Robert Ferrigno - Prayers for the assassin

“Let’s see if there’s a back door.”

Sarah smiled. The two of them made a circuit of the shark, found a ramp coming out of the shark’s tail, an exit obscured by sheets of rotting plywood that someone had leaned over the opening. She scooted inside before he had a chance to stop her. Slipped through the canted plywood without touching anything. Rakkim was right behind her, moving slowly, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. They heard voices ahead, a woman’s laugh echoing. Sarah stopped and he edged beside her.

A woman was bent over a large red terra-cotta crab, her hands braced against its outstretched claws. She wore a frilly, white blouse and a short skirt hiked up around her hips. A trim businessman in a green suit was right behind her, grinding away, his pants still belted. Candles flickered in nesting spots dug out of the wall, and their movements sent crazy shadows across the room. The businessman orgasmed in a series of gasping curses, and he slumped away from her. Still panting, he tossed the condom onto the floor, wiped his penis on her skirt, and shoved his penis back into his pants. The woman turned around, threw back her long, dark hair. Smiled in the dancing candlelight. It was Fancy. “Wow. That was so good. You really got me started, my husband.”

“Uh-huh.” The businessman ran a comb through his hair.

“Don’t go yet.” Fancy stroked his face, but he pulled away. “Another fifteen minutes. I’ve got ways to bring a man back to life.”

The businessman slipped his comb back into his jacket. “I divorce thee. I divorce thee. I divorce thee.” He stalked out the shark’s mouth, kicked something out of his path.

Fancy wiped herself with a cloth, arranged her skirt. Scooped up the bills the businessman had left. She jerked suddenly, sensing them. “I haven’t got any money.”

“It’s all right.” Sarah stepped into the light. “We’re not interested in money.”

Fancy flinched as she saw Rakkim, but her attention quickly returned to Sarah. “Two fine young Muslims out for a walk on the wild side. I can handle that.”

“No, that’s not it,” said Sarah.

“Don’t be shy.” Fancy licked her lips. Cat eyes and high cheekbones, a grace to her movements. She must have been beautiful before all the businessmen. “Unless you enjoy that.”

“We’re here to talk to you about your father,” said Rakkim. “We’re willing to pay for the conversation,” he hurried as she stepped back, afraid she was about to run.

Sarah took her hand. “It’s important, Fatima.”

Fancy turned her head away. The candle flames bobbed. Scented candles. Coconut. “Please…please, don’t call me that.”

Sarah held on to her. “I’m Sarah. This is Rakkim. We need to talk about your father.”

Fancy looked from one to the other. “Why?”

“We talked to Cameron,” said Rakkim. “He said to tell you hi.”

“Is he all right?” said Fancy.

“He’d like to visit with you and your girlfriend again,” said Rakkim. “He said it was the best birthday he ever had.”

“Jeri Lynn liked him too.” Fancy sat on the crab, her shoulders drooping. “I should have gone back for him. Cameron doesn’t have anyone to look after him.”

“Something we all have in common.” Sarah sat beside her. “I lost my parents when I was five. Rakkim was orphaned when he was nine.”

Fancy stared at her, making sure. “I…I was seven.” This close, even by candlelight, the face under her makeup was visible. Fancy was hollowed-out, sick, wasting away. “You never get over it, do you?”

“No.” Rakkim and Sarah said it at the same time.

“I’d like some money,” Fancy said quietly. “You said you’d pay. I don’t think it’s wrong to ask for money if I’m helping you. That’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?”

Rakkim pressed a wad of bills into her hand. Her eyes widened and he almost expected her to tell him it was too much, but she just tucked it away in her brassiere. As she did, he saw a perfectly circular scar at the base of her throat. Sarah saw it too. Tracheotomy scar. The addict’s badge of courage. She must have OD’d one time too many and been brought back to life. Against her will, probably. He had seen enough men dying, men who had fought against him as he’d struggled to save them, content to slip away from this world, ready to take their chances in the next.

“Your father died right after he came back from China,” said Sarah.

Fancy shrugged. “My mother and I…we met him at the airport. He was angry with us. We weren’t supposed to know that he was arriving home. We saw right away that he was sick. He said he had eaten some bad food on the plane, kaffir food, but I could tell he was lying. I could always tell.” She looked at Sarah. “What do you care about all this for?”

“I’m doing historical research on that period. The years prior to the takeover. Prior to the Zionist attack.”

“What does that have to do with my father? He was already dead by then.”

“I’m just doing background. Your father-”

“It must be nice to be a history teacher.” Fancy played with her hair. “I used to want to be a teacher. An elementary-school teacher. I always loved kids.” She rolled her hair back and forth between her right thumb and forefinger. “I can’t have ’em.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah.

“It’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have been a good mother anyway.” Fancy looked at Rakkim. “You’re no historian.”

Rakkim smiled.

Fancy didn’t return the smile. “I know men. I can tell things about them before they even open their mouth. Just from their shoes. Or their hands. Or their eyes. Their eyes most of all.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell anything about you, though.” She glanced at Sarah. “Can you?”

“We grew up together,” said Sarah. “I know him.”

Fancy watched Rakkim. “I hope so.”

“When your father came back from China, did he talk about his trip?” asked Sarah. “Places he had been, people he had met?”

“I just remember him throwing up a lot. And my mother crying.”

“He was working on that big dam in China,” said Sarah. “That must have been exciting for him.”

“I haven’t thought about those days in a long time. I was happy then. My father was strict, but he loved me very much.” Fancy kept her eyes on Sarah. “He used to call me his jewel. He used to hold me in his arms and call me his jewel.”

Rakkim let Sarah do the talking. Fancy had clearly had enough of men. The walls of the shark were covered with obscene graffiti, the floor littered with fast-food wrappers and worse. It smelled of urine and wet cardboard and dirty underwear. Fancy’s scented candles were hopeless but endearing. Maybe she just thought it was good business.

“The house you used to live in was torn down many years ago,” said Sarah. “I checked.”

“No one would have lived in that house. It was bad luck. Everyone knew that when my father died. The way he died. So sick.”

“You didn’t take him to a doctor? We couldn’t find any records.”

“A doctor came to the house. One I had never seen before. He gave Father pills for the pain, told Mother to keep to the house. To tend him. A bad house. An unlucky house. Then mother getting killed so soon afterwards…” Fancy shook her head.

Sarah looked at Rakkim. “Your mother died three years after your father. I’m sure it seemed too soon, but-”

“It was less than three months. I was there. Mother was driving on the freeway and a tire blew and the car crashed. We were going to the desert to pray. She was driving fast. They said it was a miracle I survived. Mother went through the windshield, but I only had a tiny cut on my leg. They said it was God’s will. They said He must have great plans for me.” Her laugh echoed within the shark.