Miss Montreal (30 page)

“We did what we came to do. All that’s left is to tell Arthur what happened, and that can wait one more day.”

“All right,” she said. “Let me see what flight I can get on.”

She was searching her options on my laptop when Mehrdad Aziz called and asked me to come by the store. “It would be my honour to have tea with you,” he said. “To thank you for what you did. If that bomb had gone off as intended, Muslims would be waking up to a very different day.”

“I’m the one who needs to thank you. You and your big goofy pal.”

“Kamal? He is a cousin, actually.”

“Okay, cousin. Without you, I wouldn’t have reached my friends.”

“Yes, you would. But maybe we helped make it easier. Please say you will come.”

“All right.”

“Your friend Mr. Ryan will come too?”

“I’ll ask him.”

“The earlier the better,” he said. “Saturdays are often busy after lunch.”

“Give us an hour,” I said.

“Fine. We will see you then.”

He hung up and I told Ryan about the invitation. He shrugged. “You sure you want to go? I don’t know about you, but I’m still stuffed from those bagels.”

“It’s just for tea. And I want to get my sphere cam back. It cost too much to leave behind.”

“Okay.”

“What about me?” Jenn asked.

“We could take you to the airport first,” I said. “Go to the store from there.”

“I can’t get on a flight until at least three. I’ll hang here until you get back, if that’s okay. Then either you can drive me or I’ll take a cab.”

“Sure.”

“What about your transponder?” Ryan asked. “Want to get that too?”

“I’m in no rush to see Mohammed again.”

“I didn’t think so. Maybe Moscoe will reimburse you for the cost.”

“Maybe.”

“You think he’ll contact Micheline?” Jenn asked.

“Wouldn’t that be interesting? Artie Moscoe and Miss Montreal, together again for the first time since 1950.”

“Stranger things have happened,” she said. “I mean I walked in on Ryan dropping his pants and it just got nuttier from there.”

M
ehrdad unlocked the front door of Les Tapis Kabul when Ryan and I arrived. Mehri was nowhere in sight. He stood back and waved us in without making eye contact and relocked the door.

“I thought you were open this morning,” I said.

“It is quiet,” he said. “And I don’t want us to be disturbed while we have our tea.”

“Where’s Mehri?”

“In the back room. Waiting for us.”

“And Kamal and Rashid?”

“No, they don’t work today.”

“Just the four of us.”

“Yes.”

We walked to the back of the store. So much beauty around us, all the hanging carpets in lush shades of crimson, scarlet, vermilion: the colour of wine, roses, rubies. The work of men, women and children in dusty rooms half a world away. Soft carpets made for bare feet, for making love on in front of a fire.

“Please,” Mehrdad said. “This way.”

He led us behind the counter and opened the door to the storeroom. Once again he held the door for us, waiting until we
were all the way in before closing it behind us. Once it was shut, he said, “I am sorry.”

I could see why. Mohammed and his brother Faisal were standing behind a shipping table. His left hand was on Mehri’s shoulder. A gun filled his right. He shoved Mehri toward her brother and levelled the pistol at us.

“He said he would kill Mehri if I didn’t call you,” Mehrdad said.

“It’s all right,” I said.

“All right?” Mohammed said. “It is excellent. Now you are here, come all the way in. Faisal, take their guns.”

Faisal wasn’t wearing his neck brace anymore. He walked up to me and ran his hands down my sides, found nothing. Then he opened Ryan’s jacket and reached in for his Glock. Ryan leaned his head forward and yelled, “Boo!” and Faisal flinched. Ryan bared his teeth in a chilling laugh.

“Faisal!” Mohammed barked. “Be a man and take the gun.” Faisal did. He handed the Glock to Mohammed, who hefted it, decided he liked it, then stepped forward and slammed the butt into my nose. I felt a shock of pain through my face as the cartilage broke. Blood rushed down my face and the back of my throat. I didn’t care. Because in his rush to repay me for breaking his nose, he had overlooked the Baby Eagle in Ryan’s ankle holster.

I spat blood on the floor. More took its place in my throat. “You happy now?” I said to Mohammed. It hurt to talk. Every move I made sent more pain through my sinuses and cheekbone.

“Only partly,” he said. “Only a nose’s worth. You have more yet to pay for what you did.”

