The following morning gave Zayn two hours of free time. He awoke to the sound of his alarm and snoozed it three more times before taking a shower. Zayn strolled to the white dresser alongside the wall opposite of his bed, Malik wore his light brown shirt, black slim pants and a black watch. He grabbed the silver necklace on his dresser then swung it around his index finger. When it didn't resonate heat or cold, he wore the necklace with a clenched jaw. He waited. No adverse reaction.
After eating a bowl of oatmeal, Zayn knocked on his sister's door and told her to wake up. Usually Imane would've been asleep until eleven in the morning when there wasn't school before even considering starting her day.
Her brown door opened from the inside. "Morning!" she shouted, with a bright smile.
She wore a yellow summer dress, which covered her shoulders and arms, highlighted in blue, red, green and purple designs of flowers. "You woke up early, Zayn. You okay?"
He nodded with a smile. "Morning."
"Papa sent me a text message. He's allowed to leave the hospital today."
"Really?" Zayn's energy level rose from the news alone. "Today?"
Imane nodded. "He wants to meet us at the usual cafe." She ran to the kitchen, likely to eat whatever Zayn had prepared for her, as usual. That day, she would eat oatmeal, the only thing they had left. Her room had a white bed, with a light pink comforter, light brown pillows, an ivory colored six drawer dresser with a mirror attached, and a small desk for her homework in the left corner.
Zayn made his way to the front door, wore his black sneakers, then finished a cold water bottle he had taken out of the fridge earlier. Imane had eaten the same breakfast her brother ate. They brushed their teeth at the same time, with Zayn spraying a cologne by Emmanual Levian, gifted by the girl he couldn't forget. And the fact everyone liked his cologne reminded him of her with each compliment.
The bus would arrive at the stop in ten minutes, at 9:30AM, in front of the motor vehicle and family documentation department building. The government owned property had an open black gate. Customers drove in to park while others strolled out smiling. Zayn and Imane hurried out of their apartment, down the stairs then jogged the pebbled, dirt road. Their father said he'd meet them at ten o'clock by Cafe Marhaba in downtown Algiers by the government building.
Once the bus arrived a minute early, Imane hopped onto the stairs first then waved at a girl she knew from school who sat beside her parents near the front rows. The morning bus was fairly empty, which made it easy to travel without stopping every few minutes to let someone out. Zayn tended to stare out of the window and stare at the people and businesses he passed. The route to downtown Algiers included the central police station, guarded by an electrical fence all around the property, then towards a four-way intersection, where once the bus drove passed the circle, keeping straight, the bright blue Mediterranean Sea appeared in the distance, glistening under the morning sun with its brown, red and blue cargo containers, ships, and military vessels even further out in the water.
Zayn opened the lock of the bus's window on his right then pushed the reinforced glass up to enjoy the morning breeze. As they drove down the hill, a few shop owners waved at customers who were walking down the street, while other shop employees organized the French bread and sodas stacked outside their shops in cartons.
Halfway down the hill, Zayn noticed an old BMW and Mercedes parked on the right side of the street, with three guys from each car getting out and confronting each other, hands flailing, yelling, as if maybe they had a car accident. It was too early for that. Zayn hated working, talking too much or doing anything that required muscle movement in the morning. That was why he scheduled his work events in the evening or at night. The benefit of disappearing at night if something went wrong or if the police got involved was an added bonus.
The bus stopped two blocks away from the cafe their father would be at, the third to last stop in downtown Algiers before the bus looped back towards Dely Ibrahim.
Imane waved at her friend who sat in the fourth room from the front, who still hadn't gotten off the bus yet. She hopped down the stairs to the semi-cracked concrete sidewalk and stretched her arms out. Ahead of her was a pastry shop selling croissants, Algerian almond colored cookies, white, pink, green, along with premade sandwiches and water bottles.
"You hungry?" Zayn asked.
"No. Papa's buying us food anyways at the cafe, remember?" Imane smiled then spun and pointed to their left, where they would eventually cross the street to make it to Cafe Marhaba. "Let's go."
"Lead the way." Zayn patted his sister's head while looking around the bustling neighborhood. Algiers was full of tall apartment buildings either hundreds of years old or recently built, from colors of light gray to white to dark brown. The front facing apartments had small balconies for one person to step out of or to hang their clothes. Really, no one stepped out to the balcony because if on the odd chance they fell off, well then, they'd crash into hardened cement or the roof of a parked car or a passerby smoking a cigarette.
