All I wanted was a fun final night, but you had to ruin everything.
Nawabi pinned the man down by sitting on top of him before delivering upper cut after upper cut to his face.
The club security tore apart the man and Nawabi and forcefully led him to the alleyway exit. Nawabi grimaced in pain as he felt his ribs. He checked the corner of his mouth with his thumb, collecting a large spot of blood.
“Just settle down,” one of the guards said. He turned to his companion. “Just go inside. I can handle this one.”
Nawabi spit blood onto the pavement and muttered something in Arabic.
“What did you say to me?” the guard asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Nawabi replied.
“Don’t get smart with me. Were you praying to Allah or some stupid shit like that? Because it won’t work. Allah isn’t real.”
Nawabi bent over, placing his hands on his knees while he tried to regain his level headedness.
“Where is the other guy?” Nawabi asked.
“Why? You were the one beating the shit out of him.”
“He started it.”
The guard shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I just do what I’m told, and I was told to escort you out here until the police came.”
Nawabi’s eyes widened. “The police?”
“Yeah. Ever heard of them? They help maintain law and order in our country.”
“I know about your police,” Nawabi said. “I have watched videos where they shoot innocent people. No disrespect but I’m not going to wait around for them. I need to leave right now.”
“Nobody is going to shoot you,” the guard said. “But you better not run. They hate it when thugs run.”
Nawabi spun on his heels and took two steps before he felt his shirt tugged into the opposite direction. He fought against the guard’s grip but lost, tumbling to the ground. The guard put his knee into Nawabi’s back and pressed down hard.
“What did I just tell you about running?” the guard said. “Did you take that as a personal challenge?”
With Nawabi’s face pressed flat against the concrete, he tried to survey the situation. He had already observed the bouncer’s beefy frame, comprised of bulky muscle. And if Nawabi had learned anything from his attempted break, he now knew that his captor was fleet-footed. Any designs Nawabi had on escaping would have to adapt to the situation. And the outlook seemed gloomy.
Nawabi tried to make small talk, which wasn’t exactly easy with his face plastered against the ground.
“How often do you get to do this?” Nawabi asked.
“What? Toss drunk patrons out and hand them over to police? Almost every night.”
“I am not drunk,” Nawabi stated emphatically.
“Save it for the judge. Besides, I’m quite certain Mohammed would be disappointed in you right now.”
Nawabi seethed and tried to ignore the comment, but he couldn’t. “So you are an expert on Islam?”
“I know enough to know that you shouldn’t be drinking,” the guard said.
“Things aren’t as black and white as your country would like for you to believe.”
“My country? Hell, my country wants to open the floodgates and let everyone in. Half the people here would throw their arms around you people and try to hug you.”
“You people? What does that mean?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re sensitive too. You know who I’m talking about—Muslims.”
“And why do you think I’m Muslim?”
“It’s not like you get to choose over there. It’s either Muslim or they put a bullet in your head.”
Nawabi craned his neck. “Is that what you think it’s like in my part of the world?”
“Well, isn’t it?”
Nawabi shook his head subtly and sighed. Before he could respond, sirens from a police car echoed in the alley, accompanied by flashing lights. The police car skidded to a stop a few feet away from Nawabi and the guard, both blinded by the headlights.
“Did someone call us?” asked an officer as he climbed out of the driver’s side.
The guard jammed his knee more forcefully into Nawabi’s back. “I’ve got a live one for you. Got quite a smart mouth on him, too.”
The officer chuckled. “Well, we should be able to break him of that.”
Before they could do anything else, the side door to the club flew open and a half dozen brawling patrons spilled out into the street. The men involved were swinging wildly, so much so that the guard stood, freeing Nawabi.
With the altercation demanding everyone’s attention, Nawabi didn’t waste any time making his getaway. He broke into a full sprint and darted down the alley. Checking back over his shoulder, he noticed one officer in pursuit. Nawabi ran a hundred meters before taking a sharp right and taking cover behind a dumpster.
The footfalls behind him grew louder as the trailing officer arrived in the area. He shined his flashlight toward the dumpster but concluded that the perp wasn’t inside. Then he hesitated and went back to double check.
Nawabi’s heart almost stopped as he watched the officer saunter in his direction. The guard picked up the lid and shined his light inside. He poked at the trash for a moment and then slammed the lid back down, apparently convinced that Nawabi wasn’t inside.
The officer swept the area with his flashlight, but the beam never fell on Nawabi.
After a few long seconds, the officer meandered away.
Nawabi knew he had almost derailed his entire mission by being foolish. He hustled toward the street, appearing on the other side of the block from the Kabin Lounge. He hailed a cab and took the short ride home, if anything to avoid being seeing by the metro police.
He retreated to his room and closed the door, taking a deep breath. Fortunately, no irreparable damage had been done. But that didn’t make Nawabi feel much better. He had tempted fate—and won.
Nawabi turned on the television, where the cable news channel was covering the latest election story on the polls.
“Don’t worry,” Nawabi said aloud. “Everything will change tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 23
Zagros Mountains, Iraq
KARIF FAZIL CHECKED THE TEXT message on his phone and smiled as he
