Doha 12

by Lance Charnes

  “You’re in shock.” Gene patted Jake’s thigh. “Shock’s a good place to be right now, believe me. Pretty soon you’ll feel plenty.”

  Jake heard the words but didn’t process them. He returned his attention to the corridor wall. “I want Eve.”

  “Soon, kid, they—”

  “I want my daughter!” He didn’t think he had that much volume left in him. Several people in the waiting area turned to look.

  “Jake.” Gene grabbed his bicep. “The doctors are taking care of her. You can see her soon.”

  “Doctors? Why? What happened to her? Is she hurt?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Look. EMS had a hard time getting her away from Rinnah. She was hysterical. I talked to the nurse, they gave her something to calm her down, they’re checking her for injuries, they’re cleaning her up. She’ll be fine.”

  “Cleaning her up? What does that mean?”

  Gene took a deep breath, pushed his fingers through his hair. “There was a lot of blood.”

  “Blood? You said she wasn’t hurt! Why was she bleeding? How—”

  “Kid. It wasn’t her blood.”

  Jake’s stomach heaved. He clamped a shaking hand over his mouth and looked away, fought the visions that tore at his mind. Not her blood. Rinnah’s…“I need to see her.”

  “You can see Chava pretty soon, they’ll come—”

  “No. Rinnah.”

  “No.” Gene shook his big, square head, his face grim. “You don’t.”

  Jake grabbed his overcoat lapel, tried to shake him. “I have to see her! I want…I need…”

  Gene enveloped Jake’s hand in both of his. “No, kid, you don’t. Not the way she is now. First of all, she’s maybe still at the scene, you don’t want to go there.”

  The scene. Their home—the place they’d shared, lived in, loved in—was a just another crime scene now. “Still? Why?”

  “CSU has to process the scene, then the M.E. has to look her over in place before they take her to the morgue. It takes time, it’s not like on TV.” He squeezed Jake’s hand. “You’ll get her back, I promise.”

  “Don’t I have to…identify her or something?”

  “No, I already did. I went there before I came here. That’s how I know you don’t want to see her now. Let the M.E. clean her up. Then you can see her.” Gene gently released Jake’s hand, laid his arm across Jake’s shoulders. “I put the word out, this is a family thing. The guys at the Seven-Two are all over this, and the borough Homicide Squad’s involved. We’re going to get the son-of-a-bitch who did this, and it won’t go easy for him, you understand?”

  Jake nodded. It wouldn’t bring Rinnah back; nothing could. She’s innocent, damn it! She’d done nothing to deserve this. He’d enjoy killing the bastard who took her away from him and Eve. There, another feeling—anger.

  “Monica and I want you two to stay with us, for as long as you—”

  “No, I can’t, I don’t want to put you—”

  “Kid, just shut up, alright? You’re in no condition to think right now. We have lots of room, and Chava’s going to need a woman’s touch for a while. We’re glad to have you. In fact, if you don’t come stay, I’ll be insulted, you don’t want that. All right?”

  “Okay.” Jake tried to take a deep breath, but still couldn’t. The emptiness weighed heavy on his lungs.

  “Mr. Eldar?”

  Both Gene and Jake answered together. “Yeah?”

  A female doctor, petite, Asian eyes and flat planes in her face, stood in front of them in green scrubs and a white coat, clipboard in her hand. “Jacob Eldar?”

  Jake raised his hand. “That’s me.”

  “Want to come back and see your daughter?”

  The men followed her through a double swinging door, past busy exam rooms and bustling staff. They pushed into one of the rooms. Eve was laid out on a stainless-steel examination table, draped in an oversized white paper gown. Jake leaped to the table, gathered her up, crushed her limp body to his chest, started gently rocking her. “Eve! Bunny! Thank God! It’s okay, Daddy’s here, and Uncle Gene. You’re safe.”

  No response. He pulled back a few inches. Eve’s eyes swiveled his way, still red from crying, but didn’t focus.

  “You’re okay now. It’s gonna be okay.” Jake brushed some damp hair from her forehead, rocked some more, just as he had when she woke up crying as a baby. He caressed her little round, soft cheek. She pressed against his palm, but stayed silent. Fear started to chip through Jake’s gray void. “Eve? Bunny?”

