As they walked back down the steps and to their car, Riley couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling that events might not turn out to be quite as cut-and-dried as Hicks was making them out to be.
Chapter 34
Friday, January 30
El Espejo Road
La Mirada, California
Hakeem started from the top and worked his way down. He was glad to see the short blond hair falling to the ground. From the time he had dyed it, he’d felt that the olive skin of his face looked foolish with a blond frame. Soon the electric razor moved from his head to his face, then down his arms, his chest, and the rest of his body.
The only hair that wasn’t shaved was that which grew from the back of his shoulders and funneled into a narrow strip down his spine. His host had graciously offered to assist him with that hard-to-reach area, but Hakeem had declined. This process was between himself and his maker. Allah will forgive this one patch of impurity when he sees the purity of my actions and my heart.
Despite the sacredness of the process, Hakeem found his mind wandering to the time when Meg had removed that same stretch of body hair. They were on their honeymoon, and Meg had mentioned her aversion to back hair. He remembered her exact words: “Ewww, Sal, it’s like mating with a monkey.” He had jokingly challenged her. “Well, why don’t you do something about it?”
Meg, never one to run away from a challenge, had disappeared into the bathroom. Hakeem expected her to come back with a razor and some sort of scented rubbing oil, but his romantic dreams were shattered when Meg returned carrying some heavy strips of paper, an applicator stick, and a big tub of goop.
For the next hour, the air surrounding their rustic, thatch-roofed cottage on the Kona shores was filled with the sounds of hair being ripped from Hakeem’s body, his cries of pain, and their subsequent shrieks of laughter. In later months, they had both come to the firm conclusion that that balmy June night was when Alessandra had come into existence.
Hakeem realized his mind was drifting again and quickly grabbed the straight blade he was going to use to remove the stubble the electric razor left behind. Allah, forgive me for my weakness, he prayed as he brought the razor across his forearm-partially for penance and partially to regain focus. As the blood dripped into the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. Toughen up! Does a dead man reminisce about the past? No! He realizes that what’s past is past, and he anticipates the rewards of the future.
After stemming the flow of blood with a towel, he lathered up his head and put the razor to its proper use. He removed any traces of hair from his head and face except for his eyebrows. The whiteness of his recently shaved head would be hidden under a hat, and the paleness of his face where his beard had been would be covered with makeup. But a man with penciled-on eyebrows was still enough of an oddity to receive second and third glances. Again, Allah, I trust you will forgive my small impurity for the sake of your greater plan.
When he was finished shaving the rest of his body, Hakeem put on a button-down white shirt and loose white cotton pants. Then he laid out his prayer rug, knelt facing east, and pressed his forehead to the ground. He remained in that position for several minutes, trying to will himself to go through the formulaic prayer that would complete the purification process. Finally, giving up, he stretched himself out flat on the rug-his arms reaching over his head and his face pressed into the fabric.
Allah the benevolent, the merciful, forgive my lack of words. I… I just don’t have the energy. You know the heart of your servant. Please listen to my heart and not my words. Please listen to my heart and not my words. Please listen to my heart…
Hakeem repeated that phrase over and over until finally sleep overtook him.
Friday, January 30
Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles Field Office
Los Angeles, California
The break room was popular again. Small clusters of agents talked and laughed around the twelve tables that until recently had been empty most of the time.
The change had come two days after Mustang team had set up at the L.A. FBI office. Riley decided he had finally had enough of the nasty Costco bulk coffee. So, under the guise of showing deep appreciation for the hospitality of the bureau staff, Riley had purchased a Bunn Infusion Coffee Brewer Twin and seventy-five pounds of Costa Rican Tarrazu beans. After installation, the industrial coffeemaker had begun cranking out the delicious brew into 1.5-gallon ThermoFresh servers, two at a time, elevating Riley’s status around the office to just short of demigod.
Two of the tables were not as full as the others. At one sat Skeeter Dawkins. People around the bureau had learned quickly that he was a man with a mission and that he was best left to himself. At the table next to Skeeter sat Riley and Khadi. Each had a mug of coffee, and they were sharing an oversize blueberry muffin-tearing off a bite at a time.
“I spoke with Meg Ricci last night-gave her my contact info,” Riley said. “I know I probably shouldn’t have, but she’s having a really hard go of it. I have no idea how she’s going to handle it when word finally leaks out of Sal’s involvement in all this.”
“Do you think he ever really loved her?” Khadi asked.
“In Italy, he tried to convince me that she was nothing more than a pawn in his little game. But I remember the way they were when they were together. They just… I don’t know how to put it… You know how there are couples that you see and you think, I’ll give them two years? And then there are others you can tell are going to be together their whole lives?”
Khadi nodded, using her thumb and index finger to place a portion of the muffin top in her mouth.
“These two seemed made for each other. What did I miss? How could I have been so incredibly stupid?”
“You weren’t stupid, Riley. I think there are some men and women who so successfully partition their lives that they actually become two different people. At home a guy might be the loving family man-all-star husband, coach of his kids’ Little League teams… the works. Yet when he slips into his other environment-the drug house, the hourly rate motel room, the secret rendezvous, whatever-the alter ego takes over.”
“Sort of like a Jekyll and Hyde thing,” Riley quipped.
Khadi smiled. “Yeah, I guess. But I think whichever world they happen to be in at any given time, the people who are around them can’t imagine them in any other.”
Riley took a sip of coffee, then stared at the rainbow of floating oils. Suddenly a big hand wrapped itself around his cup and pulled it away. Riley looked up and saw that the same thing had happened to Khadi’s mug. “Skeeter!” he called. But the man was already halfway to the counter to refresh their coffee.
Riley gave an exasperated grunt, and Khadi touched his arm. “You know why he’s doing this, don’t you?” she said. “He feels guilty for what happened in Barletta.”
“What? Why should he feel guilty? I ordered him away.”
“Nevertheless, he still feels that he should have been with you. He thinks if he had, none of that would have ever happened to you.”
“Well, I need to go straighten that out with him,” Riley said as he started to rise. But Khadi’s grip tightened on his arm, keeping him in his seat.
“Let him be, Riley. He’s got to work it out his way. Besides, having Skeeter as a shadow is not the worst thing in the world for you.”