Chapter 8

As black-eyed beauties go, Rima Qassem had to be in the top ten worldwide, David decided. He glanced at Nora, who gave him a coy smile. Was his wife testing his commitment to remain faithful by putting him next to Rima Qassem on a daily basis? He chuckled under his breath when he thought of asking Rima to wear the chadri, the full-length gown and veil required by the Taliban in Afghanistan whenever women left their households.

Rima crossed her shapely legs. She certainly wasn't wearing the chadri now. Her fashionable skirt was short, the neckline on her blouse plunging. Large breasts, like Nora's, David thought. Black hair cascaded softly around a beautiful face, and her black eyes danced with spirit.

"I spent my youth in Dubai City," Rima said.

"That's in the United Arab Emirates, David," Nora said.

"Dubai is also one of the seven Emirates that make up UAE," Rima said.

"Your English is excellent, not a trace of an accent," David said.

"My father is an Arab American. He's with the State Department. He met my mother in Dubai City. We spoke both Arabic and English at home," Rima said.

"Are you Muslim, Rima?" David asked.

They'd quickly moved to using first names.

She smiled, displaying perfect bright-white teeth. "How to explain?" she said. "I know. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the Mormons have a saying. They call a Mormon who isn't active in their church a Jack Mormon." She lifted her cocktail glass and tipped it slightly toward David. "I consider myself a Jack Muslim. Islam forbids the consumption of alcohol. For females, Islam forbids a great deal more. Women's rights are virtually nonexistent. Why do you wish to learn Arabic, David?" Rima said.

David had not anticipated the question and momentarily was at a loss for an answer.

"David is an avid researcher, Rima," Nora said.

David quickly picked up Nora's suggestion. "The Middle East fascinates me, Rima. I'm considering writing a book about that part of the world, perhaps along the lines of the making of a jihadist. Knowing Arabic would be helpful. Also, I might travel to the Middle East to do some of the research needed for the book."

Rima's black eyes narrowed. "That's very ambitious, David."

David fixed his eyes on hers. "I'm rich, Rima. I have the wherewithal to indulge my whims."

Rima laughed gaily. "Fair enough. I will do my best to teach you enough Arabic to indulge your whims."

They talked about the teaching process, when they'd meet and for how long. Rima quoted her fee, which sounded reasonable, so David wrote a retainer check.

"I'm disappointed," David said to Nora after Rima left. "She doesn't have the bulging belly necessary to be a good belly dancer."

Nora slugged his shoulder playfully and dragged him to their bedroom.

"A quickie before dinner, David," she said. "Darla's cooking tonight."

"Rima revved up your motor, too, huh?" David said.

Nora blushed. "Yeah," she said as her blouse fluttered to the floor. She wasn't wearing a bra.

After dinner at Darla's request, Darla, David and Nora piled into Darla's Hummer to visit Vince Graham at the Mayo Clinic Hospital. Flint drove. Vince was the eleven-year-old boy that Darla was helping by paying his hospital bill. He was an orphan. Both his parents had been killed in the accident that had injured him. David also wanted to meet Greta Simms, the family's charity operative at the hospital. They left George with Janice, who had agreed to tend the boy and put him down for the night.

"How is Janice as a housekeeper?" David asked his sister just before they arrived at the hospital.

"She's a better housekeeper than Mom, and Mom's better than I," Darla said.

"Which means she's better than anyone I know, especially me," Nora said with a self-deprecating huff.

Flint stopped the vehicle at the curb at the entrance to the hospital. "I'll park the vehicle and track you down," he said.

"What's the status of registering the compound as a foster home?" Darla asked David as they moved out of the Hummer.

"Don't know. I'll check tomorrow, but we're still weeks away if no problems pop up. Also, one of us must attend an orientation and some training sessions," David said.

"I can do that," Darla said.

They found Nurse Simms in the children's ward. She was about fifty-five years old with kind hazel eyes. Maternal, David thought at first glance. She was overweight but not fat. Cuddly looking. Maternal and cuddly. She's probably a good nurse for the children's ward, David reasoned.

"How's Vince?" Darla asked Greta.

"As well as can be expected. He's healing physically on schedule, but he has nightmares about the accident. Misses his parents. He was especially close to his dad," Greta said. "Also frightened. Doesn't know what will happen to him."

"What about his extended family?" David said.

"He has an uncle, his mother's brother, and a grandmother, his father's mother. The uncle is in prison, and from what Vince has said, his grandmother has Alzheimer's. I'm afraid he's destined for the foster-care system."

"Has Child Protective Services assigned the boy a caseworker yet?" David asked.

"Yes, a woman named Lena Prince. Right now, custody resides with hospital administration. When he's released, custody will be transferred to CPS, and the courts will decide placement."

"When will Vince be released?" David asked.

"Don't know, but I'd guess five days, maybe less," Greta said. "He had a concussion. The doctors had to go in and relieve the swelling. Fortunately, there's no evidence of any brain damage."

