by DV Berkom
Jinn lowered her gaze and shook her head. “I don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Wariness sparked in her eyes, but she nodded.
“You tell me you’ve lived on the streets of Tripoli for two years. That’s a challenge for anyone, much more so for someone your age. How have you survived?”
Jinn shrugged. “I don’t know. I just...did.”
“Listen. Sometimes the organization I work for helps people like you find a secure place to stay. Somewhere you’ll be safe. Would you like that?”
“I’m fine by myself.”
“I’m sure you are, but if you ever want to consider a different place to live, you should know you have the option.” Leine pulled a business card from her pocket and slid it across the table. “This is my personal cell phone. If you ever need me, you can call or text me anytime, night or day.”
Jinn picked up the card and studied it. “Would I be able to live in France?”
Leine smiled. “Maybe.”
A storm of anger swept across her face. The kid dropped the card, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms. “You’re lying. I’ve heard these promises before.”
Leine studied her for a moment. Her anger betrayed a deep vulnerability, one that came with being almost eleven years old and on her own on the streets of Tripoli. “Someone tricked you, didn’t they?” she asked.
Tears glistened in Jinn’s eyes, telling Leine all she needed to know.
“You’ve been lied to and betrayed and you’re cautious. That’s a really good survival tool. I’ll bet it kept you safe, right?”
Silent, Jinn wiped angrily at her eyes and glared at Leine.
“You don’t know me yet. Let me prove I’m someone you can trust.”
“You want to prove you’re telling the truth?” Jinn demanded. “Then help me find out what happened to my family.”
“All right. If that’s what you want. Let’s go.” Leine grabbed her bag off the floor and looked expectantly at her.
Jinn arched her eyebrows in surprise as she shoved the last forkful of lamb into her mouth. She took a swig of tea before she stood and wiped her hands on her filthy shirt.
“All right,” she parroted, and followed Leine out of the restaurant into the fading afternoon light.
5
LEINE TOOK JINN to a department store and bought her a new shirt and a pair of khakis. Then Jinn picked out new underwear and shoes. Leine was about to throw her old things in a rubbish bin when Jinn asked her for the items and disappeared around the back of the building. A few minutes later she returned empty-handed. Leine didn’t ask what she’d done with the old, worn-out clothes but suspected she’d either left them for someone else to use, or she’d hidden them in case she needed them again.
After checking with Jinn to be sure it was all right, Leine brought her to her hotel and took her up to her room via the stairwell to avoid the scrutiny of the desk manager. She showed her where the bathroom was and gave her soap, shampoo, and a clean towel before she walked out and closed the door behind her. The snick of the lock told her the kid wasn’t taking any chances.
While Jinn was in the shower, Leine took out her phone and called home.
“Hey there, stranger.” Detective Santiago Jensen’s deep voice reverberated through the earpiece.
“Hey. Looks like I’m going to be in Tripoli a few more days.”
“I thought you were coming back tonight.”
“I was. Something came up.”
“One of Lou’s cases?”
“Some orphans have gone missing from a refugee camp near here. Rumor has it they’re being trafficked. I’m going for a visit to do some fact-finding.”
“Jesus. It never ends, does it?”
“That’s not all. I met this kid—”
“Another victim?”
“You could say that. Some assholes were roughing her up and I happened to be there at the right time to stop them. I’m going to see if I can find her family.”
“Street kid?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t let her play you, Leine. Street kids are experts at pulling on heartstrings.”
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, darling. There’s just something about her—a feeling I get. I don’t know how to describe it, exactly. She’s a survivor, Santa. There’s a whole lot of fight in her. She deserves a break.”
“And you’re it.”
“I’m it.”
Santa sighed. “You could just bring her to your Libyan counterparts. She’d be taken care of there. And you could, you know, come back and see the man who loves you more than life.”
Leine felt a twinge. Don’t lose this one, Leine. He’s a rare find. She didn’t want to lose him, not now, not ever. But she had to follow her gut.
“You know what your mother always says—when people are put in your path, how you respond is your choice—and those choices make us who we are. Well, I’m making a choice.”
Santa didn’t reply right away. Then he sighed once more. “You know how much I love you.”
“Of course. And I love you.”
“And you know I want you to be happy.”
“Yes.”
“I’m just worried you’re working too much, caring too much, something too much, and it’s gonna catch up with you one of these days. Maybe not this time, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. You need to have a life. Balance. Christ, I need some balance. This being apart so long does not make for a happy relationship. And frankly, I don’t see you ever slowing down.”
“You know how much this job means to me.”
“Of course I do. But I also know a person can take meaning too far. You’ve got to remember that you’re not the job. Believe me, I learned that the hard way.”
