Storm Prey

the toilet stool in one and the end of a bed in the other.
    Shaheen smoked. A large glass ashtray sat on the dining bar; as they talked, they moved past it, toward the circle of the couch and chairs. Cappy picked up the ashtray. Shaheen’s back was to him and he lifted it in one hand, a question. Barakat gave him a tiny nod, and Cappy stepped toward Shaheen, who started to turn, and slammed it into his head, an inch behind his ear.
    Shaheen went down as though shot. Barakat put his hands on his hips and said, “You know, I hate to see this.”
    “A little late to stop now,” Cappy said.
    “Oh, we can’t stop.” He knelt down and pushed a finger into Shaheen’s neck. “Still alive,” he said.
    Cappy said, “Here,” and he knelt beside the supine man, pinched his nose, put his hand over Shaheen’s mouth, and pressed. Shaheen was profoundly unconscious, and never resisted. After a moment, he began to tremble and shake, and then he died.
    Barakat checked again and said, “Well, that’s that. Good-bye, Addie.” Then he rolled him, fished his wallet out of his pocket, and took out a wad of cash. “He doesn’t trust banks—there may be some more around, maybe in the refrigerator.”
    They found an envelope with $1,100 under an ice-cube tray; Cappy probed the bedroom, but found nothing more. Barakat had brought with him a dozen sample boxes of Viagra, distributed through hospitals and doctors’ offices, two boxes of Tamiflu, and three bottles of stimulants.
    They wiped them, then handled them with Shaheen’s dead but still sweaty hands, and then put them in a shoe box under Shaheen’s bed. The stimulants had the hospital’s name on them.
    “Now, we go away,” Barakat said. They wiped the ashtray and touched the doorknob only with a paper towel, careful not to wipe it, and were gone.
    “The thing about this is, this solves several long-term problems I have had,” Barakat said, as they walked back down the sidewalk to the car. “I never liked Addle. He was always trying to climb out of his place. Also, he spied on me for my father.”
    “Hope he didn’t tell your old man about the hospital.”
    “He didn’t know about the hospital for sure. He thought I did it, but he wasn’t sure. And now, it’s not a problem,” Barakat said. “You hungry?”
    Cappy nodded. “I could use a bite ... Man, like that spook was all pink down there, you know? I didn’t know that about them.”
    He didn’t think about Shaheen, because Shaheen was now irrelevant.

17
    VIRGIL TOLD LUCAS, “I got tired of wandering around doing nothing, so finally I started asking everybody I met if they knew any Arabs with French accents, or accents that might be French, who’ve been acting flaky. Or Frenchmen who look like Arabs.”
    They were sitting at the dining table, with coffee. Weather was holding her head in her hands, and every once in a while said something like “Oh my God.”
    Lucas asked, “What happened?”
    “Nothing yet,” Virgil said. “The question hasn’t had time to metastasize. I figure the politically correct wolverines will be onto it pretty quick. They’ll blab it all over the hospital, and I should have about six formal complaints and three answers by noon tomorrow.”
    Weather said, “Oh my God.”
    Lucas patted her on the leg and said, “Don’t worry. If it works, we’re golden. If it doesn’t work, and there are too many complaints, we’ll reprimand him and tell everybody he’ll be required to go to sensitivity training. He’s going to the Bahamas in two weeks, anyway, so he’ll be out of sight.”
    “Oh my God.”
    Lucas asked Virgil, “Run into any good-looking doctors over there?”
    “A couple,” Virgil said.
    “I heard radiologists are hot. And dermatologists. They’re more intellectual than, like, surgeons,” Lucas said.
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Virgil said.
    Weather said, “Sometimes, the two of you think you’re being funny, but you’re not that funny. I’ve got to work with a lot of ... of ...”
    Lucas said to Virgil, “She’s trying to find a softer word for ‘Arab.’ Like, ‘Persons of Middle Eastern heritage.’”
    “Fuck you,” Weather said.
    “See?” Lucas said. “A dermatologist never would have said that. They’re more classy.”
     
     
    LUCAS CAME to bed at one o’clock, moving quietly, and Weather said, “I’m awake.”
    “You should be asleep. Are you okay?”
    “We’re going to do it,” she said.
    “Yes. I hope that thing