Once A Warrior (Mustafa And Adem) (26 page)

Mustafa and Ali were bleary-eyed, neither able to rest completely. The itching under Mustafa's bandage was becoming unbearable, but he knew scratching it would invite infection. So he thought
fuck it
and took four of Teeth's pills. They left him in a state of "waking coma" the rest of the night—aware, awake, unable to pull himself down into sleep or up into sharpness.

The few times his head lolled towards Ali, he could tell the young man had downed several of the energy drinks himself, because he was wide-awake, back against the wall, breathing loudly through his nose. If there were any leftover concerns about his loyalty, Mustafa had forgotten them, especially when he realized how easy it would've been for the GOAT to kill them both in their weakened states.

He got up and stumbled to the beverage case for a bottled water. It was warm and harsh on the way down. Unpleasant but necessary. He choked around the halfway point and spewed it out all over the glass doors, spotted with red. He rubbed his mouth with his palm. More red.

Another spasm of yelping from Teeth made Mustafa jump. He choked again, every muscle in his body straining, aching. He walked back to his friend on the floor, eyes open but seeing nothing, Ali on his knees beside Teeth whispering, "Okay, it's okay, we're safe here, man, we're safe here."

Mustafa could've sworn that Teeth was looking right at him, begging, pleading. How much did he even know about Teeth? Did he have a wife? A babymomma? Babies? Had to be older. Could have kids in middle school, even. Was his mom alive? His dad? Shit. If Mustafa was on the floor and Teeth was standing above him, what would he want to say?

It's okay. Let me go
.

Or:

It wasn't worth it. Goddamn, son, it wasn't worth it.

Ali tried to pour some more pain-killing energy drink past Teeth's lips, but it pooled and Teeth began to convulse. Ali lifted him, turned his head to the side, and let the liquid fall from his mouth onto the floor. Sat him up and pounded on his back, Mustafa reaching to stop him a moment too late—

Another scream.

Mustafa: "The cheese grater, man! The fucking cheese grater!"

The look on Ali's face showed how young he really was. For once, fear. Panic. Then he dropped his eyebrows and gritted his teeth. "Goddamnit!" He hugged Teeth to his chest, looked up at Mustafa. Speechless. But Mustafa read it on his face.

Teeth's gonna die.

Mustafa said, "I know. I know."

He walked back to the restroom again, closed the door. Darkness. He felt his way across the room to the toilet and sat down. He thought about calling that fucking doctor again. Pulled Teeth's phone out of his pocket. Had to be careful using it. Someone was going to connect the dots about what happened in Heem's house. Someone was going to find the cheese grater and the skin and blood all over it and do some DNA tests and...

Still, he pressed the Send button to the same number as the last outgoing call. He held it to his ear, listened to the rings. Six. Seven. Eight. It finally went to voicemail. He hung up and dialed again. Not even one ring. Voicemail. One more time. Voicemail.

Motherfucker.

The doctor wasn't coming back. Didn't even know his fucking name. Mustafa guessed he could trace the number if he could get on the internet, but how much time would it take? How many Boyz and Killaz would it take to hunt him down, force him back? No, he knew last night that Teeth didn't have much of a chance. Just like Mustafa thought. The man could wash his hands of it all and find a new dealer. Until then, he could keep ripping off his own practice for drugs, whatever worked. Not the same as crank, but goddamn, right? Mustafa turned off the phone. Really, like, powered it down all the way. Had to get rid of it. Teeth would understand.

Fuck it. He knew what to do. It was going to make everything worse. He didn't have a choice. He got up and walked over to the door and ran into it before he could find the knob and twist it open. He stepped out into the store, where Teeth was laid out on the floor again, shivering, and Ali was sitting, back against the wall and knees pressed against his eyes.

"Stand up, son."

The GOAT lifted his face, smeared wet. But he put the stone face back on and stood, crossed his arms.

"Here's how it's going to be. You're the man now. You're taking over for me. You lead the Killaz."

Took Ali nearly a minute. "You running out on us? Bahdoon, running out on us like a bitch?"

"Maybe." He cleared his throat again, felt like he was speaking through dry cotton. "If that's the way it looks...I did what I needed to do. But you, you can get those girls back home. Get out of that shit. Give the Killaz some dignity, man."

"You think it's that easy?"

