Casablanca Blues (2013) (32 page)

Ghita was sitting on the edge of the desk when the Falcon entered.

Attired in a pinstripe business suit, charcoal grey, her hair was pulled back tight in a bun, her feet strapped into sensible shoes. She had prepared for the moment, coaxing herself to stay composed.

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Falcon,’ she said in an even voice.

‘Ghita! How the hell did you get in here?!’

Harass exhaled angrily.

Glancing fast around the room, he said:

‘I’ll have security sling you out in a moment. Now, where are the documents I had left here?’

‘Is this what you are looking for?’ asked Ghita quizzically, holding up the red ledger.

Harass did a double take.

‘How did you get that?!’ he roared.

‘From a friend.’

‘Who?’

‘Let’s just say that she wears a size sixteen.’

‘Give it to me!’

‘I will. But first I want to know one thing... How did you run the underworld for so long without anyone suspecting?’

Hamza Harass stepped towards the desk. His bitter expression fortified with arrogance, he snatched the ledger from Ghita’s hand.

‘Because I own the system,’ he said. ‘I have everyone you could imagine on my payroll – the police, ministers, judges, even prison guards. They all quake in fear at the thought of me – at the thought of the Falcon.’

‘And the money you had piled up in your warehouse last night – what’s it all from?’

‘What do you mean?’ Harass glowered. ‘It’s from my business operations, of course.’

‘And which operations would those be?’

The Falcon took half a step forward. His face was inches from Ghita’s own.

‘I have a number of businesses,’ he said with a forced smile.

‘Would they by chance include gun-running, drug dealing and protection rackets?’

‘What if they do?’

‘Please answer my question.’

Harass let out a laugh.

‘How else do you expect anyone to amass proper wealth in a country such as this?’ he bellowed.

Striding back across the room, he reached for the metal handle. As he did so, Ghita called out:

‘One last thing, Mr. Harass! There’s someone who would like to speak to you.’

‘I don’t have time for conversations. The Board are waiting in the other room.’

‘Oh, but I do think you have time for
this
conversation.’

Right on cue, the door to the adjoining room opened, and Mimi stepped in. Like Ghita, she was dressed in a formal business suit, her face quite devoid of emotion.

‘Hello Hamza,’ she said.

‘Er... Um... Hello Mimi. What are
you
doing here?’

‘She wants to know why you have taken another lover,’ Ghita said.

Harass cracked his knuckles.

‘I don’t have time for this!’ he yelled.

‘You don’t have time for Mimi, you mean?’ Ghita said. ‘And what will you do with Fifi when you are sick of her – throw her out into the gutter as well?’

Mimi stepped forward.

She might have shouted something, or wept, but she was too irate. So she just stood there in silence.

Harass looked at his watch, then at his mistress.

‘You’re nauseating,’ he said. ‘Everything about you fills me with disgust!’

Ghita jerked a finger at the wall of TV screens.

As if by magic, the Falcon’s explanation from moments before was being replayed. It was followed by footage of him in the warehouse, surrounded by all the bales of money. A voice-over explained how Harass had arranged for the heroin to be stashed at Omary’s home – and that it had come from his own narcotics trafficking business.

‘You did all the work for us,’ Ghita said, motioning to a pile of black boxes. ‘I’ve never seen so many CCTV hard drives in my life.’

The Falcon’s brow beaded with sweat.

‘I’ll have them all erased,’ he said. ‘The films will never see the light of day!’

Ghita looked down at the floor modestly, then up into the eyes of the man who was so nearly her father-in-law.

‘I suppose you could do that,’ she replied. ‘Except that it just went out live on Globalcom’s news.’

One hundred and twenty-six

The next morning, a red petit taxi pulled up at the gates of the Omary mansion. It was a bright day, the light tinged with spring. Ghita got down, and was followed by Blaine. As they walked over the damp lawn, their hands touched.

A guard was standing to the left of the gate.

Rather than turn Ghita away as before, he signalled to a second guard in the security booth.

The gates opened electronically.

‘Welcome home, Miss Omary,’ he said.

They walked up the drive and over to the porch.