  Eve slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and held on with what little strength she had. Her chin trembled. She was so quiet, not even a whisper or a sob.

  He glanced back to the doctor. “Is she okay? Is she hurt?”

  “Not physically.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The doctor motioned to the door with her clipboard. Gene reached for Eve, but Jake hunched over her and held her tighter. His uncle wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Kid, it’s okay. I’ll hold her. Talk to the doctor.”

  Gene pulled Eve from Jake’s unwilling arms, gave his nephew a gentle push. Jake drifted back to the door, his eyes riveted to his daughter. Her face. She had Rinnah’s face.

  At the door, the doctor—her ID badge said “Evelyn Kwan”—touched his sleeve. “Mr. Eldar…your daughter’s had a terrible experience. The little ones deal with that differently than we do. It’s hard to predict how they’ll react.” Jake half-listened, watching Eve nestle like a cub in Gene’s bear-like arms. “She’s in shock. We gave her a strong sedative, she should be asleep pretty soon. We won’t know what she’ll do until she does it. I’d like you to bring her back tomorrow to see one of our pediatric psychologists.” Jake barely noticed the pause until she said, “Mr. Eldar?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” He watched Gene sway from side to side, his arms a cradle. Eve’s eyes drooped closed; the hand gripping Gene’s lapel slid to her chest. “What do I do? How do I help her?”

  Dr. Kwan touched his sleeve again. “Just love her. Be with her. She’ll probably be clingy, but let her cling. She’s going to be different for a while. So will you, I imagine. Help her feel safe. It’s the best medicine for you both.”

  Safe. What was that? Would either of them ever feel safe again?

  In the restroom, Jake pushed water into his eyes to wash away the nervous sweat and the hopelessness. A thought burned through the void. Rinnah’s face. I have to see Rinnah’s face.

  A series of pointed fingers sent him out the Emergency Department’s back doors into the cold, across Winthrop, to the brick-and-glass NYC Medical Examiner’s Brooklyn headquarters. He saw only the patch of ground in front of him; everything else was a smear. He could hear Rinnah’s voice, sounds without words, echoing to him from a long way off. Through the glass doors, to the reception desk. “I need to identify a…my wife.”

  A young, round-faced investigator appeared, fast-talking, Puerto Rican accent, his collar and tie too tight. “Sir, an Inspector Eldar already ID’ed your wife at the scene. He’s related?”

  “I need to see her.”

  “Sir, she just came in. The M.E. hasn’t gotten to her yet. If you could wait—”

  “I need to see her.”

  “If you give me a few minutes, I can bring you a photo—”

  Tears poured down Jake’s neck. His voice broke. “No photo. Her. Now.”

  Hurried phone calls, hushed voices, pitying glances. Flickering Rinnah images wavered in Jake’s head. Rinnah splashing on the beach in Tel Aviv, Rinnah beckoning to him from his bed at the university, Rinnah anxiously showing her visa to the Immigration guy at JFK for the first time. In every one, her face was smudged, shaded. Jake palmed away the tears, tried to clear his eyes. He had to see her face. I’m coming, honey, soon…

  “Sir?” The investigator was back, anxious. Jake didn’t want to stop the film running in his head. “Give me ten minutes, okay? You can see her, just ten minutes.”

&n
bsp; Jake paced, but the images took over his world. Small moments. Rinnah hanging curtains at that first crappy apartment, in her bra and briefs because of the heat. Her first nighttime walk through Times Square, wonder in her eyes. Shopping for their first furniture together. Rinnah holding Eve moments after she was born. This morning: “I love you.”

  The investigator led Jake through buzzing security doors and down a corridor. Alcohol and disinfectant attacked his nose. The tunnel vision worked for Jake—he could see linoleum and white paint, but not the sheet-draped shapes on the gurneys. Until they stopped.

  “Sir, are you sure you want to do this?”

  It’s not real ‘til you see her. “I have to. I have to.” When did his voice get so shaky?

  Does she know I’m here?

  I’m here, honey, I’ve come for you…

  The investigator sighed, nodded, then carefully peeled the sheet away from her face.

