Quicksand (27 page)

As quickly as he'd appeared, he vanished into the row of parallel-parked cars; it was all over in an instant.

“Basheera!” Nora cried.

Basheera lay limp on the ground, her scarf spread out against the thin stretch of grass. Laurie tore at the abaya, revealing a spreading stain across the woman's chest. Nora looked wildly around for the shooter. She saw a flash of navy-blue hoodie darting around the corner of a tidy twin. “Get an ambulance and backup,” she cried, springing up from her crouching position and tearing headlong across the street.

She heard Laurie shouting into her phone, “We've got a shooter, navy hoodie, black ski mask, on foot…”

Nora pounded across the lawn, and saw the gate to the backyard still swinging on its hinges. He had scaled the chain-link fence at the far end of the yard. The matrix of twisted wires still shuddered from his touch. He had already dashed deeper into the alley by the time Nora shoved her gun into the holster at her back and began scaling the fence. The pain of the bruised rib made her cry out as she ascended, but the shooter was still in sight when she dropped into the alley.

Sirens and squealing tires signaled that backup was far quicker than she'd expected.
If I can just get him out onto the street,
was all she could think of
, get him out of this alley.
She pulled out her gun again and sprinted down the alley.

He disappeared around the bend; from the sound of the sirens, she calculated they would be racing out onto the street just as the squad cars were passing. She gritted her teeth and mustered up a final burst of speed just as she was rounding the corner.

The roundhouse kick thundered into her abdomen and she almost flipped completely from the impact of it, thudding onto the ground. The shooter leapt on top of her, shoving the gun deep into the soft flesh between her jawbone and neck. His accent was thick, his voice menacing. “Bulletproof vest, eh, cop? It won't help you now, will it?” he hissed. As she peered back at the ski mask, a cold panic gripped her as she realized there was only scarred flesh where one of his eyes should have been.

He pulled the trigger, and was rewarded with the unsatisfying
click
of an empty magazine.

He let out a frustrated moan as the air reverberated with screaming sirens.
Bint al-wiskha!
he shouted, enraged, and then pulled back his fist and slammed it against Nora's jaw. The last thing she heard before falling into blackness was the skittering of gravel as the shooter raced away.

 

PART
THREE

 

CHAPTER
8

There was a
rap on the door, and Nora struggled to sit upright. “Come in.”

The door opened slightly, and Ben Calder stuck his head in. “Am I allowed in?”

Nora smiled. “I think ‘come in' has a general sense. I didn't say, ‘come in unless you're Ben.'”

“Okay.” He came all the way in, exposing an armful of …

“Mint?!”

His green eyes danced. “I figured they might not have the real thing here at the venerable Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.”

Nora laughed. “Ben, I'm impressed.”

“You should be. I almost bought basil. The checkout lady at Whole Foods helped me out.”

“What are you, some kind of city boy?”

He drew up a chair and sat down next to her bed. “Guilty.” He looked for a long while at her face. “I'm really sorry about all this.”

“Do I look that bad?” she asked.

“Let's just say I'm less inclined to ask you out today.”

“That's too bad. In my weakened condition I might have said ‘yes' this time.”

“Why, Nora Khalil—are you flirting with me?”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Something about the near-death situation, maybe. I'll get a hold of myself shortly.”

He grinned at her. “Please don't.” He placed an elbow on the bed's side rail, leaning closer. “Wansbrough told me you wouldn't let him call your family.”

“God, no. My dad would lose his mind if he saw me this way. I called him, told him I had to go out of town for a few days. Then I called my brother and told him to keep Baba busy.” She tapped her phone where it lay charging on the roller table next to the fat Styrofoam cup of water with the bendy straw. “If my dad calls I can answer and let him know I'm good. But Ahmad actually thinks you and I are … together, so I know he'll make a convincing case.”

“Does he, now?” asked Ben, looking intrigued.

Nora nodded.

