Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

Rakkim pointed at one of the options on the menu. “Interesting how?”

Carla swayed to music only she could hear. “I don’t know…he’s still working on it. I haven’t seen him this excited in a long time.”

Rakkim stared at the menu. “Tell me about the mail from the café.”

Carla moved closer, one finger sliding across the menu. She smelled of sweet onions and french fries. “Last Friday, seven twenty-two A.M. Short exchange. No formalities. LEAVE NOW, that was the first thing. All capital letters, which is kind of old-fashioned, if you ask me.” Carla acted as if he had made a joke, tugged playfully at his goatee. She kept her mouth down while she spoke, no line of sight to the rest of the room. “Then Sarah said, I can’t. The first person responded, NOW. RIGHT AFTER CLASS. DANGER. Still with the all-caps. Then Sarah said, I’m meeting him Sunday. I have to see him.” Carla looked at him, smiled, and it wasn’t because she thought someone might be watching. “That’s you, isn’t it? You’re the him she was talking about. This Sarah was tough, wanting to keep her appointment with you, even after being warned to leave. She must have thought you were worth something.” She swayed to the music again. “Then the first person said, LEAVE NOW, and there was a long interval, maybe twenty seconds, and then Sarah said, okay.” Carla pointed at the list of specials on the wall. “That’s it, over and out.”

“Does Spider have any idea who mailed her…or where it came from?”

Carla shook her head. “Whoever it was, they used a series of unregistered servers. They bounced him all over the globe, but he thinks the point of origination is someplace in the Islamic Republic.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I turn eighteen in three months. Ripe as a plum and never been plucked.” The tip of her tongue slid across her teeth. “Spider’s open to marriage proposals, but I’ve got the final say, so that puts you ahead of the game.”

Rakkim looked up at her. “What game is that?”

“Just keep it in mind. Sounds like your girlfriend isn’t coming back.” Carla scrawled something on her pad and sauntered off. Her hips drew plenty of attention from the foursome at a nearby table.

Rakkim swirled the ice in his water glass before taking a drink. Carla might be right about Sarah not coming back. He crunched through an ice cube. Why didn’t she go to Redbeard if she felt threatened? Why didn’t she go to him?

A young couple walked down the sidewalk, moderns in blue unisex suits, zippers everywhere, hair cropped an inch from their scalps. Probably in advertising or marketing, judging from the black plastic portfolio cases they swung, chatting away. A Black Robe watched them from the far side of the street, speaking into a cell phone as they passed.

Rakkim turned at the sound of laughter from a nearby table, and when he looked back outside, the Black Robe was gone. He played with the silverware, thinking about Sarah’s mail conversation, and wondering who had the power to order her to leave so abruptly. Even more, who had the authority to make her comply?

Carla came back with his cheeseburger, fries, and vanilla Jihad Cola. “There was one other exchange two weeks before the one on Friday. Very brief. The first person said, BE CAREFUL. BE READY. Then Sarah said, Can I tell him? NO. Please? said Sarah, but the answer was the same.”

“Sarah said please? You’re sure of that?”

“Don’t insult me.” Carla slapped the check onto the table. “Spider will let you know when he finds out more. Remember what I told you before-three months and counting. I come with a dowry, but, trust me, after our wedding night you won’t even care.”

Rakkim watched her walk away as he dredged a french fry through a pool of ketchup. Sarah had a hard time listening to anybody, but she had obeyed the person on the other end of the mail, even begging for the chance to see Rakkim again. There was no way to tell if the person she was in contact with was male or female, but Rakkim found himself burning with jealousy. Sarah asking for permission to see him…it was as if she were talking to a father, or a husband. He started in on the burger, barely tasting it.

Carla hustled back to the table, refilled his water. She was chewing gum now, really working it. “You have to leave.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” There was no trace of her prior flirtatiousness. “Get up after I leave and head toward the bathroom. Elroy’s there. Spider needs to talk with you.”

“I’m meeting Spider?”

She champed away at her gum. “Smile, nod your head.”

Rakkim did as he was told, holding up the burger for emphasis. “I didn’t think Spider allowed direct contact with clients.”

“This is a first.”

“What’s going on, Carla?”

She blew a big pink bubble, popped it with a fingernail. “Spider pulled something off that memory core. It must have been something really special.” She strolled off, started bantering with the two moderns at the next table.

“Do you know what this is about?” Rakkim followed Elroy through the alley. “I heard Spider lives under the bus tunnel. Is that where we’re going?”

Elroy took an abrupt right turn, squeezed through a narrow space in the wire fencing, and kept going, not looking back.

Rakkim tore his jacket getting through the opening, hurrying to keep up as they rushed through the twilight. It was past sunset now and this part of downtown was poorly lit, lined with flophouses and abandoned buildings. Rakkim had lived in this general area after his father had died, lived here until Redbeard had brought him home. The maze of alleys gave way to gravel footpaths, then a succession of worn stone steps. At one point they scuttled through a long, corrugated-metal pipe strewn with garbage, broken eggs crunching underfoot, and he knew by the growing stink of rotting vegetables that they were getting closer to the waterfront under the Public Market. At the last minute, they veered away from the market and toward Pioneer Square, the oldest part of the city.

Elroy quickly ran a microwave scanner across Rakkim. “You’re clean,” he said, putting it back into his sweatshirt. He pressed a hand against a seemingly solid brick wall and a section swung aside. He waited until Rakkim squeezed through, then closed it behind them. A latch snapped into place. They were in total darkness, the air cold and damp.

Rakkim waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but it was still pitch-black.

“This way,” said Elroy.

Rakkim walked toward the sound of his voice, hands out.

“Keep coming,” said Elroy, ahead of him. “There’s a turn coming up.”

Rakkim stumbled, heard Elroy snicker. “Elroy?” His voice echoed. “Put a light on.”

“I don’t need a light,” sniffed Elroy, his voice farther away. “I know where I am.”

Rakkim moved quickly, hands waving. He snagged Elroy’s shirt, but the kid pulled away.

“Touch me again and I’ll leave you here. A few days of banging into things and the cats and rats will be fighting over you.”

“Take me to Spider. That’s what you were told to do.” No answer. Rakkim stepped toward where his voice had been, hit his head on something, cursing now.

“You’re not getting scared are you?” said Elroy.

Rakkim didn’t move. He had excellent night vision, but there was no light anywhere, and he couldn’t be sure the direction he had come from. The darkness smelled mossy.

Elroy’s laughter echoed.

Rakkim stayed where he was. He heard Elroy moving closer, the kid barely making a sound. He waited, trying not to breathe, then reached out and grabbed something, a skinny arm. He hung on as the kid slapped at him, tried to twist away, but there was no way Rakkim would let go, and Elroy finally stopped struggling.