The fire slowly burnt down until it was just glowing embers. The girls put on laid-back music and everyone kicked back and relaxed. It was wonderful up on the roof under the stars. Everyone was chilled, even Abdullah who was curled up in a beanbag with a wife on each arm.
Crash!
Emily awoke with a start as lighting hit the roof.
The air hissed and sizzled as another bolt shot down.
Crash!
The whole building shook as thunder cracked again, directly overhead. The heavens opened up and it poured down. They retreated, drenched, to the shelter of the apartment, sliding down the ladder and ending up in a tangle of arms and legs at the bottom.
Emily curled up in her nest under the kitchen table and nodded off to sleep, reading The Old Man and the Sea.
What a day!
26.
There was something going on in the rubbish heap.
Azziz, Son of God, had arrived. He stood on a fridge amongst the rubbish and preached. Emily could see him through the rocket hole in the kitchen wall. If she stuck her head out, she caught snatches of what he said, even from up on the thirteenth floor. He prayed and preached day and night.
‘What a nutter,’ said Abdullah.
For once Emily agreed with him, it was worse than being at Sunday school.
The wives joked and laughed about him and he made a handy target for bottles and other rubbish. Residents from the building set chairs up in from of him and got drunk. They heckled and teased him and sometimes they hit him.
Then something happened. Emily could feel the change even from the up in the penthouse. People stopped and listened. A crowd gathered as people fell under Azziz’s spell. He performed miracles; with a touch of the hand he cured a goat that had been shot. He cured sick children and helped a blind man see. When it rained, he walked across the puddles. He fed the masses with takeaway pizzas and mint tea and spoke words of wisdom. He spoke of love. He spoke of tolerance and understanding.
He spoke of a new religion. ‘What is the difference between Christianity and Islam?’ he asked. ‘We have the same God, the same Jesus, the same beliefs. We are all brothers. Let us forget our differences and become one. It is the will of God, my father.’
A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and lit him up as he stood on his refrigerator soapbox.
What Emily didn’t see, Abdullah’s wives told her. They turned off their TVs and joined the throng, partying and rejoicing amongst the rubbish and filth.
‘Lot of codswallop,’ said Abdullah, who was immune to Azziz’s preaching.
His guards weren’t. They softened. Fazilah insisted that Emily should go to see Azziz, ‘It’s the second coming,’ she said. ‘He’s come to save us from our sins. You must see him.’
Emily pulled her desert tent over her belly dancing kit and wrapped her indigo scarf around her head to hide her golden hair. The guards took off the security bracelet and handcuffed Fazilah and Emily together. They jerked their way down in the elevator and went outside to see Azziz. The air reeked of rotting garbage. Flies buzzed about, getting in Emily’s eyes.
Horrible as it was, it was wonderful to be out of the apartment building.
27.
Azziz, wearing an old sheet as a robe, stood erect on his rusty fridge and preached. Partly hidden by a growth of stubble, Emily could make out delicate features and bright green eyes, which sparkled with passion when he spoke.
A shiny black Hummer drove up, just about hitting them as it pushed through the crowd. Two well drilled bodyguards; dressed in suits, jumped out followed by a skinny man wearing jeans and a T-shirt, tall as a giraffe. Emily had seen him on tele.
‘I’m looking for Abdullah, have I got the right building?’ he asked politely from behind his bushy beard.
‘I’ll take you to him,’ said Fazilah. ‘Hang on a minute and listen. Azziz has things to say.’
Giraffe Man and his men waited and listened.
‘We will all die in a ball of fire and one who shall change the world shall riseth up from the ashes,’ said Azziz.
We’re all going to die! That’s a bit random.
Azziz spoke of peace, of how in this time of global tensions and conflict, men needed to open their minds. ‘Christians and Muslims are one and the same; we have the same God, the same ideals. Brothers, let’s forget our squabbles and unite as one, for world peace and the glory of God. World peace. Hallelujah!’
‘He has a point,’ said one of bodyguards.
‘He does,’ agreed Giraffe Man. ‘But what about our cause? What about my investment in war and disorder? We must put a stop to this before it gets out of hand. Come on, let’s arrange some mass destruction.’
He fished a red cell phone out of his pocket and tapped a couple of buttons. He spoke in English, but moved away and Emily didn’t catch what he said.
When he came back he said in English to his bodyguards, ‘Let’s move. Grab the suitcases. We have forty-five minutes.’
Maybe he doesn’t want anyone else to understand.
Fazilah and Emily guided him and his men into the building. The elevator was stuck so they took the stairs instead. Emily pulled Fazilah up and up, round and round and they arrived gasping at the thirteenth floor, thirteen minutes later, followed by Giraffe Man and his men with their heavy suitcases.
I wonder if they’re coming to stay.
