Welcome to Dubai (The Traveler) (12 page)

With a confident and lightning-fast maneuver, Saleem could easily disarm the guard and use his weapon against every man inside of the apartment. Bakar, the huge Algerian, would be his only concern—but there was no need to have any. From what he could read inside of Mohd Ahmed Nasir’s eyes—promising the softness of tears—he was a man of deep thought, peace and regret. As Saleem walked out of the gray cement building after hours of gathering vital information, he still did not feel that he had enough.

That man does not seem like he is ready for war,
he told himself as he paced the sidewalk and crossed the street.
Yet his men are all armed and ready to go. Interesting.

He had not been used to peaceful men leading revolts. Pakistani men who spoke of war would show it. However, Saleem was quite respectful of Egyptians. They were old and revolutionary fighters with a very proud history. And they demanded respect in Dubai, even as laborers. So maybe Mohd could inspire a group of men to revolt.

Maybe … or maybe not,
he contemplated.

*****

As Saleem walked the streets of Deira through the night with deep thoughts, there was a commotion of police cars and an ambulance up ahead of him. He was then rejoined by his two comrades from earlier.

“What is going on?” he asked them.

“It was Rasik,” one of the men stated in a low tone. “They found him stabbed in the back and robbed.”

Saleem looked to the second man to confirm it. The second man nodded.

“There was a pool of blood on the sidewalk. Someone stabbed him in his back.”

Saleem took the information in and nodded back. He had never liked Rasik much anyway. But the man was harmless and penniless. He sent every dime he made back home to his wife and kids in India.

Saleem frowned and asked, “Who would want to stab and rob him?”

“They said he was also drunk,” the first man added. “He threw up on the sidewalk and peed his pants from his drinks.”

Saleem looked more confused. Rasik had not been a heavy drinker. And it was too late at night for him to still be out. The dedicated Indian man continued to work at the same construction site from sunup to sundown, while many others had quit.

Saleem wanted to get a better look for himself at the crime scene, so he walked toward the crowd that had gathered out in front of him.

Sure enough, the blood, alcohol and urine stains remained on the sidewalk after the ambulance and police had carried the body away.

“Move back! Move back!” the police continued to shout at the crowd. The authorities had roped off the area on the sidewalk.

“You see?” Saleem’s comrades asked him, confirming it.

Instinctively, Saleem began to look around at the faces of the men in the crowd. Who could have done it or knew more about it?

This was not a robbery,
he told himself.
It was an assassination made to look like a robbery. I wonder what Rasik did? And who did he offend?

Saleem kept silent. None were trusted enough to know his thoughts. But just as the investigating police would do, he would start by returning to the bar where Rasik had bought his drinks earlier to find out who was there with him and who he had spoken to.

*****

In an apartment building not far from the crime scene, two older immigrant men cowered from a pair of masked assailants who had broken into their apartment. The attackers wore black ski masks and long dark clothes, while wielding blades that were larger than the one that was used to kill Rasik. They had broken into the apartment with a master key, like professionals. And they knew exactly who they were after.

“What have we done?” the first older man asked the attackers. He knew that it was an assignment. The masked men were there for murder and for murder alone. So he protected himself with raised hands in front of his face. He and his roommate had been inside of the kitchen, cooking when the men broke in.

But there was no answer to his question, only a forceful grab of his arm, a forward twist of his body and a swipe across his aged throat with the sharpened blade. The fatal move of the assassin was so brisk that it hypnotized the second older man. And as the murderer carefully cradled his dear friend and roommate’s body in his arms to stop it from crashing loudly to the floor, the second older man froze and stared in disbelief at what he had just witnessed. So did the second assassin.

“Don’t stare,
do it,”
the first assassin ordered. He was obviously the more experienced leader.

Suddenly, the second older man broke out of his stupor and moved to grab a frying pan from the stove that was filled with fish and hot grease. He tossed the contents toward his attacker.

