“Listen,” I said to Shaknahyi, “what’s your problem with me?”
“You’re not a cop, for one thing,” he said. “You’re worse than a rookie. You’ll hang back and let some creep nail me, or else you’ll get itchy and shoot a little old lady. I don’t want to be teamed with somebody unless I think I can count on him.”
I nodded. “Yeah, you right, but I can wear a moddy. I’ve seen plenty of rookies wearing police officer moddies to help them through the routines.”
Shaknahyi threw up his hands. “He just makes it worse,” he muttered.
“I said not to worry about a rough time on the street,” said Hajjar. “This is just an investigation. Mostly desk-job stuff. I don’t know what’s got you so spooked, Jirji.”
Shaknahyi rubbed his forehead and sighed. “All right, all right. I just wanted to have my objection on the record.”
“Okay,” said Hajjar, “it’s been noted. I want to hear regular reports from both of you, ’cause I got to keep Friedlander Bey happy. That’s not as easy as it sounds, either.” He tossed the cell-memory plate to me.
“Want us to start on this right away?” I asked.
Hajjar gave me a wry look. “If you can fit it into your busy social calendar.”
“Make a copy for me,” said Shaknahyi. “I’ll study the file today, and tomorrow we’ll take a ride by Abu Adil’s place.”
“Fine,” I said. I slipped the green plate into my data deck and copied it onto a blank.
“Right,” said Shaknahyi, taking the copy and walking out of my cubicle.
“You two didn’t hit it off real well,” said Hajjar.
“We just have to get the job done,” I said. “We don’t have to go dancing together.”
“Yeah, you right. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? Go home and look through the report. I’m sure you got any questions, Papa can answer them for you.”
He left me alone too, and I called Friedlander Bey’s house through the data deck. I spoke to one of the Stones That Speak. “Yeah?” he said bluntly.
“This is Audran. Tell Kmuzu to pick me up at the police station in about twenty minutes.”
“Yeah,” said the Stone. Then I was listening to a dial tone. The Stones make up in curtness what they lack in eloquence.
Twenty minutes later on the dot, Kmuzu swung the electric sedan in toward the curb. I got into the backseat, and he began driving home.
“Kmuzu,” I said, “you know anything about a businessman named Reda Abu Adil?”
“A little, yaa Sidi,” he said. “What do you wish to know?” He never looked away from the road.
“Everything, but not right now.” I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the seat. If only Friedlander Bey would tell me as much as he told Kmuzu and Lieutenant Hajjar. I hated to think that Papa still didn’t entirely trust me.
“When we get back t the estate,” said Kmuzu, “you’ll want to talk with Friedlander Bey.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I warn you that the woman has put him in a surly mood.”
Wonderful, I thought. I’d forgotten about the woman. Papa was going to want to know why I hadn’t murdered her yet. I spent the rest of that ride thinking up a plausible excuse and if I’d known just how difficult things were going to be, I might have had Kmuzu drive me straight out of the city and on to some distant, peaceful place. When I got home — by this time I was used to thinking of Friedlander Bey’s palace as home — it was about four o’clock in the afternoon. I decided that I could use a nap. After that, I planned to have a brief meeting with Papa and then go out and spend some time in Chiriga’s club. Unfortunately, my slave Kmuzu had other ideas.
“I will be quite comfortable in the small room,” he announced.
“I’m sorry?” I said. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
“The small room that you use for storage. It will be sufficient for my needs. I will bring a cot.”
I looked at him for a moment. “I assumed you’d be sleeping in the servants’ wing.”
“Yes, I have quarters there, yaa Sidi, but I will be better able to look after you if I have a room here also.”
“I’m not really interested in having you look after me every minute of the day, Kmuzu. I put a certain value on my privacy.”
Kmuzu nodded. “I understand that, but the master of the house directed me—”
I’d heard enough of that. “I don’t care what the master of the house directed you,” I shouted. “Whose slave are you, mine or his?”
Kmuzu didn’t answer me. He just stared at me with his big, solemn eyes.
“Yeah, well, never mind,” I said. “Go ahead and make yourself at home in the storage room. Stack up all my stuff and drag in a mattress if you want.” I turned away, deeply irritated.
“Friedlander Bey has invited you to dine with him after he speaks to you,” said Kmuzu.
“I suppose it doesn’t mean anything that I have other plans,” I said. All I got was the same silent stare. Kmuzu was awful good at that.
I went into my bedroom and undressed. Then I took a quick shower and thought about what I wanted to say to Friedlander Bey. First, I was going to tell him that this slave-spy thing with Kmuzu was going to have to end pretty goddamn quick. Second, I wanted to let him know that I wasn’t happy about being teamed with Officer Shaknahyi. And third, well, that’s when I realized that I probably didn’t have the nerve to mention anything at all about items one and two.
I got out of the shower and toweled myself dry. Standing under the warm water had made me feel a lot better and I decided that I didn’t need a nap after all. Instead, I stared into a closet deciding what to wear. Papa liked it when I wore Arab dress. I figured what the hell and picked a simple maroon gallebeya. I decided that the knitted skullcap of my homeland wasn’t appropriate, and I’m not the turban type. I settled on a plain white keffiya and fixed it in place with a simple black rope akal. I tied a corded belt around my waist, supporting a ceremonial dagger Papa’d given me. Also on the belt, pulled around behind my back, was a holster with my seizure gun. I hid that by wearing an expensive tan-colored cloak over the gallebeya. I felt I was ready for anything: a feast, a debate, or an attempted assassination.
“Why don’t you stay here and get yourself settled in?” I said to Kmuzu, but instead he followed me downstairs. I just knew he’d do that. Papa’s offices were on the ground floor in the main part of the house connecting the two wings. When we got there, one of the Stones That Speak was in the corridor, guarding the door. He glanced at me and nodded; but when he looked at Kmuzu, his expression changed. His lip curled just a little. That was the most emotion I’d ever seen from one of the Stones.
“Wait,” he said.
“I will go in with my master,” said Kmuzu.
The Stone struck him in the chest and shoved him back a step. “Wait,” he said.
“It’s all right, Kmuzu,” I said. I didn’t want the two of them wrestling on the floor here outside Friedlander Bey’s office. They could settle their little dominance dispute on their own time.
Kmuzu gave me a cool glance, but said nothing. The Stone bowed his head slightly as I went past him into Papa’s waiting room, and then he closed the door behind me. If he and Kmuzu went at it out in the hall, I’d be at a loss to know what to do. What’s the proper etiquette when your slave is getting beaten up by your boss’s slave? Of course, that wasn’t giving Kmuzu the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had a trick or two of his own. Who knows, he might have been able to handle the Stone That Speaks.
Anyway, Friedlander Bey was in his inner office. He was sitting behind his gigantic desk. He didn’t look well. His elbows were on the desktop, and his head was in his hands. He was massaging his forehead. He stood up when I came in. “I am pleased,” he said. He didn’t sound pleased. He sounded exhausted.