WHEN THE MUSIC DIES (MUSIC CITY MURDERS Book 1) (15 page)

“We must stand strong,” he paused and waited for the response.

“Amen.” Shouts of approval came from across the group.

“We must stand firm against the world’s coercion to force us to melt into a global community where interracial lifestyles are openly accepted and promoted to the detriment of us all.” He allowed his polished drawl to crescendo into a fevered pitch. Feedback screeched from the speakers in response to his volume.

Brad looked around the room. Arnie was clapping and yelling. He began to clap slowly himself so he didn’t look out of place. Everyone in the room was standing. Looking at each other, they were nodding, cheering and applauding their collective agreement with Garrison’s words.

Garrison raised his hands and as soon as the noise calmed enough for his words to be heard, he leaned forward, grabbed the sides of the podium and shouted into the mike, “We are ...” he paused to allow the congregation to join in his affirmation. “The Alliance for the Racial Purification of America,” they all repeated in unison then exploded into more cheers and applause.

“Is he impressive or what?” Arnie shouted at Brad over the applause.

Brad smiled, amazed at the level of sheer frenzy Garrison had been able to invoke in little more than five minutes.

“When the crowd thins out, I want to introduce you to Carl,” Arnie said.

Brad nodded.

Garrison worked his way toward the door as the applause softened.

“Let’s go,” Arnie said. “He’ll go back to his office now, and we’ll catch up with him there.”

Arnie and Brad exited through the room’s side door and reentered the building behind Garrison and the gathering of ladies still trailing his aura.

As the last of the flirting followers left Garrison’s office, Arnie stepped into the doorway and cleared his throat, “Got a minute? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Sure.” Garrison stepped toward the door, offering his hand and a large white smile.

“Carl Garrison, meet Brad Evans. Brad and I are old friends. I invited him out today to share in our fun.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Brad.” Garrison pumped Brad’s hand. “And, it’s a joy to see someone so adept at marksmanship.”

“You saw that?” Brad asked.

“Brad’s father raised him in the woods with a rifle in his hands,” Arnie said.

“I can believe that,” Garrison said as he looked Brad over.

“It’s more accurate than you know.” Brad smiled.

“I heard on the radio this morning,” Garrison said, “there was another marksman at work early today. Seems that someone shot one of those gang-bangers last night while he was vandalizing one of our Interstate highways.”

“That’s one less criminal we have to incarcerate and feed for the next twenty years,” Arnie said.

“Now that’s a blessing.” Garrison added. “From what the reporter stated, it must have been quite a shot.”

“If that guy had been here today,” Brad said, “I may not have as much money in my pocket right now.”

The men all laughed.

“Gentlemen, I’d love to sit and talk,” Garrison checked his Rolex, “but I have a meeting in thirty minutes. Brad, would you be available to talk with me later this evening? I’d like to pick your brain about something. Would that be okay with you?” Garrison nodded, attempting to elicit Brad’s agreement.

“Uh ... I guess so.” Brad looked at Arnie then back at Garrison. “What time?”

“Say around seven o’clock, here in my office?”

“Okay,” Brad said.

“Great.” Garrison extended his hand again to Brad. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Brad. I’ll look forward to our chat this evening.”

Brad and Arnie stepped into the hallway and out the exterior door. “What does he want to talk to me about?” Brad asked.

“I have no idea.” After some hesitation, Arnie said, “But, I have to be honest with you, Brad. Carl asked me about you during the competition, and he sent word to me later that he wanted to meet you.”

“Why would he want to meet me?”

“Carl’s a straight shooter,” Arnie said. “It sounds as though you may be developing a new and quite powerful friendship. There are worse things, you know.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll withhold judgment until tonight.”

“Good idea,” Arnie said. “Before you go, let’s see if there’s any homemade ice cream left.”

Tennessee State University Campus

Nashville, Tennessee

Tuesday Late Afternoon

Karim al-Waleed was reading the day’s assignment for his computer programming class when he checked his wristwatch. “Sajid, it is time for work.” He stood and returned his books to his backpack. “We must go now, or we will be late.”