Leine’s first response was to tell him he didn’t have any idea what she was going through, but stopped before she said anything. Of course he knew. They’d had this conversation a few months before, when he told her how, after his divorce, he’d buried himself in his work, pulling longer and longer shifts until his captain took him aside and told him he needed to go home and shave, maybe take a shower and a few days off. He’d been lucky—he hadn’t screwed up any cases, but it would have been easy enough to do in his condition.
“You’re right. I’m going to find out what happened to this kid’s family, and then I’ll come home.”
JINN STARED AT HER reflection. Her face was so dirty she hardly recognized herself. And her hair looked like a rat’s nest. That’s what her mother would have said, if she’d been alive. She licked her hand and tried to smooth the cowlick that never seemed to go away, but it just sprang back in place. Maybe the shower will help. She went over to the walk-in shower and turned on the warm water, adjusting it so it was as hot as she could stand.
Could she trust Leine? She did help her get away from those men. And she killed the one with the gun. What if someone found out who Leine was and what she did? Then they both could be in a lot of trouble.
Or was she like the men who had approached her before, promising her a clean, safe place to sleep? Jinn shuddered at the thought of the two men who had seemed so nice. They both said they wanted to help Jinn, too. But that wasn’t what happened.
Jinn squeezed the thought of them to the back of her mind so she wouldn’t have to think about it. Leine seemed different. Maybe. It was just a hunch, but Jinn lived her life by her hunches. The only time they’d let her down was with those men. She’d been weak that time. She’d wanted to believe their lies.
Jinn had lived by her wits for over two years. After her mother died, she’d gone about her business, doing what she’d always done, like nothing had changed. No one seemed to notice. When someone asked her how her mother was, which wasn’t too often, she’d tell them she wasn’t feeling well. That would elicit sympathy, and sometimes she’d get extra money or food from people. She had friends among the other street kids but never got too cl
ose.
Jinn double-checked the door lock and, satisfied that it was secure, stripped off her new clothes and carefully hung them from the hook on the door. Then she removed the necklace with the small gold amulet she always wore. She lovingly traced the design with her finger before she placed it carefully on the counter. It was the only thing she had left of her mother.
Without thinking, she reached inside the pocket of her pants for the phone that she’d stolen from the businessman earlier that morning, momentarily forgetting she’d left it under the carpets at Ebrahim’s shop.
Those men would be searching for her. She’d have to stay hidden, but for how long? What if they never stopped looking? They killed the man in the white suit, so whatever was inside that phone was important. It would be easy enough to kill her, if she was caught. No one would miss a street kid, except maybe Ebrahim. Sadness washed through her at the thought of not being able to go back to the market. Of no longer being Jinn.
She wiped off the steam that had accumulated on the mirror and narrowed her eyes in an attempt to look dangerous. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. Wasn’t she the Jinn of the Marketplace? The one who could appear and disappear like a ghost? Those men would never be able to catch her.
Still, she reasoned, it would be better if she didn’t go back to the market for a while. Let things calm down. The Leine woman said she’d help her look for her family. All she had to do was make one up. Hadn’t she been doing just that for the past two years?
She needed to get out of the city. But first, she had to retrieve that phone. She couldn’t take the chance that Ebrahim would decide to clean out his storeroom and discover the mobile. It might put him in danger. She’d never forgive herself if any harm came to the old man.
Jinn believed with all of her being she was born under a lucky star. Often, events had shown her a clear path to safety.
And that path was Leine.
6
“HOW COULD YOU let the child escape?”
The boss’s tone grated on Damil’s ears. Her face was a mask of calm, but he knew better. The tension in her body—a coiled viper came to mind—broadcast her fury in no uncertain terms.
“She had help.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice sharpened.
“A woman.”
“And?”
Damil cringed at the thought of having to tell this woman, inexplicably his superior, that he and Saafir had been bested by another of her sex, and that Saafir had been killed.
“She was skilled with weapons,” he said. The confession relieved only a fraction of the shame he felt for his friend. Being knocked unconscious by a woman was appalling, but at least he was still alive. Dying by her hand shamed not only Saafir, but also his family.
His explanation was met with silence. Damil shifted on his feet, unsure how to proceed.
His boss rose from her desk and walked over to where he was standing. Circling him, she studied his face. Her exotic perfume enveloped the space they shared, adding a confusing message of raw sexuality and power. He’d never encountered a woman like her—she both excited and repulsed him. He shifted again, growing more uncomfortable. If her intention was to make him nervous, she’d succeeded.
“Did the woman give you that?” she asked, indicating the contusion on the side of his head. He nodded.
“She used the element of surprise. I never saw her coming.” The small lie gave him little comfort—an attempt to salvage a tiny portion of his male pride.
“Where is Saafir?”
The moment he’d been dreading had come. He still couldn’t believe his friend was gone. They’d climbed the ranks of the powerful terrorist organization together, both of them ruthless competitors, willing to do everything required to make it to the top—to become indispensable. At the end of the day, they’d remained friends. Neither of them understood their boss’s meteoric rise to power. She was an outsider in an organization that had a history of promoting from within. Damil suspected blackmail. Or sex.
