I wasn’t going to put up with any more of this. I got out of my chair. “Finish your… club soda,” I said to Kmuzu.
Saied stood up and came closer to me. “Hey, Marid,” he whispered, “don’t pay any attention to ’em. They’re just trying to bubble your bile.”
“It’s working,” I said.
“They’ll get tired of it soon, everything’ll go back the way it used to be.”
I downed the rest of my drink. “Sure,” I said, surprised by Saied’s naivete. Abdul-Hassan gave me a flirtatious look, batting his thick eyelashes. I wondered what sex he’d be when he grew up.
Jo-Mama had disappeared into her office again, and Rocky didn’t bother saying goodbye. Kmuzu trailed me out of the bar. “Well,” I said to him, “enjoying yourself?”
He gave me a blank stare. He didn’t look pleased.
“We’ll pass by Chiri’s,” I told him. “If anybody even looks at me cross-eyed in there, I can throw him out. It’s my club.” I liked the way that sounded.
I led Kmuzu south, and then turned up the Street. He came along with a solemn and disapproving look on his face. He wasn’t the perfect drinking companion, but he was loyal. I knew he wouldn’t abandon me if he met some hot girl somewhere.
“Why don’t you loosen up?” I asked him.
“It’s not my job to be loose,” he said.
“You’re a slave. It’s your job to be what I tell you to be. Gear down a. little.”
I got a nice welcome when I went into the club. “Here he comes, ladies,” called Chiri, “the boss man.” This time she didn’t sound bitter when she called me that. There were three sexchanges and two debs working with her. The real girls were all on the day shift with Indihar.
It felt great to feel at home somewhere. “How’s it going, Chiri?” I asked.
She looked disgusted. “Slow night,” she said. “No money.”
“You always say that.” I went down and took my usual seat at the far end of the bar, where it curved around toward the stage. I could sit there and look down the whole length of the bar, and see anybody coming into the club. Kmuzu sat beside me.
Chiri flipped a cork coaster toward me. I tapped the place in front of Kmuzu, and Chiri nodded. “Who is this handsome devil?” she asked.
“His name’s Kmuzu,” I said. “He’s uncommunicative.”
Chiri grinned. “I can fix that. Where you from, honey?” she asked.
He spoke to Chiri in some African language, but neither she nor I understood a word of it. “I’m Sidi Marid’s slave,” he said.
Chiri was dismayed. She was almost speechless. “Slave? Forgive me for saying it, sweetie, but being a slave’s nothing to brag about. You can’t really make it sound like an achievement, you know?”
Kmuzu shook his head. “There is a long story behind it.”
“I guess so,” said Chiri, looking at me for an explanation.
“If there’s a story, nobody’s told me,” I said.
“Papa just gave him to you, right? Like he gave you the club.” I nodded. Chiri put a gin and bingara on my coaster and another in front of Kmuzu. “If I was you,” she said, “I’d be careful what I unwrapped under his Christmas tree from now on.”
Yasmin watched me for half an hour before she came up to say hello, and then only because the other two changes were kissing on me and rubbing themselves up against me, trying to get in good with the new owner. It was working, too. “You come a long way, Marid,” Yasmin said.
I shrugged. “I feel like I’m still the same simple noraf I’ve always been.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Well, I owe it all to you. You’re the one who bullied me into getting my skull amped, doing what Papa wanted.”
Yasmin looked away. “Yeah, I guess so.” She turned toward me again. “Listen, Marid, I’m sorry if—”
I put my hand on hers. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry, Yasmin. We got past all that a long time ago.”
She looked grateful. “Thanks, Marid.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Then she hurried back down the bar where two dark-skinned merchant seamen had taken seats.
The rest of the night passed quickly. I downed one drink after another, and I made sure that Kmuzu did the same. He still thought he was drinking club soda with some strange lime juice in it.
Somewhere along the line I began to get drunk, and Kmuzu must have been nearly helpless. I recall Chiri closing the bar about three in the morning. She counted out the register and gave me the money. I gave half the receipts back to her as per our agreement, then paid Yasmin and the other four their wages. I still ended up with another thick wad of bills for myself.
I got a very enthusiastic goodnight kiss from a change named Lily, and a slip of paper with a commcode from someone named Rani. I think Rani gave a slip of paper to Kmuzu too, just to cover her bets.
That’s when I really blacked out. I don’t know how Kmuzu and I got home, but we didn’t bring the car with us. I guess Chiri called us a cab. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed and Kmuzu was about to spill orange juice and hot coffee all over me.
“Where’s that water?” I called. I stumbled around my suite, holding the sunnies in one hand and my shoes in the other.
“Here, yaa Sidi.”
I took the glass from him and swallowed the tabs. “There’s a couple left for you,” I said.
He looked appalled. “I can’t—”
“It’s not recreational. It’s medicine.” Kmuzu overcame his aversion to drugs long enough to take a single Sonneine.
I was still far from sober, and the sunnies I’d taken didn’t help steady me. I didn’t hurt anymore, but I was only vaguely conscious. I dressed quickly without paying much attention to what I put on. Kmuzu offered me breakfast, but the whole idea turned my stomach; for once, Kmuzu didn’t badger me into eating. I think he was glad not to have to cook.
We stumbled blearily downstairs. I called a taxi to take me to work, and Kmuzu came with me to pick up the sedan. In the cab, I let my head fall back against the seat, and I closed my eyes and listened to peculiar noises inside my head. My ears were thrumming like the engine room of an ancient tugboat.
“May your day be blessed,” said Kmuzu, when we got to the station house.
“May I live to see lunch, you mean,” I said. I got out of the cab and pushed my way through my crowd of young fans, throwing them a little money.
Sergeant Catavina gave me a jaundiced look when I got to my cubicle. “You don’t look well,” he said.
“I don’t feel well.”
Catavina clucked his tongue. “I’ll tell you what I do when I get a little hung over.”
“You don’t show up for work,” I said, dropping into my molded plastic chair. I didn’t feel like conversing with him.
“That always works too,” he said. He turned and left my cubicle. He didn’t seem to like me, and I didn’t seem to care.
Shaknahyi came by fifteen minutes later. I was still staring at my data deck, unable to dig into the mound of paperwork that waited on my desk. “Where you at?” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Hajjar wants to see us both right now.”
“I’m not available,” I said glumly.
“I’ll tell him that. Come on, move your ass.”
I followed him reluctantly down the corridor to Hajjar’s little glass-walled office. We stood in front of his desk while he toyed with a small pile of paper clips. After a few seconds he looked up and studied us. It was a careful act. He had something difficult to tell us, and he wanted us to know that It Would Hurt Him More Than It Hurt Us. “I don’t like havin’ to do this,” he said. He looked real sad.
“Just skip it then, Lieutenant,” I said. “Come on, Jirji, let’s leave him alone.”