Page 102 of Agency
They all laughed.
“Says he lost them to the Russians when he was just a boy. That they were looking for a thief, and so they started cutting off parts of him and the other villagers until they’d rat. He lost two fingers before the elder told the Russians what they were after. Which, okay, to be fair that could have been possible. His hand was healed, so it’s not like he lost them last week.”
“So, it wasn’t him?” Morgan asked.
“Oh, God no. It was absolutely him.”
“But, you just said they were healed—”
“Then, we checked theotherhand.” Keeping my index and middle finger tucked down, I turned and raised mylefthand so they could only see three digits. “His fingers were so infected, we had to put him in the infirmary to make sure he could keep the rest of the hand.”
The table burst out laughing.
“Man, Bashir sounds like Rahim, over in Ramadi,” Jericho said between bites of juicy, medium-rare steak as the laughter died down. “Remember that guy, Morgan?”
“Oh yeah, I remember Rahim. Talk about a fucking snake.”
“Who was Rahim?” I asked.
“Oh, this guy who used to sell us information every now and then. Half the time I’m pretty sure he was trying to buy up someone’s property, so he figured he could sell them out to us for owning a few rifles, then get the house from the family after the guy he was informing on was gone. Guy ended up a fucking slumlord by the time we shipped out.”
“Thing was, half the time his information was good,” Andrew said, just before stuffing a slice of steak in his mouth.
“One third,” Jericho said between drinks of beer. “At best.”
“Whatever. The colonel liked him.”
“The colonel liked us kicking down doors,” Morgan replied before taking a sip of his own wheat beverage. “Didn’t matter much what was on the other side of those doors–good for optics when it came to the brass.”
“Anyway,” Andrew said between sips of wine, “I liked Rahim.” He and I were already into our second bottle.
“Only because he always complimented you whenever we saw him,” Jericho said. When he spoke again, he adopted a poorly done Iraqi accent: “‘Oh, Corporal, looking well today, and even smell so nice.’ ‘Oh, Corporal, enjoy some mint tea?’”
Andrew grinned broadly, shook his head. “Nah, man, he was just nice. Can’t help it if I liked him.”
“Rahim was a cutthroat,” Morgan replied with a laugh. “Absolutely a cutthroat.”
“So what?” Andrew shrugged as his eyes drifted to mine. “Straight-and-narrow people are no fun, am I right?”
Smiling a little, I returned my attention to my plate and picked out a forkful of these delicious Brussels sprouts. By the time the delectable Parmesan and olive oil coated mini-cabbage shreds had reached my mouth, Morgan was already moving onto another story.
“More wine?” Andrew asked two sentences into Morgan’s tale, suggestively offering the bottle across the table.
“Please,” I said, smiling a little as I raised my glass for him to fill. “And thank you.”
???
The only bad part of a massive feast?
Washing dishes. Apparently, Jericho’s grandfather hadn’t ever saw fit to install the modern convenience of a dishwasher. So, cleanup was by hand.
And, trust me, we had quite the task ahead of us.
But, Morgan and Andrew were game to wash, and I was fine to dry, even if we were all more than feeling the effects of the beer and wine. Jericho had, for the record, tried to help, but Morgan and I had pushed him back out of the kitchen and told him to go chill out for a while.
“But I want to!”
“But you’re as clumsy as that guy, Bashir!” Andrew called back from behind Morgan and me. “You’ll have half the dishes broken on the goddamn floor, and maybe exploding, before we’re done!”
