Ziad lay at the edge of the roof and watched men he knew patrol the block. Emmett Martin, an American convert, emerged from the community centre picking his teeth. Ziad had never liked Emmett, one of four brothers and three sisters fathered by a strict Baptist minister whose zeal turned most of them into degenerates. Emmett had been a petty criminal until he’d converted to Islam in prison and he’d embraced the faith with a wholeheartedness his father would have recognized. He worked for Deni, collecting rent and other monies owed by members of the community. Ziad had seen mourners arrive at the centre with huge platters and containers. He’d been to enough wakes to know there would be a feast inside, and Emmett certainly looked like someone who’d eaten his fill.
The convert joined Adel, Ehsan and Sid on the corner of 42nd Avenue and 140th Street.
Emmett said something to Ehsan, who gave a subdued nod and headed inside. Emmett took Ehsan’s place manning the checkpoint and the group scanned the street.
There was a similar squad of men on all four corners of the block and another team of four men guarded the entrance of the community centre. Ehsan was passing them now. Fearing war, Deni Salamov had summoned everyone he had left, and if the East Hill Mob had attacked, they could have finished off the Salamovs. But they weren’t coming, so Awut would have to do the grisly work instead.
‘Cross the road, man,’ Sid yelled.
Ziad saw what looked like a homeless person approach the other side of the intersection.
The figure was cloaked in a filthy, tattered blanket that threw his face into shadow. He was pushing a cart full of cans and other garbage and had rags draped over the rim.
‘Cross the road,’ Sid yelled. ‘This side’s closed.’
‘Fucking degenerates,’ Adel remarked.
The figure ignored Sid’s instruction and pushed the cart off the kerb. The cans rattled loudly as they headed directly for Emmett and the others.
‘Shall I just shoot him?’ Adel asked. ‘Put the dirty bastard out of his misery.’
Ziad saw Awut’s eyes blaze beneath the blanket and the Thai assassin reached out and touched Emmett’s hand.
‘What the . . .’ Emmett asked, and Ziad saw him recoil and examine his hand. ‘Eww. What the fuck is that?’
Adel and Sid ran forward and pulled Awut away from his cart.
‘Get the fuck out of here!’ Adel said, but rather than back away, Awut stepped forward and brushed Adel and Sid on the cheeks.
Ziad felt the thrill of excitement and anticipation and then, almost as quickly, shame. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. But he was.
‘You fucking . . .’ Adel said, throwing a punch, but Awut sidestepped it.
‘You guys OK?’ Sajid yelled from the corner of 40th Avenue. He was one of another trio guarding the other side of the block.
‘This fucking guy!’ Adel shouted over.
Sajid, Hani and Jamal left their post and hurried over. Adel tried to kick Awut, but he stepped forward and grabbed his cart. He rolled it towards the group approaching from the other corner. Ziad’s hand curled around the pistol Awut had given him. He was under strict instructions to stay hidden unless absolutely necessary.
‘Get the fuck out of here!’ Adel shouted after him, wiping his cheek.
Awut didn’t respond. He kept walking, and Saijid, Hani and Jamal stepped aside to allow him to pass. He surprised them all by touching their hands and faces. They recoiled in disgust, much as the others had, and shouted curses at Awut.
Rather than continue up the street, Awut turned his cart right and headed along the path that led to the entrance of the community centre. The four men guarding the door watched him approach with a growing sense of bemusement. They were making the same mistake Emmett and the others had made; they were underestimating the man. Ziad watched Emmett try to yell a warning, but he couldn’t get any words out, and when Ziad looked at Adel and Sid, he saw panic in their eyes. Like Emmett, they were having problems breathing. Emmett clutched his throat and fell to his knees, and Ziad watched the six men on the sidewalk struggle with the inevitable as they clawed at their throats, weeping with the realization they’d already taken their final breaths.
He saw fear in their eyes, and wondered exactly what was going through their minds. Would they be bargaining with the Almighty? Would they be lamenting their mistakes? Or mourning all the days that would never come?
Ziad’s eyes shifted away from the dead and dying and settled on Awut, the Angel of Death, who was a few paces away from the men by the main entrance. He sensed the men’s confusion as they looked beyond the shambling figure at their six comrades, who were well and truly done with life. Ziad produced the phone Awut had given him, and made a call.
‘We’re ready,’ he said, before hanging up.