Death In A Valley Town, Part 3 A Fighter And A Thief – MuslimMatters

See theStory Indexfor Wael Abdelgawads otherstories.

Previous Chapters of Death in a Valley Town:1. Moving Day.2. The Black Jesus

Zombies were overrunning the world. Yahya was trying to hold his own, but it was hard. Hitting them in the head, like in the movies, didnt work. To kill them you had to hack at the base of their spines with an axe or ice pick. Hack attack. The pick trick. It was brutal, sickening work. To make matters worse, many of them retained their minds and personalities, so they would try to negotiate with you, or plead with you to stop, but if you stopped they would attack and devour you. Yahya did not know if he could exist in this new, merciless world.

But he had no choice. There were people he loved here, and he must protect them. That was what home was, wasnt it? Being with the people you loved. Laughing and crying with them, fighting for them, dying for them. That was the only home that existed in this world, wasnt it? And if they loved you back it was wonderful, but you couldnt count on it, because orphans were unwanted. That was the essence of orphanhood: to be abandoned, to be alone.

No matter, no matter! He swung his axe, sweat flying from his face, zombie blood spraying. His sister Yusra possessed karate skills and had hardened her hand to the point that she could snap a zombies spine with a karate chop. She was cutting through the monsters like a harvester through wheat. His wife Samira was using her strict, motherly voice, commanding the zombies to stop this horsing around. That wasnt working at all. A mans voice came over the P.A., telling the zombies he would sue them for ten million dollars if they didnt cease and desist

* * *

His heart raced. But the smell in the air was not of blood, but of lemon disinfectant and laundered blankets. His twin sister Yusra was saying, Hell be fine, Samira. Hes been through much worse, trust me. He may not look it, but hes as tough as they come.

Was he still dreaming? What was his sister doing here?

His mouth and throat were as dry as moon dust, while his entire body ached as if hed been tenderized with papaya juice and a mallet. He made an effort to open his eyes and immediately squinted, blinded by too-bright overhead lights. Blurred ceiling panels everything white This didnt look like their little apartment in Fort Worth. Where was he? Oh, wait thats right, theyd moved to California. To Alhambra. Alhambra! The memories rushed back in a flash flood. The cops, the beating, the jail. Did that really happen? Or was it a bad dream?

He tried to push up with his hands in order to sit up, and discovered that his left arm was encased in a black plastic splint and was cradled against his chest in a shoulder harness. Pain hit him like a matatu bus. His head hammered, his arm ached all the way to the bones, and the rest of him just generally hurt.

Oh, ruh albi. Lie still. Samira was there, sitting on the edge of the bed. She wore no makeup and, in his view, never needed it, since she was extraordinarily beautiful as is, as Allah made her. But her eyes were puffy, as if shed been crying. Her long black hair was tucked away beneath a gauzy orange hijab. She loved wearing colorful clothing. She cupped his chin and kissed him with her full lips. Ouch, that hurt too! A sudden thought came to him and he blurted out, The kids? He was filled with an irrational fear. Had the kids been hurt? Had they been taken away?

Theyre fine. Samira stroked his cheek. I left them with Munirah. Shes been very kind.

Munirah, he remembered, was a nurse who worked at ACH Alhambra Community Hospital. Samira had met her on her first day at work, and theyd become instant friends.

I had a crazy dream, Yahya said slowly. His throat was so dry. You were there, and Yusra too. He rubbed his face, remembering. You should have seen her. She fought like a machine.

Nice to know, Yusra said. That my talents are well regarded, even in your dreams.

Yahya jerked in surprise and looked around the room for the first time. To his right a large window filled the wall from hip height to the ceiling. It had a wide sill on which one could sit and look outside. Someone had placed a profusion of flower vases there. His sister Yusra perched among them, looking sleek and sangfroid as always.

Yusra was his fraternal twin, and though shorter than him she still stood an imposing 510. She was thin, her features chiseled and uncompromising, her hair straightened but short, Halle Berry style. She wore a navy womens suit patterned with yellow flowers, and a yellow blouse that buttoned up to the neck. Knowing Yusra, that suit cost more than Yahya made in a month. No doubt it was made by Gucci or Armani, or some other designer whose name ended in a vowel. And no doubt it was either stolen, or paid for with the proceeds of something stolen. Though Yahya loved his sister, he was under no illusions as to what she was. She was a fighter and a thief, just as shed been back when they were kids in foster care. Except that back then she fought and stole to protect and feed the two of them. Now, she just did it to do it. She was a lustrous, sinewy tiger with a taste for man-flesh, hunting for the savage joy of it. Thriller killer.

