Zayn stood a block away from Baros's brown building where his base was. He recognized the neighborhood as Cheraga, another somewhat wealthy area with beaches, nice apartment buildings, modern villas and homes, with fashion shops and restaurants. Zayn had visited Cheraga a few times in the past and mainly with his sister to visit the outdoor Go-Gart racing track. He could hear races happening from down the block, so he felt a bit more at ease knowing the area.
But who would've guessed that the boss of the drug dealing system in Algiers was situated in Cheraga? As Zayn stood under the afternoon sun on a dirt road, sweating in the heat, he pulled his phone out and read text messages from Soraya and Volkan asking if was awake and where they should look for him as well as a message from Imane asking Zayn what they would eat for dinner. Then another message arrived. A notification appeared at the top of his screen from a new number.
"Deliver one bag to Client 47. Make your way into the military party. We know you can. They'll be waiting in the balcony."
The first question that Zayn asked himself was how in the world would he figure out where the party was being held and how to get in. He stared at the recent text message and read the orders again. Then, after closing the message application, Zayn remembered someone, someone who had a direction connection to the world of parties and politics. He opened Instagram and found one unread message from Roqaya, sent last night, likely during the funeral gathering of Captain Salem.
"I don't know if you're coming or not, Zayn, but I hope you do. I know it's a hard time for you but you've got people who care. Really care. Since neither of us have moved on to someone else . . . I'm still here to help."
Zayn knew how he'd get to the party and which party the drug needed to be delivered to. There was a reason Baros choose Zayn. He knew about Zayn's life, his friendships, his relationship with Roqaya, his father, everything. But whatever Baros was thinking wouldn't come to fruition. Zayn wouldn't play his game too long. He had bigger goals to accomplish, and Baros was just a distraction who needed to disappear. Forever.
He made his way ahead to the white bus stop sign attached to a tall gray pole. He remained on the dirt road he'd driven by countless times in the past. At least he knew the area, so if someone else had tried to attach him, Zayn had an escape route in mind. He'd been robbed by Baros; no one else would rob him.
Without thinking about what to say or how to speak, Zayn called Roqaya on Instagram as he strolled across the pebbled dirt road. He confirmed the video call remained disabled. After four rings, silence followed, with bustling and footsteps.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hey, Roqaya," Zayn replied, clearing his throat.
"It really is you." She laughed. "I didn't think you'd actually me, Zayn."
"Why?"
"Because you haven't for the past two years."
Zayn clicked his tongue as he watched the white bus approximately three blocks away on his left drive towards him. "That's true. I just read your message. Thank you."
"Yeah, I'm really sorry about your father. He . . . always helped me back then and bought me snacks whenever we'd pass each other. We lost a great man." Roqaya's voice lowered. She exhaled. "How's Imane?"
"She's surviving. She wanted to see you at the funeral day."
"That's right!" Roqaya shouted. "You didn't even show up. You should've seen your aunt. She was fuming. And you didn't tell me, either."
"Like I said, I just read your message," Zayn explained.
"Right. Right." It sounded like she grinned and had poked fun at Zayn.
"But . . . if you're free or you have once of those get-togethers coming up, I wouldn't mind meeting you there." He cleared his throat and waved at the bus approaching him. "It might help distract me, you know."
"Well . . . if you're down to come with me to a military family get-together we do once a month. It's tonight." Roqaya's voice increased in pitch, and she spoke faster, as if entertained by the idea of Zayn attending. "It'll be good for you like you said. And—"
"Sure, I'll go. I can meet you there." He interrupted her. "It'll be nice to see you again, too."
Zayn stood in silence as it sounded like Roqaya didn't even breathe. The bus noise was all Zayn heard as it stopped in front of him with its door opening. Zayn closed his eyes from the dust which rose towards him.
"Me too," Roqaya replied. "I'll text you the address, then. Okay."
"Sur—" Zayn answered, before realizing the she had ended the call in her rushed and perhaps anxious response. Her voice had squeaked and her words flew out of her mouth at top speed.
Zayn sent Roqaya a text message to confirm his attendance to the party and hope she wouldn't forget to text him the address. Roqaya hearted the message instantly before sending the address. Zayn laughed when he watched the heart reaction turn to a thumbs up. It brought a smile to his face despite what had happened to him in the past hour.
He sat alone in the middle row of the bus then called Soraya and Volkan to explain everything that had happened. He told his friends he'd send them the location of the party and meet them there. Volkan told Zayn where his money was hidden and confirmed nothing disappeared. The trust between his friends was the trust he valued above everything else. Without trust, relationships wouldn't last, Zayn believed.
