“Your father died right after he came back from China,” said Sarah.
Fancy shrugged. “My mother and I…we met him at the airport. He was angry with us. We weren’t supposed to know that he was arriving home. We saw right away that he was sick. He said he had eaten some bad food on the plane, kaffir food, but I could tell he was lying. I could always tell.” She looked at Sarah. “What do you care about all this for?”
“I’m doing historical research on that period. The years prior to the takeover. Prior to the Zionist attack.”
“What does that have to do with my father? He was already dead by then.”
“I’m just doing background. Your father-”
“It must be nice to be a history teacher.” Fancy played with her hair. “I used to want to be a teacher. An elementary-school teacher. I always loved kids.” She rolled her hair back and forth between her right thumb and forefinger. “I can’t have ’em.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sarah.
“It’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have been a good mother anyway.” Fancy looked at Rakkim. “You’re no historian.”
Rakkim smiled.
Fancy didn’t return the smile. “I know men. I can tell things about them before they even open their mouth. Just from their shoes. Or their hands. Or their eyes. Their eyes most of all.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell anything about you, though.” She glanced at Sarah. “Can you?”
“We grew up together,” said Sarah. “I know him.”
Fancy watched Rakkim. “I hope so.”
“When your father came back from China, did he talk about his trip?” asked Sarah. “Places he had been, people he had met?”
“I just remember him throwing up a lot. And my mother crying.”
“He was working on that big dam in China,” said Sarah. “That must have been exciting for him.”
“I haven’t thought about those days in a long time. I was happy then. My father was strict, but he loved me very much.” Fancy kept her eyes on Sarah. “He used to call me his jewel. He used to hold me in his arms and call me his jewel.”
Rakkim let Sarah do the talking. Fancy had clearly had enough of men. The walls of the shark were covered with obscene graffiti, the floor littered with fast-food wrappers and worse. It smelled of urine and wet cardboard and dirty underwear. Fancy’s scented candles were hopeless but endearing. Maybe she just thought it was good business.
“The house you used to live in was torn down many years ago,” said Sarah. “I checked.”
“No one would have lived in that house. It was bad luck. Everyone knew that when my father died. The way he died. So sick.”
“You didn’t take him to a doctor? We couldn’t find any records.”
“A doctor came to the house. One I had never seen before. He gave Father pills for the pain, told Mother to keep to the house. To tend him. A bad house. An unlucky house. Then mother getting killed so soon afterwards…” Fancy shook her head.
Sarah looked at Rakkim. “Your mother died three years after your father. I’m sure it seemed too soon, but-”
“It was less than three months. I was there. Mother was driving on the freeway and a tire blew and the car crashed. We were going to the desert to pray. She was driving fast. They said it was a miracle I survived. Mother went through the windshield, but I only had a tiny cut on my leg. They said it was God’s will. They said He must have great plans for me.” Her laugh echoed within the shark.
“What happened to you?” said Sarah. “Who took care of you?”
“A policeman took me home. I wanted to stay with Mother, but he said I had to get my things. It was very strange. Even now I wonder if I was dreaming.” Fancy tugged at her blouse, and the scar at the base of her throat seemed filled with blood in the candlelight. “There were men at the house when we got there. They were loading all of our things into a moving van. The doctor who had taken care of my father was there. I don’t know why, but he was there. The policeman let me put some clothes into a bag. The doctor seemed angry at him, but the policeman said he didn’t care. Then he took me to my uncle’s house. My uncle was a good Muslim. He was obligated to take me in, but I don’t think he really wanted to.” Fancy looked at Rakkim. “Talking about this is making me sad. I’d like some more money, please.”
Rakkim paid her, watched as she tucked the bills away.
“Did Cameron look like he was getting enough to eat?” asked Fancy.
“You don’t have anything from those days left?” said Sarah. “Not necessarily from your father. Maybe your mother kept a diary…or a calendar marking the days until he got home. His notebooks, his suitcases…something?”
Fancy shook her head. “The doctor had it taken all away. He emptied the house.” Fancy’s expression tightened. “Why are you really asking about my father? Don’t give me that story about a history assignment either. I didn’t believe that for a minute.”
“We think your father was murdered,” said Rakkim. “After what you told us about the car crash, I think your mother was probably murdered too.”
“Are you a cop?” said Fancy. “I haven’t had much luck with cops.”
“When my father would go away, he would always bring me back something from his trip,” said Sarah. “I treasured them-”
“Lucky you.” The candles were bouncing, shadows racing around Fancy. “He didn’t bring me anything.”
“Not even a postcard?” said Sarah.
“What do you think you’re going to do with all these questions, Miss History?” said Fancy. “You going to raise the dead? It doesn’t matter how they died. All that matters is that they’re dead and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.”
“The doctor who treated your father, the one who emptied your house…did you ever see him again?” asked Rakkim.
“Listen to me. I don’t care-” Fancy stopped as Rakkim held up a hand.
“Someone’s outside.” Rakkim was already blowing out the candles.
CHAPTER 46
Jack-six. Eight-five. Ten-queen. Seeing the dealer had a six up, the Wise Old One stood pat on all three of his $1,000 bets.
The Texas soybean magnate in first position stared at his cards as though trying to read Egyptian hieroglyphs. His wife, a big blonde, jiggled her drink, the ice cubes rattling as she pondered her play. After careful consideration, the soybean magnate took a hit on thirteen, drew a face card and busted. The big blonde, with fifteen-fifteen with the dealer showing a six-demanded a card too, got a nine, and busted.
Anna, the dealer, turned up her hole card, a ten. Sixteen. Forced to take another card, she drew a five. For twenty-one. She raised an eyebrow at the Old One sympathetically as she swept the table of bets.
“What rotten luck,” said the big blonde. She patted the Old One on the arm. “We’ll get her this time, pappy.”
The Old One fixed her with a cool stare. Touched by a Texan who called him pappy. A Texan with a diamond-crusted crucifix around her neck. A Texan who didn’t know how to play twenty-one, taking the card that should have busted the dealer. How many ways was that an abomination? The only way it could be more of an insult would be if the woman were having her menstrual period.
Jack-nine. Jack-eight. Ten-ten. The dealer showed a four. The Old one split his tens, was given a queen for the first ten and a king for the second. Perfect. He now had two twenties, a nineteen, and an eighteen.
The big blonde took a hit on her five-eight, drew a jack, and busted.
The soybean magnate took a hit on his six-seven, drew a deuce for fifteen, and took another hit. The dealer actually made him repeat the request. “Hit me, damnit, you deaf?” said the peckerwood.