The girl wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the metal walls around her with large dark eyes.
“First time in a train?” Taziri smiled. “Yeah, I know, they’re not much to look at from in here, but out there, when she’s running, well, that’s something to see. And when the whole world is sailing by five thousand feet below you, well, that’s something to see, too.”
The girl pointed at the hatch.
“You want to go? Okay. I guess that’s all right.” Taziri peeked out to make sure there were no lurking boys outside, and then she unlocked the door and swung it open. “Go ahead. And be careful out there, you hear me?”
The girl scampered to the hatch, smiled, and jumped out onto the sun-soaked gravel. Taziri watched her run off. “Be careful,” she said softly.
Taziri sighed and slumped back into her seat and stared around the cabin. “So, just you and me, again.” She reached into her jacket and pulled out one of her smaller wrenches. “Let’s tighten some bolts.”
Chapter 11. Shifrah
“Can we go now?” She stared at Aker, hands on her hips. “The day’s half over.”
“It’s barely midmorning,” he said.
“It’s time better spent finding Omar, or whatever’s left of him.”
Kenan sighed.
They were standing in the corner of the workers’ bunkhouse just next door to one of the new Eranian factories. Aker had slipped something to the fat man at the door last night and they’d been allowed to sleep on company property, safe among the exhausted factory workers who kept each other awake all night with their constant hacking coughs and phlegm-choked snores.
“All right.” Aker nodded at the door. “I suppose you want to see all the old haunts. Omar’s house, the office, the cafe, the lounge.”
“No. I want to talk to whoever is in charge these days,” Shifrah said. “Omar ran a whole network of freelancers. Someone must have taken over his business when he disappeared. And I’m betting you know who.”
Aker smiled. “I know who took over my business from him, at least. We can go there, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Why? Who is it?”
“You’ll see.”
Half an hour later they stood in the sun-baked street between two streams of Songhai pilgrims, Kanemi migrants, Puntish merchants, Eranian soldiers, and Bantu mercenaries. Above the crowd they could see a hand- painted sign above a bright red door.
“You’re right,” Shifrah said. “I don’t like it.”
“What’s it say?” Kenan nodded at the sign.
“The Cat’s Eye.” Shifrah adjusted her eye patch to flick some dust and grime away from her cheek. “It’s a dive.”
“It was a dive,” Aker corrected. “It’s a decent restaurant now. Almost up to Mazigh standards, I’m sure.”
Kenan didn’t respond.
“And it’s really her?” Shifrah asked, moving toward the red door.
“Oh yes. She’s moved up in the world. But don’t worry.” Aker grinned. “The success hasn’t improved her temper.”
“I’m just going to stop asking you to clarify these cryptic little chats of yours,” Kenan said. “You just let me know when I need to know something.”
“Zahra. Her name is Zahra El Ayat,” Shifrah said. “She was just starting to run little operations when I left Alexandria. Mostly local. Gambling, prostitution. Strictly small time.”
“And now?” Kenan pulled the red door open for her.
“Now?” Shifrah shrugged. “Keep your hand on your gun.” She led the way into The Cat’s Eye, and as she threaded through the crowded atrium she muttered over her shoulder, “Busy for this hour.”
Aker shrugged. “It’s not like they came for the food.”
Shifrah wondered what he meant as she approached the host. The man wore an immaculate white suit and an exhausted frown. “How many?”
“I’m looking for the owner,” she said. “I’d like to discuss a little business proposal with her.”
“Yes, I imagine so.” The host sighed. “How many in your party?”
Shifrah blinked. “Three.”
“Hm. Well, I can seat you near the piano, if you don’t mind the noise.”
Shifrah shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“Very good.” The host led them into the dining room where she saw a maze of round tables under red cloths and brass candlesticks. There must have been a hundred patrons all huddled and nestled and leaning over their tables and talking in low voices. Little pieces of paper and coins were passed from hand to hand, and the occasional head rose to cast a wary eye around the room before sinking back down into the conversation.
The host seated them at a small round table like all the others. No plates, silverware, or napkins cluttered the table. Only the single brass candles stick and its flickering white candle stood between them. Behind them, an elderly man was struggling to play the gleaming new piano, which had not been tuned recently, if ever.
“You said this was a restaurant,” Kenan said. “What is it really?”
“A quiet place where people come to talk. It’s not very private, obviously, hence all the notes and hand signals,” Aker said. “But they’re not really here to talk to each other. They’re all here to see her.”
“Zahra?”
Aker nodded. “See the girls?” He nodded at one of the waitresses on the far side of the room. She was leaning over a table, listening to the seated men. “Zahra sends them down to scout out the proposals and contracts and whatever else people want to show her.”
“And then what?”
“And then you hope she picks you.” Aker leaned back in his chair.
“So how do I make sure I get picked?” Shifrah asked.
Aker shrugged. “You say something that gets her attention.”
“So this is just a big waiting room?” Kenan smirked and leaned back as well.
They sat and waited, and waited. Shifrah dragged her fingers lightly across the tablecloth. She barely remembered Zahra. Young, short, and pretty in the usual fashion. Willing to sleep with almost anyone for almost anything. She’d seemed rather common, back in the old days, but then, most people had looked common to Shifrah.
Weak. Vulnerable. Corrupt.
Eventually the waitress came over to their table. She was a serious-lipped and tired-eyed woman, middle aged, and dressed in a severe black dress with a high-necked collar. Shifrah noted the small Italian two-shot revolver holstered under the woman’s left arm and the small knife sheathed on the inside of her forearm.
The waitress looked at the man in green. “Aker. You’re back. Again.”
Aker shrugged. “Don’t sound so excited. It might go to my head.”
The waitress turned to Shifrah. “What is your business with my lady?”
Aker gestured to Shifrah with a grin, coaxing her to speak.
Shifrah exhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully. She said in Eranian, “Tell Zahra that Shifrah Dumah is back from Marrakesh with information about Omar Bakhoum.”
“What information?” the waitress asked dully.
Shifrah was about to say something snide when she realized the woman’s tone wasn’t one of stupidity or laziness. It was the extreme calm of an experienced fighter who simply didn’t care about the business at hand, only
