Free Escape from Baghdad! by Saad Hossain Page B

visions…”
    â€œBombed-in-the-street-syndrome?” Behruse asked.
    â€œYeah,” Hoffman said. “His whole squad got paid.”
    â€œWhat the hell am I supposed to do?”
    â€œYou can counsel him, Behruse,” Hoffman said. “You know exactly what it feels like. How many people you lost over here?”
    â€œPfft,” Behruse said. “Thirteen direct bloodline. Twenty-five slanted bloodline. IEDs, hand grenades, land mines, falling buildings, tank shells, mortar shells, air strikes, crossfire, sniper fire, friendly fire, electric fire; and my uncle—he died when Saddam’s statue fell on him. First casualty of the civil war. Fact.”
    â€œThat’s a lotta people Behruse,” Ancelloti said. “Could be, we did some of that shit to you.”
    â€œSo what?” Behruse said. “It’s a war. We kill you. You kill us. Who cares? The important thing is to have a sense of humor about it. When we were bombing the Kurds, do you think they were crying like babies?”
    â€œI keep seeing those flying legs though, you know?” Ancelloti said.
    â€œThat’s nothing,” Behruse said. “I once saw… hmft well, never mind. What you need, my friend, is something to calm the spirit.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I said,” Hoffman said. “Fuck that chemical shit. We need something natural.”
    â€œPlum wine,” Behruse began to bring out numerous packets, including a dusky bottle. “To ease the digestion and give you pleasant dreams. And this high quality Afghan hashish, dried on the thighs of beautiful Pashtun virgins.”
    â€œThat’s a joke right?” Hoffman guffawed. “Cause there ain’t any Pashtun virgins.”
    â€œNot among the women, anyways,” Behruse winked. “You interrupt. Dried on the thighs of beautiful Pashtun virgins, rolled in thedown above their lips. You take this, my friend, to steady your hands and slow down time. And finally, this bottle, containing tear drops of the finest opium, save it for those sleepless nights, guaranteed to give you the finest visions. Not too much of the opium, mind. Here, I’ll put it in a bag for you.”
    Ancelloti stared at the packet for a moment and then crushed it tightly against his chest. He appeared pathetically grateful.
    â€œNow, Hoffman.”
    â€œI have here, Behruse, ten packets of America’s finest detergent,” Hoffman pulled out a catalogue. “Just pick your color.”
    â€œWhat the hell am I going to do with detergent?”
    â€œHuh?” Hoffman said. “Wash stuff. I’ll throw in a washing machine.”
    â€œYou got a washing machine in there?” Behruse looked down at the parked hummer in admiration.
    â€œWell, it’s for the second part of the favor,” Hoffman said.
    â€œWhat else you need?”
    â€œI had a chat a couple of days ago with an old guy called Sheikh Amal,” Hoffman said. “Runs a dry goods store in Ghazaliya. Know him?”
    â€œNo,” Behruse scowled. “What the hell? Am I supposed to know every old fuck in town?”
    â€œHe’s an interesting man,” Hoffman said, “in that he, and his neighborhood, were recently victimized by a very weird criminal. Someone called the Lion of Akkad.”
    â€œNever heard of that fucker either.”
    â€œHeard of something called the Druze watch?”
    â€œWhat?” Behruse flicked his eyes around.
    â€œJust learned about the Druze. Easy name to remember. It’s so close to booze. They’re like a super secret bunch of heretics. Kinda like Mormons, I think. Arab Mormons. Except they’re like a thousand years old, and they don’t let anyone join their secret society. They probably know a lot of secret shit, like where the weapons of mass destruction are hiding.”
    â€œWhat?” Behruse asked.
    â€œI googled them. All true.”
    â€œThere aren’t