  Pale, still. Livid puckered skin around a single neat, round hole in her forehead. Her face was wet; they’d clearly tried to wash off the blood, but it had gathered in the crevices around her closed eyes, in her ears, her hairline. A water droplet heavy with red residue hung at the corner of her eye, then slid down her temple into her hair; a tear of blood.

  My love. He reached out, but couldn’t bear to touch her. My wife. Eve’s mother.

  Gone. And our baby too…

  The Rinnah movie jammed, burned through. Jake’s mind, overfull with the void, tried to claw back the images. They wouldn’t come. The picture before him was all he could see now. He felt things breaking inside him, his world tearing in two.

  A wounded-animal howl echoed off the corridor walls.

  It was the sound of his heart shattering.

  THIRTY: Newark, 1 December

  A New York City television station carried the story on its midday news. Alayan recognized 18th Street, Eldar’s building, even the policeman who’d searched the van. Police cars filled the road. All that for a woman? His anger and frustration turned to dread when the police spokesman said, “We consider the victim part of the NYPD family, and a crime committed against any part of our family is committed against all of us.”

  She was in the police? Alayan stepped through all 143 photos in the woman’s Flickr portfolio and didn’t find one of her in uniform. Was she a detective? Someone in their crime lab? No matter; they wouldn’t stop looking for who killed her. An NYPD jihad. Why now? Only three targets left…

  Gabir slumped in the chunky green armchair facing the window. Alayan had berated that donkey on the way back from Brooklyn until he lost his fire and nearly his voice. All he could see now was the back of Gabir’s head, silhouetted against the midday haze; he couldn’t tell whether Gabir was still awake. He didn’t really care.

  A single knock on the door, a pause, another single knock.

  Alayan started. He swept his pistol off the desktop and moved noiselessly to the door. He cupped his gun hand around the peephole, then peeled back the painters’ tape covering the glass eyepiece. Kassim and Rafiq stood outside.

  Alayan murmured “We have a problem” as he let them slip into the room. He glanced down the corridor to check for watchers.

  “You mean in addition to Kaminsky’s house being empty?” Kassim replied.

  “What do you mean, ‘empty’?”

  “Just that. Nobody lives there.” Kassim sat on the end of the bed closest to the door, whipped off his woolen scarf, rubbed his upper arms. “Rafiq played electric man and checked. There’s no furniture.”

  Damn it! Alayan hit the wall next to the bathroom door with the heel of his hand. “How can that be? That’s the address on his passport. Our friends in the Beirut police confirmed it.”

  “That’s where his passport was sent when he got it.” Rafiq stood in front of the muted television, watching the flickering pictures. “Americans don’t have to change the address when they move until they renew the passport.”

  Alayan said, “Not a problem. We follow him from his work to his new home.”

  “He’s travelling for his company, I called to check. They wouldn’t say where he was or when he’d be back.” Rafiq gave Alayan a grim smile. “More Americans who understand security.”

  Alayan stifled the urge to kick the bathroom door. Could anything else go wrong today?

  Kassim asked, “Is Eldar eliminated?”

  “No. He wasn’t in the flat, but the wife was. Gabir shot her.”

  Rafiq’s eyes went huge. “What?” He rounded on Gabir, who had pushed himself out of the chair. “You did what?”

  “I had to,” Gabir said. “She saw me.”

  “You idiot!” Rafiq rushed Gabir, grabbed him by the throat and rammed him into the wall next to the window. “Stupid son of a whore!”

  Kassim and Alayan waded into the cursing, struggling men. Alayan ripped Gabir away from Rafiq, shouted “Enough!” and flung the larger man toward the closest bed. Rafiq shrugged out of Kassim’s arms and stalked to the window, raising his hands in an “I’m done” gesture.

  After a few moments of glares and tense breathing, Alayan snapped, “We have enough problems without the two of you fighting like jealous women. Yes, Gabir failed. I know you fancied her, Rafiq, but we could live with the woman’s death if Eldar was eliminated. But he wasn’t—he’s still alive and he’s going to be harder to reach now.”

