From both sides of the lane, two tanks rolled out of nowhere along with a dozen armed black uniformed soldiers, who surrounding the cab with pointed weapons.
“Good morning, my darlings,” Grandma said happily. “I think one of you needs to call Major Stilton.”
Tomas’ mouth twitched as the Allahs entered Grandma’s House, through the front door yet. The security detail lowered their guns in shock as they escorted Grandma and the Camels up the public elevator; fortunately it was too early for any school tours.
Grandma sat them all down in her modest sitting room and poured tea.
“You gentlemen already know each other.” She made the introductions anyway.
“I didn’t bring any of my wife’s lamb this time.” The Captain smiled.
Tomas grunted.
“Apologies for my dear friend.” Her smile contained a warning. “The Major’s a little upset about my disappearing.”
“As are my people about my vanishing.” Abdullah bowed slightly.
Tomas’ sneer showed what he thought about those people.
“Grandma, may I have a word?”
“Eventually, my darling. For now, you need to get Abdullah and Azhar back to Iceland. Is that what you eventually decided?”
She spoke to them as if they were friends; Tomas’ stomach churned.
The Camel nodded and spoke quickly in Arabic to the Captain, who said little, nodding. He again smiled at Tomas, who edged behind Grandma.
“This is irregular,” he whispered.
“Yes, quite.”
“Please, Grandma. Please.”
She sighed wearily, excusing herself into the adjoining room. Before she closed the door, Tomas gestured to the eight man detail in the living room.
Shoot if they move.
“You’re being impolite, Tomas,” Grandma said with mock severity.
He stared coldly.
“I’m sorry for the deception about meeting in Cuba. Truly.”
“I deserve better.”
“Yes you do. And I deserved your faith.”
“I have never…”
“Yes, you did. But we have jobs and yours is to accompany them beyond our territorial waters. I can’t risk anything happening. Is that very clear?”
He nodded as if his neck ached. “May I first ask what has been decided?”
Grandma’s face sagged with exhaustion. “No. Is the spare ‘copter in the park fueled? Or did you tell First Cousin Cheng about that one, too?”
35
Zelda dozed on the bus and missed her stop, walking back five blocks along Bruckner Boulevard but never fully waking up; the kiss lingered. She’d smacked her lips together, licked with her tongue, half swizzled a berry drink and still the warmth of Beth’s mouth remained. Women and men kissed differently, but this was special.
Still obsessed with her mouth, Zelda barely noticed the two Brown Hats politely waiting by the front door of her building.
“Ms. Jones?” The taller one smiled. “I’m Detective Buca, my partner Detective Y’or. May we have a word?”
“What’s this about?” Hands on hips, chin out, the portrait of aggrieved innocence.
They heard it all before, stepping aside from the building entrance until she took the hint. As Zelda unlocked her apartment door, she wished Beth had already given her that Catholic book; she prayed to Jesus Christo anyway, hoping for some first time luck.
The apartment was a smelly mess with plates and glasses scattered high and low, hinting at food turning bad under the couch. The vidnews looped around in a banal report about SC sheep recipes.
“Sorry, I’m, you know.” She spread apart her jacket. “Pregnant. Just got back from my Parents meeting. I have a certified slip…”
“That’s not necessary, but certainly helpful,” Buca replied as his younger partner casually snooped around the living room.
Zelda flung her jacket and purse over Clary’s drawings on the couch, then bundled them into the hall closet. “And I have to pee every five minutes. Is it okay if I go to the bathroom?”
“Of course,” Buca said with fake warmth.
Zelda said another prayer in made-up Spanish. This worked; Clary was asleep on the bed. As Zelda closed the door, the girl bolted up, instantly alert. Zelda pressed her fingers to her lips.
“Polizia.”
Clary nodded grimly. Zelda went to the bathroom, peeing with vigorous singing and returning with a bright expression as if she dumped out a gallon of unwanted waste products.
“Sorry to keep you gentleman, but I see you’re making yourself at home.” She took a doll from Y’or, gesturing at its siblings on the bookcase. “I collect them. I’d offer you food or drink,” she brushed cookie crumbs off the table into her palm, “but my increased allotment is only for me and Diego Junior.”
Buca asked if they could sit, like she had a choice. The Detectives took the couch, hats in laps. Y’or opened a notebook while Zelda flopped onto her chair as if without a worry in the world.
“I’ve never been visited by Brown Hats,” she finally said.
“Hopefully it won’t be unpleasant,” Buca answered. “A recent orphan to America has wandered off. Reports say she’s in this neighborhood. Perhaps you’ve seen the news.”
“I don’t pay attention to such things.”
“Children don’t interest you?”
“Just this one.” She protectively covered her stomach.
Buca nodded approval, Y’or’s pen scratching along the page. “The girl’s parents are very worried, obviously.”
Zelda shrugged for him to continue. Buca held out a drawing of Clary, the cross disappearing into her scalp while her mouth twisted angrily.
“Why are you smiling, Ms. Jones?”
“She’s a funny looking kid.”
“All children are precious.”
Zelda indicated she shared that belief by lovingly rubbing her stomach again.
“Do you recognize her?”
“No.”
“You positive?”
“Yes. I mean, maybe I saw her on the vidnews, but that’s it.” Zelda caught the quick doubtful look between the Brown Hats.
“As you must be aware, Ms. Jones, anyone with knowledge of a missing child must come forward immediately.”
“Okay.”
“Failure to do so is a very serious offense.”
Zelda tipped her neck forward respectfully.
“There’s all manner of reasons why someone would do that. Particular among them is pedophilia.”
“Watch it,” she snapped.
“I’m not accusing you.” He furrowed his forehead. “And that was wrong. Sometimes reciting is insensitive. After twelve
