Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

She hadn’t seen Rakkim in six months. He looked handsome as ever, but exhausted and worried. His shirt had damp spots on it and she wondered what he had seen inside Marian’s house. A regular slaughterhouse the white-haired neighbor had said. A tear ran down her cheek and was captured by the veil, but she kept her eyes on Rakkim, hungry for the sight of him.

She still wondered if she should have told him what she was working on, maybe even asked for his help. She trusted Rakkim with her life, why couldn’t she trust him with the truth? He was talking to the technicians from the crime scene van now, and she noticed how he nodded when they spoke, how he patted their shoulders. He was intruding on their turf, and he knew he could get better cooperation if they were on his side. Redbeard would have been demanding, more forceful, but he wouldn’t have gotten any more out of them than Rakkim. He might even have gotten less.

She should go. It was dangerous to stay here. The cab would draw attention after a while-a curious policeman, a bored policeman, and things could unravel. Redbeard used to say it was the minor details that invariably tripped people up, because they had only prepared for major confrontations. No, better to leave now. She could come back for the journals later, when it was safe. Even if it wasn’t safe, she would have to retrieve them, more certain than ever that somewhere within their pages was what she sought.

Sarah stayed. She stayed and watched the wind ripple through Rakkim’s short, dark hair…he had such soft hair, even his goatee, and she blushed at the memory of it tickling her most intimate places. Rakkim ran a hand through his hair, as though feeling her gaze. She rapped on the plastic partition, rapped harder than she meant to. “We can go now.” She kept her eyes on Rakkim as the cab turned around. If she stayed here much longer, there was no way she could stop herself from going to him.

“You don’t call me,” said the Wise Old One, “I call you.”

“Shall I hang up?” Darwin said brightly. “Then you can call me back and I’ll pretend to be thrilled by the attention.” He listened. “Hello?”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re sure?” said Darwin. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

The Old One stayed silent, refusing to engage.

Darwin stood with his hands in his pockets, the privacy cell adhered to the inside of his ear canal, the receiver the size of a bloated tick. The mouthpiece was even smaller, a birthmark affixed just above his lip. You could stand beside him and not know he was in the middle of a conversation. The cell was the latest model from Japan, a real breakthrough. “I just wanted to update you. I’ve been playing cat and mousie with Rakkim, but along the way I paid a social call with Sarah’s girlfriend from the university. Rakkim had done the same thing the day before. Great minds and all that.”

Darwin had stood on Marian’s doorstep yesterday, pretending to be a religious census taker, papers spilling from his briefcase, a nervous pencil pusher with a scraggly goatee and a suit that was too big for him. Marian’s bodyguard had ordered him away, a swarthy, barrel-chested sluggo barring the door, but Marian had invited Darwin in. He had apologized for disturbing her, then shuffled into the living room and smelled Rakkim, caught the faint scent of the man and known he was at the right place.

“Give me your update,” said the Old One.

“The girlfriend’s name is Marian Warriq,” said Darwin, freshly shaven and wearing a $3,000 suit. “Midfifties. Sociology professor at the university. Devout but no fundamentalist. That ring a bell?”

“No.”

“Makes no never mind. Lady Marian is in the past tense now.”

“You killed her?”

Darwin watched the police tape fluttering around Marian Warriq’s house and the people standing around on the sidewalks, staring at the windows and the policemen. He felt like an impresario putting on a spectacular production for an audience who didn’t really appreciate what they were seeing.

“Why would you do that? It’s only going to alert Rakkim that he’s being followed.”

“How about you don’t tell me how to do my business, and I won’t tell you how to take over the world?” Darwin heard the Wise Old One’s fine dry laugh, like the rustle of old newspapers. He loved that laugh. “Alerting Rakkim isn’t going to make a difference. Rakkim’s got a hair trigger. I’m still learning his pattern, but so far I can’t quite keep up with him. I thought finding Marian all gift-wrapped might spark him a little, might force him to make a mistake.”

“How do you know he’s going to find her?”

“I can see him,” said Darwin as Rakkim stepped out onto the porch with some fat cop. “From the expression on his face, I’d say he’s unwrapped the meat.”

“He’s there now?”

“Roger-dodger.” Darwin beamed in the chilly air; he had sparked Rakkim all right, sparked him good. He’d be off stride now.

“Does he see you?”

“Wouldn’t matter if he did. I’m nobody.” An elderly couple walked past Darwin, the two of them arguing with each other. Darwin nodded at them, wished them a good afternoon, and the gentleman nodded back. Darwin had gotten word of the bodies being found by monitoring the police laser-com-he hadn’t anticipated Rakkim already being here. The possibility that Rakkim had been the one who’d discovered the bodies was almost too much to hope for, but there he was, live and in person, looking as if his lunch hadn’t agreed with him. It made Darwin all tingly.

Darwin watched Rakkim talk to the fat cop, the fat cop’s face getting redder and redder. Any man who could piss off a cop that badly had Darwin’s respect. He could hardly wait to find Sarah and get all this business settled. Then he could kill Rakkim in peace. At his own pace too.

“Did this Marian Warriq tell you anything about Sarah before you…gift-wrapped her?”

“Not much.”

“All the more reason for you to keep her alive until she talked.”

“It wouldn’t matter-she had a strong faith, and you know what that’s like,” Darwin said, remembering the woman’s initial quiet protestations, her increasingly frantic quoting from the Qur’an. The things people came up with when they knew they were going to die…it never ceased to amaze him.

“Faith can be broken. That’s what I know.”

“She wasn’t going to talk, she was just going to waste my time.” Darwin waved cheerfully at a young mother pushing a baby stroller down the sidewalk. Cootchie-cootchie coo. The mother ignored him but the kid in the stroller waved back. Ugly brat, a smear of dried milk crusted on one cheek.

“You acted in haste,” insisted the Old One. “You got the killing urge and you lost all perspective.”

“My perspective?” Darwin chuckled. “You have no idea of my perspective.”

“I’ll make some inquiries about this sociology professor. Perhaps something will emerge. Just restrain your impulses. I need Rakkim alive.”

Darwin stared at the taxi parked far down the block. A checkered Saladin cab, smoke bubbling from the exhaust pipe. Condensation dappled the windshield.

“Darwin?”

“I’m here.” The taxi had been sitting there for five minutes, at least. Plenty of time for the fare to get out. “Talk to you later.” Darwin broke the connection, started toward the taxi, eager now, but not hurrying.

“Sir?” The handsome young policeman held up his hand as though directing traffic. The other hand stayed on the butt of his pistol.

Darwin smiled, kept his eyes on the taxi. “I’m late for a business call, Officer.”

“May I see some identification, sir?”