The Search for Yaser Abdel Said (part 20)

Printer-friendly versionSend to friendPDF versionPiffy was lucky to be alive. The police found him lying in the gutter. Otis was dead. His skull had been fractured and his spleen ruptured. The attendant at the Esso Petrol Station had called the police. Fortunately, a police cruiser had been in the area. It might have been the famous Lamborghini Murcielago. Anyway, that’s what Piffy would tell the boys at Joe’s Bar and Grille and Gun Club when he got around to it. In the meantime it was off to the hospital. For an octogenarian he made a remarkable recovery. He had a lump on his head, several scratches on his face, a bruised knee and a shoulder that exhibited more mortis than rigor. They insisted he remain in the hospital for observation and though he could walk they wheeled him into a private recovery room. In the morning he would meet Deputy Chief Constable Stumble and his troubles would start all over again. The nurse had scarcely wheeled away the remains of Piffy’s breakfast and he was tugging at a loose tooth when he became aware of someone watching him. It was Stumble. He was sitting quietly in a chair in a corner of the room. “How long have you been here?” asked Piffy. Stumble looked at his watch. “Since five A.M.” he said. “Since five A.M?” said an incredulous Piffy. “Why didn’t you say something?” “I’ve been waiting for the right moment,” said Stumble. And now that he had the right moment, the Deputy Chief Constable got out of the chair, twisted his hat in his hands and glared at Piffy. “What did you say to those kids that made them react so violently?” he asked. Piffy blinked. “What did I say?” he said. “I didn’t say anything! I didn’t have a chance to say anything! I was minding my own business!” “Well, you must have said something,” insisted Stumble. “They were Asian kids—good kids—Pakistanis—their Imam says they would never attack innocent people…Are you sure you didn’t make some kind of an offensive gesture?” “I was walking in the rain!” said Piffy. Good grief! He couldn’t believe this! “The investigating officer says you were wearing a raincoat with a Star of David on the back,” said Stumble. “That could be considered provocative.” “It was raining, for Cripe’s sake!” said Piffy. Stumble sighed heavily. He looked at his watch. “I see it every day,” he grumbled. “You old geezers haven’t learned a thing. Times are changing. The Asians are here to stay.” “They weren’t Asians!” said Piffy. “They were Muslims!” “They were Asians,” insisted Stumble. “Asians.” “Charlie Chan is an old friend of mine,” said Piffy. “I know an Asian when I see one and so does he. Those kids were Muslims.” “That attitude will do you no good in England, Mr. Piffy. “Now—how many of these Asians were there?” Piffy could only guess. Stumble asked a few more questions, appeared satisfied, warned Piffy not to confuse religion with race ever again and left. But there was no rest for the wicked. It was Stumble out and a reporter from the London Times in. The reporter must have been waiting outside the recovery room longer than Stumble. Piffy would never know. “You’re the man that threw the shoe at Riyadh ul-Haq, aren’t you?” he asked. “Nobody is supposed to know that,” said Piffy. “You’re a lot older than I thought you would be,” he said. He produced a camera, took Piffy’s picture and fled. The Tines reporter wasn’t the last visitor. They came in a steady stream all day long. There was the man from the Home Office; the guy from M15; an ‘Asian’ from the Muslim Council of Britain; a large incredibly unctuous fellow who said he represented Tariq Ramadan; a vicar from the Church of England who urged redemption through moral restraint and the adoption of Abrahamic principles; a Sister of Charity; a man from Alcohol Anonymous; an ‘Asian’ who said he could cure Piffy of hemorrhoids if he would convert to Islam; and a guy wielding a buffer who told Ramadan’s man “to move his feet because he had to clean there.” Piffy wished the guy with the buffer could have stayed longer. By the time the last of them had left, Piffy was exhausted. He fell into one of Edgar Allen Poe’s profound slumbers. When he awoke it was dark—startlingly dark! He had an eerie feeling. Something wasn’t quite right. He could sense it. He was not alone in the room. Maybe it was a nurse… “Who’s there?” he asked. It was Abu Afaq’s London agent, Algernon A. Algernon. The four-and-a-half foot imp was standing on a chair alongside the bed looking down at Piffy. “What are you doing here?” demanded Piffy. “I’m getting you out of here,” said Algernon. “Are you mad?” said Piffy. “It’s the middle of the night. Can’t you wait till morning?” “We haven’t got time,” said Algernon. “You’ve got to on the set by two o’clock in the afternoon.” “On the set?” said Piffy. “I’ve got you a shot on the Kharma With Darma Show,” said Algernon. “Kharma With who?” said Piffy. He had never heard of her. “Kharma With Darma,” said Algernon. “She’s like Jerry Springer, only bitchier and more intellectual. You will like her. She reminds me of Joy Behar…Have you ever seen Alan Ladd ride a mustang bareback? She’s like that…only scarier. She’s relentless. You’re not given to blubbering when under pressure, are you? She will go for the jugular.” “Count me out,” said Piffy. Algernon appeared to be aghast. “We can’t back out now!” he said. “I’ve already signed a contract!” “I’m going to tell Abu Afaq on you,” warned Piffy. “You will change your mind when I tell you who the other guests are,” said Algernon. “Unless one of them is Senor Wences,” said Piffy, “I’m not going.” “Senor Wences…the face in the box? Are you trying to frighten me?” said Algernon. “I’m not going,” repeated Piffy. “You will,” said Algernon. “Darma has invited an aide to His Royal Highness Mohammed bin Nawaf, Saudi Ambassador to the United Kingdom, and he has accepted. The aide is the grand nephew of non-other than King Abdullah!” That got Piffy’s attention. He sat up straight in the bed. “And the other is—“ said Algernon. He paused for dramatic effect. “The other is Mohammud al-Hussein!” “Never heard of him,” said Piffy. Algernon was surprised. “Really? He is one of the ‘Asians’ that killed your friend Otis.” Piffy was stunned. How could that be possible? Otis wasn’t even in his grave yet and his killer was being celebrated on a TV show? It was too much for a middle-aged man entombed in the body of a half-dead octogenarian. “Out!” he said. “Out!” “Does that mean no?” said Algernon. “What’s going on in there?” a voice called from the corridor. “Shush!” said Algernon. “Are you having a nightmare, Mr. Piffy?” said the voice from the corridor. “It’s Nurse Gladys!” whispered Piffy. “Nurse Gladys?” said Algernon. “Not Nurse Gladys Emanuel?”” That was when Algernon fell off the chair. When he got up he knocked the bedpan off the bedside cabinet. It hit the floor with a horrendous crash. “Are you all right, Mr. Piffy?” called Nurse Gladys. And that was when things got confusing. Before Piffy had the slightest idea of what Algernon was up to or what he was capable of, Abu Afaq’s London agent has slid underneath the bed sheets beside him. “Get out of here!” screamed Piffy. “Shush!” said Algernon. “She’ll go away—I’ve done this before.” “Intern! Intern!” cried Nurse Gladys. Piffy shut his eyes. All he could do was hope for the best. The lights came on and a burly intern stormed into the room. Nurse Gladys was right behind him. The intern took one look at Piffy’s bed and could see that something was amiss. He stripped the sheets from the bed and there was Algernon A. Algernon curled up alongside Piffy, night-vision goggles strapped to his head and a cat-o’-nine-tails in his right hand. Behind the intern and Nurse Gladys was the Times reporter with his camera. Piffy could already see the headlines. Octogenarian, victim of street assault, caught in sex-capade in hospital recovery room! It would make a great introductory line for his appearance on Kharma With Darma! (To be continued)