“It makes a big difference…to the killer.”
I laughed uneasily. “I think you're giving me too much credit.”
“Am I? You pretty much single-handedly unraveled the mystery surrounding Paul's murder when the police couldn't.”
“When the police wouldn't,” I corrected. “They could have if they had wanted to.”
“I'm not so sure. You had contacts they didn't. People would talk to you that wouldn't talk to the police. People like TJ Jackson.”
My eyes widened. He did have good sources if he knew TJ's name. “Where is all this going?” I asked, suddenly tiring of this tense game of cat and mouse.
“Going? It's not going anywhere,” Razi said, and he suddenly seemed to relax. His shoulders slumped and a small smile turned up the corner of his mouth. “I'm just killing time until Tad gets back.”
“Where'd he go?” I asked, relieved at the break in the tension. I felt Micah relax next to me as well.
“To take out the trash,” he answered. He walked over to a long, narrow table against the wall and leaned casually against it. The table was completely barren except for a carved wooden staff lying stretched between a matching set of intricately fashioned brass stands. “He's never taken this long before. I hope he didn't run into trouble.” He threw me an unreadable look as he said the last.
“You want us to go look for him?” Micah asked hopefully, no doubt seeing a chance to escape.
“No, that's quite alright. I wouldn't want to impose.”
“It wouldn't be an imposition as all,” Micah said quickly, too quickly. Razi smiled a little smile that I didn't like at all. I suddenly felt more uneasy with this relaxed Razi than I had when he was so clearly on edge.
He trailed his fingers lazily across the staff. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” he asked conversationally.
“It is,” I agreed. And it truly was; magnificently carved with mythical creatures writhing around its entire length.
“It's one of the few things I own from my homeland,” he looked up at me, heavy lidded, almost seductive. “I didn't bring it with me of course. I didn't have time. No, I bought it here. I never told you my story, did I?” He was speaking only to me, as if Micah wasn't even in the room.
I shook my head, my throat suddenly too tight to speak.
“I told you the last time you were here that we all have stories. You asked me what mine was but I was rude and didn't tell you. I'll rectify that now, if you'll allow me.”
I nodded.
“I was born in the West Bank in a village not far from the Israeli border. My parents were considered freedom fighters by my people, terrorists by Israel and the US. Death was a daily occurrence; killing and fighting were a part of my earliest education. I could handle a gun by the time most American children are learning to tie their shoelaces. I can handle almost any weapon with ease, from a gun to a knife. I can even kill with my bare hands if I have to. It didn't mean I liked killing, just that I was good at it. When I was ten years old, my mother died in a car bombing. Two years later, Israeli soldiers arrested my father and he was never seen again. I was sent to live with my uncle and his wife.”
He paused for a moment as I sat in horrified silence. I watched as he gripped one end of the staff and gave it a slight twist. To my surprise, a slender, steel dagger slipped from the staff like a sword from it sheath. The blade was no longer or wider than a large letter opener, but I had no doubt that the glittering edge was plenty lethal. Razi raised his eyes to us and gave a half-smile at the way our eyes were glued to the dagger.
“Beautiful and useful,” he observed, sliding the blade back into the handle of the staff and locking it in place. “What good is beauty if it is useless? But back to my story. My uncle was married, but he and his wife had never had children. I soon found out why. My uncle was gay. At least, I know that now. I didn't even know what that meant then. All I knew was that my uncle liked to do things to me at night when everyone else was asleep. He used to tell me that if I told anyone, I would be killed. I accepted it, looking at it as payment for living with them instead of on the street as a beggar. I even became quite good. It got to the point that I even rather enjoyed it. I'm not gay really, but I guess you could say I'm bisexual. It went on for a few years and then one night, his wife caught us. She was quite horrified, as you can imagine. My uncle panicked and killed her, strangled her to death.
“That left us with the question of what to do with her body. I suggested leaving her near the border, to appear as if an Israeli had killed her, but the border area was dangerous and my uncle was never a fighter. Besides, soldiers didn't kill by strangling. My uncle decided that I would take the blame. Who was I to argue? I was barely fifteen. My uncle couldn't stand the idea of me being executed however, so he planned to help me slip out of the country. He would tell the officials that I had run away. I'd be long gone by then. He still knew the people my parents had been friends with, people who could arrange for me to slip past the borders unnoticed. I was passed from one place to another, from person to person, until I reached Jordan. One of those people turned out to be a kind woman who reminded me much of my mother. She took pity on me, a young boy alone and afraid in a strange country. She gave me all the money she had on her and told me to go somewhere safe, a place that I could start a new life. All my life I'd heard about how America is the land of opportunity. I went to the airport and bought a ticket to the United States.
“There I was, fifteen and alone in a country where I didn't speak a word of their language. I managed to find my way to the city, where I quickly learned to use what my uncle had taught me to survive. First as a street hustler, and then later as an escort. I've done pretty well for myself, wouldn't you say?” He gestured around the room with an all-encompassing sweep of his arm. “So there, Killian Kendall, that's my story. Are you satisfied now?”
