-murder terror, and its planners are very careful. Phones have to be deposited at the little receptions in those seedy hotels. It’s standard terror disguise – hide in plain sight, but confuse by getting a lot of unaware and innocent people into the frame.”

  “But, BC, have you found some links?”

  “Yes, but our style ID, not Humanside’s. These people use runner boys and girls. Emails and phone calls to them do not exist, other than very guarded stuff that could pass off as genuinely innocent. Instructions, from the bosses in Arabia, travel through many countries and addresses, and physical instructions, verbal and paper, are always included at various stages, to destroy all tracking possibility - which is the purpose that Riad’s got Younis for.”

  That evening, Esmeralda was tracking again.

  “BC, Riad’s just slapped Younis, in an Arabic kebab place. CCTV is working. It’s on a main road. Look, now, he’s grabbed him by the hair. Ouch! What a violent shaking. Phone, phone.” Esmeralda switched on the microphone on Younis’ smart phone.

  “Faggot,” raged Riad. “Why didn’t you inform me that the bum fucker cop was chasing you? Did you give?” Slap, slap, slap.

  “No, Riad,” pleaded the terrified, sobbing boy. “I was alert. I’m not homosexual, you know. Your name never came up.”

  “Never?”

  “I swear it never came up. There is no connection. So how?”

  “Abdullah, if I chop this runt into little pieces, think you can pass it off by mixing in your kebabs?”

  Abdullah, the shop owner, was the only other person there. He laughed, his fat belly shaking. “Riad, I don’t do faggot meat. Smells bad in the grill. Tastes lousy, too.”

  “Follow me.”

  “Where to, Riad?”

  Slap, slap, slap.

  “Question me, Younis?”

  “No, Riad. Please. I’ll go wherever you say; do whatever you want.”

  The sobbing boy meekly followed Riad out, and they immediately turned into a lane in the Latin Quarter, with its CCTV cameras destroyed.

  “Satellite, satellite,” muttered Esmeralda, now watching their movements closely via satellite information of their phone locations. “Entering a building.”

  “It’s a vacant building,” said BC, also following satellite information, and holding many maps open. “It’s been condemned as too unsafe for humans, and scheduled for demolition.”

  “Riad, you won’t harm me, will you?” asked the sobbing boy.

  “Come along, come along. And be quiet. We’ll have a discussion on the rooftop.”

  “Riad, I do your work. Whatever you say. Please don’t do anything bad to me.”

  “Why would I hurt you, Younis? Steady your legs, and come on up.” The climb lasted a minute.

  “My mother has sent some of your favorite hummus, Riad. I’ll deliver it tonight, just in time for your dinner.”

  “Give my regards to your mother.”

  “Riad, why are you covering your face?”

  “Here we are, the roof. Cover your face, too.”

  “Why, Riad?”

  “It’s the latest fashion, faggot.”

  “Riad, please, I work for you.”
r />   “Sit on the railing.”

  “On the railing?”

  Riad beat the boy severely, the sound of blows and the boy’s vocal reactions being followed by the Screenside couple. “Question, question. Never question me again.”

  ”I won’t, Riad. Mama’s hummus tonight?” Younis asked hopefully, crying. “There, I’m doing what you want. I’m on the railing, five floors up”.

  “What did the cop ask about me, Younis? Be truthful.”

  “Nothing, Riad, I swear, He only once mentioned that you seem to be a rich man, and he wondered what you did for a living.”

  “So, he has begun investigating me? You know, Younis, that people are not supposed to even think of me. And you were moving around with him? Your inclusion could lead to a deep investigation of me. Maybe it’s already begun.”

  “Riad, I would have immediately told you if he said anything that made me suspect…”

  “That’s all I needed. A donkey, like you, thinking for me. Give my regards to your mother.”

  “Sure, Riad.”

  “And to your father.”

  “He’s dead, did you forget? Riad, please, don’t push me so hard. I’ll fall.”

