TWENTY-NINE
“Tawaqquf!” someone shouted from behind—I knew that tone very well.
“Hey! Mister! Stop!” the same voice followed—the tone was that of law enforcement.
I heard some the crowd react, murmurs passing through it like a wave. The person who’d shouted stood a hundred feet away—the cop who’d been eyeing me in the lobby a few seconds ago. By him another cop, a familiar face—the cop from upstairs who took part in the theft.
They both pointed at me and the one from upstairs started jogging this way, saying something in Arabic, shouting backwards, pointing my way again. The other man ran back into the building, probably calling backup of some sort. Whatever he was going to do, it wouldn’t be good for my health if I stayed put.
In his car, Sultan looked in his mirror at the commotion