What? Yahya had so many questions crowding his mind, he didnt know where to start. What are you doing here? Where am I?

Be nice, honey. Samira squeezed his hand. Youre at ACH.

Its wonderful to see you too, Yusra said. My little brother is arrested and nearly beaten to death. Of course Im here. And I have news about Baba. I have a source-

Stop! Yahya held up his right hand to silence her. The very last thing he wanted was to hear about her delusional, never-ending obsession with finding their dead father.

Yusras face went as hard as stone. Hed offended her. Whatever, he couldnt worry about that. Arrested, shed said thats right, hed been arrested. This didnt make sense. SubhanAllah, his throat was like the Mojave desert! I need water, please.

Samira poured him a cup of water from a pitcher that sat on a small table. He drank, then tried to get things straight. Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I not in jail anymore?

As he was speaking, the door opened and a tall, lean man entered. I can answer that, the man replied in a deep voice. He was clearly Arab, and GQ handsome. He wore a finely tailored charcoal suit and blue tie, and was clean shaven.

As-salamu alaykum. The man shook Yahyas hand. My name is Basim Al-Rubaiy. Im an attorney with CAIR Sacramento. Initially you were charged with felony menacing, resisting arrest and burglary.

Thats nonsense, Yahya commented.

Of course. The night of your arrest last night the local news media aired a video showing the police beating you without justification. The police RORd you and transported you here. This morning I filed a motion to have the charges dropped, and posted bail. Im currently drafting a lawsuit against the police department.

Were going to sue them for ten million dollars, Samira added.

I dont care about the money, Yahya said reflexively.

Samira sighed. I know you dont, babe. You never do. But the money isnt the point. The money is how we get their attention, make them take action against their officers.

Shes right Mr. Mtondo, the CAIR lawyer added. Lawsuits are the primary tool available to us to demand justice. Hit them in the pocketbook and they listen. Gives us leverage. We should also sue Chad Barber, the man who called the police on you for no reason.

Dont worry about this Barber clown, Yusra commented. Point me in his direction and Ill take him apart. He likes calling the cops? When Im done his fingers will be pick-up sticks. Lets see him call anyone then.

Yusra! Samira exclaimed.

Yahya sighed heavily, already weary of his sisters drama. Not that he didnt take Yusra seriously. He knew she was quite capable of executing her threats. Violence triggered and excited her. But he needed facts. He looked to the lawyer. The man was confident, as if hed been through this a thousand times before. Maybe he had. Chad Barber. Is that the white boy across the street and two houses down? Twenty, twenty one years old?

I dont know, let me check. The lawyer opened a briefcase that sat on a small table by the window. He looked through a file. Chad Barber, 714 Minarets Avenue. I dont have his age. And sister, he added, addressing himself to Yusra, I would caution you against illegal or precipitous action that could get you or your brother arrested, not to mention torpedo his legal case.

Good, Yahya thought. Let someone else talk sense to her. 714 Minarets Yup. That was the house. He was sure it was the young man whod flipped him off. He pursed his lips. Filing a lawsuit against anyone at all didnt feel right, but the lawyer was an expert in these matters, and Samira seemed adamant as well. Fine. Well proceed with the suit against the city. But not the kid.

Anger flashed on Samiras face. That man set this whole fiasco in motion. He endangered all of us, including our children. You could have been killed. And why? Because were Muslim. We cant let him get away with it.

She has a point, Mr. Mtondo, the lawyer added.

Yahya held up a hand to the lawyer, who was beginning to get on his nerves. The man seemed to take his point, and stopped talking. Yahya looked towards Samira. I said no. The city Ill go along with for now. But the kid, no.

But why not?

Why not, indeed? Yahyas eyes wandered around the room, taking in the line of flower vases and bouquets by the window. Who had brought those? Did they know that many people in Alhambra? Do you know, he said eventually, about the Jewish woman, Zainab bint Al-Harith, who brought a poisoned lamb to the Prophet Muhammad as a gift?

He forgave her, said Basim, the lawyer.

Yahya was impressed. Yes. The woman tried to assassinate him, and he pardoned her.

Samira gave an annoyed cluck of the tongue. Are you the Prophet now?

