Chapter 10
Walid sat across from Jacob Michaels, a big shot in the city and one of five others that claim to own the city itself. In Walid’s admittedly short time stateside he had come to realize that he was doing business on someone else’s territory. In his home country, such a transgression would have been met with the death of the intruder, their family, and anyone associated with them.
Here the idea was to set an example, but where Walid came from, it was closer to the idea that to clean the wound, as it were, all of the infection must be cut out, or else it’ll return in strength. Which brought him to the other thing they do differently here: warnings. So much blubbering and bolstering. It had been one of Mr. Michaels’ associates that had sent the assassins to Walid’s hotel room before, but it would seem that had been a rash act, and the offended properly “dealt” with. It was not lost on Walid how the term “dealt” was spoken with quotation marks.
No doubt their conglomerate was now one party member fewer than it had been. Despite that, however, Jacob Michaels, a fat, balding man with a shiny pate and a ring of silver hair around his skull now sat across from him going on and on about proper channels, fines, donations, and the like. Walid sipped his wine and listened, picking out the bits and pieces he needed to hear in order to understand what was actually being said.
The Italian restaurant was brightly lit, furbished with a lot of red fabrics, gold ornaments, and art on the wall had a distinct grape motif. The entire place, though in the middle of what would be considered rush hour, was completely empty. Walid suspected the man sitting across from him had paid the owner to keep it that way for the duration of their meeting. No noise would be the excuse. No witnesses would be the truth. Walid’s men were told to wait outside, as were Mr. Michaels.
During the course of the meal, however, three of Michaels’ men wandered in as causal as anything. They sat at tables, ate some pasta and bread, and seemed to have no interest whatsoever in what was going on. This, of course, was all a terrible ruse. These men either assumed Walid to be a complete idiot, or they were terrible tacticians. The truth, Walid suspected, was somewhere in the middle.
As Jacob Michaels paused in his current rant about the troubles with the American economy and how times were tough on everyone, Walid took it upon himself to make his position known. All of this was meant to intimidate him, to make him feel as though he existed on this planet under their permission. Permission which, at the snap of a finger, could be revoked. It was meant to fill him with fear.
“My father felt that for his children to take on his dynasty,” Walid said as he lifted his wine glass and took a sip, “it would be prudent to teach them in the ways of economy, customs, and war.”
“A wise man,” Michaels said, interlocking his fingers atop his impressive gut.
“Indeed. In this pursuit, we were taught from some of the finest tutors around the world. You may not know this, but I am fluent, spoken and written, in Russian, Mandarin as well as Cantonese, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, and of course English.”
“Is your accent this bad in all those languages, too?” one of the thugs asked from his table. The other two henchmen chuckled, but went back to their meal.
Walid made no outward show that he had heard them, though mentally noted which had spoken, and went on. “In all of those languages, in all of my schooling, I had never realized that you Americans had so many ways to say the word bribe.”
This ruffled feathers. The henchmen shot their heads up and looked to their boss. The fat man’s lips curled and he hunched his shoulders as if trying to adjust his jacket without grabbing the lapel.
“Look here Mr., uh…”
“Sheikh,” Walid said and stood. The men all around him stood as well, drawing their guns but keeping them pointed down. “I am a sheikh. I am your sheikh. You’ll receive no such donations from me. No fines. No permits. I know the law of your country. My lawyer assists me in this. You and your partners stick to the business you know best, allow me to do mine without interference, and I promise you all will go smoothly for everyone.”
Michaels looked amused. He had the smirk of a man who sat in a seat with three guns pointed at his enemy. It would be the look he died wearing. “This lawyer, a Miss Lacey. Nice lady. Saw her on TV once. She, uh, she’s got a real fire in her gut, eh? How’d you like it if we set an actual fire to that pretty little gut of hers?”
“I was willing to let you live despite your insults,” Walid said. “But you threatened a woman with which I’ve become particularly fond. This I cannot forgive.”
Michaels’ smirk grew wider. “You, uh, you talk as though you’ve got a dog in this fight. The way I seein’ it, you got nothin’, and I got uh, well, one, two, three guns.”
“Two,” Walid said.
“Huh?”
“You have two guns.”
Michaels looked over, and saw one of his men missing.
“Now it’s one.”
Another man gone.
Michaels panted as he shot up from his seat, backing away from Walid, his head swiveling all around him. Walid stepped onto the table, crushing a wine glass under the soul of his leather loafer.
“Your men outside have also been removed.” The third henchman disappeared, all without a shot being fired. “Your men inside are now gone.”
Michaels continued to back away, trying to push chairs in Walid’s way as he dropped from the table and continued to approach him. “How are you doing this? How is this possible?”
Walid cracked his knuckles menacingly. “As I said, I am your sheikh. All is within my control.”
Michaels shook his head and held a hand out in front of him. It was clear this was a man that always had others do his dirty work for him. Such clean hands were useless for defense.
“You’ll only piss him off. He doesn’t care if I die, he only cares that business is conducted according to his wishes, eh? He’ll kill everyone you care about before taking you out.”
“Piss off whom?” Walid asked.
“The Sheikh.”
Walid narrowed his eyes, intrigued. This would need further investigation. He was interested, but not enough to let Michaels live unscathed.