When the Moon Is Low(102)

The signal. A surge of adrenaline raced through Saleem’s body. There was Burim, sauntering down the street toward Mimi. Saleem waited, then emerged from behind the building’s corner. He jogged, keeping his footsteps light, and crossed the street, half a block behind Burim.

You are not a coward.

Saleem said the words again and again, egging himself on. It had been his idea and he could not turn back. He would make this happen. He was tired of things happening to him, as if he were an object instead of a man. The moment was here. Just as Mimi had guessed, Burim was coming to check on her.

Saleem was behind him, ducking away from streetlamps and staying close to the building fronts. Burim was talking to Mimi. She was fidgeting, her eyes darting nervously and her shoulders pulled together.

I looked just as weak to him. No more.

Saleem slipped behind an empty newsstand. His fingers tightened around the one-foot length of rusted metal pipe he’d brought with him. He could hear Burim speaking to Mimi. His voice rose. He was getting angrier. Mimi mumbled a reply. Burim snickered.

Saleem took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the stand. He swung and brought the pipe crashing down against Burim’s ribs. Burim reeled and stumbled forward. Before he could spin around Saleem struck another blow and kicked behind Burim’s left knee with just enough force to bring him down. Burim howled in anger.

Mimi had shrunk to the side, her back against the wall and her expression hollow. Burim rolled onto his back and groaned. He looked up to see Saleem hovering over him, the pipe held with both hands, poised and ready. Saleem’s chest heaved with each breath. Mimi approached and stood alongside Saleem.

“You . . . you . . . bitch,” Burim spat.

Saleem saw the rage in Burim’s face as his right hand reached into his jacket pocket. He withdrew a compact, black pistol, but before he could take aim, Saleem swung the pipe at Burim’s hand and sent the gun flying. Burim cursed, holding one hand with the other.

“You are dead . . . you make mistake . . .”

He stumbled onto his hands and knees and looked up at Mimi. He hissed something in Albanian, words that pulled her blank stare into one of rage.

“Watch what I will do to you!” Burim was crouched, nearly up on his feet.

Saleem saw Mimi’s outstretched arms. She said a few words and spat at him, her voice trembling.

Burim lunged in her direction with a growl. Saleem realized what was happening, and the pipe slipped from his fingers, clanging loudly to the ground.

“Mimi!” he shouted.

There was a pop. Burim stopped in his tracks and spun around so that he was looking directly into Saleem’s bewildered eyes.

Saleem jumped back. He looked from Burim to Mimi.

She was shaking. She dropped the gun and covered her mouth with her hands. She looked at Saleem.

The street was empty. The nearest cars were two blocks away. Two or three lights had turned on in the building windows. Those who slept lightly were beginning to stir. Mimi recovered first. She kneeled over Burim and dug into his pockets, grabbed his wallet, and snapped the gold chain off his thick neck. He moaned softly but offered no resistance.

She stole a glance over her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

They took off, weaving around buildings and turning into dark streets to put distance between them and Burim.

They were silent as they fled. Panting. Looking over their shoulders.

“Wait,” Mimi finally said. She put her hands on her knees and leaned forward to catch her breath. “I need to stop.”

She looked ghastly pale, even under the yellow glow of a lantern. Saleem knew he must look the same. Things had gone terribly wrong. Burim was not supposed to have seen his attacker. Mimi was supposed to look surprised and helpless at the attack. But Burim had seen their faces, had realized they had duped him, conspired against him.

“Mimi, we need to hide.”

They went to her apartment. She quickly tossed a stack of folded clothes from the chair into a duffel bag.

She’d had no intention of staying here after tonight, Saleem realized.





CHAPTER 51


Saleem


SALEEM AND MIMI WAITED UNTIL AFTERNOON TO GO TO THE apartment building she had pointed out.

“I wait here for you,” she said and pointed to a bench half a block away. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and blew on them. The sun did little to warm her.

Saleem entered the old building. It was an uninviting warren of decay—cigarette butts scattered through the hallways, broken handrails on the stairs, and a flickering wall lamp. Radios and televisions buzzed behind closed doors, but there was not a person in sight.

He checked the apartment number, took a deep breath, and knocked. He took a nervous step back and waited. There was a click, and the eyehole cover slid open. After a moment, the door opened slightly, and a man stood before Saleem with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He wore an unbuttoned black shirt over jeans, his silver belt buckle a proud emblem on his waist. Somewhere in his late thirties, he looked the teenage Saleem over and concluded that he was unimpressed.

Saleem swallowed before speaking.

“I look for work, please.”

“Who are you?”

“I want to go to France. I can work.”

The man sucked on the cigarette he held with two fingers, then tossed it into the hallway. He squinted at Saleem as he exhaled.