Afterglow

"What? Where are you going?"

"We need something a bit less conspicuous. I'll be fine. Get Jibril."

This time he pulled me to him, his lips finding mine and then he was gone, headed towards the front gate. Going through the medical supplies in the van, I found a splint that was inlaid with metal bands, using surgical scissors, I stripped it and pulled out three of the bands. I was able to bend them the way I needed, covered up as best I could and slipped out of the van.

It took me five minutes to find a suitable looking car. As I slipped the impromptu jimmy between the window and the door, someone grabbed my breast from behind and pushed his cock into my ass.

"Hello, my pretty thief. You spend some time with me in the alley, yes?"

No. Turning, I shot him in the foot.

"Make a sound. Make one damned sound and I'm going to put a bullet in your eye."

Whimpering and putting his hand over his mouth, he limped away in a hurry. I got the door open, cracked the steering column, used the scissors on the wires and started the car. When I got back to the madrassa, Ahmad was standing by the van with a terrified-looking boy.

I had my money and ID strapped to my body under my clothes and we were headed back to the border with Afghanistan and then to the airport at Kabul. My heart wouldn't stop racing and I had to eventually stop and have Ahmad drive. A woman driving attracted attention and that's not what we needed.

Taking a few deep breaths, I turned to the young man and smiled. "Hello, Jibril, my name is Ellie. Have you ever been to Los Angeles?"

—

Epilogue

-

The Hitman

—

It was odd to me that so many people hated the quiet so much that they felt compelled to fill it with noise. They'd talk just to hear a voice, turn on a radio to not feel so alone or tunelessly whistle to fill some void inside of themselves. I accepted this reality but it was bizarre to me. Solitude and silence were old friends of mine. Not making a sound was a habit that was beaten into me as a youth. There were countless times that stillness kept me alive when movement would have resulted in my death.

Ellie had a ramshackle shed in her backyard. I was surprised that it hadn't yet collapsed. I sat in the darkness, my back to its rusted wall and waited. Time ticked by and a part of my mind remained alert while I thought of my son. Children are resistant. He was a shy but intelligent boy. It took him a few hours to finally begin to open up to Ellie's brother and sisters but within a day they were as thick as thieves.

The man was loud, clumsy and carried a stink of cannabis and body odor. There should be no emotion. Anger and hatred played no role in my performance. Distancing yourself from your actions was one of the first things I was taught. And yet, it was there. Derision. This was who they sent? It was an insult, both to us and to him. He clearly had no professional pride.

I slowly stood and waited while he peeked in the window and then entered through the back door. As he gracelessly entered, I walked to the house while attaching the Obsidian 9 suppressor to my Glock. Stumbling, he bumped into a table and cursed softly. I waited until he turned left and walked into the hallway before following him. He opened the first door, raised his 38 and fired at the bundle of clothes I'd arranged under the blanket on the bed.

Stepping up behind him, I put a bullet in the back of his head.

Patting him down, I took his pager and wallet and went back out the door we'd entered. I hopped the fence behind the shed, hugged the shadows in the neighbor's backyard and made my way to the next street over. I assumed that his ride wouldn't be waiting on the same street as Ellie's house. It turned out that they were two blocks away in a tricked-out Lincoln. Why on Earth would you take a tricked-out car to a hit?

I was surprised that there were people awake at two in the morning, but there they were; people moving in their homes, one sitting on his porch and a few teens at the other end of the block. The men in the car were just as professional as their colleague. They were passing a blunt back and forth and listening to some annoying music with the windows rolled down.

Walking at an angle to the passenger side front door, I shot the passenger in the temple and then put three center mass into the driver. I wanted to send a message. The man on the porch slowly got to his feet and was inching towards his door, like a rabbit who hopes that his lack of sudden movement will hide him from a hunter.

I quickly jogged over to him.

"Hey, man, I ain't seen nothin'. Not a damned thing. I don't talk to the cops. No one around here does."

My grins usually aren't reassuring to people, so I just spoke quickly. "I'm not here to hurt you. There will be people here later. Not the cops. They'll be asking questions. When they talk to you, tell them you have a message for the person in charge. See if you can get some money from them. They won't kill an informant, it's bad for business."

"Yeah? I'll take your word for it."

"You should. I've known Sergios all my life. They are all the same, regardless of color, country or religion. When you speak to them, whoever says that they are in charge, tell him that they should have never come for her. If they end it here, so will I. If they don't, I will come back and kill every last one of them. Tell him that I said that the men they have working for them are amateurs. I am not."

I pulled a wad of cash from my pocket and handed him five fifty-dollar bills. "Don't make me come back here. Tell them exactly what I said."