‘This is where you live?’ said Blaine, visibly shocked.

Ghita blushed.

‘If you’d like me to give it up, I will,’ she said.

‘No... no...’ Blaine stuttered. ‘I think I could become used to a lifestyle like this.’

They kissed and, as they did so, the front door opened inwards.

‘Welcome home, Mademoiselle,’ the butler proclaimed. ‘I trust you are well.’

‘I don’t think I have ever been this well,’ she replied, ‘and how are you?’

The servant appeared baffled. The Ghita Omary of old would never have enquired after anyone except herself.

‘I am very well indeed, Mademoiselle. Thank you for asking,’ he replied.

Ghita led the way through to the grand salon, pausing to greet the maids and other staff as they approached. She was trembling.

‘I feel so humble,’ she said, ‘so utterly unworthy of all this.’

Blaine kissed her on the cheek.

‘Believe me, you are worthy of it all,’ he said.

Ghita looked at her watch. Gone was the diamond-pavé Chopard, replaced by a Swatch.

‘The court’s acquittal went through last night,’ she said. ‘All our assets have been returned. But, best of all...’ she was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. ‘Best of all is this!’ she exclaimed.

Rushing back through the salon, she pulled the door open, and found herself in her father’s arms.

Neither would let go.

After the longest hug, Ghita remembered something important. She let go, kissing her father’s cheek as they parted.

‘This is Blaine, Baba, the most wonderful man in the world.’ She stopped, looked at the floor bashfully. ‘The
second
most wonderful man in the world.’

‘I believe it is you I have to thank,’ Omary said, extending his hand. ‘For saving me from... from limbo.’

‘He’s an angel,’ Ghita swooned. ‘A wonderful, silly, funny American angel!’

One hundred and twenty-seven

The
thud thud thud
of hobnail boots was loud and heavy on the flagstones of the isolation block. It grew louder still, before falling silent outside Cell No. 3.

The inspection hatch opened.

‘There’s a package for you,’ said the guard in a raspy uncaring voice. ‘Can’t imagine why they let it through!’

The prisoner took the package.

‘Would you turn on the light, so that I could open it?’ he asked.

The guard grunted, the one known to Omary as Bruiser.

‘Five minutes,’ he said, ‘then you’ll be back in darkness!’

Hamza Harass ripped the wrapping away, and found himself holding an ancient manuscript, furled in goatskin. Thanking God for sending him something to read, he opened the handwritten book eagerly at the first page.

Then he froze.

His expression went from one of fear, to one of true terror, and from that to extraordinary distress.

He collapsed, the book in his hands.

‘That’s your five minutes!’ roared the guard, switching off the light.

One hundred and twenty-eight

That evening, as they finished dinner, Ghita excused herself, leaving Blaine to explain to her father what happened to the priceless Silver Ghost.

‘I will be back in a little while,’ she said as she left.

Having heard the story of the attempted break-out, Omary took a sip of Saint-Émilion, savouring it as it went down.

‘The most magical thing in the world,’ he said, ‘is to have children and to watch them as they change.’ He paused, holding his glass up in the air. ‘I should like to toast you.’

‘Even though I’m partly responsible for ruining such a fine old car?’ said Blaine.

Hicham Omary waved the thought of it away with his hand.

‘That’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Just an object.’ Raising his glass a little higher, he said: ‘I toast you for the woman you have made out of Ghita – something I was unable ever to do.’

‘I love her,’ Blaine said quietly. ‘I love her more than she will ever understand.’

‘I know you do,’ Omary replied. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

One hundred and twenty-nine

Fifteen minutes after leaving the mansion, the Maybach purred to a halt outside Singh’s Pawn Shop down near the port.

Thanking the chauffeur for opening the door, Ghita stepped out onto the kerb.

The shop was closed up for the night, but the lights were on in the room above. Ghita pressed the bell, her heart beating fast.

A face peered down from the window – the face of Ankush Singh.

‘Mademoiselle Omary!’ he called out. ‘I am coming.’

Downstairs, the shopkeeper pulled the shutter open, and turned on the lights.

‘I heard that your father was freed,’ he said enthusiastically.

