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his Manhattan. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay.
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Tell me what happened, the man finally said. His deep voice
was dull, devoid of anything resembling texture or timbre.
Excuse me? Tell you what happened about what?
Neil. Something is wrong, isn t it?
I nodded slowly, finding myself almost mesmerized by his
unwavering glare. I m sorry to tell you this, Mr. Aashiq, but Neil
was killed a week ago.
Although this wasn t a moment for enjoyment, there is some-
thing hauntingly beautiful about a handsome man fighting to
keep from crying. As his eyes filled, the pool of unwept tears
reflected the gentle flame of our table s candle. His heavy jaw
tensed, the corners of his mouth quivered. His left hand tightened
around his cocktail glass, and I worried it would break.
Tell me what happened please, he finally got out.
I gave a rough description of Neil s death in the souk, much as
his father had told it to me. Only when I was done did Aashiq s
eyes leave my face. They came to rest on some dark, uncharted
spot, far beyond the glass of the windows that faced the sea.
The waitress arrived with our drinks. Giving Aashiq a few
minutes to take in the obviously distressing news, I sipped my
wine. It was very good. And it should have been: I later found out
that every sip cost me roughly five dollars.
Did you know Neil very well? I ventured after about fifteen
bucks worth.
Yes. No. It depends how you mean it.
Good answer. Mr. Aashiq, why were you meeting Neil here
tonight?
Aashiq. Just Aashiq is fine.
I noticed he wasn t giving up his surname too readily. All
right, Aashiq. Why were you meeting Neil?
The man s eyes left the safety of far far away and made a quick
trip around the room before finally settling on me. Who are
you? he asked, as if seeing me for the first time.
My name is Russell Quant. I ve come to replace Neil at the
university. I saw he had an appointment scheduled with you
tonight. I came because I thought it might have something to do
with Neil s work here in Dubai.
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Aashiq studied my face more closely. You work for whom?
The university.
He glanced around again. Was he looking for someone? Did
he think someone was watching us? Was this meeting supposed
to be a secret? Was he worried that I d been followed? Who did he
think I was?
For all I knew, maybe I had been followed. So I too took a gan-
der around the room. Not knowing exactly what I was looking for,
it didn t take me long.
Is that what you were meeting about tonight? About Neil s
work at the university? About antique carpets?
He let out a mild scoffing sound. No. I know nothing about
those carpets of his. He stopped there and looked as if he d said
something he hadn t wanted to. And maybe he had. His statement
told me a lot. First, he d confirmed that this was a meeting that
had nothing to do with university business. Second, the way he d
said it made it sound to me as if Aashiq knew Neil in a more per-
sonal way.
You were friends then? You and Neil?
Why are you asking these questions? he asked, heavy brows
settling over suspicious eyes. You came here to find out if this
was a business meeting of your concern. It was not. You should
leave now. He wanted to be left alone. Well, good luck with that.
I still had thirty dollars worth of wine to drink.
You didn t seem exactly surprised I showed up tonight,
rather than Neil. Time to obfuscate with a change of topic. You
looked very unhappy, but not surprised. Why is that?
He observed me coolly, taking a long sip of his drink. The
man s confidence and poise were quickly coming back to him.
Again, Mr. Quant, that is none of your concern.
It is when a man is dead, brutally attacked and stabbed to
death before he even reached thirty years old. I m very concerned
about that.
A noisy group of patrons, being led off to their dinner reserva-
tion at Al Muntaha, passed by, followed closely by Aashiq s wary
eyes.
Is something wrong?
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Maybe. I don t trust you, Mr. Quant. The words rolled over
me like a piece of heavy machinery.
Why do you need to?
That got him. He eyed me carefully, then signalled our wait-
ress for another drink. We sat in silence, neither of us quite want-
ing to leave, neither sure how to proceed. I decided that if I want-
ed more out of this man, I d have to give him something.
Aashiq, I said, I lied to you. I am not employed by the uni-
versity. I was sent here by Neil s father.
Something changed in his face. At the mention of Neil s father,
his eyes softened and the tension in his jaw relaxed, if only just a
bit.
Is this true? I could tell he very much wanted it to be.
I m a Canadian detective. Pranav Gupta, Neil s father,
believes his son s death was not a result of random violence. He
wants me to find out if that is true. I waited a beat, and then
added, Is it true, Aashiq?
In a movement almost too slow to see, Aashiq nodded. He
whispered: Yes.
With Aashiq s third Manhattan came a sense that he was ready to
confide in me. Starting with a large gulp that took up almost a
third of the bittersweet drink, he began to reveal himself to me. I
do not live in Dubai, he began. I run my business in Abu
Dhabi.
I knew that Abu Dhabi was the neighbouring emirate. It was,
by far, the largest of the UAE. From what I d read online, Abu
Dhabi is somewhat less cosmopolitan but more livable than
Dubai. Is that where you met Neil?
No. We first met here. I come to Dubai every four or five
weeks for my work. We met at& a party.
Something wasn t being said here. I thought I knew what it
was. You mean a gay bar?
He appeared shocked. No! He took another drink. A
party.
I looked at him but said nothing.
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A party& for& fabulous men.
I see. Safety in synonyms. I understand. You and Neil were
boyfriends.
He sucked in his cheeks, pursed his lips, stared at me for a
while, and then said, Casually so. Whenever he was in Abu
Dhabi, or I was here, we would meet.
So, tonight had been a booty call.
But we were more than lovers, you must understand. In
many ways, we were friends too. We wouldn t always jump right
into bed, you see. We would meet first for dinner, or drinks, and
talk. Then we d go to a party. Spend time with other men. Men
like us. (The aforementioned fabulous men, I was guessing.)
Sometimes, that was all we did. It was nice, you know, to
have someone from another city, from another country, to confide
in, tell things you wouldn t tell your wife.
The naive me gulped. You re married?
Of course.
When I arrived instead of Neil, you looked& certainly taken
aback, and sad, and not all that surprised. You knew there might
be a chance he wouldn t show up, didn t you? What I left unsaid
was: As if you knew he was dead.
Neil called me, at my office in Abu Dhabi. This was unusual.
Each time we saw each other, we d make plans for our next meet-
ing. There was no need to be in contact between our meetings. But
he called. He sounded not like himself. He sounded nervous.
Unhappy.
What did he say?
He pretended he wanted to confirm our date for tonight. But
then he told me there was a possibility he might not show up. I
asked him what the problem was. He wouldn t say anything at
first. Then he said it was too complicated to explain. He told me
that if he did not come to meet me tonight at the Burj Al Arab, that
I would know something bad had happened to him. He gave me
a phone number for his father in Canada. He told me I should call
him. To ask for help.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Pranav Gupta had
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