Midnight Sun (6 page)

The
man
rose
to
his
feet.
“
Al
Gwahari
would
have
slipped
away
again. It
was
worth...
”

Kharzai
rammed
his
fist
straight
into
the
man's
nose.
Blood
sprayed
across the man's white shirt
and
he
stumbled
backwards,
knocking
the
table
over
and
falling
to
the
floor.

"You
killed
my
wife,
you
bastard!"

The
man
rose
to
his
knees
and
touched
his
face.
He
winced
and
looked
down
in
horror
as
blood
continued
to
pulse
from
his
nose
and
spread
over
his
hands.

"Jesus! You broke
my
nose!"

"You
’
re
lucky
you
still
have
testicles,
you
son
of
a
bitch.
”
Kharzai
picked
up
a
napkin
from
the
table
and
wiped
the
blood
from
his
knuckles.
“
Tell
your
boss
that
I’m out."

"You
can
’
t
quit.” Michael
said in a
liquid
,
nasal voice.
"You
’
re
in
too
deep—they won
’
t
let
you
go."

Kharzai
stared
down
at
him
in
a
barely
controlled
rage.

"Tell
them
I
am
dead. And if
anyone
comes
to
find
me,
they
will
be
too."

Midtown
Anchorage

Thursday, June
16
^th

1
p.m.

Lonnie
Johnson
made
a
sound
like
a
hiccup that got interrupted halfway up her throat.
Her
eyes
bulged,
then
narrowed
to
tight
slits,
and
she
strained
back
in
her
chair,
screwing
up
her
face.
A
chubby
dark-skinned
girl
behind
the
register
looked
up
and
said
something
in
Spanish
to
a
teenage
cook
at
the
grill
next
to
her.
He
turned
towards
Lonnie, eyes wide, a concerned look on his face.

Her
husband,
Marcus,
swallowed a mouthful of beans and rice.
“
Are
you
all right,
honey?
”

“
Dios,
”
muttered
the
grill
cook.
“Y
ou
chokin
’,
lady?
Should
I
call
911?
”

She
shook
her
head,
but
didn't
say
anything.
The half-dozen customers
in
the
restaurant
stared
at
her.
She
released
the
tension
with
a
whoosh
of
air
and
opened
her
eyes
wide.

“
I
’
m
fine. My
baby's
just
doing
spinning
hook
kicks
in
response
to
the
salsa.
”

“
I
don
’
t
ever
want
to
get
pregnant,
” the
girl
behind
the
counter said with a noticeable Mexican accent.

“
I
told
you
not
to
eat
the
spicy
green
stuff,
”
Marcus wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“
Between
that
and
all
the
kimchi
you
keep
putting
down,
you
’
re
going
to
burn
a
hole
in
your
stomach.
”

“
The
kimchi
is
genetic.
I
am
Korean;
therefore,
I
eat
kimchi.” Lonnie
pulled
her
straight
black
hair
behind
her
head
and
secured
the
ponytail
with
a
scrunchie.
“
And
as
far
as
I
can
tell,
whoever
makes
this
salsa
must
have
some
Korean
blood
in
them,
too.
I
love
this
stuff.
”

“
Yeah,
well,
baby
does
not.”