Sajid Aziz closed his Thermodynamics textbook and loaded his study materials into his backpack. The two men walked hurriedly toward the exit, but as they had been trained, not so fast as to bring attention to themselves.

When they exited the building, Karim asked, “Have you heard from Abdul?”

“Not since last week. I received an email. He was confirming his arrival and the meeting with us tomorrow. Why do you ask?”

“I am growing tired of the waiting.” They paused their conversation to let two girls pass on the sidewalk. “We have been here in this nightmare for over two years, and I am growing weary of studying and working—working and studying.

Sajid unlocked the car doors and both men tossed their packs into the backseat. “And,” Karim paused looking at Sajid across the top of the compact car, “I am tired of being looked at by these—these arrogant self-righteous infidels like I am some kind of second class human who is here to serve at their table.”

“Hold your tongue,” Sajid said in Arabic as he scanned the area around the car. “Get in.”

As soon as the car doors were closed, Sajid said, “People can hear you. You know how sensitive the Americans are now. I understand how you feel, but you must be more careful with your words.”

Karim continued his tirade as Sajid backed from the space and drove away. “Who are we fooling, Sajid? Hopefully, it is not ourselves. Will our sacrifice here make a difference?” He looked out the side window. “I want to awaken the world. I promise my father each and every day he did not die in vain. So many of our proud Republican Guard gave their lives when these infidels invaded Iraq only to have our world overrun by these Godless pigs.”

“Be careful Karim, we are too close to our destiny to allow our emotions to betray us. Try to remember, we are in preparation, and we must make sacrifices to position ourselves where we need to be in order to carry out Allah’s plan.”

“I understand, brother,” Karim said, “but I do not share your patience. I need to see some progress—some accomplishment. I must honor my father.”

The flashing blue lights arrested their attention, disorienting them both just before the short siren blast brought their adrenaline to a peak. Sajid hit his brakes hard causing the blue and white patrol car to almost strike them in the rear.

“What is wrong? What did you do?” Karim asked.

Sajid pulled to the curb, then glued his eyes to the driver-side mirror. “This is what I get for becoming lost in your complaining. I must have accelerated over the speed limit. You need to hold your tongue, Karim. I know you. We can get through this, but you
must
keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”

As the officer walked up, Sajid lowered his window.

“Good evening. May I see your license, registration and proof of insurance please?”

“Yes, officer.” Sajid removed his license from his wallet and collected the other documents from the glove box as he looked at Karim. He handed the papers to the officer.

“Thank you. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“No, sir.”

“I clocked you at ten miles per hour over the posted limit.”

“I didn’t realize.” Sajid tried to think of an excuse.

“Just a minute; I’ll be right back,” the officer said.

Sajid watched his mirror as the police officer returned to his cruiser.

As soon as the officer was inside his car, Sajid asked, “Tell me you do not have your pistol with you.” Sajid knew Karim liked to carry his small Beretta Cougar, but he’d promised Sajid that he never took it with him to class.

“No, it is at the apartment,” Karim said.

“Good. At least we have
that
to be grateful for,” Sajid said.

After no more than five minutes, a second patrol car arrived behind the first with its lights flashing also. Both officers exited their cars and spoke briefly before walking to each side of Sajid’s car.

The officers stood by the doors, their left hands on the door handles and their right hands near their weapons.

“Gentlemen, we’d like both of you to keep your hands in full view and step out of the vehicle please,” the first officer said.

“What is the problem, officer?” Sajid asked.

The officers opened the doors. “Please exit the car and move to the curb. Keep your hands away from your body. Extend your arms and place both your hands on the car. Now, spread your legs. Each officer stood close behind one of the students and waited for them to comply.

“Do either of you have any weapons or anything sharp on you?”

“No,” Sajid said.

Karim shook his head. “No.”

“We will need to check you for weapons.”