“What I did? You mean saving your community from a mob?”

“My community is my family. My brothers. You hurt Faisal’s neck. You hurt Omar last night. You abused me. These things cannot go unanswered. People see us injured and no one pays for it, what are they going to think?”

“That you’re a gutless asshole?” Ryan said.

“Shut up, you. You want your nose broken too?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“There is a first time for everything,” Mohammed said. “When I’m done with you, you won’t have such a smart mouth.”

Mehrdad said, “Please, Mohammed. That is enough. You took your revenge. It’s over.”

Mohammed laughed and said, “Over? I thought you knew revenge, you Afghans. Or maybe you’re worried we’ll mess up your store. Don’t worry about that, okay? We will take them to your warehouse and finish them there. Show them how Syrians do things. Let’s go.” He pointed the gun at me.

“There’s something you should know,” I said.

“No stalling. Come on. Out the back.”

“Mehrdad,” I said. “That bin of carpets on your right. Reach inside the one with the blue edging.”

Mohammed swivelled and pointed his gun at Mehrdad. “If there is a gun in there,” he said, “you’d better leave it where it is. Or else I shoot you and your sister.”

Mehrdad said, “It is not a gun. It’s a ball.”

“It’s a camera,” I said.

“What use is a camera inside a carpet?” Mohammed said.

“It records picture
and
voice,” I said. “Every word you’ve said since you walked in has been recorded.”

Mohammed strode over to Mehrdad and slapped the camera out of his hand, then stomped it with his heel. “There’s your fucking camera now. No pictures. No voice. Now shut your mouth and walk toward the door. Hands over your head.”

“You’re not exactly up on current technology, are you?”

“Fuck you and your technology. Move.”

“The camera doesn’t just record. It transmits.”

“Transmits what?”

“This conversation to a computer. Which my friend is listening to in our hotel room right now. Hearing every word you said. Sending the police.”

It would have been nice if it were true. I had no idea what Jenn was doing, Maybe taking a shower or watching TV or chatting with Sierra. Or shopping for something frilly on Rue Ste-Catherine.

“You are a lying shithead Jew motherfucker.”

“How else did I know about your meeting last night? We heard Mehrdad call you. Heard every word he said.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “Even if it is true, we will be gone when they arrive. All of us, including you two.” Pointing the gun at Mehrdad and Mehri.

Mehrdad stepped in front of Mehri and spread his hands. “Why?”

“If the police come, I don’t want you here when they arrive. Also, I want you to see what happens to these guys. So you will know what happens to you if you talk.”

“We won’t say a word. I have never talked to police in my life, not in Kabul and not here.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Then I will go,” Mehrdad said. “Let Mehri go home.”

“She comes too. Faisal, you will drive with these Afghans. In the back seat with your gun at the woman’s head. If her brother does anything stupid, shoot her. You,” he said to me, “you and your friend go with us, in the back of the truck. Now start walking. Hands on your heads. Whoever makes a stupid move gets a bullet in the face.”

We started walking.

Mohammed walked backwards, keeping his gun on us. I tried to think of something I could do to distract him long enough for Ryan to claw the gun out of his ankle holster and fire. But there was nothing at hand, nothing I could throw. Just empty space between us. Feeling like I was choking on bloody spittle and snot.

“Faisal,” he said, followed by something in Arabic. It must have meant open the back door because that’s what Faisal did.
He was no more than a step outside when he started backing into the room, slowly putting his hands in the air. Then I saw a glinting tube come through the door.

Shiny steel.

Inches and inches of it.

Ryan’s Smith & Wesson Classic revolver, the biggest gun he owned. An eight-and-three-eighths barrel.

Jenn Raudsepp was holding it, fully cocked. She kicked the door shut behind her and pointed the Smith at Mohammed and said, “Drop it.”

Mohammed laughed. “Or what? You going to shoot? You fire that gun, it’s going to knock you over. Break your shoulder.”

“I’m six feet tall, asshole,” she said. “And I’ve trained with it. You want to see? Jonah,” she said, “don’t stand in back of him. I put a round in him, it’s going to keep going to the street.”

She was in a proper shooting stance, right arm extended, right hand cupped in her left. I moved a couple of feet to one side.

Mohammed said, “How much you want to bet I can shoot you twice before you squeeze the trigger?”