“And why would he think a thing like that?”

She was silent, eyes drifting to the television screen. She finally said, “I—don't get a lot of phone calls. You got noticed.”

Ben seemed to want to say something, but he changed course. “Nora, talk to me. Let me get to know you. I came here; I brought mint. What more can I do?”

She sniffed the air thoughtfully. “It does smell good.”

“Your … hair is down, and it's really…” he stretched his hand to pull a long strand away from her face.

Nora struggled to breathe normally.

“So relax a little and … tell me something.”

“Like what, Ben?” she whispered.

“Tell me you like me.”

When her breath came, it was uneven and hot. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed her lips. “Ask me something else,” she said softly.

He didn't drop her gaze, but he shook his head slightly. “Okay…” his voice trailed off, and he tried to find a neutral topic. “Tell me about running.”

Nora blinked, trying to focus, feeling like her heartbeats were audible in the cramped hospital room. “Running?”

He nodded.

“Okay, well, I … starting when I was about twelve, I used to get bullied at school.”

Ben leaned in, listening.

She took a breath, continuing, “
Sand nigger. Towel head. Osama
. The kids knew all about me because of what happened to my dad.”

Ben looked slightly guilty. “Burton told me he had been arrested. Accused of plotting to bomb some buildings. Never charged. But it was pretty public.”

Nora nodded. “I wasn't very strong. The one time I decided to stand my ground I got a pretty bad beating.”

Ben took a sharp breath, unblinking.

“The
next
time,” Nora continued, “I decided to run. And I found out that I was fast. I was
really
fast. I just took off, I dropped my backpack and ran. And from then on that's what I did, even if it was the middle of the day.”

Ben was watching her speak, transfixed.

“The teachers were really great, you know, they didn't want to see me get hurt. One day, after this one kid had been on my case, saying a lot of—well, the gym teacher had heard the shouting and was just coming out when she saw me take off. She tried to catch me and she couldn't. I didn't even hear her when she called out my name, because I was just…” Nora flattened her hand and slid it across the top of the blanket, “… gone. So she came over after school and had a talk with my parents. She said they really needed me on the track team.”

Ben's face relaxed into a smile. “I'm sorry that's what it took.”

Nora looked down. “It helped me get hired as a cop, I think, the running. And this is what I'm supposed to do.”

“Why? I mean, I'm glad, but why?”

“Because, Ben, my mom asked me to take care of my brother,” Nora said. And she told him how she had promised to take care of Ahmad and sworn to keep him safe. She told him how Ahmad had cried so long and so hard after his mother's death, that he actually ended up needing glasses. And how Nora had become his mother in every way. All through her high school years and throughout college, she kept Ahmad close, determined that he would never be bullied as she had been. She would read to him, study with him, and cook for him any meals he did not take from the restaurant. She waited for him after school almost every day, and he would ride his bike alongside her as she ran. He had come with the team to track meets, and even traveled with her to the NCAA regionals, bundled into her red sweatshirt and hunkered over a book as he waited for her races. Nora called him her luck charm as her feet flew ever faster. Knowing nothing of biology and chemistry, she held endless flash cards for him as he fought his way into the right high school that would lead to the right college that would get him into medical school.

“And because of what happened to my dad, and because of who we are, I will always be scared that some anonymous tipper can make my brother disappear. But I figured if I'm here, if I'm part of the system, then I won't have to just stand on the sidelines and watch, hoping that the
‘process'
will work itself out.”

Ben listened in silence.

Nora continued, “So now you know. I don't have some big noble goal like you—In the end it's just selfish. I want to take care of him the best I can, because I need him so much, because I can't lose him. If I can do some good along the way, well … that's good, too.” She studied his face. “Do you … you know, think less of me?”

Ben leaned closer, “I have never thought more of you, Nora Khalil.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin, inhaling the scent of his aftershave; she wanted more than anything for him to lean even closer and brush his lips against hers.

