He was cold and miserable. The day before, he'd been the respected senior Imam of the mosque in Mehtar Lam. Now he was little better than a fugitive, hiding out in this dark, dismal place. There was no electricity. Even if there had been, Massoud had made it clear he was not to show any lights. The warehouse still held a store of pure opium ready to ship out as soon as he had a buyer. If the cops came along and investigated, they wouldn't hesitate to confiscate the goods and sell them on themselves.
All he had for company was a dying woman who lay on a heap of dirty sacking on the floor. For the third time in that many minutes, he wondered if he should kill her. She'd been groaning, and it was getting on his nerves. Besides, the noise could attract attention.
There’s no doubt Massoud will kill the girl before we leave town, so why not do it now?
Daud glanced out through the dirt-covered window, looking for any sign of the dawn. He could swear the sky was lighter outside, although it could just be the headlights of a vehicle, a police cruiser, perhaps. He knew if the cops found him in this place, not only would they confiscate Massoud's product, they'd lock him up for drug trafficking. Another statistic to prove to Kabul they were proactive in the war on drugs, while quietly selling their confiscations to rival traffickers to supplement their meager government salaries.
The light outside disappeared, and he knew dawn was still some time away. Then she groaned yet again. He walked to her cot.
"Shut up! Shut up or I'll kill you."
The only answer was another groan. He snatched the pillow from under her head and thought about pressing it down over her face. Yet as he did so, eyes flicked open. She didn't recognize him.
"Where am I?"
His answer was automatic. "You must be quiet or the police will come."
"Police? Why will the police come?"
"Never mind. If you want to live, shut up."
She was silent for a moment, and then she murmured, "Water. I need water."
"There is no water. Be silent."
Then she recognized the harsh rasp of his voice. "I know you. Sheikh Daud, you came into the bar several months back. I served you drinks and a meal."
"Perhaps."
"You went with one of the girls, as I recall. I don't remember her name. I feel so tired."
He should have killed her outright, and he cursed himself for his foolish hesitation. The stupid girl even remembered the time when he'd visited Massoud to discuss business matters.
Damn! I have enough problems as it is after that stupid Blum woman falsely accused me of an adulterous liaison. If this girl reports I’ve been with a whore, even worse, that I'd drunk alcohol, there'll be no place in Afghanistan I could go, no place they won't have heard of the notorious Sheikh Habib Daud.
He inspected the pillow and considered it again. He should do it now. No one would know, and no one would care. No one ever cared. She was just a woman.
He heard a dog bark and recoiled in distaste. He hated dogs. They were unclean, instruments of the Devil. If he had his way, the world would be free of dogs.