When the hot fish and grease caught the masked man flush in the face, he began to yell in pain, but he was silenced immediately with a towel that his leader cleverly wrapped around his mouth, tying it into a knot around his head. The lead assassin, with his large blade still out, then faced off with the second older man.

“You know why we are here, Shyam. You have been telling secrets that don’t need to be told.”

The older man grabbed a kitchen knife from the stove behind him and held it up to defend himself.

“But why now?” he asked.

The masked assassin took a position of attack while his companion continued to recuperate from the shock and suddenness of his burns.

“That is not of your concern,” the assassin answered.

“So it is time then? You have set your vengeance for Abdul?” The older man had a hunch who his attacker was. In fact, he was sure of it. That only made him more nervous.

“You know too much already,” the masked assassin responded. “And you will never tell another soul.”

As he faked forward to strike the older man with his blade, the poor man swung his kitchen knife with all of his might, and missed. That was all that it took for the masked assassin to find the angle he needed to slash the man’s throat. He then grabbed his arm with the kitchen knife to restrain him long enough to take him slowly to the ground while allowing the fresh blood to run out of his severed neck as he died.

When it was done, the assassin looked to his companion and scolded him. “If you had not fallen asleep on the job, you would have never gotten yourself burned. But now you’ll have a souvenir for the rest of your life to remind you of this moment. And you will never hesitate again,” he assured him.

He then leaned the dead man’s body up against the kitchen stove and asked for the first one.

“Drag the body here and place it beside him.”

The burned man did as he was told and pulled the first kill to the stove to lean him next to his dead friend. The lead man then walked to the door and looked out of the peephole. He checked to see if anyone was in the hallway before they would make their exit.

“You follow right behind me, and we will deal with your burns later.”

His burned man nodded and prepared himself to leave, while still in obvious pain. He hoped that the mask he was wearing had protected him from most of it, but it surely didn’t feel that way. He felt as if his skin was peeling off.

But once the hallway was clear, they made their move for the exits, while leaving the dead men positioned with their slashed throats against the stove inside the kitchen. And their message was clear: Do not talk to anyone.

Chapter 13

Johnny picked up Gary outside the Ali Rashid Cuisine restaurant in the business district of downtown Dubai, and he promptly teased the American about the beautiful international waitresses who worked there.

“So, how many phone numbers did you get?”

Gary chuckled. “None. They were busy doing their jobs.”

Johnny looked at him from the driver’s seat and grinned, knowingly. “You have a lot to learn about Dubai, my friend. And you’ve found the right man to teach you.”

Gary didn’t know about all of that. Maybe he had found the
wrong
man. Johnny seemed to be into a lot of things that were “extra.”

“So, where are we off to first?” Gary asked, changing the subject. He wanted to get out into Dubai and see the people.

“Well, this early, we’ll go to an after-work bar that has a hot DJ. It’s called The Beach. They have a nice mix of young professionals there that you’ll like.”

Gary frowned. “An after-work party? At eleven o’clock? Well, what time do the regular parties start?”

“Around this same time. As The Beach winds down, the other parties are just starting up. That’s why we’ll go there first. Then we’ll catch everyone leaving out and see where they’re going next.”

The plans sounded makeshift to Gary, but he didn’t complain. He allowed Johnny to be the host. And when they arrived at the Jumeirah Beach Resort, he was impressed with the wide-open splendor of the bar, which had a large dance floor. The location was right off of the Persian Gulf. It reminded Gary of the beach clubs in Miami.

“Yeah, this is nice. Right off of the water,” Gary commented.

Johnny smiled. “I know what you like,” he bragged.

The confident Sri Lankan man walked right in past the security, with his American friend on his heels, and acted as if he owned the place. All eyes were on them as Johnny introduced Gary to a dozen people around the room, including several gorgeous young women. They all spoke over the pounding dancehall music.

Gary shied away from most of the introductions though, preferring to keep his conversations light. He had a hard time stopping himself from having flashbacks of Colombia, so he continued to eye the men inside the room to make certain that they were not offending anyone.

