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“What are we going to do?” she asks.
“Get rid of a body,” I say. “And pray to Tajss that we don’t get caught.”
23
NIYAH
Ikeep a tight grip on his hand as he leads the way through the maze of narrow and intersecting tight alleys. I’ve seen what can happen in here and there is no way I want to be alone. I can’t believe I considered trying to navigate this all on my own in the first place. I was having a definite moment of dumb when I even considered it.
When I see his house across yet another busy street and there are no armed guards or an army of Maulavi clerics waiting the sense of relief is very, very real. A little of the tension I’ve been feeling eases. At least we won’t be arrested immediately. Time. We need time.
Bhoja presses us both against the wall though and waits, silent. I don’t speak either because I don’t know what he is looking for or waiting on. I’m following his cues the best I can. I watch too but I don’t see anything. Except I don’t really know what I’m looking for.
He looks over his shoulder and down to me. He nods then motions towards the house with two fingers. He takes my hand through the cloak and we walk across the busy street, weaving around the pedestrians. No one seems to give us a second glance, no matter that my heart is pounding hard enough it seems that everyone of them should hear it and know that something is up.
He fumbles the keys when unlocking the door and my heart leaps into my throat as he catches them before they hit the ground. The back of my neck itches and cold sweat trickles between my breasts. I say a silent prayer for him to hurry up. Get us out of sight before someone sees something is up. I feel like I’m wearing guilt all over my face and am truly thankful that it’s hidden from view.
The key turns in the lock and we both rush through. He slams the door shut behind us and locks it. I’m panting with relief as I throw the cloak off. But then it hits me that we’re here and there is still a body to deal with. Literally back where we started.
Slowly I turn around and the body is there. On the couch, posed as if he is having a casual conversation with someone sitting across from him. I laugh.
It’s not intentional but now that it’s started it isn’t stopping. It begins as a chuckle then quickly becomes a full belly laugh. Tears form in my eyes and still I can’t stop. The absolute absurdity of this situation is too much.
“Are you okay?” Bhoja asks, stepping around so he can look into my face.
“Yeah,’ I say, holding up a hand as I try to get myself under control.
The look of confusion and concern on Bhoja’s face isn’t helping. And past him sits the dead Maulavi. Deep in his imaginary conversation.
How you doing? Me? Oh, you know. Been better. Got myself killed. You know how it goes, threaten people, be a jerk. Bound to happen.
And now I’m laughing even harder. Bhoja purses his lips and shakes his head. He goes into the kitchen and gets out a bottle and two glasses. He pours some of the alcohol into both then returns, offering me one.
Why not. Can’t hurt, right? Even knowing this stuff tastes like ass and burns like rocket fuel. I take a sip and he was correct to give it to me. The burning sears my tongue, my throat, and burns the laughter out too. I wipe my tears on my sleeve, shake my head and take another sip.
“Sorry,” I say, “this is… this is a lot.”
“Yes,” he says, nodding his head then tossing his own drink back in full and pouring himself another. “A lot.”
I pause, biting my lip, unsure if I want to ask the next question or not. If I don’t it will weigh on me so I spit it out.
“Why did you do it?”
His eyes dart from the body to mine and back. He tosses the second drink down and pours a third without speaking. This one he sips, holds the glass up and turns it around, then takes another sip.
“Good question,” he says.
“Yeah?”
He snorts, then growls, and takes another drink.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Truthfully?”
“I’d prefer it.”
