The 56th Man (45 page)

"Yes, sir!"

Ari leaned down and pulled away the strips of
duct tape dangling from the car frame just under the passenger
door. Mahmoud had done almost too good a job. Ari had had a
difficult moment loosening the tape off the gun. If they bothered
to look, the forensics people would find traces of adhesive. And
Ari doubted he would be able to cover any tracks he left behind
sufficiently enough to disguise the fact that a second party had
been at the scene. But he did not think it would matter.

Still, he took the precaution of removing a
handkerchief and wiping down every surface he had touched. He
opened the trunk and removed the large canvas bag Mahmoud had
placed inside. Little fellow was strong, Ari granted with a smile.
Mahmoud would take after his father. Even if he grew up as the
spitting image of Saddam Hussein, he would never be drafted as a
lookalike decoy. Some things really had improved.

He was taking great care in placing the
red-handled .38 in Carrington's left hand when an old Astrovan
pulled up across the creek. He was lucky the detective had been a
southpaw. Being right-handed would have presented
complications.

When he was done, he gave the body one last
cursory inspection. Then he performed a small salute and reached
down to turn off the lights.

He crossed the footbridge, the canvas bag
over his shoulder. Abu Jasim greeted him at the other end. He had
removed the moustache and beret, but the resemblance to the
imprisoned Iraqi leader was still uncanny.

"Where's Mahmoud?" Ari asked.

"Probably halfway to that boat landing where
we first met. Want me to call him on his cell?"

"No. And I want you to leave me off there
when you pick him up. My house is being watched. Better not let
them see your van."

"Okay." Abu Jasim looked across the wide
stream at the Lexus. "Think it was a good idea to kill an American
cop?"

"It was necessary." Ari laid the bag down in
the back of the van. "He was a threat to my family."

"Ah. You know best. But still…”

“
As soon as they test the gun, the
police will drop the investigation. It was used in a homicide. A
whole family wiped out using the gun I shot him with and put in his
hand. Remorse and suicide, clear and simple.”

If they look close enough,
they’ll say he murdered his own daughter
….

“
What I’m saying, Colonel, is that
those two clowns with the sniper guns…I don’t think they planned on
doing any shooting. When I came up on them, they were making jokes.
They hadn’t chambered their rounds.”

“
It had to be done. Rana and
Karim…”

“
Okay, Colonel,” Abu Jasim said, and
repeated, “You know best.”

"It's too bad. He wasn't a bad man. I would
have done the same thing as he did."

"Too bad," Abu Jasim shook his head. “But you
know the old saying: It’s better to have your enemy for lunch than
for your enemy to have you for dinner.”

"How is your English?"

"About as good as my French," said the former
Saddam Hussein impersonator.

"At the end, he kept saying 'fuck me, fuck
me'. You don't suppose..."

"Colonel, I always said you could charm the
pants off anything."

"You did?"

"Well, maybe not
always
, sir." Abu Jasim cleared his throat. "So
your librarian came through for you?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to reward her," Abu Jasim
ventured suggestively.

“
I’ll take her to dinner.” Ari opened
the mouth of the canvas bag and began pulling out various items.
Abu Jasim whistled lowly as he rested them on the van
bed.

"These, plus the .38 I gave you...how much
can you get for them? I'll give you a 20 per cent commission if you
can dispose of these."

"The night goggles I don't know about.
Probably not much. As for the guns...I'd never get across the
Canadian border with an armory like that."

"You don't know anyone in the States?"

"There’s a man in New York..."

"Try him.”

“
And the rifles?”

“
A bonus for you. Now, for this..." Ari
zipped open the two pouches of cocaine, the one from the Jenn-Air
stove and the one he had taken from the kayakers.

"Oh...Colonel. Pardon me, but now I see why
they call you the Godless One."

"You can deal with this?"

"Probably with the same man. But--"

"Excellent. Send me 80 percent of whatever
you make."

"Pretty risky..."

"Seventy-five per cent, then."

