“Uh huh. I get the idea from il-Manhous that you spend some time there.”

Saied didn’t like this conversation at all. “Look, Marid,” he began, but then he fell silent. “Anyway, you gonna believe everything you hear from Fuad?”

I laughed. “What you think he told me?”

“I don’t know.” He slid farther away from me, up against the passenger door. I almost felt sorry for him. He didn’t speak again except to give me directions.

When we got there, I reached under my seat where my weapons were hidden. I had the small seizure gun I’d gotten so long ago from Lieutenant Okking, and the static pistol Shaknahyi’d given me. I looked at the guns thoughtfully. “This a setup, Saied? You supposed to bring me here so Abu Adil’s thugs could ice me?”

The Half-Hajj looked frightened. “What’s this all about, Marid?”

“Just tell me why the hell you told Fuad to show me that .45 caliber clip.”

He sagged unhappily in his seat. “I went to Shaykh Reda because I was confused, Marid, that’s all. Maybe it’s too late now, but I’m real sorry. I just didn’t like standing around while you got to be the big hero, when you got to be Friedlander Bey’s favorite. I felt left out.”

My lip curled. “You mean you set me up to be killed because you were fucking jealous?”

“I never meant for anything like that.”

I took the empty clip from my pocket and held it in front of his eyes. “An hour ago, Jawarski emptied another one of these at me, in broad daylight on Fourth Street.”

Saied rubbed his eyes and muttered something, didn’t think this would happen,” he said softly.

“What did you think would happen?”

“I thought Abu Adil would treat me the way Papa’s treating you.”

I stared at him in amazement. “You really hired yourself out to Abu Adil, didn’t you? I thought you just told him about my mother. But you’re one of his tools, right?”

“I told you I was sorry,” he said in an anguished voice. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Goddamn right you will.” I handed him the seizure gun. “Take this. We’re going in there and we’re gonna find Jawarski.”

The Half-Hajj took the weapon hesitantly. “I wish I had Rex,” he said sadly.

“No, I don’t trust you with Rex. I’m gonna keep wearing it.” I got out of the car and waited for Saied. “Put your gun away. Keep it out of sight unless you need it. Now, is there any kind of password or anything?”

“No, you just got to remember nobody in there’s very fond of foreigners.”

“Uh huh. Come on, then.” I led the way into the bar. It was crowded and noisy and all I saw were men, most of them dressed in what I guessed was the gray uniform of this right-wing Citizen’s Army. It wasn’t dimly lighted and there wasn’t music playing: Gay Che’s wasn’t that kind of bar. This was a meeting place for the kind of men who liked dressing up as brave soldiers and marching through the streets and not actually having shots fired at them. What these jokers reminded me of was Hitler’s SS, whose main attributes had been perversion and pointless brutality.

Saied and I pushed our way through the mob of men to the bar. “Yeah?” said the surly bartender.

I had to shout to make myself heard. “Two beers,” I said. This didn’t look like a place to order fancy drinks.

“Right.”

“And we’re looking for a guy.”

The bartender glanced up from his tap. “Won’t find him here.”

“Oh yeah?” He set the beers in front of the Half-Hajj and me, and I paid. “An American, might still be recovering—”

The bartender grabbed the ten-kiam bill I’d laid down. He didn’t offer any change. “Look, cap, I don’t answer questions, I pour beer. And if some American came in here, these guys’d probably tear him apart.”

I took a gulp of the cold beer and looked around the room. Maybe Jawarski hadn’t been in this bar. Maybe he was hiding out upstairs in the building, or in a nearby building. “Okay,” I said, turning back to the bartender, “he ain’t been in here. But you seen any Americans around this neighborhood lately?”

“Didn’t you hear me? No questions.”

Time to bring out the hidden persuader. I took a hundred-kiam bill from my pocket and waved it in the bartender’s face. I didn’t need to say a word.

He looked into my eyes. It was clear that he was torn by indecision. Finally he said, “Let me have the money.”

I gave him a tight smile. “Look at it a little longer. Maybe improve your memory.”

“Well, stop flashing it around, cap. You’ll get us both roughed up.” I put the money on the bar and covered it with my hand. I waited. The bartender went away for a moment. When he came back, he slid a torn piece of cardboard toward me. I picked it up. There was an address written on it. I showed the cardboard to Saied. “Know where this is?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said in an unhappy voice, “it’s about two blocks from Abu Adil’s place.”

“Sounds right.” I handed the hundred kiam to the bartender, who made it disappear. I took out the static pistol and let him see it. “If you’ve fucked me over,” I said, “I’m coming back and using this on you. Understand?”

“He’s there,” said the bartender. “Just get out of here and don’t come back.”

I put the gun away and shoved my way toward the door. When we were on the sidewalk again, I looked at the Half-Hajj. “See now?” I said. “That wasn’t so bad.”

He gave me a hopeless look. “You want me to go with you to find Jawarski, right?”

I shrugged. “No,” I said, “I already paid somebody else to do that. I don’t want to have to come near Jawarski if I can help it.”

Saied was furious. “You mean you put me through all that grief and dragged me into that place for nothing?”

I opened the car door. “Hey, it wasn’t for nothing,” I said, smiling. “Allah probably agrees it was good for your soul.”

The westphalian sedan was headed north, away from Hamidiyya. I had my English daddy chipped in and I was speaking on the phone to Morgan. “I found him,” I said.

“Great, man.” The American sounded disappointed. “That mean I don’t get the rest of the money?”

“Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you the other five hundred if you baby-sit Jawarski for a few hours. You got a gun?”

“Yeah. You want me to use it?”

The idea was very tempting. “No. I just want you to keep an eye on him.” I read off the address on the piece of cardboard. “Don’t let him go anywhere. Hold him till I get there.”

“Sure, man,” said Morgan, “but don’t take all day. I’m not crazy about hangin’ around all day with a guy who’s killed twenty-some people.”

“I got faith in you. Talk to you later.” I hung up the phone.

“What you gonna do?” asked Saied.

I didn’t want to tell him, because despite his earnest confession and apology, I still didn’t trust him. “I’m taking you back to Courane’s,” I said. “Or you rather I drop you off somewhere in the Budayeen?”

“Can’t I go with you?”

I laughed coldly. “I’m gonna visit your favorite kingpin, Abu Adil. You still on good terms with him?”

“I don’t know,” said the Half-Hajj nervously. “But maybe I ought to go back to Courane’s. I thought of something I got to tell Jacques and Mahmoud.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Besides, I don’t need to run into that bastard Umar ever again.” Saied pronounced the name “Himmar,” by changing the vowel just a little and aspirating it. It was an Arabic pun. The word himmar means donkey, and Arabs consider the donkey one of the filthiest animals on earth. This was a clever way of insulting Umar, and when he was wearing Rex, the Half-Hajj may even have said it to Abdul-Qawy’s face. That may be one of the reasons Saied wasn’t popular around Hamidiyya anymore.

He was quiet for a little while. “Marid,” he said at last, “I meant what I said. I made a bad mistake, turning my coat like that. But I never had no contract with Friedlander Bey or nothing. I didn’t think I was hurting anybody.”

“I almost died twice, pal. First the fire, then Jawarski.”