“I’m glad to help, my friends,” I said. “But, really, I got my own selfish motives. In the noble Qur’an it says, ‘That which you spend for good must go to parents and near kindred and orphans and the needy and the wayfarer. And whatever good ye do, lo! Allah is aware of it.’ So maybe if I kick a few kiam to a worthy cause, it’ll make up for the night I stayed up partying with the blond twins from Hamburg.”

I saw a couple of my visitors smile. That let me relax a little. “Even so,” said the young mother, “we thank you.”

“Less than a year ago, I wasn’t doing so well myself. Sometimes I was eating only every other day. There were times when I didn’t have a home to go to, and I slept in parks and abandoned buildings. I been lucky since, and I’m just returning a favor. I remember how much kindness everyone showed me when I was broke.” Actually, practically none of that was true, but it sure was gracious as all hell.

“We’ll leave you now, O Shaykh,” said the woman. “You probably need your rest. We just wanted to let you know, if there’s anything we can do for you, it would give us much happiness.”

I studied her closely, wondering if she meant what she said. “As it happens, I’m looking for two guys,” I said. “On Cheung the baby seller, and this killer, Paul Jawarski. If anyone’s got any information, I’d be very grateful.”

I saw them exchange uneasy glances. No one said anything. It was just as I expected. “Allah grant you peace and well-being, Shaykh Marid al-Amin,” murmured the woman, backing toward the door.

I’d earned an epithet! She’d called me Marid the Trustworthy. “Allah yisallimak,” I replied. I was glad when they left.

About an hour later, a nurse came in and told me that my doctor had signed my release from the hospital. That was fine with me. I called Kmuzu, and he brought me some clean clothes. My skin was still very tender and it hurt to get dressed, but I was just glad to be going home.

“The American, Morgan, wishes to see you, yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu. “He says he has something to tell you.”

“Sounds like good news,” I said. I got into the electric sedan, and Kmuzu closed the passenger door. Then he went around and got in behind the steering wheel.

“You also have some business matters to take care of. There is a considerable amount of money on your desk.”

“Uh yeah, I guess so.” There should be two fat pay envelopes from Friedlander Bey, plus my share of the take from Chiri’s.

Kmuzu let his glance slide over to me. “Do you have any plans for that money, yaa Sidi?” he asked.

I smiled at him. “What, you got a horse you want me to back?”

Kmuzu frowned. No sense of humor, I recalled. “Your wealth has grown large. With the money that came while you were in the hospital, you have more than a hundred thousand kiam, yaa Sidi. Much good could be done with that great a sum.”

“Didn’t know you were keeping such close tabs on my bank balance, Kmuzu.” He was such a friend sometimes, I tended to forget that he was really only a spy. “I had some ideas about putting the money to good use. A free clinic in the Budayeen, maybe, or a soup kitchen.”

I’d really startled him. “That’s wonderful and unexpected!” he said. “I heartily approve.”

“I’m so glad,” I said sourly. I really had been thinking along those lines, but I didn’t know how to begin. “How’d you like to study the feasibility? All my time is taken up with this Abu Adil-Jawarski thing.”

“I would be more than happy. I don’t think you have enough to fund a clinic, yaa Sidi, but providing hot meals to the poor, that is a worthy gesture.”

“I hope it’s more than just a gesture. Let me know when you have some plans and figures for me to look at.”

The nice part of all this was that it would keep Kmuzu busy and out of my hair for a while.

When I went into the house, Youssef grinned and gave me a bow. “Welcome home, O Shaykh!” he said. He insisted on wrestling my suitcase away from Kmuzu. The two of them followed me down the corridor.

“Your apartment is still being rebuilt, yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu. “I’ve made us comfortable in a suite in the east wing. On the first floor, away from your mother and Umm Saad.”

“Thank you, Kmuzu.” I was already thinking about the work I had to do. I couldn’t take any more time off to recuperate. “Is Morgan here now, or do I have to call him?”

“He’s in the antechamber of the office,” said Youssef. “Is that all right?”

“Fine. Youssef, why don’t you give that suitcase back to Kmuzu. He can carry it to our temporary apartment. I want you to let me into Friedlander Bey’s inner office. You don’t think he’d mind if I used it while he’s in the hospital, do you?”

Youssef thought about that for a moment. “No,” he said slowly, “I don’t see any problem.”

I smiled. “Good. I’m gonna have to take care of his business until he’s healthy again.”

“Then I’ll leave you, yaa Sidi,” said Kmuzu. “May I begin working on our charity project?”

“As soon as possible,” I said. “Go in safety.”

“God be with you,” said Kmuzu. He turned toward the servants’ wing. I went on with Youssef to Papa’s private office.

Youssef paused at the threshold. “Shall I send the American in?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “let him wait a couple of minutes. I need my English-language add-on, or I won’t understand a word he says. Would you mind fetching it?” I told him where to find it. “Then when you come back, you can show Morgan in.”

“Of course, O Shaykh.” Youssef hurried away to do my bidding.

I felt an unpleasant thrill when I sat in Friedlander Bey’s chair, as if I’d occupied a place of unholy strength. I didn’t like the feeling at all. For one thing, I had no desire to step into the role of Junior Crime Lord, or even the more legitimate office of International Power Broker. I was at Papa’s feet now; but if, Allah forbid, something terminal were to happen to him, I wouldn’t hang around to be anointed as his successor. I had other plans for my future.

I glanced through the papers on Papa’s desk for a few minutes, finding nothing racy or incriminating. I was about to start rummaging through the drawers when Youssef returned. “I’ve brought the entire rack, yaa Sidi,” he said.

“Thank you, Youssef. Please show Morgan in now.”

“Yes, O Shaykh.” I was getting to like all this subservience, but that was a bad sign.

I chipped in the English daddy just as the big, blond American came in. “Where y’at, man?” he said, grinning. “I never been here before. You got a nice place.”

“Friedlander Bey’s got a nice place,” I said, indicating that Morgan should make himself comfortable. “I’m just his errand boy.”

“Whatever you say. Now, you want to hear what I got?”

I leaned back in the chair. “Where’s Jawarski?” I said.

Morgan’s grin disappeared. “Still don’t know, man. I got the word out to everybody, but I haven’t heard a clue. I don’t think he’s left the city. He’s here somewhere, but he’s done a damn good job of evaporating.”

“Yeah, you right. So what’s the good news?”

He rubbed his stubbly chin. “I know somebody who knows somebody who works for some business front that’s owned by Reda Abu Adil. It’s a shady package delivery service. Anyway, this guy my friend knows says he heard somebody else say that this Paul Jawarski wanted his money. Seems like your friend Abu Adil arranged to make it easy for Jawarski to blast his way out of the pokey.”

“A couple of guards died on account of it, but I don’t suppose that bothers Abu Adil none.”

“I suppose not. So Abu Adil hired Jawarski through this delivery company to come to the city. I don’t know what Abu Adil wanted, but you know what Jawarski’s specialty is. This friend of mine calls it the Jawarski Finishing School.”

“And now Abu Adil is making sure Jawarski stays unstumbled on, right?”

“The way I figure it.”

I closed my eyes and thought about it. It made perfect sense. I didn’t have hard evidence that Abu Adil had hired Jawarski to kill Shaknahyi, but in my heart I knew it was true. I also knew Jawarski had killed Blanca and the others in Shaknahyi’s notebook. And because Lieutenant Hajjar was two-timing both Friedlander Bey and the halls of justice, I was pretty confident that the police were never going to dig Jawarski up. Even if they did, Jawarski would never be prosecuted.