Prayers for the assassin

CHAPTER 39

“I had to jump though hoops to get this for you,” Colarusso straightened the collar on Rakkim’s jacket, dropped the data chip into his pocket. “It’s illegal what I done.”

“Bet it was the first time you ever broke the law too,” said Rakkim.

Colarusso stifled a smile as he leaned back against the railing of the roller rink. He watched Anthony Jr. and Sarah circle the rink, holding hands, Anthony Jr. clomping along, a little unsteady. “They make a nice couple, don’t they?”

“Fuck you.”

The indoor rink was filled with moderns and Catholics, plenty of moderates in posh hajibs too, the skating rink one of the few places where they could have physical contact with the opposite sex under the eye of their chaperone. “I just think if a man puts his career on the line for a friend, the friend should tell him what’s going on, that’s all.”

“Sarah’s working on a book that could bring her a lot of trouble. Safar Abdullah is part of her research. I’m along to make sure she eats right and gets a good night’s sleep. That’s pretty much it.”

“Abdullah’s been dead for twenty-five years, so you’re not going to get much conversation out of him.” Colarusso sucked his teeth. “Engineers must be the dullest people in the world. Who dies of natural causes at forty-three? Probably died of boredom.” Colarusso hitched up his pants. “I’ve always been curious. If I hadn’t gone into police work, I would have probably been a Peeping Thomas.”

“I don’t think Abdullah died of natural causes. Feel better now?”

“A little bit.” Colarusso rocked on his heels. “Hope you’re not planning to exhume the body, because somebody beat you to it. That’s kind of odd, isn’t it? Him being a devout Muslim and yet his family allows him to be dug up a week after burial. Dug him up and cremated him. The wife signed off on it, but the cemetery sure made a fuss. Martyrs of Fallujah Cemetery, Los Angeles. Best Muslim boneyard in the city from what I read. I got a copy of their angry letter to the wife in the file. You should read it. Another one from the poor woman’s imam that’s a real classic. Threatened her with the flames of hell. Her and her dead hubby. Leave it to a holy man to know how to twist the knife.”

Rakkim watched the skaters in bright colors barrel past. In the old days the rinks supposedly played music too, but the rolling wheels made music of their own.

“Now, why would a good Muslim woman allow her husband to be back-hoed up in the middle of the night?” said Colarusso. “I got the order from the mortuary that did the work. Two A.M. is when they did the deed. Mortuary had to pay their workmen double time.” He leaned closer to Rakkim. “You can see why it got my attention.”

Rakkim took in the spectators in the bleachers, the chaperones, and the skaters taking a time-out. All those faces, but none caught his attention. Sometimes the Black Robes would show up, just to cause trouble, but the rink donated to the local mosque. “Were you able to locate the wife?”

“She died a couple of years after the mister. Got planted in the al-Aqua Cemetery in Van Nuys. Not quite the pedigree of Martyrs of Fallujah.”

“Children? Relatives?”

“One daughter. Fatima. It’s all in the data chip. Let’s just say it might be a good thing that her parents aren’t alive to see what she turned out like.”

Rakkim watched three middle-aged women nearby. Three chaperones in dark chadors talking rapidly to each other while focused on the three young women they were responsible for. “Thank you, Anthony.”

“I don’t care about being thanked,” grumbled Colarusso. “You’re chasing after dead people. I’d like to know why.”

“This is probably a good time for you to step back and work another case.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job. It makes me want to forget we’re friends.”

“Okay.” Rakkim looked past Colarusso, keeping watch. “The assassin who drowned Marian Warriq…the one who swapped heads with her servants, he’s following Sarah and me.” He saw Colarusso resist the impulse to look around. “We gave him the slip a few nights ago, but he’s not going to quit. When he gets desperate to find us, he’s going to start tapping anyone we’re connected to.”

“You think he’d go after a police detective or his family?”

“I think he’d go after the president himself if he got the order.”

“Who’s giving him the orders?”

Rakkim had fallen into the trap. “How about this…how about when the time comes, I’ll tell you everything. I won’t hold anything back. For now though, I want to keep you out of the loop as much as possible. Out of harm’s way. Then if I need you, you’ll be alive and well and able to help me.”

“How about this…how about you and I find this assassin and kill him? You said you couldn’t beat him yourself. Let’s do it together. I’ll take care of the paperwork. Like you said, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We’d just get in each other’s way.”

“You think I’d slow you down?” Colarusso lost his good nature. “I’m strapped with a full-auto Wesson and I score expert on the firing range. I’ve killed five men in the line of duty and never lost a minute’s sleep over it. You think I’m worried about your assassin?”