"Zayn!"
He turned and found his sister staring up at him. "You promised you wouldn't do that when we're out."
Habits were hard to break, dear Imane. And Zayn couldn't tell her he had enemies from other gangs and drug businesses. Imane wasn't aware of the type of work her brother involved himself in and there was no way he could tell her, either.
"Sorry, bad habit." He smiled and nodded.
"Come on. Papa's waiting." She pulled her brother's hand and jogged across the street, maneuvering through people wearing suits to work, mothers and children dancing around moving crowds, and tent stands as shops preparing their product for sale, which could've been robes, shirts, Sahara desert accessories from the southern part of Algeria, international flags, kitchen utensils and even furniture.
When there was enough space between Zayn and the next group of people walking in the street, he tightened his grip on Imane's wrist then pulled her back as he leaped forward, which then whipped Imane forward again as her brother kept running. She laughed and kept her balance as they both ran through people in the street until they reached another four-way intersection, where Malik planted both feet on the ground and let Imane bump into his left arm as she bounced against him.
"I win," Imane shouted, swinging herself ahead of her brother and towards Cafe Marhaba to their right. The cafe had a white extended canopy from above the door to cover any rain. The cafe also had a tall gray, cracked and chipped apartment building above it.
Zayn clenched his jaw and prepared to see his sick father. The hospital restricted visitation as any excitement or heart rate changes would have triggered a health issue. Imane, of course, didn't know her father was ill. She believed he worked abroad and couldn't be home. Zayn obliged to his father's wishes and never told Imane their father required a cancer surgery to survive longer than a few months.
Imane walked through the doors. "Papa!" she yelled, waving and running to the left side of the cafe, to a white rectangular table in the center of the left wall. Her father wore light gray linen pants, brown loafers, and a white t-shirt. He had tanned skinned unlike Zayn but similar to Imane's caramel color. And his eyes, his eyes told Zayn how exhausted his father lived, weak and drained. The eyes of someone who had been clinging to life.
Whenever Zayn compared his sister with his father, he always remembered his mother and wondered what she looked like. One would think a picture would be found. No. His mother's pictures didn't exist as far as Zayn knew. Maybe his aunts and uncles owned a hidden picture of Zayn's mother, maybe they didn't, but no one would ever know.
Zayn smiled as he approached the table and he watched his sister and his father hug. The barista dressed in black also wore a black mask over her mouth but her eyes seemed joyful when she glanced over at Imane.
"You gonna stand there forever or hug your father?" Captain Salem Rais asked Zayn, standing as Imane let go of him and sidestepped to the right.
Zayn stepped to his father and hugged him after three months of not seeing him. A lot could've happened in three months, and for Zayn, a lot had happened. The drug exchanges, sell offs, shootings, deaths and all the savings he had collected.
"How you been?" Zayn finished his tight hug and leaned back while his father continued to eye him, as if analyzing him. "Did the military finally find a better treatment?" That treatment was related to his father's cancer. And unfortunately, it seemed his father was in the same position as three months ago and as six months ago.
Captain Salem shook his head. "I'm not relying on them for anything." He motioned for Imane to sit. "You seem different, Zayn." His father picked up his glass of water he must've ordered earlier from the table and drank it. "Did you get that job you mentioned? With the police?"
Having been in mandatory military service, Zayn wasn't scared of guns and their bullets, being shot or threatened with knives or brass knuckles, so for his father to notice something different about Zayn startled him. He thought no one would ever find out about his drug exchange job, that he'd save up enough money and quit, in and out without anyone else ever finding out. Although, a few months ago Zayn mentioned an open paid internship position with the police department of Algiers. Zayn was honestly considering applying at the time and so he told his father about it, who knew some officers in the police department.
"I didn't apply," he answered. "But I've been working night shifts with a storage company."
"Why not? You were excited about it back then?" Captain Salem motioned for Zayn to sit across from him. Imane couldn't hide her smile and sat while holding her father's left hand on the table.