Abu Jasim looked longingly at the Lexus
across the creek.

“
No,” said Ari. “That stays. It can’t
be helped.”

NINETEEN

Over the next two weeks, Ari noted an
efflorescence of orange in the stores. When he inquired about it,
he was told by a bemused clerk that Halloween was fast approaching.
He looked Halloween up on the net and learned it was an American
conflation of Celtic and Christian holidays. At first it seemed
like a memorial for past Christian saints, which seemed rather
dull. Then it looked to be a kind of memorial for the dead, which
seemed appropriate. Third glance suggested a worship of evil, which
Ari found intriguing, although he fretted over the tidbit that cats
were sometimes abused during the event. He occasionally saw Sphinx,
but the cat had snubbed him ever since Ari had evicted him from his
hiding place under the stove.

"Be careful, little beast," Ari would murmur,
thankful that Sphinx was not black--black cats being the main
targets of sadistic mayhem.

He finally concluded that Halloween was just
a fun time for kids, and he was delighted at the prospect of little
tots showing up at his door and yelling, "Trick or Treat!"

He bought some decorations and a pumpkin. He
carved a suitably scary face into the pumpkin, then studied the
gooey mess of pulp and seeds that he had excavated from the shell.
He reviewed several recipes for pumpkin pie, then threw the mess
into the garbage.

On the last day of October, Ari dragged a
kitchen chair out to his front porch, lit a candle in his pumpkin
head, and brought out a large basket of candy. He poured a small
portion of whisky and hid it inside the door. The sun scaled away
from the river and a clear night approached. Ari lit a cigarette,
took a sip of Jack Daniels, and relaxed, filled with mellow
anticipation.

Five o'clock. Five-thirty. He heard groups of
children up the hill, on Riverside Drive. They would arrive within
minutes. He re-hid his drink and stubbed out his Winston.

The voices faded.

More voices approached, more voices faded. He
went down the sidewalk to the road. A group was just leaving Howie
Nottoway's driveway. A tiny angel turned and began to trot towards
the river before her mother caught her and drove her back up the
lane.

Of course. This was the Riggins house.
Children had been brutally murdered here. It was only normal that
parents and older children would want to avoid it.

He slumped to the porch and dropped in his
chair. As he lifted his glass, he caught sight of a yellow smudge
at the edge of the yard.

"Beast," said Ari. "Spy. Traitor. Turncoat.
Don't you look plump? Who's been feeding you? The same people who
have been feeding me?"

Sphinx's tail shifted slightly. Ari knew
there was no point in going after it. The cat would come in its own
good time, if at all.

Ari stood nodding and smiling and nodding and
frowning and shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders and in
general following Howie Nottoway's rambling conversation with every
physical gesture in his armory, save the non-neighborly ones. Ari
had joined the Neighborhood Watch, and was already responsible for
nabbing a young boy who enjoyed defacing lawn ornaments and an
infamous dog that took some kind of canine pleasure over leaving
its stools on innocent doorsteps. Howie was ecstatic over the new
member's aggressive tactics, though they were counterbalanced by a
grievous laxity when it came to the loud parties on the other side
of the woods.

"Howie, why don't you join us one evening?
I'm sure the Mackenzies would be glad to have you."

"You mean...you've been going..."

"I enjoy the good fellowship, the bonhomie.
And I find Tracy Mackenzie irresistible. Stupid, but
irresistible."

Howie laughed in spite of himself.

"Bring the wife," Ari continued. "And if you
can't make it...be patient. I know they get loud, and they smoke,
and they can be quite obnoxious at times. But it's only once a
week, and they usually pass out before midnight."

"Well...you really think they'd like having
us?"

Matt and Tracy Mackenzie would probably
suffer seizures if they saw Howie walking up to their door with a
bottle of champagne in one arm and a bushel of good will in the
other, but Ari was convinced a bit of diplomatic tact would settle
the issue.

They had only once discussed Carrington's
suicide. Ari had watched carefully as Howie progressed from
startled amazement to confusion. There was no trace of sorrow. If
anything, there had been a hint of relief.

