He crossed the foyer of the wedding hall and went into the bathroom, where he found Khamis Zeydan splashing water on his face. The police chief looked at his friend with reddened eyes and a sheepish smile. “I got choked up,” he said.
Omar Yussef pulled a wad of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket, unfolded them and held them out to Khamis Zeydan.
The police chief dried his face with a paper towel. “What’s this?”
“Haven’t you been wondering about the dirt files that went missing from Nouri Awwadi’s basement?”
Khamis Zeydan’s blue eyes opened wide. “By Allah.” He grabbed the papers. “Where did you get these?”
“I made a deal with Amin Kanaan.” The file had been waiting for Omar Yussef when he returned to the hotel, just as Kanaan had promised.
Khamis Zeydan looked up from the documents. “Were you searching for dirt on me?”
“I don’t expect you’d have clean hands, even if you spent the rest of the day scrubbing at that basin,” Omar Yussef said, “but you’re my dear friend, above all else, so you’re in the clear. I didn’t even read the file.”
Khamis Zeydan shuffled the papers, glancing briefly at each one. “There’s not much here,” he said.
“Are you disappointed? Perhaps you’re not as bad as you make out.”
“Perhaps I’m not.”
Omar Yussef smiled. “Put those papers in your pocket. Go and enjoy the wedding.”
Khamis Zeydan kissed Omar Yussef’s cheeks. “You’re a true friend, my brother,” he said. He ran a fingertip beneath his eye. “It’s a day for crying tears of happiness.”
Omar Yussef put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Tears? A tough guy like you?”
“No one has more reason to weep than a hard man.” Khamis Zeydan left the bathroom.
From his other pocket, Omar Yussef took a thick sheaf of papers. He went into a toilet stall and locked the door. He ripped the rest of Khamis Zeydan’s file into tiny shreds, dropping them into the bowl and flushing until everything was gone.
When he left the bathroom, Omar Yussef saw his granddaughter at the entrance to the men’s hall. Nadia stood on her toes, searching for someone among the dancing men. He called to her and she came toward him with a smile. She held two small paper plates, each with a square of shredded wheat soaked in lurid orange syrup. She gave one plate to Omar Yussef and handed him a plastic fork.
“I decided not to wait any longer for you to take me to the casbah for qanafi, Grandpa,” she said. “Thankfully Meisoun ordered some for the wedding buffet. Eat it with me, and may you have double health in your deepest heart.”
Nadia’s laughter was musical and light. Omar Yussef cut a small slice of the warm qanafi with the edge of his fork and, closing his eyes, he put it in his mouth. It was sweet.