Instead, he quickly regained his composure and gave me only the briefest of smiles. Friedlander Bey had not climbed to the summit of wealth and power in the city by letting just anyone know his true thoughts and feelings. He put the copy of the Qur’ân aside and said quietly, “You’ve given me great happiness, my nephew. Now I will tell you what I’ve planned in return.”

I couldn’t imagine what Papa had done for me. A new car would’ve been nice, I guess; I just hoped I wasn’t getting another slave or some valuable treasure that had been grabbed away from one of my dearest friends.

“A few years ago,” Friedlander Bey said, picking up a sugared, nut-stuffed date and examining it carefully, “I arranged for you to have the finest experimental brain implants available. I was very gratified by the results. Now, however, surgical procedures have advanced further. Your brain-wiring is no longer unique. In fact, in some ways you are at a disadvantage compared to the present state of the art.”

Oh jeez, I thought. I knew for sure that I wasn’t going to like this.

Papa went on, still not looking directly at me. “I’ve made plans with the neurosurgery staff at al-Amir Hospital to upgrade you before we begin our pilgrimage. We decided to augment your cerebral functions by enclosing your brain in a reticule of delicate gold mesh.”

“Yes, O Shaykh, but-“

“Also, today’s implants are much smaller and can easily be hidden at the base of the skull. The new personality modules and data add-ons are now only a small fraction the size of your older ones. The hospital will fit you out with a new set. I know you’ll be as pleased as I am.”

“Yes, O Shaykh, but-“

Friedlander Bey raised a hand in dismissal. “No thanks are needed, my nephew. You will have the surgery tomorrow morning, and there will be enough time to recuperate before our departure.” He put the stuffed date in his mouth. There was nothing more to be said — by either of us.

So now I had plenty to think about while I got ready for the party.

Kmuzu tiptoed heavily around my suite of rooms. He wasn’t saying anything, but he was shooting me hard-eyed glances that were more reproachful than I thought the situation called for. All right, so I’d gone to a party the night before, so I’d stayed out Allah-only-knew how late and came in so damaged that I couldn’t even remember how I’d gotten home. I mean, I’m an adult — maybe not a completely responsible adult, but that’s my business.

Or so I thought that morning. I liked to cherish the fantasy that there was still a little liberty in my life. I won’t say that I didn’t enjoy living in Papa’s palace and having more money than I ever dreamed possible; it’s just that I got good and tired of having to account for every minute of my day, and that almost everything I really wanted to do was against the wishes of the master of the house. It didn’t help that everyone I knew in the Budayeen would’ve gladly traded places with me in a Marrakesh minute.

I caught Kmuzu staring at me again. He was trying to look impassive, but his lips were pressed together and his teeth were clenched so tightly that I could see his jaw muscles jumping. I wondered how long this was going to go on. “You reminded me about the party, Kmuzu,” I said. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”

“Do you recall that you are scheduled for surgery today, yaa Sidi?”

I closed my eyes and rubbed them. I nodded. “I remember. And that’s why I can’t have breakfast. I wasn’t supposed to eat anything after midnight.”

“You weren’t supposed to drink anything, either.”

I opened my eyes and tried to look innocent. “As far as I can remember, I didn’t.”

Well, that one didn’t get by Kmuzu. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was as disgusted as I’ve ever seen him. I told myself it didn’t matter to me what he was thinking.

In my mind I went over what had happened at the party. In the early stages it had been just fine — but no one ever cares about the early stages of a party. That’s why so many people always show up late. Now, what had gone on that could have put Kmuzu in such a snit?

Suddenly I remembered. My eyes opened wider. “Mary and Jesus!” I said in a low voice. “Somebody turned up dead in my club. In one of the booths.”

“Yes, yaa Sidi.”

“I don’t even know who it was, just some guy. I can’t remember anything after that. Yallah, I really don’t need this, not today.”

Kmuzu looked me directly in the eye and let two or three heartbeats pass. Then he said, “It gets worse.”

Fateful things were said and done at the party, despite my longstanding policy against that happening in my club. I didn’t ask for any of it — I usually don’t have to — but because of it my life would be a nonstop nightmare in the weeks to come.

In Chiriga’s, as in most of the Budayeen bars, the day shift runs from noon until eight in the evening, and the night shift from eight until four in the morning. Some owners even have a late, late shift from 4 A.M. until noon. You wouldn’t think there’d be enough trade to make it worthwhile to stay open then, but evidently there is. I personally don’t care. I’m not that hard up for money.

I told my gang that we’d be closing Chiri’s early because of the party. I shut the place down about two hours before midnight. Of course, Brandi, Kandy, and the other night girls complained about losing six hours of prime money-making time — and they weren’t talking about wages, either. I paid them for the whole shift; they were upset over the lost tips. I guess “tips” is one way of describing their supplemental income.

“It’s not fair, Marîd,” Brandi said. “The day girls got to work their whole shift and then they get to come to the party, too.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Life is like that sometimes. Listen, you don’t have to stay here, you know. I’m sure if you went down the Street to Frenchy’s, he’d let you work the rest of the night. But who knows? Maybe you’ll meet the love of your life here at the party. I mean, it could happen.”

Brandi grunted, her expression of supreme irony. “The love of my life lives in a drawer of my nightstand.”

“Well, the love of your evening, then. Or at least a solid twenty minutes.”

She shook her head and turned to Kandy. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to go to Frenchy’s,” Kandy said. “Or maybe the Red Light. We can always come back here if we don’t find anything better.”

All the night-crew dancers left, but I was paying Rocky, the late-shift barmaid, to stay and help out during the party. Rocky was a sturdy, broad-shouldered woman with short, brushy black hair. I’d hired her when Jo-Mama, her previous employer, had gone off to spend a year meditating in the amir’s women’s prison. As crazy as the night girls were, none of them wanted to mix with Rocky. She kept order in my place when I wasn’t around, and I was glad I could count on her.

For the first half hour, it wasn’t much of a party. It was Rocky and me, and Pualani, Lily, and Yasmin. I didn’t want to get too drunk too fast, so I chipped in an experimental add-on that caused my body to get rid of alcohol at faster than the usual ounce-an-hour rate. I was prepared for a night of grueling fun, so I had Rocky build me a white death. Her version didn’t taste as good as Chiri’s, but it did what it was supposed to do.

The five of us sat at the bar and gossiped about people who weren’t there to defend themselves. “Hey,” Lily said, “this is just like being at work, only we’re not getting paid.”

“You don’t have to listen to some stupid mark’s boring life story, either,” Rocky said.

“That’s true,” Pualani said. “Wait ‘til I tell you what happened today. I’m sitting right here at the bar, okay? And this guy comes in wearing a James Bond moddy.”

“Yeah?” Rocky didn’t sound very interested.

The Bond story caught my attention, though, because three years ago another creep wearing a similar James Bond moddy had actually shot somebody in my club. Killed the poor bastard.