Reprisal

Sixteen

Michael declined a glass of wine for the sixth time. He weaved his way among the guests at the Health Tech party. Ostensibly held to celebrate the break-through in genetic engineering they’d made to the cold virus, it was really an excuse for the employees to get drunk at company expense. He was anxious to meet Zehra Hassan. He had to win her over and gain her trust. Trying to avoid Posten, he bumped into Michael at the food trough.

“Mikey-boy,” Posten lurched to the side. He balanced three small plates heaped with fried chicken wings in his hands. One almost flipped over onto Michael’s Armani sweater. “How ya doin’?”

“Fine, John. Just fine,” Michael said. He glanced at his Patek Philippe watch. He’d suffered through enough time to be polite. “Look, I have to run. Keep eating.” Posten’s smile broke through his reddened cheeks. He didn’t realize that Michael was mocking him.

“Great wings.” Posten smiled to show grease covered teeth with bits of chicken in the corners.

Michael made a point of greeting the CEO and the vice-president of his division. The social aspects of the party appealed to him. But he detested the drunken, gorging excesses. These Americans couldn’t seem to get enough. Especially if it was free.

He’d promised his co-worker, Joseph Hassan, that he’d stay long enough to meet his daughter. Joseph obviously liked Michael and was anxious to have her meet Muslim men.

This woman could be the key he needed for information. Probably dumpy like most Muslim American women, Michael was still anxious to meet her. He sipped a Diet Coke and waited for Joseph.

From across the noisy room, Michael spied him.

Next to him walked a beautiful woman. She looked Semitic-black hair, long nose, darker skin but, at the same time, thoroughly American. Maybe this will be worthwhile, Michael thought.

“Ah … Michael. There you are,” Joseph pushed through the crowd, pulling his daughter behind him. When she stood next to him, he said, “This is Zehra. I’ve told you about her. Now I know this is awkward, but I just wanted you two to meet.”

She gave Michael a tentative smile.

He didn’t hide his attraction and looked into her eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

Her eyes darted around. She was obviously uneasy.

“Would you like pop, tea?” he offered.

“I really could use a big glass of wine,” she laughed.

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Well, I do.” She led him to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. When it came, she sipped it carefully. “My father says you’re a doctor here.”

“I have a doctorate in molecular biology.”

“Impressive.”

“No it isn’t. Not to you,” he insisted.

She laughed out loud. “Okay, you got me. I’m really not too impressed to be here but to keep my father happy …”

“I understand.” He turned on his warm, big smile. “Tell me about you.”

“Huh? You really want to know?”

“I do.”

“Well I’m a criminal defense lawyer. Uh, I like to garden.” She paused and looked into the air. “I guess I’m excited about my work and like it.”

“What cases are you working on?”

She frowned. “I’ve got a murder case I’m working … struggling through. Maybe you’ve heard about these Somali boys who have disappeared from the Twin Cities?”

He pretended to think about it. “Yes, I heard from people I know in the Somali community.”

“I’ve been forced to represent the guy accused of killing one of the boys.”

“Is that hard?”

“This guy is because … well, maybe you’d understand this better than these other people. The defendant is an extremist Muslim, a terrorist really. That’s opposite to everything I believe as a Muslim. So, it’s just torture to try and defend someone who thinks that way.”

Michael nodded. “It must be hard. I find it hard just living in America. So many people don’t know anything about Islam except what they see in the biased media.”

Her face brightened. “Absolutely. If Christians only knew how close our religions were, they’d be shocked. And most of us aren’t making bombs in our garages at night.”

He laughed. “No …”

“Instead of making bombs, what do you do?”

“My work? I’m trying to alter the genetic make-up of viruses. When I have time, I do a lot of volunteer work in the community.”

“Like what?”

“I try to give time to the poor people in the Somali community, even though they don’t accept outsiders, even Muslims. I also host science fairs in several of the schools.”

When Zehra nodded and looked at his eyes, Michael could tell she was interested. It usually worked this way. He could smell her perfume. Thank Allah it wasn’t floral like so many American women It smelled like sandalwood. She had a full figure and thick hair. And what a stroke of luck-Allah be praised-she was the defense lawyer in the murder case. That interested him.

The noise from the party rose higher. Both of them squeezed to a corner to avoid the wilder dancers who had just erupted from somewhere. It was difficult to talk. Michael had to leave. “I’d like to meet you again,” he said.

“So would I, Michael.”

Seventeen

On Tuesday, Zehra trudged into Courtroom Two for the pre-trial on El-Amin’s case. She dreaded the confrontation. Why couldn’t I have a simple job like a corporate counsel? she thought. Sitting at a desk. Reading five-inch-thick contracts all day long.

When she arrived, Steve Harmon was already there. He nodded at Zehra as he unpacked several files from a metal cart on wheels.

Zehra walked down the middle aisle, pushed through the swinging gate that separated the public area from the judge’s bench and the lawyer’s area. Judge Gordon Smith listened to another case from up on the bench. She looked bored. To her left, was where prisoners stood, a small area enclosed by a low wooden rail and topped by a partial glass wall.

Jackie came down the main aisle, caught her eye. Zehra watched as she made her way into the lawyer’s area. Zehra envied Jackie’s beautiful hair. Straight and shiny, it always looked good.

“Thought I’d be late,” Jackie whispered.

“For what? Not much will happen today. Since we don’t have any plea negotiation, this is pretty much a meaningless hearing.”

“Josh made me breakfast today because he knows I’m working so hard on the case. I’m so like, impressed with this guy. I’m worried it’s gonna be permanent,” Jackie laughed. “What will I tell all the others?”

You’re self-absorbed, was all Zehra could think. Jackie rarely asked Zehra how she was or what guy she was with-not that there were many. Jackie’s full relationship contrasted with Zehra’s lack of one.

“Who’d we get for a trial judge?” Jackie asked.

“Don’t know, yet.” Zehra turned her back to the judge and spoke softly. “‘Hot-tub’s’ too lazy to actually try it, so she’ll pass it to one of the five judges scheduled to hear trials in the next two weeks. Besides, I’m so damn mad