Dawood awoke with a start and growled as he looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was two in the morning and his war flashbacks were still giving him grief. He glanced to his side and noticed that Annie wasn't sleeping next to him. "Where'd she go?" Dawood yawned as he rubbed his eyes. They had been home less than two weeks and he realized that he had become accustomed to Annie being around quite easily. He stumbled out of bed and yawned before pulling on a shirt and shuffling towards the door to their room. He headed down the hall and spotted Annie sitting in the living room, talking on the house phone. She looked right at home as she sipped on what Dawood could only surmise as being tea while she propped her feet on a nearby ottoman.
He quietly descended the stairs and watched as Annie obliviously continued talking on the phone. His inner child got the best of him as he decided to surprise his wife instead of calmly walking up to her like an adult would do. He nearly reached Annie in relative silence, but tripped over her shoes, alerting her to his presence. "Dawood!" Annie cried out in surprise as she turned off the phone and helped Dawood onto his feet. "Well, I wasn't as smooth as I thought I'd be," Dawood smiled and clutched Annie's hand to get off the ground. "What are you doing here?" Annie asked in confusion. Dawood dusted his shirt before crossing his arms across his chest and smiling, "I should ask you the same thing. Secret phone calls and tea in the middle of the night? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were cheating on me," Dawood teased Annie.
Annie raised an eyebrow at Dawood, and then shook her head, "I thought you were serious. I was going to hit you for doubting me." Dawood grinned and held Annie's hand before sitting down on the couch, "Oh yeah? Then why is your heart racing? Are you actually cheating on me?" Annie frowned and pulled her hands out of Dawood's grip before wringing them together and whispering, "I can't believe you're doubting me." "Whoa, Annie," Dawood grinned and pulled Annie onto his lap, "you're freaking out. Are you seriously cheating on me?" Annie frowned and began to get up from Dawood's lap, but stopped as Dawood gave her a hug and said, "Kidding. Kidding. Sheesh. Why do you get so serious?" "I don't like being doubted, Dawood," Annie said with a huff.
"Do you know why I joke with you?" Dawood asked as Annie sat down next to him. "Why?" Annie asked as she picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. "It's because I never know what you're thinking," Dawood explained. "What do you mean?" Annie asked as she glanced at Dawood. "I'm a soldier and one skill you learn when you stay in the army for a while is how to read people," Dawood began. "How is that a skill that a soldier needs or develops?" Annie asked with a laugh. "Oh you're laughing now, but reading a person's expressions and body language is what has kept your husband alive and well while in war zones. We use body language as a key indicator to figure out what could be wrong or if we are going to be backstabbed by informants. Simple things like not making eye contact, can alert us that something is wrong," Dawood explained as he looked into Annie's eyes.
"Anyone looking into your eyes would be unnerved," Annie sighed as she averted her gaze. "Why's that?" Dawood asked and looked at Annie expectantly. "Your eyes, they-they seem like they've seen things that no human should see. They're mysterious and unnerving at the same time," Annie whispered. "Pretty sure I've never heard that before. You're making me sound like some sort of boogeyman," Dawood said with a grimace. "You're different, Dawood. Much different from the person you were portrayed as, to me," Annie explained. "Is that a bad thing?" Dawood asked as he looked at his wife. "No, of course not. I was under the impression that you'd be this overbearing white guy who wanted his wife to always be in the kitchen," Annie sighed. "That's a stereotype if there ever was one. Honey, go make me a sammich!" Dawood said in jest and chuckled. "You realize that I'm not one of those stay-in-the-kitchen types, right? I might make you a sandwich, but that's only because that is something I want to do. Not because you told me to do it," Annie said with a raised eyebrow.
"Right on, fight the man," Dawood said as he pumped his fist in the air. He watched as Annie glanced at the phone to make sure it was turned off. "Who did you call at this time?" Dawood asked in interest. "Pakistan," Annie said offhandedly. "The country has a phone number? Does the country have a voice? Does it sound like Morgan Freeman? I feel like all countries should be voiced by Morgan Freeman, " Dawood teased, knowing full well that Annie had meant she had called her mother in Pakistan. "Dawood, do you always try to make people smile?" Annie asked seriously. Dawood frowned as he realized that Annie was not, in fact, smiling, "I try to. I mean life is too short to just be a bag of sad bones." "I feel like- I feel as if you should mature. There are far too many childish elements to your personality. I say this as your wife, I just want you to be able to face the world realistically," Annie said as she shook her head. "What do you mean? You don't like my personality?" Dawood asked with a frown.