They wouldn't drop it. Her being alive was an act of rebellion and it had to be squashed. Sergio couldn't allow people to believe that he could be defied. It was too expensive. This was my first attempt to make it even more expensive for them to continue. It was a chess game and I had taken three pawns when he tried to take my queen. He now had to decide if he was willing to risk a knight, bishop or a rook or if it would be wiser to resign from the board and pretend that Ellie didn't exist.

Walking the three blocks to my car, I checked the wallet. I pocketed the cash, memorized the information on the driver's license and tossed the rest towards the feet of the young men lingering near my car. Heading back to Hermosa Village, I stopped at an all-night barbershop and had the old man working there remove my beard and mustache and then shave my head. When he was done, I used his bathroom to remove the button-down brown shirt and black pants I was wearing.

Walking up to him in the garish bowling shirt and plaid shorts I had worn under my clothes, I left a hundred dollars next to his jar of disinfectant.

"It's a shame that you had no customers tonight."

He looked from me to the money. "Yeah, a damn shame. Slow night."

Leaving the car where it was, I walked the five miles to the hotel, got into my room and collapsed on the bed for a few hours of sleep.

Money wasn't an issue for me. I had been well-paid and led a spartan life. Using Ellie's real name and that of the kids, I purchased six tickets to Lyon, France from LAX. There was a scheduled layover, which worked better than a direct flight. I then used her primary alias and purchased six tickets to Brazil departing from John Wayne Airport in Orange County. Using her secondary alias, I bought six tickets from Ontario Airport just east of Riverside to JFK in New York. If someone was looking for us, I was sending them on a merry chase.

Using one of my ID's, I purchased a used Jeep Wagoneer. Ellie and the children had been laying low in a hotel outside of Disney. We had the basics packed in the vehicle and we'd stop at one of the outlets that lined the highways of America to pick up clothes and sneakers and whatever else the children needed.

We took I15 to I70 and continued along in a general northeastern slope all the way to Wisconsin. We had a rough idea to get far from Los Angeles, her past and the men who wanted her dead. I could lay in wait for hour after hour for my mark to pass by without losing my patience, but within hours of driving with four children, I would have ripped the hair from my head if I had any left. Looking back at my son and listening to him trying to convince the siblings that soccer was better than baseball soothed my nerves.

He kept looking up at me, as if to reassure himself that I was still there. I don't know where he thought I'd be going when we were in a car doing 65, but when I'd see his shy smile, I was happy to let him look as often as he'd like. When we'd stop he would stay close to me, touching me often. His shoulder against my side, his arm touching mine; he'd find incidental ways to establish contact and I despaired for the years I'd left him with people who showed my son no affection.

Ellie would take the kids to the pool at each hotel we stopped at and would keep them there until they worked off some energy. She did it when we arrived and before we left and I was grateful. I'd stay in my room and pray and then repeat the process with my son when he returned wet and tired. He would invariably have something for me from the vending machines and would take great pains to show how diligent he was in reciting the protection prayer Ayatul Kursi, as if he could convince me that he was a good son so I wouldn't leave him again.

Hitmen don't cry, but fathers do.

It took us four days of driving and an annoying amount of pit stops for the children's sake, but we finally arrived at a place called Wisconsin Dells. We saw billboards for miles before we got there. The ones advertising bottomless milkshakes at Gertie's Diner had the children clamoring for us to stop.

There seemed to be two general types of true blondes in the US. The first was the prototypical Californian surf bunny. Fit, tanned and slightly vapid; they were an unfair stereotype that became part of the cultural zeitgeist thanks to movies and Baywatch. The second was the cornfed middle-American blonde. These were the people of Wisconsin Dells. They appeared to be one or two generations from Scandinavia and Ellie and her siblings fit right in.

The town seemed to exist only for tourism. When we stopped to eat, the kids poured over the brochures. This was a town of attractions that sprung up due to its proximity to the highway and train station back when such things weren't as common. They had an outlet mall, waterparks, a large multiplex and everything else that was shiny and loud and captured your attention.

My son looked increasingly uncomfortable while we ate. "Ms. Ellie, may I switch the seats with you?"

"You... Sure, honey."

They switched seats and Ellie complimented Jibril on his English. I was convinced that he would be fully acclimated quickly, but I didn't want him to lose his heritage. He was happy. My son was smiling and that was everything to me. Jibril was never the first of the children to laugh or to join in on a joke, but once others did he followed suit.

I looked down at him. "This seat is better, Jibril?"

"Yes, father. Ustad Farooqi says to always keep your back to the wall and the entrance in view."

There was a buzzing in my ears and my heart began pounding. I felt dizzy, as if I'd taken a blow to the ear and was experiencing vertigo. Grabbing his arms, I spun him to me and stared down at his little hands. The voices and ambient sounds of the diner grew to a buzzing around me as my mind raced.

I don't know how much time had passed before I felt Ellie's nails scraping into the skin by my wrist. She was trying to hurt me. I looked up at her.

Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but there was steel in her tone. "You're hurting him."

Pushing myself from the table, my chair topped backward and I rushed to the bathroom. A man washing his hands saw my face and hurried out. I grabbed the sink and tried to control myself. They were training him. They were training my son. Ayd was creating the next generation of killers and was using Jibril, his master's grandson, my only link to my dead wife Aisha: my son.

I thanked God that all of Jibril's fingertips were in place. If Ayd had done to my son what he'd done to me I would have left the children with Ellie and been on the next plane back to Pakistan. Slowly coming back to myself, I realized that I'd wrenched the sink from its moorings. Moving over one, I splashed water on my face as I fought for control.

Standing there in my tourist clothes, looking at my image in the mirror, I let everything else drain from my mind. Jibril had my eyes, but his mother's shy smile. His nose was his own. I thought of what I had witnessed since we arrived. He always stood between the other children and traffic as we walked near a road. Jibril stood slightly in front of Sophie when we were near strangers, as if putting himself between the little girl and danger.

Ayd would have looked at me with disgust as the tears slipped from my eyes. Tears were for the weak. More of his rules. They were turning my little boy into an assassin. Fuck my father-in-law, fuck Ayd and fuck his rules. If I ever ran into either of them again I would gladly kill them.

Brushing the tears away, I used more water to wash away the evidence of my crying, practiced a few smiles and went back to the table. Sitting, I put my arm around Jibril's shoulder and hugged him to me.

"I'm sorry, father."

I almost began crying again, but instead leaned down and kissed his head. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. Let's eat."

Jibril was amazed at the size of the portions of food, as he had been since we arrived in the US. They ate their burgers, used way too much ketchup with their fries and were conspicuously loud as they mentioned all of the assets of the waterpark. Ellie looked up at me and winked before looking back down at her own brochure. It was from a realtor and listed apartments and homes to rent or purchase.

As we walked back to the vehicle, Jibril touched my arm. He spoke in Urdu. "May we go to this place with the rides?"

"English, Jibril." I checked my watch and sighed. "Yes, we can go to the waterpark."

We were on no schedule and had no particular destination in mind. Ellie had told me that he needed more clothes and the outlet was near the park. Wisconsin Dells had homes to rent, Ellie's family would easily blend in and the children needed a break. Another stay at a hotel and then I'd possibly help her rent a place until she could decide what she wanted in her future.

This was an ending of a sort. I wore clothing that screamed 'tourist' and drove my SUV with a beautiful woman and a passel of kids to a town with a waterpark. It was a pleasant dream. These past four days had been an escape from my reality but that was coming to a close. I was introspective enough to know that my brooding was worse than normal as I drove.

I knew what I was, what I had been crafted to be. I was a dog that was best kept on a leash. My father-in-law knew how deadly this dog could be and kept me tethered tightly. I finally had my son back and had slipped the leash, but I was still a dog; snarling, carrying the stench of death and unfit for civilized company.

Ellie was beauty. She was grace. A resourceful woman, she was amazingly dedicated to her siblings and they looked at her as more of a mother than a sister. She had sacrificed her dreams and her future to ensure theirs. If my son could not have the mother he was born to, this was the sort of woman I'd wish to fill that role.

My future was clear. I would be their dog; guarding them and ensuring they had what they needed. Watching from the outside, I would find my happiness in them living full, rich lives. Ellie could be convinced to raise him. It was her nature. I would continue my position as more of a beloved uncle to my son than a father and I would provide for them, seeing them when I could.

My heart betrayed me. It wanted more, but I couldn't lie to myself. She deserved better than the dog. The children deserved a good man, a civilized man; someone who would live a life of quiet consistency, offering an example of what a man should be. Ellie would find someone who deserved her and I would once again learn to close off my soul and do what I must to survive.

What we'd had during our adventure had been a gift and its memories would sustain me.

My decision was made and it was for the best. Eyes on the road, I followed the directions she read off from the AAA travel guide. The children's incessant chatter grew louder and more excited when the waterpark came into sight. Ellie put the paper on top of the folded map and placed both in the glove compartment.

With the children pointing and rolling down their windows, she reached over and slipped her hand into mine.

She spoke softly so they wouldn't hear. "I can actually feel it, like a physical thing. You're trying to pull away. It's not going to work. Find a way to wrap your head around it. You're mine. You don't get to walk away. You don't get to make noble sacrifices. There's been too much loss. I need you and you need me. Don't even think about arguing."

Slowly shaking my head, I looked from the traffic to the park. It was easy for me to maintain an outward calm, I'd spent most of my life having to mask what I was feeling. Beneath the placid facade, I was panicking. The most dangerous thing imaginable was stirring in me again and it refused to die, to lay dormant and stay buried.

I gently squeezed her hand. My enemy stirred in my soul and his name was hope.