I don’t need to make any extra trouble for myself if I can avoid it,
he thought. Nevertheless, he refused to be afraid of the international social scene. He could protect himself much better now. And he felt safer without having any family or loved ones there to worry about.

I can handle myself anywhere,
he insisted.
That’s what I’ve been training for. I have nothing to fear.

“Gary, this is Saeeda. She’s Lebanese,” Johnny said, snapping him out of his thoughts. The traveling man had finally broken down and given his name. So Johnny introduced him to a curly- and dark-brown-haired beauty, who looked like a Mexican-American siren straight out of Los Angeles. Gary even joked with her. “You’re Lebanese? You look like an American movie star from LA.”

She laughed with perfect white teeth. “I wish. You wanna put me in a movie?”

Gary looked at Johnny before he answered her. Johnny nodded his head feverishly behind the young woman’s back. But Gary shot the idea down.

“No, I’m afraid I’m not into movie productions.”

“Really? You look like a movie star to me.” She even reached out and rubbed his three-day-old beard.

Johnny grinned and interjected, “We could shoot a local movie. I know some guys with cameras.”

Gary continued to deny the idea. “You’re kidding, right? We don’t even have a script.”

“We can make it all up,” the young woman told him. She had a positive glow about her that was infectious. Her enticing cleavage was right in his face too, but Gary failed to go for it.

“No, I’m not here to make any movies.”

“Awww,” she whined playfully.

“Where are you gonna be later on?” Johnny asked her.

“I don’t know. Around, I guess.”

He nodded to her. “I’ll call you then.”

“Will Gary be with you when you call?” she asked. The tall, boyish American looked old and young at the same time. And she mentioned his name as if she had known him for years.

“We can arrange something. I’ll call you.”

As soon as they left the young woman, Gary asked, “What was that all about?”

Johnny shook it off. “She’s a big flirt, man, but if she likes you and …” He shrugged. “Who knows? But I like the Hollywood line you gave her. I have to use that.”

“But it wasn’t a line. She does look like a star. She reminds me of Jessica Alba.”

“Who?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.”

“You want to get a drink before we leave?” Johnny asked him.

Gary thought about the man driving and declined. He also wanted to remain alert.

“Maybe at the next party.”

They had only been there for thirty minutes, but they had rushed through the place like a whirlwind, collecting several party invites along the way.

“All right, fine with me. We got a few more places to hit.”

As they walked back out into the parking lot to fetch the car, Saeeda had gotten herself into some type of trouble. A huge bodybuilder of a man was pulling her arm, and he was not with security.

Gary noticed immediately as the young woman struggled to free herself.

“What’s going on there?” he asked Johnny.

Johnny looked and froze. “Shit. She’s always getting involved in something. She probably had too much to drink.”

Gary disagreed. “She didn’t have too much to drink. She’s just bubbly by nature.”

Regardless of nationality, he knew the type. Bubbly women tended to attract overzealous guys who wanted to control them. Gary also doubted that she had spent much time in Lebanon. She didn’t have the seriousness for it. She seemed more like a free-flowing British girl. Even the guy who harassed her looked British—big, white and rigid.

To confirm his hunch, Gary asked Johnny, “Do you know her from Britain too?”

There seemed to be a lot of British citizens who traveled back and forth to Dubai. Johnny had been telling him all about it.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Well, she doesn’t seem like she’s local. And I’ve never been to Lebanon, but I don’t picture them being so ah …
poppish, I
guess I could say. You know, she seems like a person who watches a lot of television.”

Johnny laughed. “I know what you mean. I think she’s only been to Lebanon twice. And she said she was bored there.”

In the meantime, she cursed the brute of a man who mishandled her.

“Look, would you leave me alone?!” she shouted.

Gary looked around for the security guards, but they were not in the parking lot area, nor did anyone seem brave enough to step up to help her.