"If it was that easy, why do you think I came back? But I've got a wife, a family, and now I've got to raise another man's daughter. They need the help. But the Killaz, with you, they got all they need."

Ali chinned towards Teeth. "How about him? You running out on him?"

"No. Worse. I'm taking him to the hospital."

Ali shook his head. "Shit, man."

They both knew what it meant. Teeth shows up at the ER, all grated to shit, it makes for an easy link. Cops were going to brace him, try to get him to roll on whoever did this to him. It would put him smack dab in the middle of the radar screen. They might even find out more, plenty to threaten him with. But Teeth, he was solid. He would go to jail all scarred up rather than turn on his Boyz or the Killaz or Ali. Especially Mustafa. He'd save that one for himself, come back and murder his friend's ass soon as he could.

Goddamn it, didn't matter what Teeth would do, as long as he survived. He could handle jail. Done it before, he'd do it again. But wasn't any more people going to die over this.

Mustafa told Ali, "You okay with it?"

"He asks, I tell him it was you."

"Yeah. I know."

He got Ali to carry Teeth out to the car, place him in the passenger seat and belt him in. Mustafa handed over Teeth's phone, told the kid to destroy it, lose the pieces. He nodded. They stood by the open driver's door, both looking around, not really sure what was next.

Mustafa said, "After I drive out of here, they're all yours. I left you a mess, but I bet they fall in line. I can't tell you what to do with the Black Ice Boyz or Kong or anything—"

"Damn right you can't."

He stopped. He deserved it. "Guess I'm on the list now, too."

"The very top."

"Again."

Ali rolled his shoulders. "Don't worry, pops. We've got enough to fuck with. You can sleep at night."

Hey, a peace offering was a peace offering. After this, he'd never share a friendly word with Ali again. That was how it had to be. Fine. It was more than he deserved. He nodded. "See you."

"Better hope not."

He lingered for a moment. He wished this was Adem instead of Ali. Wanted to give them both a hug. But he refrained. The GOAT took a step back.

Mustafa climbed into the car and closed the door. Teeth wheezed like an old man. Cranked up and backed it out of the car wash into the sun. Shit, Mustafa didn't really know what time it was. Glanced at the radio clock, but there was too much glare. Maybe one something, maybe eleven something. When he was clear, he stopped and shifted into drive. He looked towards the open door of the car wash one more time, but Ali was already gone. Yeah, that boy was going to do just fine.

*

H
e didn't know where the hospital was in Stillwater. He took a guess, kept driving until something looked commercial. Too old, like the buildings downtown, he was in the wrong area. Lots of tourists, lots of historical markers. He needed something newer. Block after block of square buildings. But it was a nice-looking town overlooking the St. Croix, plenty of white flight going on out here. Maybe he could move Idil here to the suburbs, small town life with a little house, a yard, a garden. Maybe.

Not here, though. It was still too close to the Cities. They would need more distance, make it harder to justify sending out someone for his head. He thought about New Pheasant Run, the town where Adem had started college before all that mess in Mogadishu. The town where the cop had lived, the one that liked ice fishing and Rum and Cokes, and whose unborn daughter and girlfriend had been killed by Adem's friend. Still, there was something about the place. It was surrounded by farmland on all sides, at least an hour in all directions. There were plenty of other Somalis there. He was sure he could get a job, even if it was only at the Wal Mart or the big frozen food company headquartered there. Something to talk about with Idil when he finally made it home.
If
he made it home.

Took him twenty minutes to zero in on the ER. He circled the block a few times, planning an escape route. He needed to know where the security cameras were. Needed to get his ass out of there like a magician. If he had to walk back, so be it.

He thought he heard something from Teeth beside the quick breathing. He turned his head, and Teeth was looking at him, clear as day. "What you say?"

He wasn't all there, but he was there enough. "Don't. Can't."

"It's either this or you die. I'm not letting you die over this."

"Mutt. Fucker."

Eyes back on the road. "Shit, one of us had to grow up."

Almost sounded like the start of a laugh. "Going to have. Murder. You know."

Mustafa nodded. "I know."

"Going. Kill. You."

He turned into the hospital parking lot, pulled in behind an ambulance with its doors open, the whole crew rolling through the doors with a patient, a fat white man in a Dale Earnhardt cap with an oxygen mask over his nose. Mustafa put the car into park and left it running, turned the A/C off.