Forty-five minutes, he said. There’s only half an hour left now.
Abdullah’s guards frisked the bodyguards, removing guns, knives, grenades and phones before they were let in.
‘My old friend,’ said Abdullah, giving Giraffe Man a big hug.
Trying to pull away, Giraffe Man demanded, ‘Where’s the missile?’
Abdullah gestured towards the kitchen where the elephant trunk leaned up against the fridge.
‘My beauty!’ said Giraffe Man, as he unrolled the blanket.
One of his men deftly unscrewed a panel on the missile and snipped a couple of wires.
‘It’s the tracking and self-destruct mechanism, can’t be too careful,’ said Giraffe Man. ‘The twenty million is in the suitcases, we really must be running.’
Abdullah’s men cocked their weapons.
‘Not so quickly, let me count the money first,’ said Abdullah.
Giraffe Man and his men sat on the sofas while Abdullah counted the money.
‘Turn that bloody stereo off,’ bellowed Abdullah. ‘How can a man think in this house?’
Having slipped out of her tent, Emily came into the room and turned the stereo down. ‘This is going to take a while. Would you like a cup of tea sir?’ she asked.
Giraffe Man looked her up and down. ‘You’re that girl from TV,’ he said. ‘Em, Em, Emily Taylor, that’s it.’ He stood up very tall and bowed. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re much prettier than in the photos. How did you end up living with a fat slob like Abdullah? Ha, ha. Are you sure he can count to two thousand?’
‘Probably not,’ Emily replied. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, tea would be lovely.’
Emily arrived back with a tray of tea and scones and set it on the table.
Giraffe Man looked at his watch then said, ‘Grab yourself a cup and we’ll have a game of backgammon.’
Abdullah was having trouble counting the money. He was flustered and kept losing count and having to restart.
Giraffe Man was a good backgammon player and charming to boot. He chatted to Emily about her adventures while beating her soundly at backgammon.
Glancing at his watch again, worry lines etched his face. ‘Abdullah,’ he called out, ‘how’s the counting going?’
‘Fuck!’ cursed Abdullah. ‘You made me lose count!’
‘Another game?’ asked Emily.
‘Let’s,’ said Giraffe Man and they set the board up again.
He made a good start but then lost his concentration. He kept looking at his watch like he had a train to catch. Glistening drops of sweat broke out on his for
ehead. Emily took a couple of his pieces, sending them back to the beginning. He looked at his watch again and wiped his brow.
Abdullah counted out loud, ‘526, 527, 528…’
Emily took another piece.
‘567, 568, 569…’
There’s something wrong. I can feel it.
Giraffe Man jumped up, hitting his head on the mirror ball and sending reflections gyrating crazily across the walls. ‘I can’t bear it!’ he shouted. ‘Abdullah, let us help you count. You’re too used to dealing with small change; big money needs a whole different approach. Twenty million in one hundred euro notes, right. That’s two thousand bundles. Let’s build a building.’ He grabbed bundles of cash and placed them in tidy lines along the edges of the table. ‘We put twenty along this way, side by side, and then we go across ten. Good. We fill in the base then we go up ten, like this. That’s twenty times ten, times ten, equals two thousand. Go, go, go, finish the building now!’
There was a flurry of hands as they all helped make his building.
‘Keep it tidy, keep it square. Go, go, go! There, done!’ shouted Giraffe Man.
Abdullah looked a little confused but there was plenty of money. ‘Take your bomb,’ he said.
The bodyguards rolled the gleaming missile up in the crinkly grey blanket.
‘Can we borrow some dishdashas?’ asked Giraffe Man, then not waiting for an answer, dashed into Abdullah’s bedroom and came out with three of the white sheets that Abdullah wore, some headdresses and rope halos.
Him and his men slipped them on, put on the headdresses and pushed the rope halos down to hold them in place. They looked like the three wise men in the school play. Grabbing their weapons and the missile, they were out the door like there was no tomorrow.
After putting away the backgammon set, Emily collected up the half-finished cups of mint tea and the teapot and carried them to the kitchen, giggling to herself as she went. She peeked out through the gap in the wall and saw the three wise men push through the crowd and walk awkwardly away from the building carrying their missile. They didn’t get into their Hummer but headed off across the busy road, cars honking and beeping angrily at them. Then they glanced back at the building and dived headfirst into the ditch.
Chortling to herself, Emily turned to wash the tea set. There was a dull thud and the teapot floated up, hovering in front of her. Worried it might break, she reached out and grabbed it then the apartment disintegrated, filling her world with flames, pain, and flying concrete.
The End
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Also published by Vi Grim
Emily Taylor Book 1- Abducted
Emily Taylor Book 3 – The Apprentice
Emily Taylor Book 4 – The Teenage Mum
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