“Salut,” inspector Ismail bellowed. He tapped a foot and put his fists on his hips as he peered into the gloom to examine the ceiling. The muffled thuds of cardboard boxes being kicked aside could be heard through an archway behind the desk. They were followed by a call that, to Jason’s high school French, sounded like, “I’m coming.”
A young man in dirty jeans and a T-shirt entered the room, rubbing his hands on his pants to remove the dust and dirt. As the man introduced himself in Afar, Ismail studiously ignored his extended right hand. In what sounded to Howard and Jason like a torrent of Afar invective, Inspector Ismail tore into the man, the building manager. Neither Howard nor Jason understood Afar, but Ismail’s brusque and demanding tone made it clear he wasn’t pleased with the con
