The Exchange: After The Firm

Hassan said nothing as they strolled along. She followed him through an ancient stone entrance and into the medina, an incredible maze of narrow cobblestone streets packed with pedestrians and donkey carts. There were a few scooters but no automobiles. They drifted with the waves of human traffic, passing endless rows of stalls selling everything imaginable. Hassan weaved deeper into the maze, in no particular hurry it seemed. Abby stole a few looks behind her in a futile effort to see a landmark she might remember later, but it was impossible.

The medina had been centuries in the making and its markets, called souks, sprawled helter-skelter in every conceivable direction. They walked past souks for spices, eggs, textiles, herbs, leathers, carpets, pottery, jewelry, metals, fish, fowl, and animals, some dead and ready to eat, others alive and looking for a new home. In a large, dirty cage a pack of howler monkeys screeched but no one seemed to hear them. Everyone spoke loudly, some practically yelling, in a dozen languages as they haggled over prices, quantity, and quality. Abby heard a few words in English, a few more in Italian, but most of it was incomprehensible. Some of the merchants barked at the customers, who were quick to bark right back. In a crush of people, Hassan yelled over his shoulder, “Watch your bag. The pickpockets are aggressive around here.”

In an open plaza they walked with caution near a row of snake handlers playing their flutes as their cobras danced from colorful urns. They slowed to admire a troop of acrobats and transvestite dancers. Young boys were boxing with heavy leather gloves. Street magicians were trying to draw enough people for the next show. Musicians strummed away on lutes and santirs. In one souk a dentist appeared to be pulling teeth. In another a photographer was coaxing tourists to pose with his beautiful young model. Beggars were everywhere and seemed to be doing a brisk business.

When they were hopelessly lost in the depths of the medina, Abby asked, above the din, “Where, exactly, are we going?”

Hassan nodded ahead but said nothing. Surrounded by swarms of people, she did not feel completely vulnerable, but seconds later she felt lost and terrified. They turned in to another section, another narrow street with squat shabby buildings lining the cobblestones, and a souk for spice on one side and carpets on the other. From the open windows upstairs, colorful rugs hung by the dozens and shaded the stalls below. Hassan suddenly took her by the elbow, nodded, and said, “Over here.” They stepped into a dark, tight passageway between two buildings, then through a door that was covered with a faded rug. Hassan shoved it open. They entered a room with walls and the floor made of rugs, then walked into another room, seemingly identical. A woman was placing a tea service on a small ivory table with two chairs. Hassan nodded at her and she disappeared.

He smiled, waved at the table, and said, “Will you join me for some tea, Mrs. McDeere?”

As if she could say no. Tea would not have been her beverage of choice at that moment. She sat in a chair and watched him slowly fill two cups with black tea. It even smelled strong.

He took a sip, smiled, and put his cup down. To his left he said, loudly, “Ali!” Two hanging rugs separated slightly and a young man stuck his head through the gap. Hassan nodded slightly and said, “Now.”

The rugs slid farther apart to reveal a figure seated in a chair less than twenty feet away. It was a woman draped in black with a small hood covering her face. Her long light brown hair fell to her shoulders beneath the hood. Behind her was a tough guy also in black with a mask hiding his face and a pistol on his hip.

Hassan nodded and the man lifted the hood. Giovanna exhaled at the light, dim as it was, and blinked several times. Abby knew it was no time to be timid so she blurted, “Giovanna, it’s me, Abby McDeere. Are you okay?”

Giovanna’s mouth dropped open as she tried to focus. “Yes, Abby, I am okay.” Her voice was weak and scratchy.

Abby said, “Andiamo a casa, Giovanna. Luca sta aspettando.” Let’s go home, Giovanna, Luca is waiting.

She replied, “Si, okay, va bene, fai quello che vogliono.” Yes, just do what they want.

Hassan nodded and the carpets were quickly pulled back together. He looked at Abby and said, “Now, are you satisfied.”

“I guess.” At least she was alive.

“She looks nice, yes?”

Abby looked away, unwilling to dignify his question with a response. Keep her in a cage for forty days and I’m supposed to be impressed with how good she looks?

“The next move is yours, Mrs. McDeere. Please inform your husband.”

“And when I do, and when you receive the money, what happens then?”

He smiled, snapped his fingers, and said, “We disappear, just like that. We leave from here and no one follows. You leave from here and no one follows.”

“And I’m supposed to find my way out of here?”