The Muzzle Job by Ty Hutchinson

Author:Ty Hutchinson [Hutchinson, Ty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

31

N aji knew the perfect place for us to disappear. He led the way through a maze of small lanes in the souk until we found ourselves in an area where leather goods were being sold.

“This way. My friend has a small restaurant that caters to the shopkeepers in the area. We’ll be fine inside there.”

Naji entered a leather goods shop and greeted the owner. We continued to the rear of his stall and through a curtained doorway. We walked down a narrow passageway that ran along the back of the stalls and then popped out into a small restaurant. It was completely hidden from the public. Small wooden tables surrounded by plastic stools were scattered throughout the space. Two women were moving back and forth, serving food and clearing dirty dishes.

“It doesn’t look like much,” Naji said, “but the food is delicious.”

We sat at a table that had just been wiped down, and Naji spoke to the woman in Arabic.

“I ordered for us. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I said.

The woman returned with a pitcher of water and three glasses. She also had a plastic bag filled with ice, which she handed to me.

Naji pointed at my cheek. I reached up, and it felt tender.

My father took a look. “It’s not that bad. Keep the ice on it.”

“I don’t remember getting hit.”

“You were too busy handing out beatings.” He smiled.

“Where’s your dagger?” I asked.

“One of the punks snatched it from my hand right before we slipped through the gate. It’s fine. It served its purpose.” He turned to Naji. “Ali, where did you learn to fight? You handled yourself well back there.”

“My uncle taught me to box when I was a teen. I continued to hone my skills when I served in the Royal Moroccan Armed Forces.”

“What branch?” my father asked.

“The army. Almost everyone starts there.”

“Did you specialize in anything particular?”

Just then, the two women returned with our food.

They placed three large, covered dishes on the table. One woman removed the three conical ceramic lids while the other put a basket of disc-shaped bread on the table.

“The bread is called khobz,” Naji said. “It’s perfect for dipping. The first dish is a very popular one: tajine. This one is made with lamb.”

“I’ve heard of tajine but have never tried it,” I said.

“Anything with lamb is welcome to meet my stomach,” Ardal said.

“The second dish with the chunks of fish over sliced potatoes and onions is my personal favorite. It’s called fish chermoula.”

“Looks wonderful,” I said.

“And the last dish is, of course, couscous with more lamb and vegetables.”

We dug in quickly, serving a little of each dish onto our plates. We followed Naji’s lead and used the khobz as a utensil for the food.

“The fish chermoula is delicious. I can understand why it’s your favorite.”

Naji carried most of the conversation, as my father and I were too busy stuffing our faces. During that meal, Naji spoke about his family. He was an only child. His mother lived in the modern part of Marrakesh.

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