Though he later ordered her executed, Basim added.

Thats because Bishr ibn Al-Baraa died. He was the first to eat of it. The Prophet forgave the attempt on his own life, but he could not waive the punishment for the murder of someone else.

Samira raised a finger. Hold on. Dont I remember reading that the Prophet suffered the effects of that poison for the rest of his life?

Yes.

Aha! She pinched his earlobe and glared. You see what happens when you let bad people get away? Were filing a lawsuit, not putting his head in a guillotine.

Speaking of heads, his own head was pounding. Trying to escape this conversation, he said, Ill consult with Imam Saleh.

Samira looked at him with eyes narrowed. Okay, But youre too soft on people, Yoyo. And look how they repay you. She waved a hand at his ravaged body.

As if proving her point, he attempted to sit up and swing his legs over the side, only to find the world spinning like a merry go round. Without warning he bent over and vomited over the side of the bed. How embarrassing. In front of the lawyer and everything. Samira fussed over him, wiping his mouth and telling him not to worry about the mess. Lie back down, baby.

But he did not lie down. He insisted on checking out of the hospital, to his wifes outrage. He didnt want to leave the kids with strangers, or at least someone they were not familiar with.

Samira had brought a fresh set of clothing, since the lawyer, Basim, had taken the clothes hed been wearing as evidence. They were little more than bloody rags, it seemed. A nurse brought a wheelchair. The attorney, Basim, shook Yahyas hand, promising to check on him tomorrow. By the way, the lawyer added, your shoes were not among the clothes the police turned over to me. They didnt take them away, did they? If so I will add that into the lawsuit.

No. I gave them away. From the corner of his eye he saw Samiras sharp gaze, and knew hed get an earful later.

* * *

Yahya sat in a wheelchair as Samira pushed him through the courtyard in front of the hospital, on the way to the parking garage. A woman in a hijab sat there, reciting Quran and tossing birdseed to a flock of tiny birds that hopped and flitted all around her. What a strange scene. And the sister looked so much like wait a minute!

It was his older sister, Hafsa. Yahya was stunned. It was impossible for her to be here. Hafsa did not travel on airplanes. In fact she rarely left her small suburban home in Chicago. And she most certainly did not visit hospitals. She was terrified of germs. But here she was. Birds were gathered all around her. Yahya was no expert, but there were several of the tiny ones he believed were called sparrows, along with a finch he recognized it because of the red scattered across its head and chest and a bluejay that was trying to bully the rest. They hopped and flitted, trying to be the first to catch the seeds.

A handful of hospital workers nurses and technicians sat in the courtyard as well, eating or chatting, and many watched Hafsa curiously. Yahya had to smile. If this were a scene from a Turkish movie, he would think it cliched the saintly hijabi, gathering the animals like some Sister Doolittle, charming them with the word of God. But it wasnt a movie. It was just Hafsa. When she saw him she stood and rushed to him, then bent over to embrace him and kiss his cheek. She looked good. Shed always been chubby, but shed lost a little weight.

How did you get here? Yahya wondered aloud. I thought you didnt do airplanes. Or hospitals.

Overnight flight. And for my little brother Ill always make an exception. Actually Im doing better with the phobias. Still couldnt convince myself to go up to your room, though.

The sun was going down, and Yahya shivered in the evening autumn air. Come on, lets go home. Im excited for you to meet the kids.

Chads eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the silver Honda Accord pull up and the sand-chigger get out. Sitting on the porch, guzzling his sixth beer of the day pretty much his everyday routine, he goggled at the scene, setting his beer down beside him. There were more Muzzies now! They were multiplying like rats. The Muzzie had his wife and kids with him, and also another Muzzie broad in a headscarf, and a tall, dark chick in a suit who was pretty hot, actually. I mean, Chad thought, shes not white, but hey, a hot mama is a hot mama.

But that wasnt the point, he reminded himself, renewing his sense of righteous indignation. Un-freakin-believable! Sure, hed had seen the video that showed the rag-head getting his ass kicked. He was pretty sure Alan, the fairy schoolteacher, was the one who filmed it. And yeah, the liberal groups like the NAACP, aka National Association for the Advancement of Commie People were making the usual noises about police brutality. But so what? They were always squawking. They needed to have their heads cut off like the clucking chickens they were. But that was beside the point. The point was that he, Chad Barber, had helped to catch a rag-head terrorist here in his own town, and the cops had let the dude go! What the hell? In Trumps America?