“Yes,” I managed to say.
“Good,” he said. And then moving so quickly I barely had time to register what was happening, he suddenly leaped forward, swinging the staff like a club. I slammed myself against the back of the couch while Micah, who I'd almost forgotten was there, threw himself in front of me. The carved cane connected with Micah's head with a sickening thud, the force of the blow actually knocking him off the couch and onto the floor.
I sat stunned by the sudden violence like a rabbit cornered by a fox. My mind was jabbering at me to move, to run, to get out of the way before Razi struck me as well, but I was unable to move. It took a few seconds for my mind to realize that Razi was making no move to hit me. He just stared down contemptuously at Micah.
“How heroic, sacrificing himself to save his beloved. Hero - it's really just another way of saying someone did something stupid,” he sneered. He looked up at me with terrifyingly cold eyes. “If only the poor idiot knew he was the target all along. Now that we're alone we can talk…man to man.”
“W-what's going on?” I stammered. I desperately wanted to check on Micah but I didn't dare move.
“I told you my story, now it's time for you to tell me a story.”
“What?”
“I know why you're really here; we can skip that part of the story. Somehow, you figured out who killed Paul and Fenton and of course, you came running right here. Unfortunate for you, convenient for me. It saves me the time of hunting you down. You were my last obstacle; I knew you wouldn't let go of this that easily. What I really want to know is how you figured it out, and more importantly at the moment, what have you done with Tad?”
“I haven't done anything with Tad,” I said, praying the boy would be smart enough to stay with the car and not come looking for us. I had no idea how long we'd been in here; I'd completely lost track of time. “I didn't see him when I came up.”
I knew I had to get Micah and me out of here, and fast, but I had no idea how I was going to accomplish that and keep both of us alive, especially with him unconscious. My only chance was to get the pepper spray out without Razi noticing it and hope
it was as effective as Novak had said. In order to do that though, I had to stall him, so I kept talking. “I thought it was Fenton who had killed Paul, except everyone kept saying that it wasn't his style, and that he'd probably hired it done. Either way, I knew who was behind it so I went to the police with the evidence I had.”
“Considerable evidence,” Razi commented off-handedly. I filed that away, I was beginning to suspect that his source was a mole inside the police department.
“They said they were going to raid Fenton's estate, but I had a friend who I knew was with Fenton. I wanted to try and get him out before the raid so I went to the estate and that's when I found the bodies and called the police. I guess you were tipped off and got there ahead of me?”
“You had a friend there?” Razi asked sharply, not answering my question.
“Yes. He's the one you left alive. I spoke to him last night after he came to. He told me how he'd overheard Fenton ordering you to kill Paul. It was fairly simple to put the rest together.”
“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he snarled. He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You're here and not the police. That means they don't believe your little friend, at least not yet. I'll be long gone before they arrive. All they'll find here is two dead bodies.”
He swung the staff back. “Wait!” I screamed as I scrambled up onto the sofa, balancing precariously on the cushions. “I have one more question,” I pleaded.
His arm stopped in midair. I took the scant opportunity before he could begin the down-swing. “Why?” I asked. “Why did you agree to kill Paul?”
The staff swung down. I didn't have time to do more than flinch before it smashed across my face, sending me reeling over the back of the sofa. I hit the floor with a heavy crash, but thankfully, I was still conscious-a little stunned, but aware. I could taste blood in my mouth, metallic and warm, but I didn't have time to assess the damage. I scrambled to my knees as Razi came purposefully around the sofa.
“You want to know why I killed Paul?” he asked as he stalked slowly towards me, speaking in a chillingly calm voice. I shuffled back as well as I could. “I'll tell you why I killed Paul. For the same reason I killed Fenton and his clowns, and for the same reason I'm killing you and your boyfriend now. Because I didn't have a choice.”
I spit out a mouthful of blood. “You always have a choice,” I managed.
“No!” he snapped, then regained control and continued, “No, I didn't. Not if I wanted to keep my freedom. That's something most of you Americans take for granted. I know the difference.”
“What are you talking about?” If I could just keep him talking. I was trying to get my hand in my pocket as surreptitiously as possible. “How could you lose your freedom by refusing to kill someone?”
“When I was working for Fenton as an escort, some rich, fat-cat politician tried to rape me. Apparently, he got off on taking by force what he could have had anyway. I knew how to kill, remember, I'd done it before. So I killed him. It might have been argued that it was self-defense, but it was just as likely that I'd be locked up for murder. After all, he was a respectable public servant and I was just an immigrant prostitute. That's how they'd see it anyway. Who would even believe that he had hired me? Fenton helped cover it up, but what I didn't know at the time was that he carefully saved evidence in case anything was ever traced back to us.”