  “Haven’t you heard the news from Syria, Younis?”

  “What news?”

  “Faggots don’t fall. They fly.”

  The Screenside snoops then heard a shriek.

  “Satellite, satellite,” said Esmeralda, with a sob. “He’s pushed the poor boy off the roof.”

  Their revulsion at the murder of Younis was so great that Esmeralda asked BC to keep an eye on things, as she could not bear seeing Riad’s face.

  After discussing their options, they had come up with none.

  Esmeralda wondered if Diana might be informed by an anonymous email, but decided against it, after pondering the variables. The girl was already under pressure from her mother and sister, but had proven adamant about keeping her relationship with Riad alive. There was nothing to send her as irrefutable proof. “PMB doesn’t work for Humanside,” said BC, glumly.

  In any event, they concluded that Diana was not in danger of being physically harmed by Riad. He had no reason to harm her; he already knew that the family hated him; and he was probably using her as a smokescreen.

  He had actually gone to the local police station with her, to meet Inspector Marcel, a friend from her junior school days, and was infuriatingly ingratiating himself with a few cops, greeting them on the road, when with her.

  He gave Diana some spending money, and the young couple had quite an expensive lifestyle when he was paying, especially when it came to eating out. He was a strange jihadist, as he drank quite frequently, mainly sitting in roadside places, with a very obvious display of the beer he would be drinking. “Camouflage,” said BC.

  Riad was under absolutely no suspicion, passing off as a fully integrated immigrant. If he ever went to the mosque, it was done privately, and somewhere else.

  With options coming down to zero, BC washed his hands off the decisions made. “It’s your family, and you have to have a feel for what to do. I cannot be too involved in decision making, although I’ll research and monitor, and do other work, exactly as you say.”

  So life meandered along on its predetermined course, Younis soon forgotten. The Screenside detectives did find Younis’ phone active again, for a few hours, and saw it in Riad’s possession. He had retrieved it from the unnoticed fresh corpse, in an absolutely deserted by-lane behind the condemned building from which he had pushed the terrified boy to his death.

  “Darling,” said Esmeralda, a month after Younis’ murder, “We don’t need that beast, Riad, in our lives, ruining it by making us wonder what his motives are and what he might do next. We are about to head off on what is being labeled Screenside’s biggest adventure, and watching that monster is never going to be fun. I’m going back to normal family life, but, now that I know what Riad does and is, I want you to keep an eye on him. You follow that sick swine, as you did before, and only involve me if something special begins happening. I don’t mean throwing frightened young boys off roofs. Riad could do that daily. Just warn me if anything happening could spell danger for Diana, Jane or mum.

  “So, you follow his world. So depressing. Okay?”

  “Of course, darling,” answered BC. “It’s a good idea to shove him out of our lives and thoughts. He’s potentially randomly dangerous, and thus dangerous to Diana, too. It’s a world where they target innocent people, and the danger to your sister comes from inadvertent and accidental discoveries and events. He has so much to hide. I’ll watch him.

  “You get on with Humanside family life, as usual, and let’s both start getting ourselves mentally ready for the African Safari.”

  53

  The 4x4 bus, in the car park of Candice and Omar’s apartment building in Paris was, even at that early hour, drawing crowds of curious neighbors, marveling at the features that made it the very best option for a long, safari-type venture.

  Esmeralda and BC had teamed up with Jennifer and Robert to walk to the staging point, Djali trailing behind. He was rapidly becoming a very beautiful full-sized goat, extremely sprightly and socially interactive.

  “Please maintain a daily diary,” pleaded a neighbor female. “Post it every night, for Screenside to participate in your wonderful adventure, and take heart and build the courage to do similar, so that we start venturing out of cities and begin enjoying our entire world.”

  “Not needed, Nancy,” said Candice. “External cameras have been fitted on our bus, to record and broadcast our entire trip, although editors at the TV station decide what to show in the daily round-up. I think they might do some live coverage too.”