No more being bullied by the Detective
Sergeant into spying on his neighbor and breaking into his house.
No more sickening exposures of his inadequacy, or of the frailties
of law and order. His sphincter might be on a short leash--it
always would be--but he could ease the rest of his persona into
public life without fear or sarcasm. And without recriminations.
Ari would not be asking him for the key to his back door.

Yes, he would be on patrol tomorrow night.
Yes, he would be sure his cell phone was fully charged. No, he was
not yet ready to attend Howie's church. But who knew what the
future held?

Lynn the Librarian became Lynn the
friend, but nothing more. Lynn tried to interest Ari in The Tale of
the Genji. Ari wanted her to accompany him to a bowling alley,
which he was reluctant to visit alone. They compromised by going to
see
Gigli
at the Westhampton.
They enjoyed the popcorn.

She tried to learn more about him. He found
her sweet and attractive, in a flat-footed way.

"Whatever happened with your friend? What is
his name, by the way? He didn't give it to me on the phone. Did
your joke work?"

"He was a little nonplussed at first, but in
the end he died laughing," Ari answered.

"That's amazing."

"What, that he died laughing?"

"That I've met someone who uses 'nonplussed'
as part of his everyday speech."

Fred, of Ted's Custom Lawn Care &
Landscape Design Service, seemed to know whenever he was out of the
house. The LoJack, of course. After the first visit, Ari did not
see him again for a long time. He would arrive home to find his
yard immaculate and a thumb drive on his kitchen table or already
plugged into his computer. He wondered at this furtive technique.
Why not just hand it to him in person? Was it pride in tradecraft?
To show Ari this was serious business, and to impress upon him the
need for caution? Or was it possible Fred could not trust himself
to stay cool in front of his client after what Ari had done to
Sandra?

The pictures became a steady drain on Ari's
soul. After an hour of looking at them he would pour a drink and
continue working until he passed out. Eventually, he began pouring
that first drink before he even opened the image viewer. The faces
of terror became a single face, two eyes peering out of a kuffiah
scarf with malevolent righteousness while standing over his victim
or victims.

In the occasional digital video (usually
ripped off from Al Jazeera) the executors-murderers could be heard
chanting the usual Koranic-Marxist inanities (certainly a weird
combination) to justify their actions. There was usually a trace of
hysteria in their voices as they struggled to make clear that they
were not common killers, but warriors of a mighty cause. It was
ever thus with young men struggling to make a name for themselves,
whether before society or before God.

Often on the street Ari saw young black men
with their hoods turned up, even in warm weather. They were
flaunting their dangerous anonymity. They were learning. The
Crusaders had brought back etiquette and refined taste from their
wars. The Americans returned home with something far more sinister,
and they feared it.

The men he fingered sometimes showed up on
the news as part of the daily body count. Ari had no way of telling
if this was due to his efforts or to the diligence of the Coalition
and Iraqi authorities. But one day he received an email that merely
said: 'Thanks'. The sender's address ended with 'dot gov'.

The Great Satan appreciated his efforts.

He bought a portable television with a
combination VCR/DVD player. He checked out movies and documentaries
from the library and watched lectures from the Great Teachers
series. Greek Mythology, Mediterranean Civilizations, the Great
Philosophers, Economics, the American Civil War. He also liked old
Hollywood films, and enjoyed Great Expectations so much that he
checked out the book and read it through in two sittings. He took
out the Day the Earth Stood Still. The robot's first appearance
sent a deathly chill through Ari. There it was...the hidden face,
the fierce, destructive eye: al Qaeda in metal.

On December 23, Ari pulled one of the kitchen
chairs into the living room and sat where Jerry Riggins had sat one
year earlier. He sipped at his Jack Daniels, staring out the
picture window long after midnight.

Christmas came and went. He exchanged small
gifts with Lynn at the library reference desk. Lynn gave him a wary
smile. She told him he did not look well.