Once in the neighborhood of Staeoueli, near the villa where the military exclusive party
would be at, Zayn decided he needed a new outfit. Luckily, he had a couple hundred dollars in his pocket that he could spend. Baros didn't take those for some reason. Zayn didn't care why and strolled down the clean street, which had a line of clothing stores with floor to ceiling glass promoting their inventory, smoothie shops on both sides of the streets, ice cream shops and burritos and tacos for sale.
Century Suits, a store one building ahead of Zayn, caught his attention. He strolled over
and surveyed the mannequins dressed in black, gray, beige and blue suits. Zayn enjoyed the look, the dotted dress shirts as well as the single and double breasted suits. He entered the store and was blasted by cool air from above. All over the store, suits hung on the walls, on mannequins, on racks and ties on tables along with dress shirts, undershirts, shoes, socks, watches and rings.
"Hi, how can I help get you into a suit today?" an older man asked, who approached from the left.
"I need an all black suit. What're your prices?" Zayn asked, glancing around at a blue suit that he thought looked fantastic.
"I've got a couple black suits at a little under three hundred dollars on sale. Then—"
"That works for me," Zayn interrupted. "I'll pick one of them. Got a place to be at."
Within thirty minutes, Zayn identified the black suit, black dress shirt, black shoes, a discounted silver watch worn on his left wrist and a clearance silver ring with a red gemstone in the center. He wore the ring on his right ring finger. The total amount paid equaled roughly four hundred and fifty dollars as a bundle for everything. Zayn gladly laid the cash on the table, grabbed the black bag of his old, sweaty, stained clothes and made his way out of the store.
Arriving at the white gated villa of the party, he nodded at Volkan and Soraya, who stood across the tight street. Because Zayn came from the bottom of the hill, he exerted more of his leg muscles to make his way up, which caused him to sweat. He wanted to get inside before his entire suit was soaked.
Volkan wore a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt. He nodded and gave a thumbs up to Zayn. Soraya wore a long beige dress, which covered her shoulders and arms. She let her long brown rest down her back and over her shoulders. The three friends dressed for a party, indeed, ready to fit into the crowd of political figures, military personnel and simply, the wealthy.
Zayn rang the doorbell. The small black box on the right, installed into the white gated wall rang three times before someone answered. The camera light flashed red. The door unlocked. Entrance granted.
Once through the open courtyard which had three cars parked on the right side—a white Mercedes SUV, a black BMW sedan and a gray Audi SUV—Zayn led his friends through the white cobblestone path to the large pearl white door with reflective glass at the top. The sun's setting rays bounced off in many directions.
After glancing at Volkan and Soraya on his left and right, Zayn opened the front door and was greeted by an all-white house, stairs, walls and floor. The kitchen was to the right, packed with people holding drinks or pastries, in linen pants, dresses, blazers or t-shirts. To the left of the front door was the living room, which had one large, beige elbow couch, a TV hung on the white wall to the left and a glass table with untouched bottles of water. Music played and echoed from what seemed to be the backyard on the other side of the house.
Zayn remained frozen at the entrance door and viewed their party. It irritated him unexplainably. Sure, his father's death had nothing to do with those people. Sure, life never stopped for anyone's death. But the party still irked him in more ways than he could explain.
"I've got drugs to deliver," Zayn winked at his friends. "I'll find you guys later. Pay attention to anyone talking about any new rumors."
Volkan extended his left elbow our but kept his hand in the pocket of his pants, creating a triangular gap for Soraya to slide her arm through, the classic couple walk. She eyed him as if asking if he were serious. With a nod and a smile, Soraya slid her arm and wrapped her it around Volkan's. The sight brought a smile to Zayn's face. Soraya and Volkan walked to the backyard in sync as Zayn made his way upstairs.
The second floor had a handful of people spread apart. A man and a woman sat on two leather chairs by a glass table to the left of the stairs by the railings. A white hallway with marble flooring started a few feet across from the stairs. It led to the second floor bedrooms and bathrooms. Zayn glanced around and saw no mirrors, paintings or pictures. He thought the villa must've been a renter or some third or fourth house of a wealthy person. Regardless, it didn't impress Zayn as it usually would have. It reminded him of his own house he recently bought. His own house the he would soon show to his sister after finishing business that night.
He strolled through the pathway of the second floor, alongside the black railings, occasionally peeking down at the first floor and seeing people eating croissants, almond cookies and baklavas. Some with just a cup of tea in their hand, laughing, leaning against each other, smiling from cheek to cheek.
Zayn recognized some of the people below him as Roqaya's friends and family of military personnel.
