"You alright?"
Mustafa nodded. "I've been tazed before."
"You're kidding?"
"Shit, you cops love that thing. Almost always justified. Cop stopped us, said we were drinking and driving. I didn't blow one drop. No bottles or cans in the car. Still wanted to search. I said no, and out comes the lightning gun. I was prone on the sidewalk after, handcuffs on, blinking away bright spots, while they searched."
"They ever apologize?"
Mustafa grinned. "You for real? I'm lucky they let me keep the car. One thing I knew, these cops can do almost anything if they stop your car. No one takes my ride. No drugs, no booze, no guns. My ride is sacred."
"Good policy."
"Worked for me." He stretched his neck, grunted a little. "So, that's Iles."
"Guess so."
"Ready to get moving?"
Bleeker stepped to the window. Darkness pushing down the red and orange and yellow into the ocean. A few lights coming on in the buildings and on the street. "I told you. We can't break the window."
"No need."
Bleeker turned back as Mustafa shoved his hand down the front of his pants, looked like he was tugging on his balls. Then he pulled his hand out again, holding a cell phone.
"They might pretend to check my crotch, but not really. They won’t grab my balls." He flipped it open, started texting. "I'm going to tell Warfaa where we are."
After, not even a minute for it to buzz. Mustafa opened it, looked at the screen, and his face lit up.
"So, what do we do?"
Mustafa slapped the phone closed, looked around for the TV remote, reached over to get it, and clicked the set on. He reclined on the bed, hands behind his head. "You
heard Mr. Iles. We relax and watch TV."
On the screen, more soccer. Bleeker sighed. Goddamn, what was it about soccer?
Adem had left Garaad without a word as soon as they made it back to their hotel. He found the farthest restroom, not wanting his bodyguard to stand over him, and finished what he'd started in the elevator. Angry dry heaves. Sweat. Weak. When he closed his eyes, he saw heads on stakes. He saw a mob surrounding him. He saw rockets exploding only a few feet away from him.
"Oh God." A moan before the next wave passed through his stomach. He couldn't figure it out. How could he blow the negotiations without the pirates gutting him? Maybe Dad was already dead. There were no guarantees. And what if he warned the pirates about the raid? Couldn't they move the ship? Make it harder for the mercenaries?
No guarantees there, either. Iles was a businessman, not a murderer. Maybe he didn't have his dad and the cop. Maybe it was all a bluff. If he called the bluff and the pirates retaliated against the company, that could cause a breakdown, get the execs loading bagfuls of cash for the ransom with their own manicured hands.
When he was able to swallow again without retching, Adem left the stall, turned on the faucet and cupped the not-cold-enough water in his hands, splashed his face. Instead of making him feel better, the water was like slime on his skin. He reached for a towel but there wasn't one. He rubbed his hands on his pants, wiped his face with his jacket sleeve.
Took a long look at himself in the mirror. Fine suit, shaved head, the beginnings of a mustache. This wasn't him. This was a character. Crazy to even think he could keep this up.
Who was more dangerous? The pirates or Iles? Who was more willing to take someone's head off? It had to be a bluff.
Kept looking at himself, leaned on the sink. His own eyes. Coward? Wouldn't anyone be in the same situation?
No time to think about it anymore. He would have to decide at the table. He straightened his shirt, his jacket, and stood straight.
*
Before entering the room, Adem heard her voice. Loud, demanding. The usual. No, more than the usual, because she wasn't saying it to him, but to another. Adem rounded the corner in time to see her shaking her hands in the air, Garaad getting the brunt of her tirade. She was speaking fast, echoing in the empty meeting room. Adem heard "Stupid to let him…" and "Never let him out of your…" and "Ruined! You are an idiot!"
Garaad took it all with his usual inane grin, hands in his pockets, hat tilted forward just so. But when he struck, it was like a cobra. His expression was flat, didn't change. Grabbed her arm with his left hand, pulled her close, backhanded her across the face with his right. She let out a yelp and he hit her again.
Adem rushed out of the hall, into the room. "Hey!"
Garaad turned. Still no expression. Daring Adem to come closer. The provocation he'd wanted all along.
But Adem stayed put. Not putting his best foot forward. Garaad, still gripping Sufia's arm. She pulled back from him but the bodyguard wouldn't budge. Staring down Adem. Waiting for the right moment.
"She works for me!" Adam was loud but shaky. "Never hit her! Never! Do you understand?"
Garaad. Solid as a rock, eyes peeking out from the brim of the hat like ice. Sufia tried to wrench his fingers off with her free hand. Garaad swatted them down without looking.
"Let her go."
Nothing.
Adem stepped further into the room. Flinching. If he was going to get his ass kicked again, it might as well be over Sufia. Here where she could see him taking a stand for her. Closer and closer. Fists tight.
"I said let her go." Adem reached for Garaad's arm. Got swatted away, too. So he reached again. Latched on, the three of them linked together. Garaad's muscles rock-hard and no end in sight. Adem turned to Sufia. "Are you alright?"
Seething through her teeth. "He's hurting me."
Adem stepped even closer, putting himself between Sufia and Garrad, touching both, nose to nose with his supposed protector. The grin, like a worm, curled Garaad's lips again. He let go of Sufia's arm. Adem still held firm. Garaad looked at the arm, then Adem, then back at the arm.
Adem let go. Garaad nodded slowly, then walked backwards out of the room. Quietly, gently.
Adem turned to Sufia, put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay? Let me see where he hurt you." He lifted her arm, was about to push her sleeve back when she yanked it away, rubbed it.
"I'm fine." Her cheek was swelling. "You shouldn't have spoken to Mr. Iles on your own. Garaad should have been there."
"Forget that. He's history. I'll call Farah for another guard and get rid of this creep."
"He should have been there! Why are you not listening to me? What did the man have to say? What made you so ill?"
Garaad must've enjoyed telling her that part.
"They're not going to pay." He touched her cheek. "We should get some ice for this."
"What do you mean they're not going to pay?"
"Let's go back to my condo."
"I don't think so."
"I'll tell you all about it there. Please, you can't sit at the table looking like this." He put everything he had into that line. Whatever it took to make her see it his way. Pleading eyes. A tender voice. "Please, Sufia."
She dropped her eyes. Nodded.
He led her out through the lobby, out of the hotel, and hailed a cab. He didn't need the driver keeping tabs on him. He told the driver where to go, received a long look from his eyes the rearview.
"Did you hear me? Hurry!"
The driver pulled away from the curb. Adem hoped he would never be back at that hotel again. Whatever happened next, his life as a negotiator was finished.
*
At the apartment, Adem had Sufia sit on the couch while he wrapped ice in a wet cloth. Garaad wasn't there. Adem would call him, send him on some errand to keep him away. But later. Right now, it was all about Sufia. He brought her the ice and she held it to her cheek. He crouched in front of her.