“Guess I’ll have to ask a pal to fabricate evidence then,” Ibrahim gave her his widest smile. He still had a few friends in the army, but none of them from the Pentagon. If he stayed in touch with people, it was only with those in his corps. “You should see me without the beard, I still look like that little kid when I shave it off,” he scratched at the back of his neck then shot her a glance, and a smile. “And you, well you … still don’t look like a lady,” he shook his head as laughter took over. She had, however grown into a beautiful woman.
“I think my mother kept those school class photos, should have brought those out. I heard that the guy who kept threatening to hit us after class ended up becoming a teacher, and now I’m just glad I don’t have kids.” Ibrahim used to reply that he wasn’t interested in those plans, and never had once been hit by that idiot.
“Why, you wanna hire me, or you wanna scam me?” That would make things even more complicated, either way. Still, Ibrahim didn’t stand against anything the Brotherhood did, and their ideas certainly served his ideals more than the Syndicate ever would. But he had always been the loyal type, like a hound, one might say, and there was no switching sides possible, even for the sake of old friendships. “I’d say we organize a match, but there’s,” including the big boss, “maybe 5 guys I know of you could play soccer properly,” and that was because they had Europeans folks in the faction.
He smiled. None of that would have been true a year ago. “I can thank my jamilata for that. I sort of had abandoned those things when…” It wasn’t so much of a difficult subject. But Ibrahim had regrets sometimes. Maybe if he hadn’t been so difficult then, perhaps he could have done something else with his life. Music conservatory could have been an option, and would have allowed to move around a bit. But perhaps he would have ended up bored out of his mind. Guess he’d never know.
“That glow of romance?” One eyebrow raised in slight judgement, but he still nodded along. “She’s so fucking beautiful, Úrsula, ” his choice of words might have not been the most poetic, the air on his face bore an air of endearment and longing as he pictured himself Nora in his head, down to the last freckle on her face. “She’s…” He sighed. There were things he couldn’t say, like her job, her name, where she lived, even if that was where he lived. “Wonderful,” obviously. “Clever, caring, adventurous, she’s not afraid to speak up, she…” he paused. Alright, he could go on for a while. The realization of that made him smile. “Don’t. I sound like an idiot and I know it,” he laughed.
“You really had to make that one painting explode, huh?” he leaned back into his chair, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Heh, at least this shit show had led to coming clean to Nora. Silver linings and all. “World peace, huh? By making old dried paint explode?” He raised an eyebrow. He shouldn’t have mocked her for having ideals, not when he shut down his own. “Sounds interesting.”
“See, I don’t doubt that you could - I would however, have to try and prove that you were a bedwetter.” Which, to the extent of Úrsula’s knowledge, probably wasn’t true - not that it stopped her from grinning at the thought, anyway. “Really? I’m going to have to pay someone to shave it off in your sleep, so you’re little Ziani once more.” She could still picture him as a little kid, sleeping in a twin sized bed. “And I hope that means I look more like a fearsome, menacing, otherworldly spectre, who’d frighten the most menacing member of your little crew.” Little crew, was easier than naming the Syndicate by its name; it minimised the divide between them. “But seriously? A teacher? Why do the worst people end up in the most important professions? I still think you’d make a great dad, though.”
In another life, in a different lifestyle, at least; Ibrahim possessed the discipline, but the tenderness, to parent well - she knew that years had past, and the qualities she assigned to him, may no longer existed. But in her heart, Ursula felt she was right. “Hire you, scam you - same difference, right? But I don’t think I could even afford you. You only get paid in millions, in cash.” A gross exaggeration, perhaps - though she knew he pulled in far more money than the Brotherhood ever would. “Five guys? I’ll refrain from making the joke. Your five guys and my able bodied five guys, is plenty enough for an amateur game. How about the winnings are a cool four hundred million or so?” She’d long lost count of how much exactly the Syndicate had lost that night.
“I know... in my own way, I know.” Their paths had taken immeasurable turns, his fraught with pains and strife, that she herself had never known. It played so deeply into why even now, as they sat across from one another’s, strangers in every sense but feeling, that Úrsula could not cast judgement against him, nor question his choices, from any sense of moral high ground. She didn’t have any, if she’d wanted to. “Your cheeks are rosy, you’re giggly, and you move around like a man in love.....dare I say, a man gone soft?” So he wasn’t exactly skipping and twirling his hair - but when Ibrahim sat still, Úrsula could see something in his face, that she hadn’t seen for a long time. Happiness. Joy. “She sounds like a fucking dream, really - I’m hoping you’re going to have a huge Thanksgiving, so I can bring some pictures of you as a preteen....or if I can at least hunt her down, to take a glimpse of this beautiful woman. How long has it been going on? God, I sound my like grandmother.” Which meant she was deeply happy for her friend, and deeply, deeply, nosy about the specifics. “It was for dramatic effect! What, should we have excused ourselves and gently kicked it over or something?”
If there was one thing Úrsula was going to do, it was make anything she did, very loud. “I’ll have you know old paint is a symbol of the old worlds - I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s phase one of five million, though. I’ll string you along into one of our plans, one day. Maybe if my Boss gives your Boss a strip tease, we can all be buddies again and rob a bank, as a family. Us for principles, you guys for hard earned cash.”