A few feet ahead of him, on top of the flat railing, a water bottle sat. Zayn stared ahead and saw the open black doors of a balcony, gray curtains swaying with the light breeze and the darkening sky after sunset. Before making his way to the balcony, an idea came to Zayn, and he grew quite fond of it quickly. He opened the water bottle cap, peeked over the railings to see Roqaya's friends gathered below him in a circle laughing and talking, and in one motion, Zayn dumped half of the water bottle on them before leaning back.
He twisted the cap of the water bottle and smiled. He heard shouts and screams from below but didn't bother checking again. Instead, Zayn tossed the water bottle through the open balcony doors into the trees as he made his way forward.
"Never pictured anyone here to litter," someone said, from the right side of the balcony.
Zayn eyed right without turning and first saw brown moccasins, beige pants, then an untucked white dress shirt, followed by a black tattoo on the man's neck climbing to his jawline, then dark brown eyes and short black hair.
"Client 47?"
The man pushed himself forward off of the balconies bar support. "I've been telling your boss to change the name, doesn't look like it'll happen."
"He's not my boss." Zayn threw the black bag of drugs to Client 47.
"You knew? I haven't had someone else deliver for over a year now." The man inspected his bag of drugs, touched it then sniffed it. "Perfect." He tossed a bundle of cash to Zayn. "A thousand as agreed."
It was after the drugs were inspected that Zayn noticed Client 47 had a pistol strapped to their right side. Walking around with his gun didn't make sense, so Zayn turned and found a white blazer hanging on the balcony's black railings. He assumed Client 47 wore the blazer to hide his pistol. It reminded him to stay cautious in his drug dealings. One slip of the emotions, of arrogance, and someone could die.
"I wanted the other bag," Client 47 said. In the seconds that Zayn looked away at the blazer, Client 47 had pressed his pistol into the back of Zayn's head. A jerk followed that shook Zayn's head. "Tell your boss I'll give the money next time. I've got some clients who need more than they thought. Unfortunately, I've ordered more than I can buy. You understand? Supply and demand."
Zayn turned around and found himself staring down the barrel of the pistol. Client 47 stood with an unmoving expression, void of emotion, still eyebrows, calm breathing. He'd held people at gun point before, Zayn confirmed.
"You don't know who I am but thought it was a good idea to threaten me with a gun?"
The man pressed his black pistol's barrel against Zayn's forehead. "You're a drug dealer delivering for your boss. All I need to know is you follow orders, a dog on a leash."
"I told you before. I don't have a boss. You should pay attention when people talk to you. And you shouldn't pull a gun out unless you're going to shoot. But shooting me would make the whole gang you're buying from go after you. So," Zayn said, laughing, "you just made an enemy out of me for no reason. And it's the last time you're going to make that mistake with anyone else."
"Shut up and leave. I ain't paying," Client 47 ordered, biting and licking his teeth.
"Withdrawal? You're pathetic," Zayn said, amused.
But Client 47 didn't find it amusing. He pistol whipped Zayn across the cheek, sending him swinging to the right and almost turning a full circle. He spit blood on the ground. "You've got no history in this game, delivery boy. You probably started yesterday. I ain't paying. And you know, hand over the other drugs you've got. I know you're carrying for your other delivery."
"You're going to die by these drugs you're addicted to," Zayn said, as he raised his head and straightened his posture. "That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Dying to what you can't stop. Addiction is a crazy thing, ya?" Zayn stepped forward until the pistol's barrel was pressed against his forehead again. "But you're going to do one final thing with your life before dying. It might be the most useful thing you've ever done."
"The hell are you talking about, kid? Hand the bag over!" Client 47 nearly spit while talking, saliva dripping off his lower lip, the veins in his neck sticking out.
"Addiction is a weakness for humans."
"Doors are opened to the other world."
"Fear and paranoia consume the weak."
"Bring this victim to us. His weakness we will devour."
Then a sshh sound overtook all of the other whispers. It sounded like an order.
"Time to feast, young Zayn. Your orders will be fulfilled."
. I won't kill him, Zayn spoke in his mind.
"If you don't, he will attack you again." Omayra's cold voice continued to blow against Zayn's neck.
No killing, Zayn repeated.
"You will surely place your sister at risk of attack. Your one weakness must not be known by your enemies," Omayra warned Zayn.
Then listen up . . . Zayn spoke in his mind.
A darkness rose from the ground, enveloping Zayn in a circle, spinning as if a tornado. It reached his chest before Client 47 stepped back with raised eyebrows and twitching lips. He muttered gibberish in his complete panic. His hand dropped to his side, the pistol swung against his thigh and the very essence of life disappeared from his eyes. Darkness consumed Client 47 in a burst of wind. It devoured him.
What remained, a black tornado.
Screeches followed, high pitched pleading to stop, echoed back to back to back.
"I see the fear in you. The wicked are coming," Zayn told Client 47.