"You know better than me that the world isn't black and white. Isn't it better to take life seriously so that even sudden shocks don't sweep you off your feet?" Annie asked as she stood up. "You don't get to just leave after saying I need to alter my personality," Dawood said quickly as he stood up as well. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that I have never met anyone that looked at life so optimistically. I mean, you're a soldier. I'm sure you've seen death. How can you still be optimistic when you've seen the worst of humanity?" "Is that your question? How do I keep going when I've seen little kids being blown up? How do I still smile while people are out there killing women and children?" Dawood asked Annie. "I just think you're a tad too nice and naïve," Annie explained. "I know there are horrors out there, Annie. I know that and I still choose to make others feel good. Do you know why?" Dawood asked his wife. "Why?" Annie asked as she looked at Dawood. "Because this world could use a little happiness, especially with the crap that goes on out there," Dawood smiled.
"I wish I had your drive. I feel like I am what I am. I cannot pretend to be happy when I'm not. In certain situations, when I need to attain something for personal gain, I will put on a happy demeanor, but even then, I feel horrid and want to resort to my normal self," Annie sighed. "That sounds kind of selfish," Dawood said as he pursed his lips. "I know. I suppose I am selfish when it comes to my needs," Annie said with a shrug. "And you're okay with that?" Dawood asked in surprise. "I suppose. This is my life. I feel that in order to be happy in life, one has to be a tad selfish. The entire selfless philosophy of life leads to nothing but poverty and servitude. In order to rule, one has to be selfish," Annie explained. Dawood had never met someone who was so blunt about his or her philosophy on life.
He had been taught to be honest and to try to help others when he could, never to only think of himself. "Don't you think that's counterproductive to being a Muslim?" Dawood asked. "Perhaps, but I feel as if I will just ask for forgiveness after achieving my goals. It's not as if I'll do these things again. Isn't that how our religion works? We ask for forgiveness if we promise not to do it again?" Annie asked. Dawood frowned and studied Annie. Was she not religious? Hadn't her mother said that she was religious? "It'll take time, Dawood, but you'll get used to my way of thinking and maybe you'll even help me grow. I may not be super religious now, but I know you are better at our religion than me. I'm sure you'll help me," Annie smiled. Dawood shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. He felt a chill run down his spine while he looked at Annie. He was sure there was more to this woman than she let on. "Why did you marry me, Annie? I mean, the real reason. Not simply because our mother's suggested that we get married," Dawood asked. "Because you're American," Annie said simply.
Dawood looked at Annie in confusion as he realized that she was serious in her admission. "You're not joking are you?" Dawood asked as he cocked his head to the side in thought and watched as Annie shook her head. "I have no reason to lie to you, Dawood. I married you because you were what everyone called the holy grail of men. You were American, meaning eventually I'd become American. You were tall, fair-skinned, and you look like one of the ghora overlords that once had colonized us. I know that we complain about the white man and what he has done to Pakistan, but on the inside, on the inside we all want to be just like them. Do you know how my mother explained to me who you were? She said that she had an American proposal for me from a boy in America whose mother she was very good friends with. I will never understand your desire to be Pakistani or to be considered Pakistani, Dawood, when the world will never consider you to be Pakistani. You are and will always be an American. I know Pakistanis that would kill to have the blessings that you were born with. Why are you so ashamed of being from here?" Annie asked as she looked at her husband in intrigue.
"I'm not ashamed, Annie," Dawood said as he looked at his wife. "Then why are you so keen to call yourself something that you're not?" Annie asked as she threw her hands up in question. "My entire life here, my entire life, I've been asked where I'm from. It doesn't matter that I was born here or raised here. All that matters is that I have a funny name. From day one in kindergarten, all the way up until now, everywhere I go people ask me where I'm from. If I happen to say, hey I was born here, they say well then, where are your parents from?" Dawood explained. "You're in a unique predicament, aren't you?" Annie asked as she headed towards the kitchen. "What do you mean?" Dawood asked as he followed his wife. "You're not accepted either way, hmm? You're Pakistani here and American there," Annie answered. "I guess I'm confused as to what I am. I mean, I had no idea that people in Pakistan referred me to me as American," Dawood frowned. "Not just a few, but the majority of people do. It's fascinating, the labels we put on each other," Annie smirked as she poured herself a glass of milk.
"You should embrace your American identity. It's really what made you so appealing in the first place," Annie said before downing half of the glass in one go. "So, you married me because I'm American. I feel like I should be offended," Dawood said as he pursed his lips. "You should feel special. There are very few first generation Americans born to Pakistani parents that are in our age group. Your parents were some of the first to emigrate to America from Pakistan," Annie explained. "Have you researched this or something? I feel like you know way too much about children of Pakistani immigrants in America," Dawood said as he poured himself a glass of milk as well. "I'm being honest. You asked me what made me interested in this proposal from your family and I told you it was because I wanted to marry someone from America. I had a visiting visa, but I really wanted to move here permanently and start my family here. There's just so much freedom here. Over there I would have had to worry about what my mother thinks about my spouse, what my neighbor thinks about my spouse, and what my maid's cousin's friend's waiter thinks about my spouse," Annie smiled.
