Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [109]
“Sure. Whatever. You have offices downstairs. You have a safe that you say was robbed by the firefighters who extinguished the fire this morning. I’m going to let that one pass. You have this stack of shit here in the backyard.”
“Firemen do that. Firemen wreck my house.”
“No, Yassar. You wrecked your house.” G. A. lowered his voice. It was getting dark, and Yassar was shivering. “You set fire to this place and you trashed it.”
“I no set fire. How you say I set fire? Is accident.”
“Sure it was, Yassar. It was an accident just like the one you had three months ago over on Sixteenth. What you did here was, you splashed some flammable liquid around the basement, left the door open, and tossed in a match. I don’t mind that so much. The problem I have is that you did it while your sister-in-law was upstairs taking care of fifteen children, six of them in diapers. But never mind that you set this fire while those babies were upstairs. What bugs me about this whole thing is how greedy you are. It isn’t enough to collect for this house so you can remodel with the insurance company’s money, but you have to haul in a bunch of clothing from somebody’s rag bin so you can collect even more.”
“No, I no—”
“You’re going to prison, and when you get out, you’ll be deported.”
“I have not done this. What you say, I have not done. I swear.”
“We got a piece of the wallboard with gasoline on it. We got a witness saw you with a gasoline can just before the fire.”
Yassar Himmeld hung his head and collapsed against the support. G. A. looked up and saw Robert Kub gazing down on them from the back porch. “Wait out by the car, would you?” G. A. said.
“You going to beat me?” the handcuffed man asked, after Kub left.
G. A. spit into the wet grass. “Why should I bust my knuckles? They love you little Arabs in prison. You’re going to have a good time, Yassar. You get out, you’ll be wearing mascara and a padded bra.”
“I no do this.”
“What really pisses me off is that you did such a crappy job. You might have gotten away with that fire over on Sixteenth, but there was no way you were getting away with this. Even an imbecile insurance adjuster would be suspicious.”
“I can pay you.”
“Pardon me? I didn’t quite catch that.” G. A. put a hand behind one ear.
“I can pay.”
“For a lawyer, you mean?”
“For a lawyer. For my freedom. For you.”
“Is that a bribe, Yassar?”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded vigorously, hoping they’d struck a bargain.
“Yes, you’re trying to bribe me?”
“I don’t want to go to prison. Please. This hurts no one. I am a good businessman. One little misfortune for you and me to forget, eh? Why don’t you be a good businessman, too, and consider my money an honorarium?”
“And how much money would that be?”
“Five hundred dollar?” When he saw the look in G. A.’s eyes, he said, “No, a thousand dollar and you forget this. You agree? Now let me out of these. I am Christian. I know Jesus. I have converted three times. I have ten children. I have two wives. Does none of this affect your humanity?”
G. A. pulled a miniature tape recorder out of his pocket. “How much do you stand to collect from all this, Yassar?”
The man in the suit heaved a sigh and squatted on his haunches. “The house? Not very much. The contents? Another hundred. I have lost some gold and jewelry. I have lost—”
“Okay, okay. Let’s say three-fifty. Sixty percent of that would be two-ten. I’ll give you a discount here. Two hundred. You fucked up. Now you pay the piper.”
“I don’t understand. Who is the piper?”
“Me, Abdul. I’m the piper.”
“My name is Yassar. Yassar Himmeld. I am a good man.”
“There are plenty of good men in prison.”
“But how to repair the premises? You leave me with less than half of my losses. You leave me with—”
“Sixty percent is about what it takes to keep you away from those tattooed biker boys up in Monroe. It’s that or you shave your legs and dab on eyeliner. Your choice.”
“How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
G. A. popped a Motrin and chewed it, then held up the tape recorder, which was still running. “I don’t need to