A Murder of Crows by Terrence McCauley Read Free Book Online

I’ve told you this will go on for years and, believe me, it will. I don’t threaten people. I don’t have to. I break them and throw them away.”
    Hicks motioned back to the picture of the children and their mother on his tablet. “Besides, you’re the guys who kill women and children. Remember all the people you infected in Queens two years ago? Your followers of Allah? Well, the good news is they all grew too sick to infect anyone before I had them brought into isolation. The only people you killed were your own. No one else got hurt,” he lied. “All those men, women, and children who believed in your cause died horrible deaths for nothing. All of your planning and expense wasted on a few dozen peasants no one gave a shit about anyway.”
    “Americans love their statistics.” Bajjah used the towel to wipe the drool and tears from the left side of his face and propped it up again. “My movement is more than one man. More than a million men. Next time, there will be many more.”
    “More innocents,” Hicks motioned to the image on the tablet, “like your wife and daughter and son. Your wife named him Alan, by the way.”
    Despite the paralysis in the left side of his face, the Moroccan managed to sneer. “Before he was born, his mother and I agreed his name would be Ali, not Alan. How typical of an American to Anglicize names.”
    “Guess she must’ve changed her mind after you left her high and dry. She called him Alan when she had him baptized in the Catholic Church.” The fact gave Hicks the desired response and he kept going. “That’s right, Ace. Your son is going to be raised Catholic by your wife. Or should I say ex-wife, since she had you declared legally dead years ago. I forgot to mention it earlier. She’s moved on. Got herself a new husband, too.”
    Hicks tapped the screen and a new image appeared: Bajjah’s ex-wife in a white dress standing next to portly man a bit taller than her. Bajjah’s daughter clung to her mother’s leg. The groom held Bajjah’s infant son. Hicks hadn’t needed to alter that image, either.
    The Moroccan’s good eye flashed. HATE!
    Hicks kept going. “The new husband’s a bit of a simpleton, but a nice guy. Systems Engineer from Dublin. Guess she’s got a thing for computer geeks. Hope she has better luck with this one than she did with you. Your kids love him, by the way.”
    Bajjah looked away. “If she took another, it is only because Allah willed it so. I never expected her to remain celibate the rest of her life. I knew what I was giving up when I left to take up a cause far greater than myself.”
    “A lost cause which cost you your job, your family and, pretty soon, your life.” Hicks tapped on the screen and cycling through a couple of more pictures of the family at birthday parties and school plays in the years since Bajjah had abandoned.
    Hicks saved the best picture for last. The family’s most recent Christmas card, showing a large, pale man with his arms around Bajjah’s ex-wife and the two little ones hugging either side of him.
    Hicks saw the look on Bajjah’s face and twisted the knife. “What’s it like to know another man has taken your place and is enjoying the fruits of your labor? Another man is raising your children. Your children, my friend, who will never know their father ever existed and all for a lost cause.”
    Bajjah tried to lunge at him from the cot, but his limp leg wasn’t strong enough to hold his weight. Hicks watched him collapse; his head smacked off the hard plastic floor of The Cube.
    Hicks didn’t try to help him up. He simply craned his neck to look over the table and watch Bajjah struggle to get to his feet. The slick surface made it difficult to get traction with two good legs. With one paralyzed leg, it was nearly impossible. Still, Bajjah managed to flop over onto his left side and use his right foot to push himself into something of a seated position against the wall.
    In his years with the University,