Dogstar Rising by Parker Bilal Read Free Book Online Page A

orders, to being in charge.
    ‘Maybe you want to take a break from all that?’
    ‘I could do, I suppose.’ Makana stretched his arms above his head.
    ‘I have an errand to run. I thought maybe you could help me. Get some fresh air.’
    ‘Why not?’
    Nobody in the room seemed to pay any notice. On the reception desk, Meera’s attention was focussed firmly on the typewriter in front of her. As they started to descend the stairs, Yousef turned to him.
    ‘You don’t have to play games with me. Faragalla told me you just got out of prison.’
    ‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Makana improvised, wondering what else Faragalla might have dreamed up.
    ‘It always is,’ Yousef said knowingly. ‘I understand you are distantly related to him?’
    ‘A distant cousin, on his mother’s side.’
    ‘I didn’t know he had relatives abroad.’ Yousef paused, then dismissed the matter. ‘Still, you learn something new every day.’ He drew on his cigarette, examining Makana carefully. ‘You can drive, right? I need someone who can take me around.’
    ‘I thought Faragalla wanted me to work here?’
    ‘You’ll find out that Faragalla leaves most decisions to me. Come on.’
    Yousef led the way downstairs and out into a side street where an Opel Rekord, the brown colour of rotting bananas, was parked. The cars were all tightly packed in a row, nose to tail all the way down the street. A couple of street boys, no more than twelve years old, ran up and started rolling the cars back to allow them to get out. Yousef called them over and handed them each a few crumpled notes.
    ‘You were in the army?’
    ‘I did my military service,’ Makana replied, which was true. He omitted the part about going from the army into the police.
    ‘I did fifteen years in the Military Police. It does something to a man, don’t you think?’ Yousef tossed the car keys across to Makana. ‘You drive.’
    ‘Where are we going?’
    ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’
    The traffic was heavy. When a car cut in front of them Yousef leaned out of the window to hurl insults at the driver before slumping into his seat, overcome by a dark, morose mood.
    ‘I hate this city. People here are as dumb as shit.’
    ‘It’s not all that different from anywhere else.’
    Yousef snorted and examined Makana with a wary eye. ‘What did you do to get yourself locked up?’
    ‘I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same.’
    ‘Sure, I understand.’ Yousef smirked. ‘I don’t like to judge people.’ He directed Makana down Ghamhouria Street to park in front of a small hotel.
    ‘I’ll get into trouble if I stay here.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Yousef grinned, revealing a gold eye tooth, ‘everyone round here knows me.’
    Not only did they know Yousef, they knew his car. Makana sat behind the wheel and watched uniformed policemen walk by as if the Opel were invisible. After that they toured more of the city’s hotels, coming to a close at the Sheraton in Dokki. This time, Makana watched Yousef disappear through the door, waited a moment, and followed him inside.
    The lobby was a vast marble hall broken by partitions and thick pillars. There were lounge areas, a restaurant and café. Sinking into a chair behind a screen, Makana picked up a discarded newspaper from the table. For a moment he thought he had lost Yousef completely, and then he reappeared on the other side of the reception area where he was shaking hands with a man in a dull brown suit bearing a name tag in case he forgot who he was.
    The paper contained a story by Sami Barakat on the murders in Imbaba. Another body had been found. Makana had known Sami for a number of years now, ever since he had been investigating the disappearance of footballer Adil Romario. Since then they had become friends. Sami was one of a small number of journalists who was openly critical of the government.
    Sami’s article gave the impression there was more to the case of the murdered boys than was obvious.