The Exile Kiss (25 page)

"Yes,-of course," I said.
"Do you wish to be present? For the autopsy, I mean?"
I chewed my lip and thought. "How long will it take?"
The medical examiner shrugged. "A couple of hours."
Dr. Besharati's reputation suggested that he was someone Friedlander Bey and I could trust. Still, I in-tended to let him prove himself. "Then I'll come by about nine o'clock, and you can give me a report. If there's anything you think I ought to see, you can show me then. Otherwise, I don't see the need for me to get in your way."
, He came out from around his desk and took my arm, leading me back out into the Chamber of Horrors. "I suppose not," he said.
I hurried ahead of him to the outer waiting room. "I appreciate your taking the time to help me," I said. 'Thank you."
He waved a hand. "No, it's nothing. Friedlander Bey has helped me on more than one occasion in the past. Perhaps tomorrow, after we've finished with Officer Max-well, you'll permit me to give you a tour of my little do-main?"
I stared at him. "We'll see," I said at last.
He took out a handkerchief and wiped his nose. "I understand completely. Twenty years I've been here, and I hate it just as much now as when I first saw it." He shook his head.
When I got back outside, I gulped fresh air like a drowning man. I needed a couple of drinks now more than ever.
As I made my way up the Street, I heard shrill whistles around me. I smiled. My guardian angels were on the job. It was early evening, and the clubs and cafes were beginning to fill up. There were quite a few nervous tour-ists around, all wondering if they'd be taking their lives in their hands if they just sat somewhere and had a beer. They'd probably find out. The hard way.
The night shift had just taken over when I walked into Chin's. I felt better immediately. Kandy was on stage, dancing energetically to some Sikh propaganda song. That was a trend in music that I wished would hurry up and disappear.
"Jambo,
Mr. Boss!" called Chiri. She flashed a grin.
"Where you at, sweetheart," I said. I took my seat at the far curve of the bar.
Chiri threw together a White Death and brought it to me. "Ready for another wonderful, exotic, exciting night on the Street?" she said, plopping down a cork coaster and setting my drink on it.
I frowned. "It's never wonderful, it's never exotic," I said. "It's just the same damn boring music and the same faceless customers."
Chiri nodded. "The money always looks the same, too, but that don't make me lack it out of bed."
I looked around the club. My three pals, Jacques, Saied the Half-Hajj, and Mahmoud, were sitting at a table in the front corner, playing cards. This was rare, because the Half-Hajj got no lack from watching the dancers, and Jacques was militantly straight and could barely speak to the debs and sexchanges, and Mahmoud—as far as I knew —had no sexual predilections at all. That's why they spent most of their time at the Cafe Solace or on the patio at Gargotier's place.
I walked over to welcome them to my humble estab-lishment. "How y'all doin'?" I said, pulling up a chair.
"Just fine," said Mahmoud.
"Say," said Jacques, studying his cards, "what was all that excitement in Frenchy's with that girl Theoni?"
I scratched my head. "You mean when she jumped up and started yelling? Well, the customer she was working on so hard gave her a present, remember? After he left Frenchy's, she opened the package and it turned out to be a baby book. Lots of cute pictures of this adorable baby girl, and a kind of diary of the kid's first few months. Turns out the guy was Theoni's real father. His wife ran off with her when Theoni was only eight months old. Her father's spent a lot of time and money tracking the girl down ever since."
The Half-Hajj shook his head. "Theoni must've been surprised."
"Yeah," I said. "She was embarrassed to have her fa-ther see her working in there. He tipped her a hundred kiam and promised to come back soon. Now she knows why he acted so uncomfortable when she was trying to get him excited." "We're trying to play cards here, Maghrebi," said Mahmoud. He was about as sympathetic as a rusty razor. "Heard you was gonna exhume that dead cop."
I was surprised the news had gotten around already. "How do you feel about it?" I asked.
Mahmoud looked at me steadily for a couple of sec-onds. "Couldn't care less," he said at last.
"What you guys playing?" I asked.
"Bourre," said Saied. "We're teaching the Christian."
"It's been an expensive lesson so far," said Jacques. Bourre is a quiet, deceptively simple game. I've never played another card game where you could lose so much money so fast. Not even American poker.
I watched for a little while. Evidently, none of the three had any thoughts at all concerning the exhumation. I was glad of that. "Anybody seen Fuad lately?" I asked.