Not enough time for us to provide custody, David thought.

Flint joined them.

Vince lit up when Darla walked into the room Darla introduced the boy to her brother and Nora. Flint hung back, but Darla pulled him into the room and introduced him, as well.

Vince was slim, verging on being skinny. His head was bandaged, and a cast wrapped his left arm. Blond hair, soft brown eyes. For David, the boy also verged on being beautiful.

David pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. "How ya doin', Vince," he said.

"Okay," he said.

"Bored, I'd guess," David said.

The boy nodded. "Not much to do. TV gets old."

"What do you like to do?"

"Draw. I'm a pretty good artist."

David looked at the cast. "Right handed or left?" David asked.

"Right," Vince said with a winning grin and held up his right hand.

"How about we drop off some drawing materials for you tomorrow?" David said.

Vince's grin broadened. "That'd be swell."

David laughed. "Swell, huh?"

Vince blushed.

"What else? Are you a reader?"

"Yeah, mysteries."

"Have you read the Harry Potter books?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, we'll bring you some books, too, some mysteries appropriate for teenagers. You're not a teenager yet, but I bet you're mature enough for books written for teenagers. Right?"

"Yeah."

"What about music?"

He nodded.

"What artists or groups do you like?" Darla said.

Ignorant about music, David rose to let his sister talk with the boy. "Nice kid," he said to Nora who was still standing by the door with Flint.

"He is," she said.

"Should we fight the system and try to help him?" David said quietly, so Vince couldn't hear him.

"I don't understand," Nora said.

"In a few days, he'll be released from the hospital and turned over to CPS, who will then recommend his placement to a family judge. We don't qualify as foster parents, and the compound is not a foster home, not yet, but we could petition the court for temporary custody. We can give him more than a normal home in the foster-care system, important items like continuing medical care, psychiatric counseling, home schooling until he's well enough to return to school, college later, whatever he needs; in other words, help him be all he can be."

"Us or Darla?" Nora said.

"All three of us," he said. "Joe and Mom will get involved, as well."

Nora studied the lad for a few seconds. With a determined expression, she said, "Yeah, I think we should fight the system tooth and nail, David."

Nora walked over to the bed and said, "Can you ride horses?"

Vince shook his head.

"Wanna learn?" Nora asked.

He smiled and said, "That would be swell."

That night while exploring Vince Crawford's past, David discovered the expression, "that would be swell," was his mother's, and the boy had picked it up as one of his own. For the mother as well as the boy, "swell" was synonymous with great or stupendous.

It was raining the next morning, so after making his trades on his computer, David grabbed a cup of coffee, drinking it as he walked to his gym. Flint was already there working with free weights. David, feeling lazy, used the row of machines that exercised every muscle group, finishing twenty minutes later. Flint was riding a stationary bicycle, and for the first time, David noticed the jagged scars on Flint's left leg. From what David could see, a piece of shrapnel had penetrated his calf, and two other pieces tore up his thigh.

David nodded at the scars and said, "Would further surgery help?"

"Yes, but it'd be expensive, and the improvement would be slight. If it'd take me to one hundred percent, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but..." He shrugged. "I can't run five miles before breakfast anymore, but I never enjoyed running that much anyway."

"What percent are you?" David said as he climbed on the stationary bike next to Flint.

"Eighty, eighty-five."

"Any pain?" David asked.

Flint grunted. "On rainy days, and not much then. What's on deck for the day?"

He's lying about the pain, David thought. "My Arabic tutor will arrive shortly after lunch. I'll spend an hour with her today, and then two hours a day thereafter, except weekends."

"I know a smattering of Arabic. Went through the short course in the service."

"Good, after I can start to speak it a little, I'll practice on you. Besides Arabic class this afternoon, I want to track down a man named Ridley this morning."

"The man who saved Tammy?" Flint said.

"Yes. Have you completed your security audits?" David asked as he pumped the bike. It was set for an uphill incline.

"Yes. You're in pretty good shape at the compound, but the ranch is wide open."

"Should we make any changes at the compound?"

"Yes," Flint said. "More cameras, video, thermal imaging, and infrared, mostly to cover the street in front of the compound and more coverage on the mountain behind the property. I'd like to put in an armory with fingerprint access next to the security room. Also create a safe room, but frankly I don't see the possibility of a threat that would warrant going further. Are there threats you haven't mentioned?"

"We plan to hire personnel out of the battered women shelters. Their violent, angry husbands will come looking for them," David said. "We'll be setting up our own battered women shelters offering services beyond those provided at the Johnson shelters. We want to make it possible for some of the women to escape their batterers by offering counseling and job training and placement, and I've been thinking about offering self-defense training, as well. Retaliation from angry husbands is not only possible it's likely. After all, no good deed goes unpunished. I could be wrong, Flint. I hope I'm wrong, but I think security for my family and me will become a very big deal not very far in the future. I'd rather be overprotected than otherwise. With this in mind, what other measures would you recommend for the compound?"