She said nothing. Stayed in her stance, the fearsome barrel holding steady.

“Or your boyfriend. Or this Afghan whore. Any of this I could do. You don’t believe me? Watch.” He looked over and started to raise his gun.

It was a feint. I could tell by how deliberately he was moving. He was betting Jenn would look down at Mehri too and then he’d change speed and direction and gun her down.

I started to shout a warning to Jenn. “Don’t—” was as far as I got before she fired. She held her stance and the roar filled my ears as a round tore past Mohammed’s head and smashed into the plaster wall behind me and into the front of the store. Maybe into the next municipality.

Mohammed yelled something in Arabic, what had to be a curse with all its harsh consonants, and let his gun fall. Jenn kept
the Smith trained on him as I kicked Mohammed’s gun to the side. I retrieved Ryan’s Glock and handed it to him. He seemed less surprised than I was by Jenn’s sudden appearance.

I said to Mohammed and Faisal, “On the ground, both of you.”

Jenn said, “Wait a minute. Ryan, you have him covered?”

“Yeah.”

She walked up to Mohammed and slammed his broken nose with the long barrel of the Smith. Mohammed howled as a fresh mix of blood and tears ran freely down his chin. “That’s for hurting my friend.”

“Now get down,” Ryan said, pointing his Glock at both brothers.

Faisal got down quickly and laced his hands behind his head without having to be told to do so. Mohammed got down on one knee, one hand cupped over his nose like he could catch the blood streaming out and put it back inside. Ryan kicked him in the side to hurry him along.

“You understand now,” he said, when Mohammed was prone. “We’re all squared up. Whatever you think you were owed, you just got it.”

Mohammed’s voice, strained and hoarse, told him to go fuck himself.

Ryan laid the Glock against the cheek that was turned up to the ceiling. “Here’s the deal. We’re going back to Toronto. We’re leaving you dirtbags to your city. You want to come down our way, on my turf, take whatever revenge you think you got coming, try. I’ll kill you before you get your bearings. Understand? Before you know which way Yonge Street runs, you’ll be in a body bag.”

“I cannot let this stand,” Mohammed grunted. “Everyone will know I was disrespected.”

“Broken noses heal,” I said. “Yours and mine, a month from now, we’ll both be back to gorgeous.”

“But that hole in your head won’t heal so fast,” Ryan said.

“What hole—”

“The one I’ll make if you don’t shut up and get lost.”

Mohammed was about to launch a reply that would be either profane, stupid or fatal when Mehrdad stepped in.

“Take his deal, Mohammed. End it here peacefully. Because even if you retaliate, even if you kill them all, your shame will not end.”

“Why not?”

“I told you I would never talk to the police. And I won’t. But the community, that is a different story. Unless you make peace, I promise you: Word will get out that a woman broke your nose.”

Ryan retrieved the transponder for me. I didn’t think bending down, letting blood rush into my head and out my nose, was in my best interest. Once we were sure the Haddads were gone, we said a quick and final goodbye to Mehrdad and Mehri, and walked to the Jeep.

“Shit,” Ryan said. The back window was broken; inside was the chunk of cinderblock Jenn had used to get to Ryan’s gun case.

“Another day,” he said, “another damaged car.”

We plotted a route that would take us to the closest hospital, the Jewish General, so I could get X-rays. I had no doubt my nose was broken but I thought the gun butt might also have fractured my orbital bone. We stopped at a convenience store and bought a bag of ice, which I held to my face as we drove.

“So what made you come to the store?” I asked Jenn.

“Your transponder. I was booking my flight and the trace program was still open. I saw Mohammed’s car parked behind the store and didn’t think he was there for the tea.”

“You were very convincing with that gun. I thought Mohammed was right, that firing it would knock you on your ass.”

“I’ve had some lessons,” she said, looking at Ryan. “From a very good teacher.”

“Yeah? Since when?”

“About six weeks,” she said.

“Let me guess,” I said to Ryan. “That gun range you took me to, the one in that strip mall on Highway 7?”

“Twice a week,” he said. “And she’s a very quick study. Lights the place up.”

“I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time processing this.”

“What is there to process?” Jenn said. “All it comes down to is, no one is ever going to hurt me again. Not the way they did in Boston. Not any way. I don’t care what I have to do, I’m going to protect myself.”