Jacques looked up at me. "Not for a couple days at least. What's the matter?"
"That check was stolen," I said.
"Ha! And you got stuck for it, right? I'm sorry, Martd. I didn't have any way of knowing."
"Sure, Jacques," I said in a grim voice.
"What you guys talking about?" asked Saied.
Jacques proceeded to tell them the whole story, at great length, with many oratorical devices and changes of voice, exaggerating the truth and making me look like a complete and utter fool. Of course, he minimalized his own participation in the affair.
All three of them broke down in helpless laughter. "You let
Fuad
rip you off?" gasped Mahmoud.
"Fuad?
You're never going to live this down! I gotta tell people about this!"
I didn't say a word. I knew I was going to hear about it for a long time, unless I caught up to Fuad and made him pay for his foolish crime. Now there was nothing to do but get up and go back to my seat at the bar. As I walked away, Jacques said, "You've got a datalink in here now, Marid. You notice? And you owe me money for all the other ones I've sold so far. A hundred kiam each, you said."
"Come in sometime with the signed delivery orders," I said in a cold voice. I squeezed the slice of lime and drank a little of the White Death.
Chiri leaned toward me across the bar. "You're gonna exhume Khalid Maxwell?" she said.
"Might learn something valuable."
She shook her head. "Sad, though. The family's been through so much already."
"Yeah, right." I swallowed more of the gin and bin-gara.
"What's this about Fuad?" she asked.
"Never mind. But if you see him, let me know imme-diately. He just owes me a little money, is all." Chiri nodded and headed down the bar, where a new customer had sat down. I watched Kandy finish up her last song. . I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Yasmin and Pualani. "How was yottf day;*fc>ver?" said Yasmm.
"All right." I didn't feel like going through it all.
Pualani smiled. "Yasmin says you two are gonna get married next week. Congratulations!"
"What?" I said, astonished. "What's this next week business? I haven't even formally proposed. I just men-tioned the possibility. I've got a lot to think about first. I've got a lot of trouble to take care of. And then I have to tajk to Indihar, and to Friedlander Bey—"
"Oops," said Pualani. She hurried away.
"Were you lying to me this morning?" asked Yasmin. Were you just trying to get out of my house without the beating you deserved?"
"No!" I said angrily. "I was just saying that maybe we wouldn't be so bad together. I wasn't ready to set a date o r anything."
Yasmin looked hurt. "Well," she said, "while you're dicking around and making up your mind, I've got places to go and people to meet. You understand me? Call me when you take care of all your so-called problems." She walked away, her back very straight, and sat down beside the new customer. She put her hand in his lap. I took another drink.
I sat there for a long time, drinking and chatting with Chiri and with Lily, the pretty sexchange who was always suggesting that we get together. About eleven o'clock, my phone rang. "Hello?" I said.
"Audran? This is Kenneth. You remember me."
"Ah, yes, the apple of Abu Adil's eye, right? Shaykh Reda's little darling. What's up? You having a bachelor party and want me to send over a few boys?"
"I'm ignoring you, Audran. I'm always ignoring you." I was sure that Kenneth hated me with an irrational feroc- ity.
"What did you call for?" I asked.
"Friday afternoon, the
Jaish
will parade and demon-strate against the gruesome murder of Imam Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq. Shaykh Reda wishes you to appear, in uniform, to address the
Jaish
at this historic moment, and also to meet the unit under your command."
"How did you hear about Abd ar-Razzaq?" I asked. "Hajjar said he wasn't gonna tell anybody until tomor-row."
"Shaykh Reda isn't 'anybody.' You should know that."
"Yeah, you right."
Kenneth paused. "Shaykh Reda also wishes me to tell you he's unalterably opposed to the exhumation of Khalid Maxwell. At the risk of sounding threatening, I have to pass along Shaykh Reda's feelings. He said that if you go ahead with the autopsy, you will earn his undying hatred. That is not something to dismiss lightly."
I laughed. "Kenny, listen, aren't we already fierce ri-vals? Don't we hate each other's guts enough by now? And aren't Friedlander Bey and Abu Adil already at each other's throats? What's one little autopsy between archen-emies?"
"All right, you stupid son of a bitch," said Kenneth shortly. "I did my job, I passed along the messages. Fri-day, in uniform, in the Boulevard il-Jameel outside the Shimaal Mosque. You better show up." Then he cut the connection. I clipped my phone back on my belt.
