I decided to get the anthology. I figured it gave me a wide sampling of skills and personalities. I took it over to Laila. “Just this one today,” I said.

“There’s a special on—”

“Wrap it, Laila.” I handed her a ten-kiam bill. She took my money and looked hurt. I thought about what I’d chip in to visit Gay Che’s. I still had Rex, Saied’s badass moddy. I decided I’d wear that, and carry this new one in reserve.

“Your change, Marid.”

I took my package, but let the old woman keep the change. “Buy yourself something pretty, Laila,” I told her.

She smiled again. “And you know, I expect Leon will bring me a romantic surprise this evening.”

“Yeah, you right.” I left the shop feeling as creepy as I always did around her.

I took three steps toward the Street, and then I heard blaam! blaam! blaam! A flying chip of concrete cut my face just under my right eye. I threw myself into the doorway of the gambling den next to Laila’s. Blaam! blaam! blaam! I heard bricks shatter and saw puffs of red dust drift from the edge of the doorway. I pressed myself in as far as I could. Blaam! blaam! Two more: Someone had just taken eight shots at me with a high-powered pistol.

Nobody came running. Nobody was curious enough to see if I was all right, or maybe needed medical attention. I waited, wondering how long before it was safe to stick my head out again. Was Jawarski still hiding somewhere across the street, a fresh clip in his .45? Or was this only a warning? Surely, if he truly wanted to kill me, he could have done a better job of it.

I got tired of being scared after a few minutes and left the safety of the doorway. I have to admit that I had a peculiar vulnerable feeling between my shoulder blades as I hurried down to the corner. I decided that this had been Jawarski’s way of sending me an invitation. I had no intention of declining; I just wanted to be prepared.

Yet even so, I still had other business to finish before I could turn my full attention to the American. I went to my car and threw the new moddy into the backseat, where I’d left my briefcase. I drove slowly and calmly through the Rasmiyya neighborhood to Courane’s. When I got there, I parked the car in the narrow street and took Saied’s moddy out of the briefcase. I looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and chipped it in, along with the daddies that blocked pain and fatigue. Then I got out of the car and went into Courane’s dim bar.

“Monsieur Audran!” said the expatriate, coming toward me with both hands outstretched. “Your friends told me you’d be coming. It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” I said. I could see the Half-Hajj, Mahmoud, arid Jacques at a table near the back.

Courane followed me, speaking in a low voice. “Wasn’t that just terrible about Officer Shaknahyi?”

I turned to look at him. “That’s what it was, Courane. Terrible.”

“I was truly upset.” He nodded to let me know how sincere he was.

“Vodka gimlet,” I said. That made him go away.

I dragged over a chair and sat at the table with the others. I looked at them but didn’t say anything. The last time I’d been with this group, I hadn’t been very popular. I wondered if anything had changed.

Jacques was the Christian who was always patronizing me about how he had more European blood than I did. This afternoon he just closed one eye and nodded his head. “I hear you pulled Papa out of a burning building.”

Courane arrived with my drink. Instead of answering, I lifted the glass and sipped.

“I was in a fire once,” said the Half-Hajj. “Well, actually, I was in a building that burned down about an hour after I left. I could’ve been killed.”

Mahmoud, the male sexchange, snorted. “So, Marid,” he said, “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I really just wanted to impress you bastards.” I squeezed the wedge of lime into the gimlet. Vitamin C, you know.

“No, really,” Mahmoud went on, “everybody’s talking about it. It was pretty gutsy.”

Jacques shrugged. “Especially if you think that you could’ve ended up with all of Friedlander Bey’s light-speed clout for yourself. Just by letting the old fucker fry.”

“Did you think about that?” asked Mahmoud. “While it was all happening, I mean?”

It was time to take a long swallow of vodka, because I was getting really mad. When I set my glass down again, I looked from one to the other. “You know Indihar, right? Well, since Jirji’s been dead, she’s having a tough time paying her bills. She won’t take a loan from me or Ghiri, and she can’t make enough tending bar in the club.”

Mahmoud’s eyebrows went up. “She want to come work for me? She’s got a nice ass. I could get her good money.”

I shook my head. “She’s not interested in that,” I said. “She wants me to find a new home for one of her kids. She’s got two boys and a girl. I told her she could spare one of the boys.”

That shut ’em up for a little while. “Maybe,” said Jacques at last. “I can ask around, anyway.”

“Do it,” I said. “Indihar said she might even be willing to part with the girl too. If they both go together, and if the price is right.”

“When do you need to know?” said Mahmoud.

“Soon as you can find out. Now, I got to go. Saied, you mind taking a ride with me?”

The Half-Hajj looked first at Mahmoud, then at Jacques, but neither of them had anything to say. “Guess not,” he said.

I took twenty kiam out of my pocket and dropped it on the table. “Drinks are on me,” I said.

Mahmoud gave me a judicious look. “We been kind of hard on you lately,” he said.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, we’re glad things are straightened out between us. No reason things can’t be like they were before.”

“Sure,” I said, “right.”

I gave Saied’s shoulder a little shove, and we headed back out into the sunlight. I stopped him before he got into the car. “I need you to tell me how to find Gay Che’s,” I said.

His face went suddenly pale. “Why the hell you want to go there?”

“I heard about it, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t want to go. I’m not even sure I can give you directions.”

“Sure you can, pal,” I said, my voice grim and threatening. “You know all about it.”

Saied didn’t like being pushed around. He stood up straight, trying to give himself a little height advantage. “Think you can make me go with you?”

I just stared at him, my face empty of emotion. Then very slowly I raised my right hand up to my lips. I opened my mouth and bit myself savagely. I ripped a small gobbet of flesh loose from the inside of my wrist and spat it at the Half-Hajj. My own blood trickled down the corners of my mouth. “Look, motherfucker,” I growled hoarsely, “that’s what I do to me. Wait till you see what I do to you!”

Saied shuddered and backed away from me on the sidewalk. “You’re crazy, Marid,” he said. “You gone fuckin’ crazy.”

“In the car.”

He hesitated. “You’re wearing Rex, ain’t you? You shouldn’t wear that moddy. I don’t like what it does to you.”

I threw back my head and laughed. I was only behaving the way he acted when he wore the same moddy. And he wore it often. I could understand why — I was beginning to like it a lot.

I waited until he slid into the passenger seat, then I went around and got behind the wheel. “Which way?” I asked.

“South.” His voice was tired and hopeless.

I drove for a while, letting him worry about how much I knew. “So,” I said finally, “what kind of place is it?”

“Nothing much.” The Half-Hajj was sullen. “A hangout for this jackboot gang, the Jaish.”

“Yeah?” From the name, I’d pictured the clientele of Gay Che’s like that guy I’d seen in Chiri’s a few weeks before, the one in the vinyl pants with his hand chained behind his back.

“The Citizen’s Army. They wear these gray uniforms and have parades and pass out a lot of leaflets. I think they want to get rid of the foreigners in the city. Down with the heathen Franj. You know that routine.”