Watched: Chapters 18–32

When I stepped from the shower, doused in cologne, my hair gelled into spikes, Abba glared at me. I was an affront to his orderly but pained life.

I traipsed behind, thinking about how I could be on the handball court instead of here.

Beneath the patter, he seems anxious. The plans that used to flow from him come in spurts.

He lapses into silence, takes a few stabs at his plate.

I can see he’s taken aback, even a little scared.

I want to throttle him.

My eyes rove the small room: a pizza box next to the computer, a few crusts furry with mold.

“She was a total fake. Yelled at me in class. In front of everyone! Then she failed me. Over one stupid paper. Said I plagiarized, which is bull. I didn’t do that. I filed a complaint. How unprofessional she was. The whole thing was a setup.”

Now he’s a crabbed little guy with moldy pizza crust in a dark room.

When he flips on the controller, there’s contempt in his arms, his shoulders, as if to say Join me if you want to, little guy.

He casts me a beatific smile. “Someday,” he murmurs, “you’ll see, Naeem. What I can do. There are always people holding you down. But I’ll have my day.”

A train passes; dirty water cascades down the flaking metal girders.

“Maybe,” Taylor concedes. “But you want to take a chance?”

Address: Unknown. Presently residing at XXXX 165th Street, Jamaica, NY

Initial information obtained from neighbors describes erratic behavior and isolation from family.

We turn off the main thoroughfare, where the slow-moving pedestrians are suspended in the sun’s glaze.

Tareq, leaning into the car, grinning. Tareq, looking like a grizzled tiger, as he always does: thick-pawed, shaggy hair, a gold-hued face. “Hey, Naeem.”

“Just kidding, man. Seriously. You’re the conduit. The joint connecting us all. You’re the one who’ll keep Ibrahim’s guard down. Without you, an operation like this could take months and months. Waste of time, waste of resources. You are gold, man.”

When we enter the small apartment, I notice several spiral notebooks left open on the table. Scribbles in tiny, meticulous lettering.

I couldn’t have dreamed up a better ruse.

I hunch down, smoldering, and catch Tareq’s eyes in the rearview mirror, signaling Play along.

When we get in the car again, groggy and full, I start to get a little sick. Like with Taylor, driving lulls.

Tareq gently presses Ibrahim’s take on Islam. At first Ibrahim is evasive.

He slides his sunglasses over his head, massages his eyes. “Don’t get philosophical on me, man.”

“Yes. I think, this makes no sense. Anyone, they offer you money like that, it’s no good. But then he say, this man. He knows you?” Her gaze turns to me, imploring.

They snapped open the lock on the cupboard and pulled out saris and chiffons and cottons, laughing.

When I first saw the place it looked like a fairy-tale castle. Turrets, funny-shaped windows, an arched front door.

I’m ravenous: I wolf everything down, watching the gulls caw and wheel across the sky.

“Yes, I suppose that’s so.” She gives a small, impish smile.

Taylor is still sitting, gazing at the playground. He looks contemplative.