Budayeen Nights: Stories

bar.

The scene inside didn’t look very threatening. Monsieur Gargotier was standing behind the bar, beneath the huge, cracked mirror. His daughter, Maddie, was sitting at a table near the back wall. A young man sat at a table against the west wall, under Gargotier’s collection of faded prints of the Mars colony. The young man’s hands rested on a small box. His head swung to look at Audran. “Get the fuck out,” he shouted, “or this whole place goes up in a big bright bang!”

“I’m sure he means it, monsieur,” said Gargotier. He sounded terrified.

“Bet your ass I mean it!” said the young man.

Being a police officer meant sizing up dangerous situations and being able to make quick, sure judgments. Complete Guardian suggested that in dealing with a mentally disturbed individual, Audran should try to find out why he was upset and then try to calm him. Complete Guardian recommended that Audran not make fun of the individual, show anger, or dare him to carry out his threat. Audran raised his hands and spoke calmly. “I’m not going to threaten you,” Audran said.

The young man just laughed. He had dirty long hair and a patchy growth of beard, and he was wearing a faded pair of blue jeans and a plaid cotton shirt with its sleeves torn off. He looked a little like Audran had, before Friedlander Bey had raised his standard of living.

“Mind if I sit and talk with you?” asked Audran.

“I can set this off any time I want,” said the young man. “You got the guts, sit down. But keep your hands flat on the table.”

“Sure.” Audran pulled out a chair and sat down. He had his hack to the barkeeper, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Maddie Gargotier. She was quietly weeping.

“You ain’t gonna talk me out of this,” said the young man.

Audran shrugged. “I just want to find out what this is all about. What’s your name?”

“The hell’s that got to do with anything?”

“My name is Marid. I was born in Mauretania.”

“You can call me Al-Muntaqim.” The kid with the bomb had appropriated one of the Ninety-Nine Beautiful Names of God. It meant “The Avenger.”

“You always lived in the city?” Audran asked him.

“Hell no. Misr.”

“That’s the local name for Cairo, isn’t it?” asked Audran.

Al-Muntaqim jumped to his feet, furious. He jabbed a finger toward Gargotier behind the bar and screamed, “See? See what I mean? That’s just what I’m talkin about! Well, I’m gonna stop it once and for all!” He grabbed the box and ripped open the lid.

Audran felt a horrible pain all through his body. It was as if all his joints had been yanked and twisted until his bones pulled apart. Every muscle in his body felt torn, and the surface of his skin stung as if it had been sandpapered. The agony went on for a few seconds, and then Audran lost consciousness.

“You all right?”

No, I didn’t feel all right. On the outside I felt red-hot and glowing, as if I’d been staked out under the desert sun for a couple of days. Inside, my muscles felt quivery. I had lots of uncontrollable little spasms in my arms, legs, trunk, and face. I had a splitting headache and there was a horrible, sour taste in my mouth. I was having a lot of trouble focusing my eyes, as if someone had spread a thick translucent gunk over them.

I strained to make out who was talking to me. I could barely make out the voice because my ears were ringing so loud. It turned out to be Shaknahyi, and that indicated that I was still alive. For an awful moment after I came to, I thought I might be in Allah’s greenroom or somewhere. Not that being alive was any big thrill just then. “What —” I croaked. My throat was so dry I could barely speak.

“Here.” Shaknahyi handed a glass of cold water down to me. I realized that I was lying flat on my back on the floor, and Shaknahyi and M. Gargotier were standing over me, frowning and shaking their heads.

I took the water and drank it gratefully. When I finished, I tried talking again. “What happened?” I said.

“You fucked up,” Shaknahyi said.

“Right,” I said.

A narrow smile crossed Shaknahyi’s face. He reached down and offered me a hand. “Get up off the floor.”

I stood up wobbily and made my way to the nearest chair. “Gin and bingara,” I said to Gargotier. “Put a hit of Rose’s lime in it.” The barkeep grimaced, but he turned away to get my drink. I took out my pill case and dug out maybe eight or nine Sonneine.

“I heard about you and your drugs,” said Shaknahyi.

“It’s all true,” I said. When Gargotier brought my drink, I swallowed the opiates. I couldn’t wait for them to start fixing me up. Everything would be just fine in a couple of minutes.

“You could’ve gotten everybody killed, trying to talk that guy down,” Shaknahyi said. I was feeling bad enough already, I didn’t want to listen to his little lecture right then. He went ahead with it anyway. “What the hell were you trying to do? Establish rapport or something? We don’t work that way when people’s lives are in danger.”

“Yeah?” I said. “What do you do?”

He spread his hands like the answer should have been perfectly obvious. “You get around where he can’t see you, and you ice the motherfucker.”

“Did you ice me before or after you iced Al-Muntaqim?”

“That what he was calling himself? Hell, Audran, you got to expect a little beam diffusion with these static pistols. I’m real sorry I had to drop you, too, but there’s no permanent damage, inshallah. He jumped up with that box, and I wasn’t gonna wait around for you to give me a clear shot. I had to take what I could get.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “Where’s The Avenger now?”

“The meat wagon came while you were napping. Took him off to the lock ward at the hospital.”

That made me a little angry. “The mad bomber gets shipped to a nice bed in the hospital, but I got to lie around on the filthy floor of this goddamn saloon?”

Shaknahyi shrugged. “He’s in a lot worse shape than you are. You only got hit by the fuzzy edge of the charge. He took it full.”

It sounded like Al-Muntaqim was going to feel pretty rotten for a while. Didn’t bother me none.

“No percentage in debating morality with a loon,” said Shaknahyi. “You go in looking for the first opportunity to stabilize the sucker.” He made a trigger-pulling motion with his right index finger.

“That’s not what Complete Guardian was telling me,” I said. “By the way, did you pop the moddy for me? What did you do with it?”

“Yeah,” said Shaknahyi, “here it is.” He took the moddy out of a shirt pocket and tossed it down on the floor beside me. Then he raised his heavy black boot and stamped the plastic module into jagged pieces. Brightly colored fragments of the webwork circuitry skittered across the floor. “Wear another one of those, I do the same to your face and then I kick the remnants out of my patrol car.”

So much for Martd Audran, Ideal Law Enforcement Officer.

I stood up feeling a lot better, and followed Shaknahyi out of the dimly lighted bar. M. Gargotier and his daughter, Maddie, went with us. The bartender tried to thank us, but Shaknahyi just raised a hand and looked modest. “No thanks are necessary for performing a duty,” he said.

“Come in for free drinks any time,” Gargotier said gratefully.

“Maybe we will.” Shaknahyi turned to me. “Let’s ride,” he said.

We went out through the patio gate. On the way back to the car I said, “It makes me feel kind of good to be welcome somewhere again.”

Shaknahyi looked at me. “Accepting free drinks is a major infraction.”

“I didn’t know they had infractions in the Budayeen,” I said. Shaknahyi smiled. It seemed that things had thawed a little between us.

Shaknahyi cruised back down the Street and out of the Budayeen. Curiously, I was no longer wary of being spotted in the cop car by any of my old friends. In the first place, the way they’d been treating me, I figured the hell with ‘em. In the second place, I felt a little different now that I’d been fried in the line of duty. The experience at