Jess Walter - The Zero

Remy stared at the note. He felt sick. Those block letters, that G. Jesus… he knew that handwriting.

“Yeah.” Markham had pulled a notebook from his back pocket. “And I understand they threw a rock through your window?”

“Yes. This note and the ear of the swine were duct-taped to the rock. That window is going to cost me four hundred dollars. Four hundred dollars! And I can’t turn it over to my insurance.”

“Yeah, that’s tough.”

“I put up a sign today that said, ‘I am Pakistani not Arab!’ but do you know what I think? I think I should not have to do that. I think in this country I should not have to explain that I am not a terrorist. I think these things are not anyone’s business but my own.” He was worked up. He wiped his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s tough, Mahoud. I wish there was something I could do, but there are a lot of these harassment cases and… frankly, between you and me… it’s hard to get one to float to the top… over just a rock.” Markham put his notebook in his back pocket. “In fact, we have to concentrate on the ones where there has been actual violence. As you might expect. I know it’s not a lot of consolation.” Markham looked over at Remy. “After they hurt someone, we’ll come back.”

“This is outrageous,” Mahoud said. “I am a citizen of this country too.”

“No,” Markham said. “No, you’re right. I mean… all I can do is write up the report and put a good word in for you. And after that… shit, I’m sorry.” He turned to Remy. “Unless you have any other ideas, partner?”

Remy was still staring at the note, trying to figure out how…

Markham turned to leave, but hadn’t even taken a step when he turned back. “You know what, Mahoud. There is one thing. Maybe I could go in and plead your case to my superiors. See if I can’t get some special attention on this.”

“You could do that?”

“Yeah, maybe if you were… helpful to us in some other area of our investigation, we could take an extra look at this harassment you’re getting.” He looked at Remy. “What do you think, Brian? Do you think it could work?”

Remy just stared at him.

“Yeah,” Markham acted as if Remy had agreed with him. “You still got those pictures, right, Brian? Maybe Mahoud can help with our pictures.”

Remy looked down at the briefcase in his hand. He opened it. There were three sheets with six mug shots on each sheet, all of them Middle Eastern men. Remy handed them to Markham and wiped the sweat from his face.

“These are some undocumented aliens that we’re trying to find,” Markham said nonchalantly. “Some fellas we suspect of not being very good guests in this country. We’re… showing these pictures to restaurant owners, cab companies, you know… see if anyone remembers employing any of these guys. Maybe if you’ve seen one of them, Mahoud, we can try to get some attention to your situation here. Some peace of mind for your family.”

Mahoud looked from Markham to Remy and back again. “I don’t understand…”

Markham shrugged. “Just look at these. It’s probably nothing.”

Mahoud looked at the first sheet. “No,” he said. “No one.” Then he began looking at the second. He looked up, his face red. “This is my brother-in-law, Bishir. The younger brother of my sister-in-law.”

“What?” Markham looked up at Remy, then at Mahoud. “Really? Which one? This guy? This attractive fella here?”

But Mahoud didn’t show him which one. He looked from Markham to Remy and back again. “I told the other agents who came to my restaurant that I have not seen him in more than a year and my wife has told them the same thing. Four times we have told agents this. Why do you continue to ask if I know where Bishir is?”

“Do you?”

“Do I-”

Markham got serious. “Do you… know where Bishir is?”

“No! No. I have told you!”

Markham smiled. “Look, this is just a little mixup. That’s all. It’s no big deal. We had no idea they’d already shown you this, Mahoud, or we wouldn’t have wasted your time. It’s not like we’re trying to harass people .” He laughed, strained and high-pitched.

Mahoud took a small step back from the pictures. “Why did you contact me in this alley, instead of coming in the front of my restaurant? Did you not want anyone to see you come here?”

“…What?” Markham put his hands in his pockets. “Come on, Mahoud… don’t go all paranoid on us, now. I know you’re a good citizen.”

