Chapter 31
KHEZIR HAD BEEN trying on a jacket, and he said to the salesman, “Brian, wait just a moment, won’t you? I’ll only be a minute.”
Brian said, “Absolutely. I have some shoes I want to show you, Mr. Mazul. You will just die.”
Gozan held the door open for Susan and Serena, then he and Khezir followed the ladies out to their rented BMW that was parked across the street. Khezir, still wearing the three-thousand-dollar lavender-silk jacket, went to the rear of the car, and when the trunk was opened, he put the bags inside.
Gozan opened the driver’s-side door for Susan and said, “You can trust me on the choice of restaurants, Susan. I have researched the best of the best and I have some good ideas already.”
Khezir said to Serena, “I am eager to be celebrating your birthday with you, young lady.”
The girl tittered nervously, likely thinking what a shame it was that Khezir was gay. He stood on the street with Gozan and waved good-bye to the females as they drove up Rodeo toward Wilshire. Then the two men proceeded to the Bentley at the curb.
Gozan ripped up the parking ticket and said in Sumarin, “This place is starting to stink.”
Khezzy grinned and waved toward the black glass of the storefront. He was turning toward the Bentley when he felt a touch on his arm. He jerked around and saw the young salesman called Brian standing on the sidewalk, his mouth quivering and his eyes frightened.
“Mr. Mazul. Would you like me to ring up that jacket for you? Or will you want to see some other things I’ve put aside for you?”
“I want you to kiss your ass,” said Khezir. “No joking, I really want to see you do that.”
“You can’t do this, Mr. Mazul. Please don’t do this.”
Brian reached out again for the sleeve of the shimmering jacket, and Khezir knocked Brian’s arm away. Brian had just enough time to look surprised as Khezir let fly with a blow to Brian’s gut, followed quickly with a kick to the thigh.
Brian expelled air, then sucked it in and screamed before he took a chop to the back of his neck and dropped to the ground, squirming in agony.
“You have the keys, Gozan?” Khezir asked.
Gozan held them up and waggled them.
The two men were inside the Bentley when three more boys ran out of the store; two fell to the ground to attend to Brian, while the third raised his phone and shouted, “I have your license plate. I’m on the phone with the police. Give me that jacket, and maybe we won’t press charges.”
Khezir got out of the car and went toward the salesman, who backed up, screaming into the phone, “I need the police. Mariah Koo, Rodeo—”
Khezir grabbed the phone from the young man’s hand, threw it at the store window. Then, as onlookers screamed, he dropped his fist down on the back of the boy’s head.
The salesman’s knees buckled and he fell.
Police sirens could be heard coming up Wilshire, but the Sumaris had the advantage of time.
Khezir said, “I left my jacket in the store.”
“Leave it. This one is better.”
Khezir nodded, then said, “Which do you like more? The mother or the daughter? I want the daughter. She is closer to my age. Maybe she can keep up with me.”
“Anything you want, Khezzy. Anything at all.”