Peter Leonard - Trust Me

Karen said, "What about your first date's the beginning of the end philosophy?"

"It's still true," Stephanie said. "More so than ever."

Karen said, "How's it go again?"

The waiter put two glasses of wine in front of them. "From your admirers," he said, indicating two dudes in golf shirts, sitting at the bar. They held up their drinks and grinned.

Karen said, "Tell them thanks, but we'll buy our own."

Stephanie said, "You don't want to hear their rap, huh?"

"I'm not in the mood," Karen said.

The waiter picked up the glasses and walked to the bar and put them down in front of the men.

Stephanie said, "You know the relationship's doomed before he picks you up-when you're opening the door for him on the first date. It's all downhill from there."

"If you were so sure what was going to happen," Karen said, "why'd you get married?"

"I had twenty-one orgasms with Jerry one weekend and I was temporarily blinded by passion," Stephanie said.

Karen said, "Twenty-one, really?" She tapped a Marlboro Light out of her pack and lit it with a red plastic lighter.

"It took place over two days," Stephanie said. "I never told you that?"

"I think I would've remembered," Karen said. "So you let your guard down, huh?"

"Did I ever," Stephanie said. "I was in stage one of the relationship and didn't know it-infatuation bordering on lust."

"How long does stage one last?" Karen said.

Stephanie said, "Anywhere from a couple days to months."

"Then what happens?" Karen said.

"Stage two is the slow but sure buildup of contempt, which can go on for a long time-years." Stephanie paused, caught her breath and took a sip of wine.

Karen could see one of their admirers look over at them and get up.

"Stage three is the loathing," Stephanie said. "It's also a euphemism for marriage. It's the end of hope-when your soul is sucked out of you by your joyless, loveless life partner-crushing your will to live."

Karen laughed. "With that positive attitude, how can you miss?" The guy was coming toward them, almost there.

"But you know I'm right," Stephanie said, "don't you?"

The guy was tall and good-looking, wearing a tight-fitting black shirt. He had a weightlifter’s shoulders and arms and the confidence of a someone used to getting what he wanted. He walked up and stood between them.

"Hi, I'm Gil," he said.

Like they were expecting him. He had dark hair combed back and long sideburns. He checked Stephanie out first, then turned and fixed his attention on Karen.

"My friend and I were taking bets on what you girls do for a living," Gil said. "Want to join us for a drink, find out what we guessed?"

Karen turned so she was facing him now. "Gil, listen, we're having a conversation here, okay?" She met his gaze. She was about to say-we don't give a shit what you think we do for a living, but when she looked past him she saw the Arab with the beard, sitting at the bar. It couldn't be, she told herself, but it was. She felt her heart begin to race and her body tense up.

He sat there staring at her, making no attempt to get up, letting her see him, letting her imagine what was going to happen. Karen said, "I'd like to have a drink with you, Gil, but I've got a problem. There's a man stalking me. He's sitting right over there. Don't look." But she knew he would.

Gil turned and stared at the Arab and flexed his upper body. "The dark-haired guy?" he said.

"Yeah," Karen said. "The one over there with the beard who looks like he's going to hijack a jumbo jet."

"Let me talk to him," Gil said. "Order me a drink, will you. Bombay Sapphire martini up. I'll be right back." He moved toward the bar.

Stephanie gave her a puzzled look. "What was that all about?"

"I've got to go." There was no time to explain it.

Stephanie said, "I think you're overreacting. He's harmless."

Karen didn't think anything would happen. She figured Gil would give him a hard time, and that would give her a chance to get away. She was almost to the door when she heard the gunshot.

Tariq, sitting at the bar, asked for a glass of water.

"That's all you want?" the bartender said. The man's tone saying, this is a bar, you come here to drink, to spend money. Tariq was aware of the reason people came to a bar. He would be enjoying a single-malt Scotch if the situation were different, an eighteen-year-old Macallan. Tariq was there to frighten Samir's woman, to create tension. He believed his presence would cause her to make a move she was not ready to make. What surprised him, what he did not expect, was the man approaching him, the man saying, Hey, Sheik, I'm only going to tell you this once, so listen up. Tariq had not experienced any overt anti-Arab sentiment since arriving in the United States. What did he do to provoke this stranger? He was sitting at the bar minding his own business, not bothering anyone. Tariq now wondering if maybe the man thought he was someone else. The man was angry, coming toward him. Or maybe he was a friend of Samir's woman, trying to protect her. He had seen them engaged in conversation across the room.

As he came closer, Tariq decided that it did not matter why the man was angry or what he wanted. Tariq reached behind his back, under his shirt and touched the Beretta. He felt the cool metal against his skin.

"Sheik, you hear me? Get up right now and walk out of here, we won't have any trouble."

The man's voice was loud and threatening, purposely so, trying to intimidate him.

"That's your first option."

Tariq was aware of the people at the bar watching them.

"Your second option is to continue to sit there, and get your ass kicked."

Tariq glanced toward Karen Delaney. She was on her feet, moving toward the door. He drew the Beretta and shot the man in the chest from three feet away. The discharge was deafening, like a mortar round exploding. The man went down. He heard the shell casing ping as it landed on the floor, and then it was quiet. He was aware of the silence, and the people around him, frozen as if it was stop action. Tariq slid off the barstool. He wanted to run, but told himself to move slowly, not to hurry. He stepped around the man, who was on his back, blood pooling on the floor to his left. Tariq was still perplexed, wondering why the man had interfered in a situation that did not involve or concern him.

He walked away from the bar with the Beretta in his hand. People moved out of his way. He slid the gun behind his back in the waistband of his trousers, and went outside, feeling the heavy heat and humidity. He walked through tables in the cafe area and stood on Rush Street, glancing in one direction and then the other. He could see Karen running twenty meters away. Tariq turned and scanned the cars parked along the street, looking for Ricky.

He heard a police siren and horns blaring behind him as he ran south on Rush Street. Tariq now understood the significance of the name Rush-all of the cars and people, all the activity-everyone rushing. He thought it was an astute observation. He came to Oak Street and stopped. He glanced to his left and saw Karen, a brief glimpse, before she entered a store on the other side of the street.

Karen went through the door at Barney's, moving down the wide main aisle with its floor stands and elegant decorations. On her right were glitzy chrome and glass display cases in the cosmetics department. The men's department was to her left. Headless mannequins displayed the latest shirt/tie combos from top designers. She didn't think the Arab would follow her into a crowded department store. She was partway up the staircase that wound through the center of the store, looked down and saw Beard come through the door, and she ran up to the second level.