He watched the rag-head limp into the house with the wife helping him. The two little kids flanked them, one holding the moms hand and one the dads. Chad ground his teeth. Okay. The police had let the rag-head go. That was the reality. It was up to him now, Chad Barber, to make the next move. He knew exactly what he would do. He would get his friends together, and they would beat the truth out of the rag-head. It would be easy. Dude was an Uber driver, right? Theyd call for an Uber to some remote location, like out in the country. When the rag-head showed up theyd lay into him with baseball bats. Break his arms and legs. By the time they were done hes tell them all about his terrorist plots. Hed name names, give up the whole network. Then the cops would have to send him to Guantanamo for real.

A smile broke out on his face. He felt suddenly energized, like he wanted to jump up and run a mile. For the first time since hed lost the Walmart job he felt filled with a sense of purpose. Damn, it was a good feeling!

The whole family went into the house, except the hot mama. She turned and stared at him from across the street. Chad sat up straight and sucked in his beer gut, trying to look manly. To his surprise, the woman began to cross the street, walking directly toward him. Her walk was athletic and poised, like a dancer. Damn she was hot. For a second Chad thought hed lucked out. Maybe she wanted a beer. Maybe he could get some action going! But her stride was too rapid, too purposeful. Chad grew nervous. Then he saw her grim expression, and noticed that her hands were balled into fists. It occurred to him that her athletic, powerful walk was not that of a dancer, but a fighter.

You little punk, the woman growled. Im going to beat you bloody.

Chad yelped and leaped to his feet, spilling his beer. The woman started up the steps and Chad turned and ran, dashing through the front door and locking it. Should he call the cops? But when he peered through the curtain the crazy bitch was crossing back to the rag-heads house. She went inside, not looking back. Christ! What a psycho. What was her problem anyway?

Chad seethed. This was war. He considered. Who could he call? As he was puzzling over it, his little sister walked out of the house wearing slippers and pink pajamas that hung loose on her petite frame. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Carrying a plate of chocolate chip cookies balanced on one hand, she descended the crumbling porch steps and started across the lawn.

Chad stepped outside. Where you goin with that? Can I have one? Not that he always needed to know what Amelia was doing, but she was his younger sister after all, even if she was nineteen years old and technically an adult.

Stuff it, you beer-blooded clownmeister.

He grinned. Where did she come up with this stuff? She crossed the street, her slippers slapping the ground with every step. With a sudden sense of alarm, he watched as she made a beeline for the rag-head familys house. Amelia, he called out, but she ignored him. She rang the doorbell. What the holy hell was she doing? Didnt she know what had transpired yesterday? Amelia! he bellowed. Get your skinny ass back here! Thats the enemy over there!

He watched, stunned, as the rag-head wife opened the door, still wearing her stupid oppressed orange scarf. What, did she think her hair was some kind of holy relic that ordinary people couldnt look at? Or did she imagine she was so stunningly beautiful some kind of Muzzie supermodel that her beauty would blind mere mortals? Morons.

Then, as he watched, Amelia entered the rag-head house! What was that pigeon-brained mouse turd doing? And was it his imagination or were those her slippers in front of the door? Why had she taken them off?

Chad paced the weatherbeaten porch, squeezing his forehead with one hand and ignoring the pool of spilled beer from earlier. He was going to knock his sisters bowling ball of a head off her shoulders. She was consorting with the enemy. She was a traitor. She was-

She came out of the house. She was smiling smiling! and still carrying the plate, which looked like it still had food on it. Hah! Theyd sent her and her infidel cookies packing. As she cut across the lawn, he lit into her, cursing her for consorting with the enemy.

I had to do something, Amelia said, to make up for that stupid stunt you pulled. Mamas afraid theyll sue us. She said we should try to make friends. Besides, look what they gave me. She took a golden colored square from the plate and held it out to him. Its called baklawa. With a w, not a v. Its delicious.

He knocked the treat out of her hand, sending it flying onto the lawn. Get that bak-bak crap out of my face. Its probably poisoned.

Amelia glared. If I had a lighter Id set your stupid mustache on fire and watch you slap yourself to death, you rockwitted plague virus. She stomped into the house, slamming the door behind her, at which point Chad heard their mother shouting at him at him! not to slam the door.

