Jihad

CHAPTER 9

“Tommy, you’re still at the bath? You have to get over to the hospital and back those guys up.”

“Rockman, you’re a worry wart, you know that?” Tommy Karr blinked as he stepped into the sunlight. After the damp, heavy air of the bath, the cool breeze felt bracing. He turned left, then right, getting his bearings. He was four blocks from the hospital and the rental car he’d left there, but none of the streets in this section of Istanbul ran in a straight line. His sense of direction seemed to have been scraped off with the dead skin and hair in the camel’s hair mitt. Finally he decided he was supposed to go right, and set out.

“The messenger reported the doctor was sleeping and wouldn’t wake up five minutes ago,” said Rockman. “What have you been doing?”

“Getting dressed. Paying the bill. What have you been doing? Where’s Sandy?”

“I’m going to run all three of you since you’re all supposed to be at the hospital,” said Rockman.

“I’m still on the line if you need me, Tommy,” said Sandy Chafetz.

“Ooo, a ménage à trois.”

“You’re in a goofy mood,” said Chafetz.

“I think the doc had something extra in his tobacco,” said Karr.