Zayn nodded and remembered why he decided to avoid the job. He didn't really consider at the time that if he was arrested it could have negatively affected his life forever. "Just wasn't feeling the dedication at that time. I might consider it in a year or two." Zayn glanced at Imane. She winked at him.
"Well, stay away from the ones who you think are breaking the law, doing drugs, stealing, smoking. You might think it's cool but it's a downhill slope and the ride back up is one of the hardest."
"Don't worry, Dad. My friends aren't doing that." And he didn't lie. Soraya and Volkan didn't do drugs; they sold them. "Did you order already?"
"I ordered for you two. Same as last time so you should like it."
The barista called out, "Order for Zayn and Imane. Zayn and Imane."
"I got it." Zayn stood then crossed the cafe to pick up the two smoked turkey sandwiches in croissants, one small cold latte for himself and one small apple juice bottle for his sister.
Zayn ate as their father conversed with Imane and received all the updates about Imane's school, activities, friends, and summer plans. She told her father about her high grades, number one test results, and how she was selling her notes to her classmates for extra money.
Captain Salem glanced at Zayn as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing then laughed. "That's my daughter, eh? Smart and knows how to use her skills." He patted her head. "Don't get caught, though. Selling your notes isn't wrong. It's a good idea if you're the smartest student." He nodded. "Nothing wrong there. If you're the smartest, you should at least do something to benefit from it."
"You missed mom's death anniversary," Zayn said, finishing his turkey sandwich.
"I spent time alone last night." Captain Salem nodded and it looked as if he was speaking to himself or recalling something. "May she rest in peace. Did your aunt show up?"
"Yeah," Imane answered, with a straw in her mouth sipping apple juice. "She came with us home and then left."
Zayn's father glanced at him, expressionless, but that didn't mean he didn't feel anything. Captain Salem had a way of keeping his face sub-zero while his feelings raged like an inferno inside, and as Zayn kept eye contact with his father, he realized that his father had something on his mind, something to say to Zayn, but with Imane present, it seemed the conversation couldn't happen.
"Your aunt, I should tell you . . ." Captain Salem kept his eyes locked on Zayn while Imane leaned onto the table with both of her arms parallel in front of her. "Now I don't want this to affect how you treat her. What happened between your mother and your aunt is between the adults."
"Okay, Papa," Imane said. "I'm a genius. Don't worry. I can understand."
Captain Salem patted Imane's head then continued with, "Your aunt didn't like your mother. They never got along. For what reason, I've never found out. Your mother never truly told me and your aunt never explained herself either, no matter how many times I cornered her. But the two never got along, so it's strange she's visited her death anniversary all these years."
"That's weird," Zayn said, leaning back in his chair and eying the cafe which started to fill with customers ordering their drinks and standing in line. Green and black abayas, suits, and casual clothing brought more life and color to the store. Mothers moved their robes around to grab the hand of their children while those in suits stared at their phones.
"Just pay attention to her behavior, when she comes to see you, what she asks, you know the drill, Zayn. Basic observance." Captain Salem turned to wink at his daughter. "You too, yeah?"
"Of course." Imane pushed herself up and stood from her chair. "I'm not really an investigator, Papa. I'm more like an entrepria."
"Entrepreneur," her father corrected. "Finish the word, my daughter." Captain Salem stood. "Let's go stroll around a bit. Does my genius daughter need anything?" He leaned and kissed his her forehead.
"Just you, Papa," Imane replied. "I missed you."
"I missed you both." He winked at Zayn as they all walked out of the cafe.
As Zayn followed his father and Imane, he slid his hands into his jeans and thought about his aunt's intentions, why she visited last year but hadn't brought up his mother's necklace, why she visited yesterday and knew about his mother's necklace, and even wondered why she never got along with his mother in the first place.
Within a minute or two of leaving the cafe, people rushed through the streets, shoving and pushing to get to the incoming bus that would stop by the intersection Zayn and Imane had come from. Two guys in suits rammed into Captain Salem's left arm, nearly throwing him off balance. They shouted at him to move and called him an old man, which nearly made Zayn reach and grab the arm of one of the guys who unapologetically hit his father.
But Captain Salem was one step ahead of the situation and regained his balance by sidestepping around his daughter and signaling Zayn with his finger to not do anything. Imane then led her father forward by grabbing his arm. They disappeared into the crowd.