'Whatever,' Mersiha said. 'But a woman can't have more than one husband.'
'Very few Muslims in this country take more than one wife.
They adapt to the customs here.'
'So you're saying that the Koran isn't always right?'
Kahn smiled. 'The Koran is the word of God. And God is always right.'
Mersiha pulled a face. 'There's no God.'
Kahn raised an eyebrow. 'Why do you say that?'
'Because it's true. Because if there was a God the world wouldn't be such a terrible place.'
'What do you mean?'
'Wars. Murderers. Serial killers.'
'You can't blame God for that. It's men who are responsible.
And if all men heeded the Koran, there wouldn't be so much evil in the world.'
Mersiha sighed and leaned back in her chair. Arguing with Mr Kahn was as futile as trying to grab mist.
'What about accidents? Natural disasters? Disease? You think God would allow AIDS?'
'Only He knows what His plans are. We can only live in the world as it is.'
'But if He knows the way things are, why doesn't He do something to change it? Why doesn't He make the world a better place?'
Mr Kahn smiled smoothly. 'I cannot speak for God. I can only interpret the Koran. But I can say that often out of great suffering there comes great good.'
Katherine came into the dining room and put a reassuring hand on Mersiha's shoulder. 'Is everything okay?' she asked.
'You seemed to be having a spirited argument.'
Mr Kahn stood and gathered up his books. 'A discussion, Mrs Freeman, nothing more than that. I consider myself lucky to have such an articulate student.' Katherine smiled down at Mersiha, pleased at the compliment. 'I wish that more of the youngsters I teach would take such an interest in the subject. But I'm not sure if your daughter accepts all my arguments.' He put his books into his black leather briefcase and shook Katherine's hand.
'I'll see you out, Mr Kahn.'
As she opened the front door, the teacher put his hand on Mersiha's shoulder. 'I meant what I said, Mersiha. I am glad that you put such thought into your beliefs. To accept blindly is not faith. Faith comes from belief, and I want you to believe in Islam. All I ask is that you keep an open mind.'
'I will, Mr Kahn,' she lied. She watched him walk to his car.
Mersiha's mind was already closed to the subject of religion. She went through the charade of listening to Mr Kahn only because her father insisted. She even enjoyed arguing with him, but for her there was no question of her ever believing in the existence of a supreme being. She had seen too much in her short life, too much killing, too much pain, too much cruelty. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was no God. At least not any more. Mr Kahn was fooling himself.
Sal Sabatino sat back in his chair and studied the bank of video monitors on the wall. The Firehouse was jumping. The nightclub had been doing most of its business on Friday and Saturday nights, and in an attempt to boost trade early in the week he'd organised a wet t-shirt contest. It had paid off, pulling in a younger crowd than usual, but they seemed to have plenty of money and so far there'd been little in the way of trouble.
One of the video cameras downstairs was trained on the small stage where girls were lining up to dance around in a see-through shower cubicle. Sabatino leaned forward to look at one of the girls, a brunette with shoulder-length hair and a great body. She was just the way Sabatino liked them: long legs, tight backside, trim waist and small breasts. And young. That was the most important thing. It had been a long time since Sabatino had had sex with a girl over eighteen years old. The girl on the screen was perfect. She had the innocent look that he craved, as if she was just a little out of her depth. She kept looking around, seeking reassurance that she was doing the right thing, standing on the stage in a t-shirt and bikini bottom, about to show them all what she was made of.* 'See that one, Vincenti? What do you think?'
Vincenti leaned across Sabatino's desk and scrutinised die girl on die screen. He licked his fleshy lips and screwed up his eyes before nodding. 'Sweet.'
'Sweet,' repeated Sabatino. 'Yeah. Sweet. A perfect description.
Almost ripe, huh? Another fruit analogy, huh? You'd appreciate that, huh, Vincenti?'
Vincenti scowled but didn't reply. Sabatino raised his eyebrows and wiggled them suggestively. He loved goading Vincenti. He was his best man, totally dependable with a cruel streak that appealed to Sabatino, but he did have one weak point his homosexuality. Vincenti had the rugged good looks of a sporting-goods model and he was used to turning female heads as he walked through The Firehouse, but his tastes ran to moustached body builders, ideally dressed in leather.
Sabatino reckoned diat much of the man's inherent viciousness sprang from his suppressed sexual nature. Only Sabatino knew of his true sexual orientation, and he teased him about it only in private. Sabatino's view was that so long as Vincenti did his job, he could screw whoever or whatever he liked.
The blonde in the shower cubicle scampered out, soaking wet, and her place was taken by an overweight black girl with breasts the size of melons. The crowd was howling and she jiggled up and down for maximum effect. Sabatino shuddered. She was repulsive. Vincenti went back to sit on a couch by the window.
There was nothing on the video monitors to hold his attention.
The brunette didn't look as if she was more than sixteen years old. They were supposed to be at least eighteen to get in, but the guys on the door had been told to use their discretion.
They knew that nothing pulled in die big spenders more than wall-to-wall pussy. And the brunette looked like she'd have a pussy as tight and hot as any Sabatino had ever experienced.
She was laughing at die big black girl bouncing around under the stream of water, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
It was a child-like gesture and one that aroused Sabatino even more.
Someone knocked on the door to his office. 'Yeah?' he called.
It opened and Jacko, one of his security men, stepped into the room. His tuxedo was straining at his shoulders. Sabatino had never seen the jacket buttoned.
'Sorry 'bout this, Mr Sabatino,' he said.
'No sweat, Jacko. What's up?'
Jacko stepped aside to reveal a young black girl, her hair piled up on top of her head in a beehive. She was wearing a white silk shirt and tight white pants with cheap gold jewellery around her neck and on her fingers. Her chin was up defiantly, but Sabatino could see from her eyes that she was worried. Behind her stood another black security guy with a tuxedo and shoulders that matched Jacko's. Both men were wearing Ray Ban sunglasses.
'This bitch was dealing,' Jacko said, his face impassive.
'Crack?'
'Coke.' Jacko walked over to Sabatino's desk and dropped three small plastic packets next to his Rolodex. There was maybe a gramme in each bag, no doubt diluted by brick dust or talcum powder.
'I wasn't dealing. I was buying,' the girl protested.
Sabatino crooked his finger at the girl. 'Come here,' he said.
She was wearing high-heeled white boots and they clicked along the floor as she walked into the centre of the office. Jacko stood guard by the door but Sabatino waved him away. 'I can handle this,' he said. Vincenti left the room without being asked.
He knew what was going to happen and that his presence wasn't necessary. He closed the door behind him.