time he said:
‘Do you ever, you know, think about going back?’
‘Back?’
‘Back home I mean.’
‘There’s nothing for me to go back to,’ Makana said. He peered into his glass. The coffee had tasted faintly of detergent, which he found oddly reassuring.
‘And if there was a reason, would you do it?’
‘You’re full of questions today.’
‘Maalish,’ said Talal, bouncing to his feet again. ‘I probably shouldn’t have asked.’
Makana watched him go, the long, slim figure loping along in a loose-limbed way through the arcades towards the opening and the tangle of hooting, nervous traffic beyond. In a way he envied him. The boy moved in a different world to him. He was doing all right. If it didn’t work out with Bunny, or whatever her name was, that would be all right too. He was still young. He had ambitions and he clearly had talent of some kind.
With a glance towards the counter Makana got to his feet. The boy, who was barely visible, was busy furiously scrubbing something out of sight. In a gesture of sympathy, Makana dropped an extra note on the table.
Chapter Three
In the street Makana raised a hand and instantly retracted it as two taxi cabs veered alarmingly towards him. The first was a stately old Peugeot driven by a grey-haired man who was lost behind the huge wheel. The second was a small, battered, and somewhat lopsided 1970s Datsun that careered wildly across three lanes before skidding to a halt at his feet. The small car shuddered on its springs as the ensuing hooting and shouting match unfolded around it. The driver was the size of a small gorilla. As he hung out of the window the other man realised he had met his match and drove off with a dismissive wave over his shoulder.
‘Yallah, ya bey!’ the driver leaned over and called up. ‘Don’t anger me by making me wait.’ Without further prompting Makana dragged open the rear door and climbed inside, only to be thrown backwards as the car took off. The interior was badly beaten up and so torn the upholstery looked like it had been mauled by hungry dogs.
‘You were a bit hasty back there.’
‘I am truly sorry, sir,’ the driver sought his eyes in the rear-view mirror, though his tone suggested he wasn’t in the least repentant. ‘I meant no offence, believe me, but in this business one has to fight. I swear by Allah that every morning I tell myself I’m a warrior going to battle. I have five children to feed.’
‘Take me to Imbaba.’
‘Hadir, ya bey.’ The driver wrestled the protesting gearstick and pinned it squealing in place so that Makana actually felt sorry for it. ‘I’ll get you there faster than lightning.’
‘Just get me there in one piece.’
As they drove, Makana wondered about Faragalla. The more he thought back over their meeting the more it seemed to him that the man’s bumbling incompetence was no more than a convenient shield to hide behind. Even if the letter contained a threat, it was of such a veiled nature that it would take a guilty conscience to see anything there at all.
As the car scraped and coughed its way along, Makana became aware of the giant watching him in the mirror.
‘The brother is here on business?’
Makana was used to being taken for a visitor. If his dark skin didn’t do it, his accent gave him away immediately.
‘I live here,’ he said wearily.
‘Ya ahlan wa sahlan, you are very welcome, Effendim. If you ever need a car . . .’ With a speed and dexterity remarkable for his size, the driver flourished a business card from under the strip of artificial black-and-white Dalmatian fur that ran across the dashboard. ‘Twenty-four hours a day,’ he added, raising a thick index finger towards the sky. ‘Allah and mechanics permitting.’ Makana glanced idly at the card as they crossed to the west bank of the river. Above a telephone number ran the words, Sindebad Car & Limoseen Servise – 24hrs anytime. Makana leaned over the front seat to take a better look at the big man’s profile.
‘Is that you, Sindbad?’
‘Ah, of course it’s me, who else would it be?’ Irritated, the driver glanced back and then stopped. A frown puckered up the fleshy features as his eyes widened. For a moment their journey risked coming to an abrupt and unpleasant end as the car drifted across several lanes and back again, like a duck sailing over a flooded field. He was oblivious to the hooting and