He'd become so caught up in his story that he'd failed to notice my hand slip into my pocket, my fingers curling around the cool, metal cylinder there. It helped that my crouching position partially hid the movements of my hand. His story had caught my attention though. It vaguely rang a bell in my memory. I thought I remembered the mysterious death of a local politician a few years ago. It had made the national news because the police had no leads, just the body of a well-liked family man who had shown up in a fountain in Dupont Circle
.
“He used that evidence to blackmail me into killing Paul and stealing the evidence Paul supposedly had against him,” he went on. “I didn't want to; I tried to talk Paul into running or at least leaving Fenton alone, but he wouldn't hear of it. He died because he was too damn stubborn.” He paused and a tiny, cruel smile played at his lips. “Kind of like you.”
He made a sudden lunge towards me and I threw myself backwards, yanking my hand out of my pocket as I did. The staff whipped through the air as I ripped the lid off the pepper spray canister, scrambling away the whole time until my back hit the wall. I didn't have time to aim it; I could only hope I had it pointed in the right direction. I held it out in front of me, but before I could press the button to spray it, Razi caught my hand on the back swing, knocking it out of my grip. I watched helplessly as it skittered across the floor.
I turned my horrified gaze back to Razi, who had crouched down in front of me, his face now so close I could feel his breath. If anything, he was more terrifying now than before. His eyes had taken on a crazed look that sent chills running down my spine. Any perceptible sanity that had been there before was gone, replaced now by pure hate.
“You've caused me so much trouble,” he growled in a low voice made rough by hatred. “No one really cared who'd killed Paul until you came along. You just couldn't leave things alone. I'm really going to enjoy killing you.” He cocked his head to one side. “I think I'll do it slowly, so that you feel every second of pain.”
He twisted the handle of the staff and a soft click sounded unnaturally loud in my heightened alert state. He slowly withdrew dagger from the staff, its razor-sharp edge eerily mirroring the glint in Razi's eyes.
“What do you think? Should I start with your pretty face?” he asked in a breathy voice. He sounded almost turned on by the prospect. “Or maybe I should start somewhere a little more personal.” He flicked the blade towards my crotch and I flinched. He chuckled menacingly.
I fought the rising panic in my chest, willing myself to remain still. I was deadly certain that if I tried to move, he would forego the torture and kill me quickly and efficiently. Right now, we were playing a game of cat and mouse and he was enjoying the smell of my fear.
He reached out a steady hand and drew the blade softly across my right cheek. There was no pain but I immediately felt a trickle of blood spill out. I sucked in an involuntary gasp.
“Sharp, isn't it?” he asked seductively.
The cut began to sting and I felt a tear roll down my cheek, more from fear than pain.
“Are you scared now?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Good. I want you to be scared. That makes it more fun.”
He reached out to slice my left cheek, but just then, a flash of motion caught both our attentions. Before I could even turn to see what was happening, Razi was swinging around to face this new adversary. With a roar of pure fury, Micah flew into Razi and they tumbled backwards onto the floor. The knife was lost to my sight, but I didn't waste time worrying about it. I crawled madly in the direction I'd last seen the pepper spray rolling. I threw aside an end table while sounds of their struggle came from behind me. I flipped over the recliner and there was the canister. I snatched it up, leapt to me feet, and vaulted over the couch, landing next to Razi and Micah's entwined bodies. Their faces were only inches apart, there was no way I could just spray Razi. I hesitated a second, but then saw the missing dagger emerge from between their bodies, still in the grip of Razi's dark hand.
“I'm sorry, Micah,” I whispered, and let loose with a stream of pepper spray. Their reaction was immediate. They broke apart in a howl of feral pain that almost immediately gave way to coughing and gagging. The knife fell harmlessly to the floor as Razi and Micah both began to claw and rub at their streaming eyes, writhing about on the floor in apparent agony. I stood by helplessly, unsure of what to do next.
“Somebody help!” I screamed, finally giving vent to my panic.
Just then, the door exploded inward with a sharp crack that sent me diving to the floor.
“Freeze! Police!” A vo
ice shouted.
I was much more relieved to hear that phrase this time than I had been the last time it had been shouted at me.
* * *
It took a while to sort things out, but eventually I learned that after I'd talked to Chris, she'd become worried and talked to her father, Louis. He'd agreed that it sounded dangerous and he'd called Detective Evans. Together, they decided “unofficially” to drive over to Razi's apartment. When they showed up, in uniform, Tad had quickly approached them, concerned because I'd been gone so long. He had no idea they were there looking for us; he just thought they were two cops who happened to be in the neighborhood and acted. So they were forewarned before they went in. When they got to Razi's floor, they heard me scream for help and, of course, being cops, they burst in.
Once they saw what was going on, I tried to explain who was who and what had happened. I'm not sure how coherent I was, but they got the gist of it. They quickly placed Razi under arrest and handcuffed him. Then they left him to cough and thrash on the floor while they attended to Micah. By this time, I was at his side and he was calmer but still in excruciating pain. Evans rushed into the kitchen and came back a minute later with bowl of soapy looking water.
The Truth of Yesterday Page 50