“Yes,” Mahoud said.

“And that you’d do anything you could to help your country.”

“Of course.”

“Well, look at it this way. Now you’ve got your chance.”

Mahoud covered his mouth. “Who are you?”

“Listen, there’s no reason to get upset. All you have to do is help us find Bishir,” Markham looked over at Remy, and then back. He said, in a voice so flat it was barely audible: “Then maybe we can protect your family.”

“My God. I don’t…” Mahoud’s voice skipped. “Please!” He took a step back. “Maybe in Miami… there were two brothers he… knew. Assan and… Kamal. The last I heard, one of them was in Miami.”

“Okay,” Markham said. “Okay.” He handed Mahoud the notebook. “Write the brothers’ names down. I won’t even mention that you gave it to me. Sound good, Mahoud?”

Mahoud scribbled a name on the pad without saying anything.

“I need you to look at one more picture,” Markham said. He reached his hand out to Remy, who looked down in the valise and saw another print that had escaped him, up against the side of the case. He pulled it out. It was the picture of March Selios with Bishir. Remy handed it to Markham, who flicked it in front of Mahoud’s face. “Remember her, Mahoud? Bishir’s girlfriend, March. Do you remember her?”

Mahoud studied the face. “Yes. I think so. About two years ago. Bishir had… a lot of girlfriends. They run together.”

“Do you know why they broke up?”

Mahoud looked uncomfortable. “I don’t listen to wives’ chatter…”

“Do you know if he was still in touch with her?”

“No. I have no idea. Look, I have told you… Bishir has not contacted my family in more than a year. I am sorry.” He said this to Remy, who had to look away. “I cannot help you find him. Or her. I am sorry.”

Markham took the picture of March Selios back. “Okay. We’re going to check this out. I really appreciate your help. And you won’t mind if we contact you to help us out again, right Mahoud? I mean… if it means we can protect your family.”

“Who are you?” Mahoud asked again.

“Oh… one more question,” Markham said. “I couldn’t help noticing that you have a peculiar dish on your menu. Pecan encrusted sole. Is that a common Mediterranean dish?”

“We have a diverse menu. We also have Thai noodles and pizzas.”

“Sure.” Markham stared holes in the restaurant owner. “Diverse. Well, we’ll have to come in and try your food some time.”

Mahoud backed up and then turned and hurried away. Remy and Markham watched him go and then retreated to their car.

“Damn, you’re good,” Markham said, chuckling to himself. “When you turn on that silent thing… it’s really chilling. Mute cop, bad cop, huh?”

Remy opened the car door and sat down, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember… He felt sick. “Look, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Markham stared at him a moment longer. The alley was quiet, the hum of the city seeming to be blocks away. “Okay,” Markham said finally. “Next time I’ll throw the rock and you can do the talking.”

REMY STOOD on the curb outside his apartment and watched flakes come down from the sky, each one appearing lit from inside, each one like a cold secret. It occurred to him that maybe this snowfall was occurring in his eyes, and even as he quickly dismissed the idea, it seemed eerily plausible, that it could be snowing in his vitreous. He closed his eyes but the flakes were different, the familiar floating of tissue, up and down, flouting gravity; he opened his eyes and it was snowing down again. He felt for the stitches on his head, buried in his stubbled hair. He was about to go back inside when a stretch Town Car pulled up and double-parked in front of his building. The car sat there idling until finally the back passenger window lowered with a whir. Remy stepped closer, edging between two parked cars, to see The Boss’s oval face floating in the dark. Remy bent down to look inside and his eyes quickly adjusted. The Boss was wearing a tuxedo, and across from him sat the thick Police Boss, his own tuxedo tight around his neck as if it were a snake and he was a boar it was in the process of swallowing. He was telling some story but stopped grumbling when The Boss held up his hand. There were two other men in the car, one on each side, young guys with little round glasses, each holding a tape recorder.