  The others arrived shortly thereafter, in an identical bus, and, after loading supplies into the buses, and dividing into two equal groups of 3 couples per bus, the grand adventure commenced - Screenside’s longest announced foray into the wild.

  Both buses had sleeper seats, around which the adventurers planned to place privacy screens, because, as Jennifer asserted, “Of course, I want to do it on the road! And off the road, too.”

  “It’s going to be a very long road trip,” warned Singh. “Over twenty-five thousand miles of actual driving. We’ll have to really push it, else we could be fed up before it ends.”

  With many basic creature comforts being transported along, the expedition would surely be physically comfortable throughout. Refrigerators and kettles would provide the option of flavored drinks, cold and hot, and a little shower unit in each bus would allow freshening up, when needed.

  Caesar had brought along a selection of rifles and shotguns, and half a dozen pistols. “Wild beast shooting,” he offered by way of explanation, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Oh good!” exclaimed Jennifer, “Esme, Candy. We’ll run a ladies competition,”

  “I don’t know,” said Esmeralda, uncertainly. “Djali has a lot of opinions on trogfers; met them in Central Park. We’ll have to disguise what we’re doing, and somehow confuse him.”

  The safari was big news in Screenside, what with so many notables included. Banners had been stuck on both buses, with what this safari had already been labeled – ‘IT’S YOUR WORLD tour!’

  In reality, the Screenside world was truly sparsely populated. Geographically the same size as the Humanside world, but at just over two million inhabitants, it was over three thousand times less densely populated! Some very large parts of the Screenside world had absolutely no resident beings at all! Black Africa, Siberia, Alaska, most of Australia, Tibet, The Arctic and Antarctic, and some other spots were utterly uninhabited.

  Inhabited or uninhabited, terrain, landscape, motorable roads and tracks, and fuel points, by way of little automated stations placed exactly as in Humanside, would be provided by CONTINUATOR, which would also provide like real local weather, real time-of-day features, and geographical features as in the real world, complete with major landmarks, while RV would handle normal Humansi
de-style wildlife.

  Having not acquired shooting permits for any part of the safari, wildlife was to be treated as non-interactive, and for viewing only (though with precautions against attacks). Shooting and decoding were to be limited to Screenside’s self-invited, violent wild beasts.

  The route plan was to head straight down through Spain and get to a point near Madrid, on the Mediterranean, from where HC had arranged a ferry service to the Moroccan coast. From there they would cross the Sahara, and keep driving towards East Africa, to the Serengeti. It was planned to set up camp there, spend a week with whatever wildlife came their way, and then head back, by way of the forests of West Africa, again passing through Morocco to the return ferry point.

  Europe was a high speed drive on beautiful highways, and it took less than a day to get to the Mediterranean. Everyone drove, even the females. It was music and some singing-along, all the way. They would be tired when they hit Africa, but the start was fuelled by elation.

  BC, Esmeralda, Caesar, Chang, and their partners, Rosa and Wendy, were together in one bus, and the remaining six were in the other, although, except for sleeping, there was no segregation, and anyone could be in the bus of choice, as seats far outnumbered claimants. Each bus was sometimes in the lead when racing down Europe.

  Djali, a bit out of his depth, and mostly sticking to Esmeralda when awake, generally slept through that phase of the journey, sometimes rousing himself sufficiently to get up next to the driver and peer at the road. Air-conditioning was kept on, and that made the drive comfortably quiet, free of the sound of rushing air, and of tires on tarmac.

  The huge hovercraft ferry assigned to cross them over to Africa was capable of taking on a dozen buses, and was entirely remotely operated by some nearby HC. It was easy, driving on board and making the hour-long trip to the African side of the Mediterranean.

  “Wow, the Mediterranean; so beautiful and warm!” exclaimed Candice, standing at the rail, with everyone else, for the crossing, getting lightly sprayed as the ferry moved along.