The Burning Gates by Parker Bilal Page A

the details.’
    ‘But you came here to ask me something. Why do you think I can help you?’
    ‘Because you know this world.’ Makana nodded at the walls. ‘I need to understand how it works.’
    ‘Why should I help Kasabian?’
    ‘I get the feeling that whatever he’s mixed up in might affect you too.’
    Dalia Habashi considered this for a moment. ‘Aram Kasabian is about as well established as you can be. He is the leading art dealer in the city. His grandfather started the business.’ They turned along an aisle of glass cabinets containing jewellery. Makana peered at some gold earrings bearing pendants shaped like palm trees. A young couple walked in through the front door. It clearly wasn’t their first visit. There was an air of confidence about them. The girl behind the front desk got up to greet them. These were the gallery’s true customers. Young, wealthy and by the looks of them, recently married. Looking for something a little different but nevertheless familiar.
    ‘How is business?’
    ‘It’s difficult for everyone,’ Dalia answered glibly. ‘Nobody is doing well.’
    ‘I imagine there is a black market in valuable items – museum pieces, for example.’
    ‘What makes you think I would know anything about that?’ Dalia Habashi’s chin lifted.
    ‘You strike me as someone who makes it their business to know everything.’
    ‘Nice try. I don’t deal in stolen artefacts, if that’s what you’re after.’
    ‘I didn’t mean to imply that. I meant simply that you’re an insider. You hear rumours.’
    She studied him for a moment. ‘All right. You don’t get far in this business by sticking to the rules. There are too many grey areas. Clients are protective about their collections. They like to buy and sell with discretion, anonymously.’
    ‘But there’s a certain amount of risk involved. I imagine you have to invest quite heavily in a piece with no guarantee of a sale?’
    ‘Where exactly is this leading?’
    ‘I’m trying to get a feel for the art world. You are a leading reference, so it seems like a good place to start.’
    ‘I’m afraid there isn’t much I can tell you. This is a very discreet business. Clients are fickle and easily scared off. You have to learn to instil confidence in them.’
    ‘Is that what Qasim is to you? A client?’
    Dalia Habashi smiled. ‘Now you are fishing. I think you might learn more if you directed your questions to Mr Kasabian.’
    ‘I intend to,’ Makana nodded. ‘By the way, how is your friend doing today?’
    ‘Which friend?’
    ‘The one you were defending last night. The motorcycle? I couldn’t help noticing it outside.’
    ‘Why does it always come down to this?’ she sighed. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’
    ‘Of course.’
    Makana watched her go, switching on her charm to greet her customers. He left quietly. Outside he found Sindbad using an old rag to polish the car with all the loving care of an archaeological curator.
    ‘Drive us around the corner and wait.’
    Sindbad climbed behind the wheel and started the big engine. He seemed to have acquired a degree of formality since he had begun driving this car. The Thunderbird rolled around the uneven roads circling the square before turning off down a side road. Sindbad waved away a couple of boys who appeared to help with the parking process in return for a small tip and entered into a protracted discussion with them. Makana left him to it. He walked back to the corner of the road from where he could see the entrance of the Zerzura Gallery. It was less than ten minutes before the man appeared from inside the gallery. He rolled the Yamaha motorcycle backwards down to the road, climbed onto it and kicked the starter a couple of times before it came to life. Makana waved Sindbad forward, jumping inside as the Thunderbird rolled by.
    ‘Turn right here.’
    ‘But that’s the wrong way, ya basha !’
    ‘We’ll lose him if we don’t.’
    They made it almost