A rapid knock sounded against the door, and John Wansbrough walked in with a stack of papers, followed by Burton, who held his own stack. Both halted abruptly, taking in Ben's proximity to Nora's bruised face. Wansbrough cleared his throat slightly, then asked, “Nora, how are you?”

She felt a blush enflame her face. “I'm good, fine. Better,” she said, feeling slightly confused, fighting for clarity. “Well, come on, guys, gather round. I see you haven't come empty-handed.”

“Our version of Arab hospitality,” John said. She saw he had brought from her desk the file of photographs of the crime scene that she had compiled. “We can do this later, if you want. I don't want to push you too hard. But we know that time is of the essence here.”

She answered him by reaching for the file. “John, I'm fine. It looks way worse than it is.” She shifted herself slightly in the bed, spreading some of the pictures out across her blankets.

“A one-eyed Somali with an empty magazine, huh?” John said, leaning over her from the opposite side as Ben in order to investigate the nasty bruise on her cheek. “I had one of those in my third year.”

“A one-eyed Somali?” Ben asked, winking at Nora.

“Empty magazine. Gun pressed to my chest. Trigger pulled. Scary as hell,” he said, and he patted Nora's shoulder before seating himself in the chair next to her bedside.

Nora winced, remembering the stain on Basheera's chest.

“You okay, Nora?” John asked.

She shook her head slightly. “I—I don't know what I should have done differently, guys.”

Ben said, “Nora, you did everything you could. You pursued an assailant across tough terrain—with what turns out to have been a bruised rib from the other day. You got shot—twice, and your face is totally messed up!”

“I got a witness killed. I should have taken her directly into custody.”

“
You
are not the problem, here,” John said.

Burton offered, “The slugs they pulled out of your vest were .22 caliber.”

Nora looked at him blankly.

“They match the bullets that hit John's car.”

“And the one that hit John,” Ben added.

Nora shook her head. “I'm not following. Kevin Baker was behind the drive-by that got John shot. This wasn't Kevin Baker.”

John said, “Kevin Baker's official story is that his car was stolen and used in the drive-by.”

“Well, if Kevin didn't kill the JBM kid, and Dewayne didn't kill Kylie, then what's going on?”

Burton nodded at his pile of papers. “This new direction with the Somalis is a good one. While you were with Basheera, Rashid Baker answered the invitation to come in.”

“And?” Nora asked, sitting up a little higher in the bed.

John answered, “That whole line about Kevin being a victim of the neighborhood fell through. Rashid admitted he's angry with Kevin because he's involved with the drugs and the sex and the money and yet ignoring his mom's health, not taking care of his own. I guess while Rashid was in jail, they had a hard time, days when they went hungry. Rashid is working part-time in a grocery at Forty-fifth and Walnut, reporting to his probation officer, and trying to stay away from his brother—which is easy because Kevin moved out while Rashid was still locked up.”

“And the mosque? What was he doing there?”

Eric Burton answered, “He said that it's an obligation to pray in the closest mosque. When he's nearby, he prays there. When he's not, he doesn't.”

Nora was nodding. “Sure, okay. You checked the grocery thing?”

“Yes. And Rita Ross's characterization of Kevin Baker matches what Rashid said about him. So it seems a dead end there—but these Somalis … based on what you told us over the phone, I compiled some information on Somali gangs. It's the first time we've found any in Philly, but they've been really active in the Midwest, especially Minnesota, and also in Jersey. The sex trafficking isn't new, either. There was a case in the Twin Cities and Ohio where they were shipping girls across state lines…”

“Little girls? Minors?”

“Some as young as thirteen,” he confirmed.

Nora shifted in the bed, thinking. “I was up close and personal with this guy. He had a really heavy accent.”

“He spoke English to you?” asked Eric.

She nodded. “Yes. But when he swore at me, he swore in Arabic. Sounded kind of like Yemeni Arabic to me.”