I have the driver pull over a few blocks shy of the meeting place. As we exit the car, I flash the equivalent of one hundred U.S. dollars to him as a promised bonus if he sits tight and waits. You never know when the next cab will come along in this place, so I learned a long time ago that it’s worth the money spent to ensure a return trip.
Beaux falls in step behind me, her head scarf draped over the lower part of her mouth, and her camera still resting against her cheek as she captures images of a destroyed city. We begin to walk, and I make sure that she stays slightly behind me and on the inside of the path.
Old habits die hard. Chivalry is definitely not dead in my book.
The closer we get to the old market? the more I scan my surroundings and notice little things that have changed in my absence. My eyes work the area, my mind and body completely alert and cautious of all movement around us, but the hustle and bustle of people heading home after work makes it that much more difficult.
We pass the market and circle back around it so I can check out the surrounding area, make sure everything looks okay. I grab Beaux’s hand at one point, act like we are a couple when we walk by a crowded restaurant, but then release it after we pass it. I don’t need the shit that happens to my body when we touch clouding my thoughts right now.
When my instinct tells me that everybody is going on with their everyday lives except to eye the out-of-place couple we make, we dart into a small alleyway that leads us to the rear of the market. With each step, my pulse beats faster and a sheen of sweat that has nothing to do with the heat causes my shirt to stick to my shoulders. A rush of nerves starts to rise up in my gut as I push past the memories I can’t deal with right now. And just as the narrow lane opens up to a larger opening, I turn to face Beaux.
“Cover your face up,” I instruct since her head scarf has fallen some and the last thing we need is to draw more attention to two Westerners in this part of town. She complies as my eyes dart over her shoulder to make sure that everything is still okay. Things change here at the drop of a hat, so I know to never let my guard down.
“Remember what I said?” I have to ask her again, have to make sure that she’s not going to pose any risk right now because I’ve got enough shit to worry about and I can’t have her be an added concern. She nods, eyes intense, and what I can see of her shrouded expression is serious.
“How do you know him? Have you met before? Is his information reliable? Can you —”
“You sure are full of questions for someone who is supposed to be keeping her mouth shut.”
“I just like to know what I’m walking into, that’s all.”
I sigh, knowing I’d be demanding answers to the same damn questions. So I can’t fault her for asking them. Just this once, I decide to break my own rules and tell her a bit of his background. “His name is Omid and —”
A familiar and unique-sounding whistle from across the common area interrupts what I’m saying. I whip my head up to see my source in the shadows across the way. I have sunglasses on, but he knows I see him because he motions for me to come across the space and toward him.
My stomach somersaults.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, rookie,” I mutter under my breath, and notice her double take in my peripheral vision as I take the first step. I’m hyperaware of the sights and sounds surrounding us, including the unsteady pattern of Beaux’s breathing behind me. If I’m unsettled even though I’ve done this hundreds of times, her nervousness must be off the charts.
As we expose ourselves in the common area and close the distance, I’m conscious of everything around us, instinct giving way to education, and the weight of the gun tucked in my waistband offers a false sense of security that I know doesn’t mean shit.