  “You don’t understand, sidi.” The desolate look in Rafiq’s eyes told Alayan the man was hurt more than he wanted to show. Why? Was Rafiq getting too soft for this? “Yes, she was pretty and nice. Killing her was totally unnecessary. But that’s not the big problem.”

  Alayan caught Kassim’s eye, saw the deepening gloom there. “All right, tell us.”

  “Fine. You kill a black man in this country and no one notices. You kill a white man, everybody says, ‘oh, what a tragedy,’ then they go about their business. But kill a young, pretty white woman—” he thrust an angry finger toward Gabir, who grimaced “—like that bokhesh did, and it’ll be on the news for days, weeks maybe. Especially when she’s a mother. The police go crazy looking for the killer, they get so much pressure from the news and the politicians. That dog—” he shook his finger again at Gabir “—just put us in the middle of what they call a ‘shitstorm’ here.” He used the English word.

  “But she saw me,” Gabir repeated, stubborn and angry.

  “Then knock her on the head and tie her up. She’d tell them some big, stupid black man hit her, and you know what? Everybody would be glad it didn’t turn out worse. Burglary’s hardly even a real crime here anymore, there are so many.” Rafiq’s eyes turned hard and black. “You better not have shot that beautiful little girl.”

  “No. She didn’t see me.”

  Clouds of dread gathered and grew dark around Alayan’s head as Rafiq ranted on. Back home, the murder of a woman would barely rate a mention in the papers unless she was related to someone important. Rafiq had spent four years living with these people, learning how they think and act, and now they all knew they had yet another complication on top of the rest.

  Time to take control again. “That’s enough. All that aside, Eldar’s been warned. He’ll be more careful, he may even get police protection.” He glared at Gabir and Rafiq in turn. “I need you men to think. We need to get to Eldar. You’ve both watched him, now make something of it. Gabir, go to your room.”

  Gabir shot one more venomous look at Rafiq, mumbled, “Yes, sidi,” and stomped out the door.

  The three remaining men watched each other, their breathing the only definite sound in the room. Finally, Alayan said, “There’s something else. The police searched me and the van during the operation.” Kassim moaned, dragged his hands through his hair. “They can place me and the van on that street when everything happened.”

  Kassim swore and stomped to the window. “Where’s the van now?”

  “Down the street, at the Hampton Inn. It needs to go back to where it came from, and we need another one, from ano
ther company. I need you two to take care of that.”

  “That’s easy,” Kassim answered. “How in hell do we take you back?”

  Alayan’s own frustration echoed in his friend’s voice. “Ziyad’s working on one of the backup passports for me. He said he’ll be done tonight. One more thing. We need the police to think they’ve solved the woman’s case.”

  “Are you going to give them Gabir?” Rafiq grumbled.

  “No. I’ve been doing some research. There’s an African street gang called the Slope Mafia on the other side of the motorway from Eldar’s flat. Kassim, take Gabir there tonight, find one of these Slope Mafia people, kill him, put Gabir’s weapon on him and leave the things he took from the flat. Understand?”

  Kassim stared back at him, eyebrows raised, eyes blank. “Are you insane?”

  “You have a better plan?”

  “Yes. Get Gabir out of the country, now, before a witness shows up or someone recognizes him.” Kassim’s words were bit off at the ends, driven home like nails.

  “You’re the one who’s always complaining we don’t have enough people. Now you want to just send one away?”

  “At least it’s sure to work, not like this charade you—”

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Rafiq stood between them, hands outstretched, waving them down. “You two can’t fight, understand? You fight, and we’re all dead. Okay?” He looked from Alayan to Kassim, who turned away, nodded, took a deep breath. After a moment, Rafiq said, “It’s not guaranteed, but this might almost work. Nobody will care about a dead gangster. The only people who can clear him are other gangsters. Who’ll listen, right?”

  “Kassim?” Alayan said to his friend’s back.

  Kassim shook his head and sighed. “All right, fine, we’ll find a gang.” He glanced back, face rigid. “But you’re still insane.”

  THIRTY-ONE: Secaucus, 1 December

  Gur and his five agents clustered around the hotel room’s wood-topped, two-person round table, examining the screen of Kelila’s secure laptop.