Crimson Hunger

Chapter 27

As soon as he walked into Jamal's apartment in a seven-story building, Ian snatched his burka off and turned to look at Jamal with high-strung eyes. A thick vein bulged from underneath his hair and made its way down to his right eyebrow, where it branched into two before meeting it.

"We have engaged you to get us through Idlib today," he said from between clenched jaws.

"Relax," Jamal said, his voice unwavering, "we shouldn't be going any further at this hour. After midnight is best, trust me. Let us rest for a few hours." He paused then added with a smirk, "Not much fun is waiting for you in Aleppo anyways—enjoy life as long as you're alive."

"Do keep your advice to yourself," Ian exclaimed in a combination of disbelief and irritation, a frown adding tension to his forehead, "I do not wish to rest and I will not wait until past midnight!"

Jamal looked at Ada, who took her burka off as well, desperate to breathe freely. "Is he always like this?" He asked.

She did not respond. In fact, she was not listening in the first place. She inspected the place. The furnishing was modern and dainty as if the house did not belong to the area. There was an American kitchen with a black and off-white bar counter and black leather stools and the living room next to it featured a Sony Bravia LCD screen, black and off-white furniture and abstract wall art of the same colors.

"You look like a man who could use a drink," he said to a heavily breathing Ian then reached to a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.

Ian's choleric expression softened and a surprised one replaced it. "A drink?" His brows rose to pucker his forehead as he watched Jamal pour the clear spirit into a glass.

"Does it look like anything else?"

"I mean... do these folks here allow it?"

Jamal laughed and handed Ian a glass of vodka then poured himself another. "They supply it," he said.

"Do you drink, my lady?" He asked Ada.

"Nope, thank you," she replied.

A woman's unfriendly voice whispered repeatedly in Ian's ear as he stared at his glass, "Don't drink it; it's poison."

He tried to shake it off, but it only got worse and a man's voice spoke over the woman's, saying, "Loser. Are you seriously gonna drink that? Stupid! You're wasting everyone's time."

He put the glass on the counter in front of him and pulled his hand vigorously as if from a cobra ready to attack.

"You don't like vodka?" Jamal asked, trying not to look so perplexed by Ian's reaction. He drank down his liquor. "I got some other good stuff."

"No, thanks," Ian replied, still staring suspiciously at the glass he left on the counter as if anticipating the emergence of a genie from inside.

"Even better," Ada said under her breath. She made herself comfortable on a sofa. Her buttocks, which were sore, thanks to the stiff surface on which she had sat, luxuriated on the soft cushion. To her left, the wall was covered with thick velvet drapes. She looked around to find a window but there was none, so she assumed it hid behind these drapes.

Ian sat to her left, pulled his phone out and switched it on. "Got Wi-Fi?" He asked Jamal, who was in the kitchen preparing sandwiches.

"I think the right question would be: What's the password, please?" Ada said.

"As the lady said," Jamal joined them and placed on the tea table a plate of feta cheese and lettuce sandwiches, "it's J-A-M-A-L-O-D-A-B-O-S-S, all caps."