Dark City

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Each time we sleep with a houri we find her virgin. Besides, the penis of the Elected never softens. The erection is eternal; the sensation that you feel each time you make love is utterly delicious and out of this world and were you to experience it in this world you would faint. Each Chosen One will marry seventy houris, besides the women he married on earth, and all will have appetizing vaginas.”

  By some strange quirk of fate, Kadir had been denied such eternal pleasures. Not that he wished to have ended like those he had identified just now.

  “What happened, Kadir?” Mahmoud said as he started the car. “How did that bomb get there?”

  Kadir had been expecting the question, and had been surprised Mahmoud had not asked it on the drive out. He had asked himself the same a thousand times since yesterday morning.

  “I do not know.”

  “As I see it, there are but two possibilities: Either it was already attached when you picked up the truck from Aimal Kasi, or it was attached later. I have since spoken to Kasi. He says no one knew where he was going to rent the truck because he decided at the last minute. The U-Haul place he went to first did not have the right size available. He swears he never left the truck unattended.”

  “Neither did we,” Kadir said.

  But he knew that wasn’t true. After the police stop, he and Reggie had gone together to the phones. It could have happened then. But how could he admit that he left the truck? Fortunately Reggie was not available to contradict him. The lapse made what had subsequently happened all Kadir’s fault. Ghali, Ramiz, Rashad, Tariq, and the rest, all dead because he had not wanted to bother to stay with the truck.

  “But here is something interesting,” Mahmoud said. “Kasi said he told you about a suspicious man who asked directions but seemed to be looking over the truck.”

  “Yes. That was why we rushed off immediately.”

  “Well, he says he saw the same man race past on your tail right after you and the American left.”

  “Why didn’t he tell us?”

  “How?”

  Yes. How? If only they had had one of those mobile phones.

  “Reggie, the American, thought we were being followed on the way south but the car turned off and he never saw it again. We didn’t see who was inside.”

  “This man was driving a pickup truck.”

  Kadir shook his head. “We saw so many pickup trucks along the way. Was he young with brown hair? Could it be the one at the shooting range I’d seen at Tachus’s uncle’s place?”

  “The one we knocked off the motorcycle?” Mahmoud shook his head. “According to Kasi, this man was older with short gray hair.”

  “There’s a man like that who still deals with Riaz Diab, the uncle. I wonder…”

  “Could the American with you have done it?”

  “Reggie? I cannot see why or how. Besides, he would have been in the truck with me had not the man from Qatar told us to ride with him.”

  “The man from Qatar,” Mahmoud said, shaking his head. “What do we know of him—besides that he seems devoted to the cause of jihad?”

  Kadir wondered too. “Yes, he seems willing to help, but only when it profits him.”

  “I thought so too. But he arrived early today and donated the bounty he had promised for capture of the hijackers, even though they escaped.”

  Kadir blinked in surprise. That seemed out of character. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I have been thinking about something else he said: He’s heard rumors that the FBI and CIA are involved.”

  Kadir wasn’t surprised, but it seemed too easy an explanation.

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I know the FBI is watching me ever since Sayyid killed that rabbi.”

  Mahmoud had been taken into custody and questioned after Sayyid shot the Arab-hater Kahane, but the FBI had let him go. The agents had been rather obvious since then in their surveillance of Mahmoud. That was why he had driven Sheikh Omar’s car today instead of his cab.

  “Let’s face it,” Mahmoud said. “You owe your life to the man from Qatar.”

  True. The man’s whim had saved him. He had wanted to talk further about the trip from Virginia, about the stop by the Maryland police. If he had not …

  Maybe it hadn’t been a whim. Maybe Allah had whispered the thought into his ear. Maybe Allah was not yet ready to welcome him into Heaven because he had plans for Kadir Allawi.

  Kadir felt suddenly humbled. Here was a sign that he was meant for greater things. Allah would not allow him to be dismembered by an infidel bomb. He was to be a sword for Allah’s will.

  He wondered what Allah’s will might be.

  2

  “Oy!” said Abe when he saw Jack’s face. “I know you’re studying that chop-chop fighting, but maybe they should teach you to duck already.”

  Jack dropped a sack of still-warm bialys on the counter and gave him a rundown of what had transpired after he’d walked out the Isher Sports door yesterday.

  After finishing, he said, “Can you think of any way all those pieces can possibly fit together into a sane picture?”

  Abe shook his head. “No, because you’re obviously missing some pieces.”

  “Damn right I am. The string of coincidences is mind-boggling.”

  “Nu?”

  “I spent half the night going over it. The string stretches back to last fall when I had that fight with Rico and got fired. If that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have started driving for Bertel. If Bertel’s warehouse in North Carolina hadn’t been raided by the ATF, I wouldn’t have wound up in that house on the Outer Banks where the girls were offloaded. Moose decides he’s going to sample the merchandise and picks Bonita, who just happens to be Rico’s sister. I have no idea that’s the case when I stop Moose’s fun before it gets started. Flash forward to yesterday. Rico’s friends and their DDP buddies have been hunting me. Yesterday they catch me and deliver me to Rico for his long-awaited payback. While that’s going on, this Dominican lady shows up at Rico’s place and rushes Bonita to the garage just in time to prevent her brother from relieving me of my right foot.”

