33

IN THE CAR MISLAN wonders who paid their bill. The receptionist said it was a man behind them. He tries to recall the faces of those around him at reception. There was a group of Chinese men and women in the waiting area, a Malay couple behind his group, and that was all. When Audi and Nazim approached, he didn’t notice a Malay man tailing them.

“You’re worried about the bill, aren’t you,” Dr. Safia says.

He nods.

“It could be an honest mistake, you know?”

“How so?”

“The man could’ve paid for a bill thinking it was his, but the receptionist confused it with ours. The man could still be in there and will only find out the mistake when he and his friends leave.”

“Could be, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Why?”

“You only have to settle the bill upon leaving after the last order. So, why did he pay up front? It’s not logical.”

“I’ve a feeling there’s more than what you’re telling me. Something’s happened. You want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, you know.”

He smiles at her.

“No, I’m not used to someone paying for me, that’s all. I suppose, like you say, there might be a reasonable explanation. Let’s drop it.”

Dr. Safia places her hand on his thigh and squeezes it tenderly. When they reach her house, she goes into the shower and he switches on the news. It is all about Eid, open houses of political big shots, road fatalities, and children injured by firecrackers. He lights a cigarette and stares at the ceiling, pondering the bill. The newscaster’s mention of Zaleha’s name makes him look at the screen.

This family is not celebrating Hari Raya, says a woman reporter standing in front of the victim’s house and goes on to talk about lovers’ triangles, the murder-suicide on the DUKE. She talks about the victim’s ailing mother and the loss of her daughter, the sole breadwinner in the family. It is difficult for Mrs. Khatijah to accept her daughter was murdered by her business partner, and she pleads for the police to investigate the case thoroughly and reveal the truth. The newscaster moves on to the death of Mahyudin Maidin a.k.a. Mamak Din in an early morning high-speed car chase through the city. The police have denied earlier reports that the incident was related to the DUKE murder-suicide.

Mislan silently thanks Audi for keeping his case alive.

Dr. Safia comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her body and another one on her head like a turban.

“Are you staying?”

He nods.

She takes out a pair of shorts from the drawer and gives them to him. “There’s a T-shirt on the hanger.”

He unclips his Beretta magazine, checks its chamber, and places the gun and the magazine on the bedside table. He takes the shorts and goes to the bathroom.

“You want coffee?” she asks.

“Please.”

He stays under the shower longer than normal, enjoying it. The weather has been hot and very humid, and the cold shower is refreshing. He hears Dr. Safia saying something from the living room and realizes he has been in the shower too long. He dries off, puts on the shorts and the T-shirt, and joins her on the sofa.

She gives him a peck on the cheek, leans against the armrest, and stretches her legs onto his lap. They have been seeing one another for nearly a year. He dreads the day she asks him the where-are-we-heading question. Maybe she is waiting for him to raise it, or maybe she only wants his company. As a career woman, a professional supporting herself, why would she want to invite the complications of matrimony into her life?

The night breeze from the balcony is warm, and soon he starts feeling sticky and uncomfortable again.

“Let’s move into the bedroom and switch on the air-conditioning.”

“Why?”

“It’s humid out here, and I’m feeling sticky again.”

“Excuses,” she teases him.

“What?”

“If you’re feeling horny, say so. You don’t have to use the humidity as an excuse,” she chuckles, digging her heels into his groin. “Naughty.”

He blushes, holds her legs, and massages them.

“Now, you’re making me horny,” she says moaning softly.

She removes her legs, picks up her coffee mug, and goes into the bedroom.

Mislan picks up his coffee mug and follows her. With the television and air-conditioning on, she leans back on propped pillows. He lights two cigarettes, gives her one, and slides in next to her.

“How’s your case?”

“Let’s not talk about work today. Let’s just watch TV and enjoy a quiet night,” Mislan suggests, not wanting to discuss his case.

“Oh, my God, you’re human,” she jokes and snuggles up, resting her head on his chest. She reaches over the bedside table, squashes the cigarette, turns off the light, and pulls up the blanket. Astro is playing a rerun, maybe for the hundredth time, of CSI: NY. She mutes the volume, turns toward him, and says, “Are you OK?”

He nods. He kisses her lightly, stroking her hair. Her soft perfume, her warm body soothe away his stress. She senses it and kisses his neck, running her soft fingers along his chest down to his stomach.

He holds her up, they kiss passionately and make love. Breathless, they fall asleep in each other’s arms.