Rakkim watched a father holding his daughter up on the rink, teaching her how to skate as the other skaters streamed around them. “Three nights ago the assassin got ambushed in the badlands by werewolves. He killed seventeen of them, then drove away in one of their vehicles.”

“That…that’s some serious shooting.”

“He used a blade.”

“Seventeen werewolves with a knife? You got bad information there.”

“Fedayeen assassins don’t even need a knife. They just enjoy using it.” Rakkim watched the father and daughter. She was starting to get it, lengthening her stride, but the father hovered over her, ready to catch her. “I thought the car crash would kill him. Or mess him up so bad that the werewolves would be fighting over the pieces.”

“Seventeen?”

They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the skaters go round and round. Rakkim wished he could have seen the assassin’s face when his tires blew. The assassin had fought himself clear, but falling into Rakkim’s trap would have stung. Sometimes a love tap hurt a guy like that worse than a hammer.

“You need any help getting to Los Angeles? This assassin probably got eyes at the airport. I might be able to do something for you.”

“I’d be happy to hear anything you’ve got.”

Colarusso smiled. A few minutes later he nodded as his son whipped past. “Look at Anthony Jr. Ever since he got accepted in the Fedayeen, it’s like he’s grown a couple of inches. Seemed to happen overnight. Cleans up his room without being asked. Goes on five-mile runs every morning. Calls me sir, if you can believe that. More than that, though…it’s like he’s solid in a way he wasn’t before. Like he’s seeing things clearer. Like he finally knows where he’s going.” Colarusso shook his head. “I owed you before…now it’s like I’m never going to catch up.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Colarusso kept his eyes on the ice. “Anthony Jr. has a real case of hero worship when it comes to you. Everything out of his mouth is Rakkim-this and Rakkim-that.”

“He’ll get over it soon enough.” Rakkim watched Sarah gliding along. She had separated from Anthony Jr., was doing spins in the center of the rink. Her skate caught and she almost fell, skated on, blushing. “When you ran down Abdullah’s stats…you didn’t do it directly, did you?”

“No data trail, just like you said.”

“Did the cops at the crime scene know who I was?”

“I told them you were State Security. Said Redbeard himself sent you to take over the site. They knew better than to ask for your name. Don’t worry. Nobody knows we’re more than ships in the night. Reprobate like you. Word got out that we were pals, it could fuck up my climb to the top.”

“What about the Super Bowl?”

Colarusso shrugged. “Half the detectives on the force got comped to that game.”

“Okay.” Rakkim waved back to Sarah. “How did you get the information on Abdullah?”

“I went through a girl in the personnel department. She’s got access to databases all over the country so she can check out new applicants.”

“She didn’t ask why you wanted the information?”

“I told her it was a top secret project. I think she enjoyed the idea.” Colarusso adjusted his poorly knotted necktie without noticeable improvement. “She’s a moderate Muslim lady, a little overweight, past thirty and unmarried, so you know where she’s headed.” He scratched his belly. “She’s kind of sweet on me. Laughs at all my jokes. Thinks I’m some kind of rough-and-tough character. I guess I’m the forbidden fruit.” He grinned. “You know what they say about Catholics.”

“What?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb. You know what they say.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Catholics are built larger,” said Colarusso, whispering now. “Our equipment…it’s bigger than Muslims’.”

“I just never heard that about Catholics,” Rakkim said innocently. “All I heard was the thing with the choirboys.”

“We got rid of that problem a long time ago.”

Rakkim watched Sarah and Anthony Jr. skate over to the refreshment stand. Anthony Jr. bought her a cup of hot cider. Glanced over at Rakkim, then quickly back.

“That’s a fine-looking woman,” said Colarusso.

“Yeah.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Marie’s been puffed up like a partridge ever since Anthony Jr. got his papers. Every neighbor within a mile knows her boy’s going to be Fedayeen. She’s planning a big party next month, just before he leaves.” Colarusso cracked his knuckles, taking his time. “I’m supposed to tell you…I’m supposed to let you know, if you want to marry one of our daughters, just say the word.”

Rakkim stared at him. First Spider and now Colarusso.

“I know, I know, they’re homely as an old boot, but Mary Ellen is a fine cook and has the hips for pounding out babies. She doesn’t have to be your first wife. I figure Sarah’s already hanging drapes in that spot. You can put Mary Ellen third or fourth in line.”

“One wife is plenty.”

“Tell me about it. Well, at least I asked.”

Rakkim smiled. “You look relieved.”

Colarusso started to answer, then Sarah and Anthony Jr. skated up. Anthony Jr. didn’t make eye contact.