He sighed and smoothed his mustache. What had he been thinking about? Oh yeah, who to call. Why not his best friends, the guys hed gone to high school with? His fellow track team members. Bram and Ames. Bram was very smart, which could be a problem at times. He didnt believe in the separation of races like Chad did. Said it was illogical and only the product of poverty-fueled desperation. Idiot. Like those ten-dollar words actually meant anything. Just a lot of hot air. But in the end he was a follower, not a leader. A sheeple. Hed do whatever Chad said. Plus he was a big guy, not tall but thick and solid like a rhino. Could come in handy. On top of all that he was a pot dealer and always had money. The two of them got together all the time to smoke weed and play Call of Duty. Sometimes they went out to Rebel Saloon in Old Town with Bram buying of course and drank themselves off the stools.

Ames, though he was a moron, but he was a karate guy. He went to tournaments and won trophies, the whole deal. Hed be a good one to have along. Kick that psycho hot mamas skinny behind. Chad hadnt seen him in a couple of years, and Ames might not be as down for the white race as Chad was, but surely he would understand the threat? This was about protecting the American way of life.

There was Mad Morry. They werent close anymore, since Morry seemed to spend more time in prison than out. But Chad was pretty sure his thuggish friend was out at the moment. Morry hung around with some scary dudes, and Chad was pretty sure Morry was tight with the Aryan Brotherhood. He would have no problem beating the blood out of a rag-head. Except Morry scared him. Chad was pretty sure he had killed people, even women. Hed heard that Morry had been involved in the disappearance of a spook family in Oakhurst.

Jim might be down. He was three years older than Chad and had been a friend ever since Chad was eleven, when theyd been neighbors. Well, sort of a friend. Chad used to go over to Jims house to listen to music and lust after his busty older sister Cheri. Jim was a dope dealer and would give Chad free liquor, weed and pills. To be honest, Chad had never really wanted those things back then, but hed taken them so he wouldnt look like a pansy in Jims eyes. Jim was also a bully and a sadist. Once he burned Chads arm with a hot glue gun. Another time he used a nail gun to drive a nail through the back of Chads hand. But Chad never snitched on him, and as they got older and Chad filled out, the bullying mostly stopped, though it continued in verbal form, with Jim often calling him names.

No, forget Mad Morry and Jim. Screw them. Best to stick with Bram and Ames. Chad would be able to control them, and hed be in charge. The boss of his own posse.

He tried Bram first, but got his voicemail, so he called Ames.

Chad my man! Amess deep voice, midwestern accent his family had moved here from Wisconsin and enthusiastic manner made Chad smile. It was like nothing had changed and no time had gone by. Why had he and Ames fallen out of touch? The guy was always up for something fun. Chad explained to Ames about the rag-head, and how he wanted to lure the man to a remote location and beat him up. And maybe beat up the hot sister too.

Dude, you been hittin the sauce or what? Let it go, brother. Live and let live. Im a business owner now. I have my own dojo. I cant risk my business over-

You have your own dojo? Chad was amazed. He didnt know anyone his own age who owned a business.

Yeah, its on Second Avenue in Old Town. You should come by sometime.

Why do you have to call it a dojo? Isnt that a Jap word? Why dont you just say gym?

Ames sighed. I know its kooky but were traditional. We belong to a federation based in Japan. We take pride in maintaining the traditions of-

Chad cut off the practiced sales pitch, realizing this was getting off track, and not really caring about this issue anyway. Yeah, yeah, thats fine. But youre missing my point. The ragheads are in my freakin neighborhood. They gave my sister bak-bak. They might sue me. They-

Whoa, hold up. Your sister? They what? Whats bak-bak? You sayin they did something to little Amelia?

Chad realized that Ames had misunderstood him. No, they- He stopped himself, remembering that Ames had always had a crush on Amelia, God knows why. He could use this. I mean, yeah. They did. They messed with her, man. Shes really upset.

What? What did they do?

You know. The rag-head tried to, you know, mess with her. Amelia barely got away. Had to take off her slippers to run. Well she did take off her slippers, right?

Hold up, man, hold up. Amess voice was angry now. He tried to rape her? Thats what youre saying, right?

Chad felt a sense of unease creep over him. This white lie was going a bit further than hed intended. But he was committed now. He couldnt back up without losing all credibility.

Yup. The guys a predator.

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Death In A Valley Town, Part 3 A Fighter And A Thief - MuslimMatters

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