That concluded the second trip around the village. I looked at Chiri and held up my glass for a refill. The long night roared on.
I got a good four hours' sleep that night. After the short rest I'd got the night before, I felt ex-hausted and almost completely worn down. When my eep daddy woke me at seven-thirty, I swung my feet out of bed and put them down on the carpet. I put my face in my hands and took a few deep breaths. I really didn't want to get up, and I didn't feel like jumping into battle with the forces arrayed against me. I looked at my watch; I had an hour before Kmuzu would drive me to the Budayeen for my appointment with the medical exam-iner. If I showered, dressed, and breakfasted in five min-utes, I could go back to sleep until almost eight-thirty.
I grumbled a few curses and stood up. My back creaked. I don't think I'd ever heard my back creak be-fore. Maybe I was getting too old to stay up all night, drinking and breaking up fights. It was a depressing thought.
I stumbled blearily to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Five minutes later, I realized that I was staring straight up into the hot spray with my eyes wide open. I felt asleep on my feet. I grabbed the soap and lathered my body, then turned slowly and let the stinging water rinse me. I dried myself and dressed in a clean white
gallebeya
with a dark red robe over it. As for breakfast, I had a decision to make. After all, I was going back to the Cham-ber of Horrors. Maybe food could be put off until later.
Kmuzu gave me his blank look, the one that's sup-posed to pass for emotionless, but was in fact transpar-ently unfavorable. "You were quite drunk again last night,
yaa Sidi,"
he said, as he set a plate of eggs and fried lamb patties in front of me.
"You must be thinking of someone else, Kmuzu," I said. I looked at the food and felt a wave of queasiness. Not lamb, not now.
Kmuzu stood beside my chair and folded his well-muscled arms. "Would you be angry if I made an observa
_x
tion?" he asked.
Nothing that I could say would stop him. "No. Please make your observation."
"You've been
lax.
in your religious duties lately,
you Sidi."
I
turned and looked into his handsome, black face. "What the hell do you care? We're not even of the same faith, as you keep reminding me."
"Any religion is better than none."
I laughed. "I'm not so sure. I could name a few—"
"You understand what I mean. Has your self-esteem fallen so low again that you don't feel worthy to pray? That is a fallacy, you know,
yaa Sidi."
I
got up and muttered "None of your business." I went back into the bedroom, looking for my rack of mod-dies and daddies. I hadn't touched a bite of the breakfast. The neuralware wasn't in the bedroom, so I went into - he parlor. It wasn't there, either. I finally discovered it ding under a towel on the desk in my study. I sorted .rough the small plastic squares. Somewhere along the hne, I'd really put together an enviable collection. The ones I wanted, however, were the special ones, ones that Fd had ever since I'd originally had my skull amped. They were the daddies that fit onto my special second implant, the daddies that suppressed unpleasant bodily signals. It was the software that had saved my life in the Rub al- Khali. I chipped them in and rejoiced at the difference. I was j longer sleepy, no longer hungry. One daddy took care my growing anxiety, too. "All right, Kmuzu," I said "Let's get on the road. I've got a lot to do today."
"Fine,
yaa Sidi,
but what about all this food?"
I shrugged. "There are people starving in Eritrea. Send it to them."
Kmuzu customarily failed to appreciate that sort of humor, so I just made sure I had my keys and went out into the corridor. I didn't wait for him to follow; I knew ^'d be along immediately. I went downstairs and waited for him to start the car and bring it around to the front door. During the ride to the Budayeen we said nothing more to each other.
He let me out by the eastern gate. Once more I had a lot of plans that didn't involve Kmuzu, so I sent him home. I told him I'd call when I needed a ride. Some-times it's great to have a slave.
When I got to the morgue, I had an unpleasant sur-prise. Dr. Besharati hadn't even started on the corpse of Khalid Maxwell. He looked up at me as I entered. "Mr. Audran," he said. "Forgive me, I'm running a little late this morning. We had quite a bit of business last night and early today. Unusual for this time of year. Usually get more murders during the hot months."
"Uh huh," I said. I hadn't been in the place two min-utes, and already the formaldehyde was irritating my eyes and nose. The suppressor daddies didn't help me at all with something like that.
I watched as the M.E.'s two assistants went to one of the twelve vaults, opened it, and lifted out Maxwell's body. They wrestled it awkwardly to one of the two work tables. The other one was already occupied by a cadaver in an early stage of disassembly.