halfway up the staircase but he was looking at the screen. Al-Zahrani and the bodyguard were talking, then al-Zahrani patted the man on the shoulder as he smiled and nodded. Crazy Boy looked over at the two men sitting by the window. ‘Levi’s, you stay in the study, keep the door open and your gun ready.’ Levi’s nodded and headed for the study, pulling his gun from its holster. ‘Sunny, you get upstairs. Get a shotgun from the attic, stay out of sight, but if I call you come down shooting, hear me?’
‘I hear you, boss,’ said Sunny. Crazy Boy kept a weapons cache in the attic behind a false wall. There were half a dozen handguns, two MAC-10s, two shotguns and several tasers and plenty of ammunition. As Sunny hurried upstairs, Crazy Boy watched on one of the security screens as al-Zahrani walked slowly up the driveway with the bodyguard following. The doors of the Bentley remained closed and there were no other occupied cars in the road outside.
He patted Two Knives on the back. ‘Tell the kitchen staff to stay quiet.’
Two Knives hurried off to the kitchen as Crazy Boy followed al-Zahrani’s progress up the driveway. It was ten o’clock at night but the halogen security lights meant that it was as bright as day outside.
Al-Zahrani reached the front door, but he waited for his bodyguard to press the doorbell. Two Knives came back into the room as the doorbell rang out.
‘Remember, be gentle,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘He’s connected to some very important people and he’s got balls walking in here with no guns.’
He sat down on the sofa and used the remote to switch off the television. He heard Two Knives open the door and after a couple of minutes al-Zahrani walked into the room. His suit looked even more expensive close up and there was a gold watch on his left wrist and a thick gold chain on his right. His shirt had double cuffs and his tie was silk and perfectly tied. Al-Zahrani walked towards Crazy Boy, an easy smile on his lips, his hand outstretched. Crazy Boy realised that he had taken off his dark glasses. ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said. ‘And my apologies again for arriving unannounced.’
Crazy Boy shook hands and waved at the sofa opposite the fireplace, the one where the hooker had been lying. The bodyguard had followed al-Zahrani into the room but had stayed in the doorway, his hands clasped over his groin, watching through impenetrable sunglasses.
Al-Zahrani sat down and crossed his legs. He looked around the room. ‘You have a lovely home,’ he said.
‘Can I offer you a refreshment?’ asked Crazy Boy. ‘There is tea, or coffee, juice.’
‘Tea would be much appreciated, thank you,’ said al-Zahrani.
Crazy Boy gestured with his chin for Two Knives to go to the kitchen. ‘Some cake, and fruit,’ Crazy Boy said in Somali. Two Knives nodded and left the room.
‘You are not what I expected,’ said Crazy Boy, settling back in the sofa.
‘You heard I was a Saudi and you expected a man in a dress and a towel on my head? Should I have expected you to be wearing a grass skirt because you are from East Africa?’
Crazy Boy chuckled. ‘You are right, of course.’
Al-Zahrani waved a languid hand along the buttons of his jacket. ‘In England I wear a suit and I belong, or at least I look as if I belong. No one can tell if I am a citizen or not. I could be a banker, a judge, a politician, a businessman, no one would know. But if I wear the thawb and keffiyeh then I am immediately marked as an outsider and treated as such.’
‘Camouflage,’ said Crazy Boy.
‘Exactly,’ said al-Zahrani. He carefully adjusted the creases of his trousers. ‘I am grateful for you allowing me into your home. I had hoped that we could have met in my hotel but I gather that was not possible.’
‘I have been very busy,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘There is much happening in my life.’
‘So I understand. But at least now we can talk. You do business with Sameer Haddad, do you not?’
Crazy
‘I hear you, boss,’ said Sunny. Crazy Boy kept a weapons cache in the attic behind a false wall. There were half a dozen handguns, two MAC-10s, two shotguns and several tasers and plenty of ammunition. As Sunny hurried upstairs, Crazy Boy watched on one of the security screens as al-Zahrani walked slowly up the driveway with the bodyguard following. The doors of the Bentley remained closed and there were no other occupied cars in the road outside.
He patted Two Knives on the back. ‘Tell the kitchen staff to stay quiet.’
Two Knives hurried off to the kitchen as Crazy Boy followed al-Zahrani’s progress up the driveway. It was ten o’clock at night but the halogen security lights meant that it was as bright as day outside.
Al-Zahrani reached the front door, but he waited for his bodyguard to press the doorbell. Two Knives came back into the room as the doorbell rang out.
‘Remember, be gentle,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘He’s connected to some very important people and he’s got balls walking in here with no guns.’
He sat down on the sofa and used the remote to switch off the television. He heard Two Knives open the door and after a couple of minutes al-Zahrani walked into the room. His suit looked even more expensive close up and there was a gold watch on his left wrist and a thick gold chain on his right. His shirt had double cuffs and his tie was silk and perfectly tied. Al-Zahrani walked towards Crazy Boy, an easy smile on his lips, his hand outstretched. Crazy Boy realised that he had taken off his dark glasses. ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said. ‘And my apologies again for arriving unannounced.’
Crazy Boy shook hands and waved at the sofa opposite the fireplace, the one where the hooker had been lying. The bodyguard had followed al-Zahrani into the room but had stayed in the doorway, his hands clasped over his groin, watching through impenetrable sunglasses.
Al-Zahrani sat down and crossed his legs. He looked around the room. ‘You have a lovely home,’ he said.
‘Can I offer you a refreshment?’ asked Crazy Boy. ‘There is tea, or coffee, juice.’
‘Tea would be much appreciated, thank you,’ said al-Zahrani.
Crazy Boy gestured with his chin for Two Knives to go to the kitchen. ‘Some cake, and fruit,’ Crazy Boy said in Somali. Two Knives nodded and left the room.
‘You are not what I expected,’ said Crazy Boy, settling back in the sofa.
‘You heard I was a Saudi and you expected a man in a dress and a towel on my head? Should I have expected you to be wearing a grass skirt because you are from East Africa?’
Crazy Boy chuckled. ‘You are right, of course.’
Al-Zahrani waved a languid hand along the buttons of his jacket. ‘In England I wear a suit and I belong, or at least I look as if I belong. No one can tell if I am a citizen or not. I could be a banker, a judge, a politician, a businessman, no one would know. But if I wear the thawb and keffiyeh then I am immediately marked as an outsider and treated as such.’
‘Camouflage,’ said Crazy Boy.
‘Exactly,’ said al-Zahrani. He carefully adjusted the creases of his trousers. ‘I am grateful for you allowing me into your home. I had hoped that we could have met in my hotel but I gather that was not possible.’
‘I have been very busy,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘There is much happening in my life.’
‘So I understand. But at least now we can talk. You do business with Sameer Haddad, do you not?’
Crazy
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