Sajid looked at his friend. Karim’s shallow breathing and lowered brow were displaying his feelings of outrage. Sajid cleared his throat. His eyes told Karim to contain his emotions and allow this episode to play itself out.

Sajid held the submissive position against the car and continued to watch Karim as the officers frisked them both. All the while, Karim stared back at Sajid with enlarged nostrils and hate-filled eyes. Afraid Karim might lose control; Sajid gave him a slow, almost imperceptible, shake of his head and mouthed the words “be calm” in Arabic.

Following the pat-downs, the officer who pulled them over said, “We need to see your student IDs.”

Sajid knew the officer had seen the TSU student parking decal. He and Karim reached into their pockets for their wallets.

“Slowly,” the second officer said.

The two handed their photo ID cards to the first officer, who went back to his car while the second officer waited with the two of them.

After several minutes, the officer climbed from his cruiser and approached the others.

“Mr. Aziz, would you mind if we searched your vehicle?”

“Why? What are you looking for?” Sajid asked.

“We have recently arrested a group of students at TSU who turned out to be members of an organized group selling illegal drugs to their fellow students and other young people on the streets. We need to be sure you are not a part of that group.”

“Officer, I assure you we are not selling drugs,” Sajid said. “We are students. I am studying to be an engineer, and my friend here is a computer programmer.”

“Do you mind if we search your car, or do we need to obtain a warrant in order to do so?”

“So, you will be searching it with or without my permission?” Sajid asked.

The officer nodded. “It won’t take long.”

“This is so typical,” Karim mumbled.

“In that case, officer, go ahead.” Sajid elevated his voice so all of Karim’s criticism could not be heard. “We have nothing to hide.” Sajid gave Karim a look that told him to shut his mouth.

“Step away from the car please and stand over here.” The first officer directed the men to a spot several feet from the car.

The last officer to arrive returned to his cruiser and opened the passenger side rear door. Bending and reaching inside the car, he appeared to be manipulating something in the backseat. After a brief moment, he stood back and allowed a large black Labrador Retriever to exit the car and then march along side him on a leash.

The K-9 team began their examination of the car’s exterior. The dog began at the front of the car. He circled the car sniffing the front bumper, wheels and fenders. He worked his way back to the trunk, then came up the near side where the officer opened the back seat passenger door allowing the dog inside.

There was an undeniable heightened sensitivity for police officers who encountered someone with a Middle Eastern appearance, name or accent. Over the last few months there were instances where even some of Nashville’s West End area residents from the Jewish community received additional attention during normal traffic stops. Some of them understood; some were angry. But, they all knew why it was being done. They were as fearful of the terror threats to the public safety as any other citizens, if not more so.

As the Retriever searched the backseat, the dog knocked one of the backpacks from the car and onto the sidewalk. The officer retrieved the bag, and as he lifted it an amber bottle fell out.

“What’s this?” He asked as he picked up the bottle and read the label.

There was no response.

“What’s in here? It says it’s Vicodin.”

Sajid turned his head toward his friend. It was Karim’s backpack.

The officer dumped the contents of the bag onto the concrete sidewalk.

Karim cursed inaudibly in Arabic as some of his work spilled out and was now spotted, wet with the disrespectful slobber from the four-legged cop. Sajid became nervous and asked Karim in Arabic what was in the bottle.

“Medicine.” Karim answered, also in Arabic.

“Speak English,” the officer said.

Textbooks and spiral notebooks were scattered across the sidewalk.

“Which one of you is Karim al-Waleed?”

“I am,” said Karim, with an irritated tone.

“Is this your prescription?”

Karim nodded. “Yes.”

“Vicodin?” The cop said, remembering it was on the list of controlled narcotics he had to memorize.

“It is my migraine medication,” Karim said. “There is also a bottle of Midrin in there if your dog has not yet
eaten
it.”

Sajid knew Karim took medicine for his headaches, but had no idea it might be a problem.

“Call the pharmacy. Call my doctor,” Karim said, with a disgusted tone. “They will confirm it. If all this keeps up, I will soon need to take two of them.”