“Saafir is dead.”
“He’s what?” She stilled and speared him with a look.
His heart stuttered at the darkness in her eyes. As the survivor, he would be held accountable. Too late, he wished he had been the one to die.
“He’s dead.”
“And how did that happen?” Her words surged over him like an ice floe.
“As I said, the woman was skilled with weapons.”
“Apparently. What sort of weapon did she use?”
“I-I don’t know. As I told you, I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke he was dead.” He hated to admit that he had no knowledge of how his friend died, but there it was.
“Take a wild guess.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
“The wound was not from a gun. She used something sharp. A knife, perhaps.”
“A knife.” She continued back to her desk, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And what did this woman look like?”
“I only caught a glimpse of her. She looked like...a woman.” Damil shrugged, as though one woman was much like the next.
“Oh, that’s right. You were knocked unconscious, weren’t you?” Her tone implied she thought he was lying. “It would be much better for you if you did happen to remember more details.”
“I’m sorry.” He had to stick to his story now. She’d call him out on his lies and most certainly have him demoted.
Or worse.
“I assume you’ve scoured the market for her and the child?”
“I did. There was no sign of either of them.”
“But how would you know if you don’t remember what the woman looks like?”
“I assumed I was searching for both. I know what the girl looks like.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how important that phone is, do I?” Her tone simultaneously implied threat and reward, with threat predominant.
“I understand.”
“Then you also understand that if you don’t find the girl, and don’t find out who this mystery woman is, your ‘position’ will be eliminated, yes?”
Perspiration formed on Damil’s upper lip, and he faked a cough so he could wipe it way before she noticed. Eliminating his position meant only one thing: his death.
“I understand.”
7
JINN WALKED OUT of the bathroom wearing her new clothes and a towel wrapped like a turban around her head, accentuating her genie-like qualities.
“I’ve got to go,” Leine said to Santa. “I’ll let you know when I have the info on my flight out.” She ended the call and set the phone on the table next to her. “Feeling better?”
“Who was that?” Jinn asked as she walked over to a chair near the window and sat down.
“My partner, Santa.”
“Where does he live?”
“California.”
“Oh.” Jinn unwrapped the towel and draped it over her shoulders, then ran her fingers through her wet hair.
“So, where are we going?” Leine asked.
“What do you mean?”
“To find out what happened to your family.”
“The last time I saw my mother was in my village of Qaram.”
“Where is it?”
“Near the border of Tunisia.”
“That was over two years ago. How did you end up in Tripoli?”
“Some men came and took me away.”
“Without your family’s permission?”
Her expression guarded, she gave a half-hearted shrug.
“Why did those men take you?” It was possible her family sold her, but she wanted to let the kid tell her if that was the case.
Distracted, Jinn stood and looked out the window.
“Jinn. Why did those men take you?”
She muttered something Leine couldn’t quite make out.
Leine softened her tone. “I’m sorry—I didn’t hear what you just said.”
Jinn turned from the window. Leine’s breath caught at
the abject misery on her face.
“They lied to me.” Her voice grew stronger. “I didn’t want to do the things they told me to do, so I ran away.”
Leine forced herself to stay put. The urge to wrap Jinn in a protective embrace almost overwhelmed her, but she knew the gesture could be interpreted all kinds of wrong. Don’t let her play you, Leine. Santa’s warning echoed in her mind. Street kids are experts at pulling on heartstrings.
“I’m so sorry, Jinn,” Leine said quietly. “Where were your parents?”
A cloud of anger hardened her features and she clenched her fists. “They tricked my mother. We thought they were going to help us.”
“What did they promise?”
“That I could go to school. It wouldn’t cost my mother anything, but I had to go with them to Tripoli. They said I would stay in a place with other girls who were going to the same school. We would have chaperones.” Tears brimmed in her eyes—the pain was still fresh. “There was no school. We were going to be sent away, to another town. They wouldn’t tell us where. I waited until I saw my chance and ran away.”
“Did you go back to your mother?”
“I tried, but while I was away our village was bombed. No one lives there anymore. My mother didn’t leave word of where she’d gone. Or even if she was alive.” She hugged herself and sank back in the chair.
“And you’ve been in Tripoli ever since.”
“Yes.”
Leine leaned against the headboard and sighed. The story wasn’t surprising. Vulnerable children were exploited every day, especially in times of war, and many were never reunited with their families. Most of the smaller villages were labeled terrorist strongholds by the Libyan Army and had been strategically targeted. The resulting refugees fled to the camps that sprang up along the border.
“How did you manage to survive for so long?”
Jinn shrugged. “I learned how to steal.”
“From the other kids?”
“No. I was recruited by an older boy who ran a gang of thieves. He told me if I didn’t do what he said, he would kill me. He wanted someone my size to help him break into homes and businesses.”
