Budayeen Nights: Stories

I saw her walk to the bar and fill a plate with fried dumplings. I admired how well she walked; I used to be able to walk just that easily, but that was many ounces of gin and bingara ago. I was about to find out how well I could navigate in this condition. I stood up — no problem, although I had to lean on my chair for a moment until my head stopped reeling. Then I set out on a generally northwesterly course, tacking across the floor in the hope of intersecting Sulome’s path somewhere.

Lily stopped me. “Listen, Marid,” she said, “you’re in pretty bad shape. You really ought to go sleep it off. Rocky can close up here for you. Why don’t you let me take you home? I don’t live very far from here. I know you have to get up early tomorrow to go to the hospital. Just — “

I raised a hand, hoping Lily would understand what the gesture meant. I brushed by her, still following Sulome.

Then it was Jacques. “Marid, is it my imagination, or is that moddy Saied’s wearing making him behave just a little on the nelly side of nice, know what I mean? If he could see and hear himself, he’d rip that moddy out and stomp it into tiny plastic pieces.”

I raised my hand again and kept moving. Sulome seemed to be getting farther away. I didn’t understand how that could be.

Frenchy grabbed me by the arm. “Listen, cap,” he said, “before you leave town — “

I raised my hand.

I’d almost caught up to Sulome. She was collecting a triple Johnny Walker Red with a Coke back from Rocky. I was too drunk to be aware of much that was going on around me, but somehow I can remember what she was drinking. Don’t ask me why. Anyway, she couldn’t have been more than six feet away. I took a step, then another. I reached out toward her.

Yasmin put herself between us. “This time I’ve had it, you noraf son of a bitch.” I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

“Sulome,” I said. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she turned around so fast she nearly knocked me down.

“Don’t ever grab at me again,” she snarled.

“Sorry,” I said. She and I weren’t getting off on the right foot here. “You’re supposed to be — “

“Back at Friedlander Bey’s house,” she said. “Fuck that. I didn’t want to sit in a room all night. Bin Turki and this Kmuzu guy made sure I had everything I needed, and when they left me alone I snuck out. What you gonna do, fine me?”

I looked around helplessly. “Nobody’s supposed to know — “

“Yeah, yeah. Who knows me here, except you? If anybody connects us later on, it’s because they’re watching us talking right now. So go away.”

“I think we both should go back to the house. Grab some food and let’s go. I’ll kick you an extra hundred if that’ll get you out of here right now.”

She shrugged. “A hundred. Cash. Forget the food, I can’t stand that sushi stuff. What are we going to do, get a cab? Or you gonna call one of your thugs?”

“Stop calling them —” I was urging Sulome toward the door. We’d almost reached it, when Fuad came into the club. I pulled Sulome back.

“Goddamn, Marid, didn’t I just warn you about that?”

“We can’t let that guy see us together.” This had to be one of the worst nights of my life. I wondered how many of my past sins I was paying for all at once.

“Who? That ugly scrawny guy? Hey, that’s not — “

“That’s Fuad, all right. That’s your mark. Oh, hell, he’s seen us. You don’t know me, all right?”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“The hell do I know? Fake it.”

She grunted. “That I know how to do.”

I couldn’t believe that Fuad had crashed my party. Coming back to the city at all was pretty dumb; showing up at his old hangouts was plain stupid; but walking right into my nightclub was the kind of mistake that usually removed you permanently from the common gene pool. He was heading straight for me — and he was grinning!

“Marid!” he said cheerfully, as if I’d be overjoyed to see him.

I nodded. “Fuad,” I said. He held his hand out, but I didn’t shake it.

After a few seconds he glanced down at his hand and put it in his pocket. He looked at Sulome, who was pretending to be interested in something happening behind Fuad’s head. I could see that he was immediately interested in her. Well, I’d known he would be; I just hadn’t planned for them to meet this way, or this soon. “Where y’at, Marid?” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. “I got to hit the John.” That was the truth. I turned and staggered to the back of the club, steadying myself on every piece of furniture along the way. I went into the men’s toilet, leaned my head against the dirty green wall, and closed my eyes. I paid back most of what I’d had to drink that night. I just hoped that my master plan for Fuad hadn’t been totally screwed up before it even started.

I threw a little water in my face — I wanted it to be cold, but during the summer months in the city there’s no such thing as cold water — and I told myself I felt better. I took a quick glance at my reflection in the mirror, and I did not look good at all. I left the toilet, trying to decide whether to get Sulome out of the club, or let her make a first impression on our victim.

As I walked by, I saw the big bearded guy who’d come in with Baby and Kitty. He was still sitting in the same booth with a cup of coffee in front of him. He’d fallen asleep; I figured I’d do him a favor, so I shook him by the shoulder. “Not a good idea to nap in here,” I said. “You could lose your wallet. Or something. I can call for a cab if you like.”

I shook him twice more before I realized that this man was not going to wake up. Ever. “Yaa alam, yaa nas!” I muttered. That was “O world, O people!” a phrase I saved for those times when every force under Heaven was conspiring against me.

I must’ve been at least partly sober, because I did something right for a change. I sat in the booth beside the poor dead guy, and I unclipped my phone from my belt. I called Friedlander Bey’s house and spoke to Tariq, Papa’s valet. I told him exactly what had happened. He instructed me to do just what I was doing, not let anyone else know about the situation, and wait twenty minutes before calling the police.

It was the better part of an hour before the cops actually arrived. If I’d been smart, I would’ve laid off the white deaths, at least until after they’d taken my statement. Well, sure, it’s easy enough to say that now. That night I figured another drink or two couldn’t make things any worse.

So it had to be almost two in the morning when a softclothes guy and a uniform came in. I recognized the uniform — it was Sergeant Catavina, who had taken corruption to such a high level, he might as well have been honest. I mean, with Catavina you knew exactly how he’d react to any situation, so in an odd sort of way he was completely dependable. He was easier to deal with than someone who changed the rules as he went along.

Catavina didn’t have much to do though. He was along to make sure no one left before Detective ibn Tali said they could leave. I’d never met ibn Tali before, but I knew there’d been a big shakeup in the police department, particularly in the copshop that oversaw activities in the Budayeen. The previous man in charge there, a real motherfucker by the name of Hajjar, had come to a bad end at the hands of an unruly mob. I’d had a little to do with that, and I hoped the current lieutenant, whoever he was, didn’t hold it against me.

Because I’d discovered the body and because I’d phoned the police, ibn Tali wanted to talk with me first. That was just fine, because by then I really wanted to get out of the club and go home. I told the detective everything I could remember about the party from the time we closed Chiriga’s at ten o’clock. I mentioned that I’d never seen the victim before, that he’d come in with Baby and Kitty, that the two girls had left to seek their fortune elsewhere before he’d turned stiff, and that I couldn’t imagine anyone at the party had any sort of motive to kill the poor bastard in the first place.

Ibn Tali jotted that all down in his notebook. “I’m gonna listen to everybody else’s story,” he said. “Then I’m gonna come back to you, and you’re gonna tell me yours all over again. That’ll give you a chance to put in the little bits you forgot about the first time through.”

“Excuse me, officer.” A very sleepy looking man in a pale yellow gallebeya and plain white checked keffiya had come up to the booth where we were sitting. I wondered how he’d gotten past Sergeant Catavina.