Ghita nodded. Then she took a little cloth bag from her coat pocket and handed it to the pawnbroker.

‘You proved your friendship in a moment of terrible need,’ she said. ‘And no amount of thanks shall ever be worthy of your kindness.’

One hundred and thirty

The prisoner in Cell No. 3 was found dead the next morning.

The death was put down to a massive heart attack. He was buried in a cheap pine casket along with the manuscript he had been found clutching at the time of death.

The only family member present at his funeral was his son, Mustapha. Standing there in silence, as the coffin was lowered into the ground, he was unable to shed a tear.

One hundred and thirty-one

Three weeks and one day later, there was the sound of music at the Omary Mansion. Unlike on the evening of the previous party, no caterer had been hired, nor were there tiaras, diamonds, or swish limousines. The only people invited were real friends – a handful of old ones, and a few new ones as well.

Rosario was the first to arrive.

She was resplendent in a low-cut gown that she had bought in the flea market of Tangier some years before.

‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she whispered to Blaine. ‘Wish me luck.’

He gave her a hug and asked if she would play something at the Steinway concert grand.

‘What would you like?’ she asked.

‘Surprise me.’

A moment later, the house was resounding to the lilt of
As Time Goes By
. And, as the fingers of the Argentine pianist caressed the ivories, the door opened again and Ankush Singh stepped inside.

Running up, Ghita led him to her father.

The two men hugged and laughed, and hugged again.

‘I thought you wouldn’t remember me,’ said the shopkeeper anxiously.

‘How could I forget?’ Omary replied. ‘After all, I see you every day in the mirror,’ he said, touching a fingertip to the scar.

Ghita looked at the clock above the mantelpiece and frowned. She seemed concerned.

‘What’s wrong?’ Blaine asked.

‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

Walking out into the front garden, Ghita made her way across the immaculate lawn to the great arabesque gates.

Standing on the other side of them was Saed.

He was dressed in a prim dark suit that was far too big, with a ready-made bow tie, and his hair wetted down.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Ghita asked.

The shoeshine boy’s eyes lit up.

‘For you to be my date,’ he said.

Taking Ghita’s arm in his, he walked back with her over the lawn, and into the house.

Introduced to Omary, Saed was praised for his getaway driving, and was thanked for all he had done. Then he slunk into the kitchen, and helped himself to a bottle of cooking sherry.

That was where Blaine found him.

‘I believe I still have something of yours,’ he said.

Saed struggled to hide what was left of the sherry behind his back.

Taking the envelope from his jacket pocket, Blaine passed it over.

‘There was a time in all this that I half-wondered what was inside it,’ he said.

‘You never looked?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I trusted you.’

The shoeshine boy seemed grateful, almost moved.

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled under his breath.

They were about to rejoin the party, when Saed reached out and touched Blaine on the arm.

‘Wait. I want to show you,’ he said.

Tearing the edge of the envelope, he removed a dog-eared photo of two smiling people. It was a group shot of a mother, a father and their baby son.

‘My parents,’ he said.

Blaine held the picture into the light.

‘Where are they now?’

Saed’s gaze lost focus on the kitchen’s grey tiled floor.

‘In Paradise,’ he whispered.

The American put an arm around the boy’s shoulder and gave him a hug.

‘I’m going to make sure that you’re never on your own again,’ he said.

One hundred and thirty-two

Back in the party, Ghita beckoned for Blaine to follow her. Leading the way through into the library, she closed the door firmly and kissed him.

‘Now that you have saved your damsel in distress,’ she said seductively, ‘what are your plans?’

The American bit his lower lip.

‘Well, I guess I could go back to New York and sell drain cleaner for the rest of my life,’ he said with a smile. ‘Or...’

‘
Or
?’

‘Or I could do this...’

He got down on one knee.

‘Miss Omary, will you spend the rest of your life with a wonderful, silly, funny American angel?’

Ghita screamed, then hugged Blaine so hard that his ribs cracked.

‘Yes, yes, yes!’

The party rolled on and news of the engagement seeped out. It was toasted with Dom Pérignon.

Then the engaged couple danced to Rosario’s music, and laughed like they had never laughed before.