  He stopped and stared at Abe, waiting. Abe stared back.

  “Well?”

  Abe cleared his throat. “You’re a Christian, maybe?”

  “I was raised in a sort of religion-free zone. You’re not going to bring God into this, are you?”

  “Well, no, but I hear Christians believe in something called a guardian angel.”

  Jack held up his hands. “Stop right now.”

  “No, hear me out already. You went meshuggeneh on Rico and wrecked his knee in the fall. In the winter he catches up with you. The second event is a direct consequence of the first. Your guardian angel—who can see the future—knows this well in advance. Other than striking Rico with lightning, which I don’t think is allowed in the guardian angel terms of service, what else can an angel do but manipulate your life so that Rico will have a change of heart at a propitious moment.”

  Jack closed his eyes. He couldn’t be hearing this. Not from Abe.

  “So who was the Dominican lady who delivered Bonita?”

  “Your guardian angel in disguise, of course.”

  “Of course. In drag.”

  “Who says they have any gender at all?”

  “Abe—”

  “Nu. I’ve explained everything for you. Freylech you should be.”

  Yeah, right. Abe’s guardian angel did indeed explain everything, but Jack had to live in the material world, and that world offered no answers, only more questions.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Abe gave him an are-you-kidding? look.

  Jack shook his head. “You almost had me convinced. Looks like we’ll have to make do with ignorance.”

  “For now,” Abe said. “Everything has an explanation somewhere.”

  True. Maybe one would come along later. Right now he had a void where he wanted a why and a how, but he
wasn’t about to fill it with an invisible friend. The other night he’d told Bertel he was okay with not knowing things, and that was true. But this was different. He’d resign himself to not knowing for now, but by no means was he okay with it.

  3

  Despite his realization that Allah had plans for him, Kadir could not spend another moment at the Muslim center in Brooklyn. They did not see that he had been spared for a reason. So he returned to his empty apartment in Jersey City, but found it equally depressing. Even the Qur’an gave him no solace.

  He checked his watch. Hadya should be home soon. She went to work at the bakery in the predawn hours, but that meant she was home by early afternoon. Yes, Uncle Ferran preferred to hire family, but he paid no one overtime.

  When she arrived, they could discuss what she had been learning from Sheikh Omar’s tapes. It would take his mind off the blackened corpses he had seen earlier. He looked around but did not see the tape player. Well, she tended to listen in her room.

  The bedroom door was closed. He opened it and peeked in to find the bed neatly made and no clothing in sight. Mother had taught her well. She would make a good wife someday.

  He looked around for the cassette player but didn’t see it on the dresser or the nightstand. He pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand and there it lay. An excellent spot: right beside her bed, so the imam’s voice would be the last sound she heard before slumber, allowing his wisdom to infuse her dreams.

  Curious as to which tape she was enjoying, he picked up the player and popped it open. The label on the cassette was in Arabic but not one of Sheikh Omar’s. This read Learning English.

  Kadir stared in shock, then tore it from the player.

  English? What—?

  He heard the apartment door open. He charged from the bedroom as Hadya was stepping into the front room and threw the cassette at her.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted.

  She gasped and stared at him in shock and confusion, then looked at the tape on the floor.

  “I-I’m learning English.”

  “You already know all the English you need to know!”

  “No, I don’t. Uncle Ferran says I can’t work the counter until my English is better.”

  “What? You’re too good for the ovens?”

  “I don’t want to work the ovens for the rest of my life.”

  He held up the tape player, resisting the urge to fling it at her face.

  “You’ve been deceiving me! Pretending to be listening to the imam when all the while—”

  “I pretended nothing! It’s not my fault you made a false assumption.”

  “I lent you the player for one purpose and one purpose only: to enlighten yourself.”

  She slammed the door behind her. “Enlighten myself with hate? Why should I do that when I can spend that time bettering myself.”

  “By learning English?”

  “Yes! That is the language of the country where I am living. I can’t get ahead here speaking Arabic.”

  “When Sheikh Omar brings jihad to these shores, you will no longer have to worry about English. This whole land will soon be speaking Arabic!”

  Her expression shifted from defiance to incredulity. “Are you living in a bubble? You need to get out among our people here and listen to them instead of your mad imam!”

  “Do not dare to insult him!”

  She acted as if she hadn’t heard. “Do you think Uncle Ferran wants jihad? He doesn’t! He is building something here. He wants to expand his business and hire more people, and someday hand it over to his children. And the men and women I work with at the bakery—do you think they want jihad? They do not!”

  “That is because they don’t know—”

  “No! It is you who does not know.” Her voice softened. “I see hope in their eyes, Kadir. That is something I didn’t see back home. They talk of a future for themselves here. Back home talk of the future hardly ever goes beyond tomorrow.”

  “That is because the Americans—”

  “You must stop blaming the Americans for everything, Kadir. Almost all the Palestinians expelled from Kuwait last year landed in Jordan. America had nothing to do with that. You left years before. You have no idea how horrible it is there now.”