"Got to run. If you ever catch me, I'll let you have the first shot."

He opened the door, had a foot on the pavement and was lifting himself when he heard Teeth say a little louder, "BAH. DOON."

Mustafa peeked back at the passenger. The old boy was grinning wide. "Mutt. Fucker."

Was as good as
Thank you.

Mustafa slammed his palm down on the horn a few times before jumping out and running. He was already a couple of blocks away when he heard the first shouts behind him. This was going to be easier than he thought.

––––––––

T
he Agency had found Adem a used private jet. It was old but in perfect working order. 1984, Jacob told him as they ran across the tarmac from the battered car to the steps up into the Hawker Beechcraft. Once inside, the smell of jet fuel hit him and calmed his nerves. Should have been the other way around. He'd never been a fan of flying. This was the first time getting on a jet had felt like a relief.

He sat in the seat farthest back and looked out the window. The car carrying the Benefactor's body was already driving away towards a hanger, where Adem was sure it would be cut apart, melted, crushed, something. He let his head loll against the back of his seat. Such a tiny plane, but it was pretty lush. Five leather seats, the ones ahead of him facing each other. A couch beside him that could easily double as a bed. Deep-stained wood paneling. Okay, not a bad perk at all.

As soon as his feet hit the floor, they had started moving. He noticed that Jacob was sitting ahead of him talking with Faisal and Fatima. She pushed the shawl off her head, a string of "Goddamn it" and "How did I not see him?" and "I fucked up."

Adem interrupted her. "No one fucked up. We're lucky to be alive, okay?"

She wouldn't even look at him.

Then they were in the air, no pilot's cheery voice wishing them a safe flight. Just in and up. Jacob turned around and motioned for Adem to take the chair beside him, facing Fatima.

Jacob was in midstream. "—should have known. Goddamn it. And so close, so so close."

Fatima, dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, that's exactly how stupid we've come to believe he is."

"Oh come on."

"Seriously? How does he know your boy here is American? I didn't even know until..." Stabbed a finger at Adem. "What the fuck was that, man? Why'd you tell me?"

Faisal said, "He had it all planned out. Almost like he knew Mohammed would escape the apartment. Like he knew the other bomb wouldn't go off. And there was a sniper ready. Even knew the path we would take."

Jacob slumped into his seat, hand under his chin. "Shit. I just wanted...shit."

The plane banked left and Adem white-knuckled both armrests. Fatima noticed, gave him nasty sneer. Well, glad she was on his side, then.

More bickering. Adem looked out at the dark sky, the lights from nearby cities out in the distance. He thought about the old man's story back in Dubai. About Omar, the daughter, the entire routine. How bad had he been played? But then he thought about seeing those new pirates land on the ship and kill the crew. He thought about how uncomfortable the old man looked in that shanty home. Sweating.

More of the act. He saw it now. Uzayr wasn't trying to kill Mr. Mohammed. He wanted the same thing from Adem that Adem wanted from him—information.

He interrupted Jacob and Fatima's argument. "Check the old guy for bugs."

"Like lice?"

"No, no, no, I mean—"

"I know, I know. Sure, they will. We didn't say anything to him in the car. Nothing to give away the game."

Adem sighed. "I know that he wasn't Uzayr, but I still think I met him. I still think he wanted to see me face to face."

Fatima shook her head. "How? There's no way it could've..."

A moment of quiet.

Faisal said, "Why hadn't it occurred to us before?"

Jacob cringed. "Two places at once. An illusion. The whole time, I was thinking Dubai..."

Another moment of silence. Jacob finally pounded his fist onto his tablet. "
Shit!
"

Adem nodded. "All this time, he's been on the ship. Uzayr is Gunfighter."

There was nothing to left to say.

*

A
dem left the others to their phone calls and texts and emails while he slipped into the back seat again. Plenty of leg room. He stretched out almost flat, but wasn't up for trying to sleep on the couch. He wanted to face the turbulence sitting up and strapped in. He was rethinking his talk with Gunfighter on the deck of the ship, how the pirate captain knew who he really was. He had been the one calling the shots. It was a brilliant disguise. And Jacob pretty much confirmed that there was no next move in the immediate future. They would have to wait for another opportunity down the road.