  “But Israel—”

  “You can blame Israel for many things, but not for what has happened in the past year. I want a future, Kadir! And my future is here, not back home.” She held out her hand for the cassette player. “Now please … let me better myself.”

  Better herself by learning English and assimilating into this infidel hellhole? He’d rather see her dead.

  The cassette receptacle was still popped open. He grabbed it and twisted until it broke free, then he hurled the pieces across the room.

  “Buy your own player!”

  He stormed out of the apartment before he found himself strangling her.

  FRIDAY

  1

  Though he no longer had to worry about Rico and the DDP, Jack had fallen into the habit of returning from the dojo via Tenth Avenue, then turning east in the Twenties. He made a random choice of West 27th today, not realizing it would take him straight down the gullet of the Fashion Institute of Technology. As he approached the main building on Seventh Avenue where it straddled the street, he spotted Cristin stepping out of a door and striding away from him.

  Well-well-well. This was a pleasant surprise: Cristin on a weekday.

  She was carrying a notebook so he guessed she was coming from a class. She’d reduced her course load to three credits per semester while socking away the money she was making as an event planner. She still wanted a degree, but what was the rush?

  He resisted the impulse to call out, deciding, just for kicks, to follow her. She wore a short denim jacket over tight, matching jeans, and red leather boots that stopped just below her knees. He kept his distance, but not so far that he couldn’t admire the delightful curves of her swaying butt.

  She raised her hand for a cab and immediately two screeched to a halt in front of her.

  Yeah. If I were a cabbie, I’d fight to give her a ride too.

  As she sped off in the closer of the pair, Jack rushed up and grabbed the other as he was about to cruise off.

  “Follow that one,” he said, pointing to Cristin’s.

  The driver half turned and said, “Why?”

  Instead of telling him it was none of his goddamn business, Jack said, “I want to meet her.”

  The cabbie smiled and nodded, then shot off in pursuit.

  Jack leaned back. Okay, Ms. Ott. Let’s see where you go and how you spend your day.

  But as the cabs headed eastward and uptown, it didn’t take long for Jack to suspect she was heading home.

  Yep. Her cab turned onto East 73rd and stopped in front of her place.

  Well, big thrill.

  “Keep going,” he told his driver, then had him stop at the end of the block.

  Okay, what now? he thought as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Well, with nothing better to do for the rest of the day, why not watch her place and see if she surfaces again?

  Yeah. Why not?

  2

  Tommy hadn’t been available so Vinny asked Aldo along on the latest body dump.

  A couple of Lucchese soldiers had found themselves with a corpse they wanted disappeared—forever. They’d heard of Vinny’s disposal service and contacted him around midday. Tony had no problem with Vinny dealing with the other families in his side business, just as long as he got a piece.

  They dropped off the package—stowed in an old-fashioned steamer trunk—and paid in advance, in cash. Vinny asked no questions, didn’t even peek in the trunk. He and Aldo stashed it in a rusted-out Fairlane where the backseat used to be, and put it in the Crusher. When it was flattened, they trucked it down to the trawler and sailed it out to sea.

  Vinny was glad to have Aldo along for a number of reasons. Most of all because Aldo would be happy w
ith twenty-five percent; Tommy would think he deserved fifty. Second, he couldn’t stand being around Tommy. Might just toss him overboard for the pure hell of it. Lost at sea, sleeps with the fishes, all that crap.

  After dumping the junker with the body securely crushed inside, Vinny pointed the trawler back toward the sun, sinking behind the shoreline.

  3

  Well, this was a bust, Jack thought as he stood in the dark looking up at the windows of Cristin’s apartment across the street.

  East 73rd was a lousy place for a stakeout—all bland, brick-fronted, residential high-rises with no convenient, midblock coffee shop offering a clear view of her canopied entrance. So he’d loitered on the Third Avenue end of the block, then the Second Avenue end. When he’d started feeling like he was heading for hypothermia, he’d found a movie theater on Second showing Nothing But Trouble. Figured he’d warm up for an hour and a half and then get back on the street. He’d have much preferred The Silence of the Lambs, but a film with Chevy Chase, Dan Ackroyd, and John Candy had to be, at the very least, decent—how could he go wrong?

  Very wrong, it turned out. Cold as it was outside, he didn’t make it to the end. What a dog.

  He’d given her a call and asked if she was free tonight but she’d said she’d love to grab a bite somewhere but had to meet a couple about an anniversary party.

  Stay or go? He checked his watch: almost seven. This was a dead end. Started off as a lark, but now seemed just plain dumb.

  And just then Cristin pushed through the door and walked to the curb. He thought she was going to cross over to his side but she simply stood there waiting. She was wearing her fur-lined trench coat buttoned to the neck so he had no idea what she was wearing beneath.

  Two minutes later a stretch limo pulled up. Cristin leaned toward the rear window and spoke to someone in the backseat. Jack couldn’t hear what was said but then the door opened. The interior light went on revealing a liveried driver behind the wheel and a smiling middle-aged couple in the rear. The woman was nearer Cristin. She scooted over to let her in. The door closed but the light stayed on. Jack saw Cristin handing the woman one of her Celebrations cards as the car accelerated past him.