"Your bluntness is pretty weird for me. I guess I was expecting some sort of romantic reason for marrying me," Dawood sheepishly explained. "Romantic? Dawood, we barely knew each other for two weeks," Annie chuckled. "Then we decided to get married. The romance was nonexistent. This is your inner American speaking, isn't it?" Dawood smiled as he watched his wife walk around the kitchen and make a midnight snack. Annie was methodical, calculating, and overall quite composed. He was a romantic at heart, sporadic, and spontaneous. They were in a way, complete opposites. "You're staring," Annie pointed out as she waved a carrot stick in Dawood's face. "Yes, I am. It's called admiring your spouse. You should try it sometime," Dawood said before sticking his tongue out at Annie. "I seem to recall you catching me staring quite a few times and then calling me out on it as well," Annie reminisced. "You're saying it like it happened ages ago. Plus, you denied it. I accepted it. I am not ashamed of admiring my wife," Dawood said calmly. "Is that what that was?" Annie asked with a smile.
"What are you two doing?" Mehak asked as she yawned and headed towards the fridge. "Annie was calling her mom and I decided to keep her company," Dawood explained and watched as Mehak prepared a bottle of milk. "Is that for the big one or the little one?" Annie asked. "The little one. The big one would throw a fit if I gave him a bottle. He's a big boy, apparently," Mehak smiled and shook the bottle in her hand to mix the contents. "Bhabi, where are you from?" Annie asked as she leaned on the counter and finished her carrot stick. "Shannon, originally," Mehak smiled and sighed, "my parents moved to Dublin when I was still a child, but Shannon will always be my home." "That's in Ireland, right?" Dawood asked. "It is," Mehak nodded. "You have an accent when you speak English as well. I thought Dawood would make fun of my Pakistani accent when speaking English, but he has been pretty kind about it," Annie said randomly as she studied Mehak. "I prefer speaking Gaelic, but Sulaiman is hopeless with learning new languages and the boys aren't fluent yet. I'm working on it. Our Dawood is a fine man. He teases me about my accent at times, but that's because he finds it whimsical. You'll see that they're pretty accepting here and I'm sure you've won the pot when it comes to arranged marriages and husbands," Mehak smiled before patting Dawood on the head and heading back towards her room.
"Your brothers' wives seem to have a plethora of nice things to say about you," Annie said as they headed back upstairs to their room. "Plethora? People actually say words like that?" Dawood asked as he closed the door behind them. "You don't? I went to some of the top schools in Lahore. It's only natural to use your extensive vocabulary when speaking," Annie said before lying down on her side of the bed. "I'm a pretty simple guy, Annie. You won't catch me saying plethora unless I'm like being interrogated or something and only by the president," Dawood chuckled before lying down on his side of the bed. "If you're such a simple guy, why was our wedding so extravagant?" Annie asked as she studied Dawood. Dawood turned to face Annie and propped himself up on his arm. He smiled before shaking his head, which prompted a protest from Annie. "You're not going to answer me?" Annie asked as she poked Dawood's stomach. "Your mom. She said that you deserved the wedding of your dreams. She said that she demanded the best for you," Dawood explained as he looked at Annie. "Ammi said that?" Annie asked in surprise. "Yup. I had to take out a loan to cover the additional expenses, but I guess it's okay. You were happy, right?" Dawood shrugged and pulled the covers over him. "Yes, I was. I feel that's the least you could have done," Annie said and nodded. Dawood watched as Annie drifted off to sleep. He felt as if he was lucky to be married to someone who was honest about her opinions and beliefs and with that, he let himself slip into an exhausted slumber.
His dreams were plagued by the decisions he had made in Afghanistan and the decisions he was forced to make in the military. He awoke with a start as he fought invisible demons from grabbing him and pulling him into an endless cycle of loss and death in his slumber. He glanced at his wife who was fast asleep and decided to take a quick shower before heading outside for a run. This was a part of his life he had tried battling and so far, had kept from a good majority of his family. His family knew he had been injured in Afghanistan, but what they didn't know was what led to his injuries and what happened afterwards. As Dawood took his shirt off and looked in the mirror, he remembered Annie's first question upon seeing him shirtless for the first time. "Was it from your own people or the other side?" Annie had asked simply without taking a second glance at Dawood's scars. He had said they were from the other side and they went about their business. Even though Annie was his wife, he knew that she wouldn't understand the stress and secondary trauma he experienced when he thought about what he had gone through. As Dawood took a shower, he let his mind drift to the events that led to his injuries.
******
"Get off of her!" Dawood roared as he pulled back his fist and let it collide with the man in front of him. The man staggered and cradled his jaw before looking at Dawood in bewilderment, "Did you just touch me?" Dawood ignored the man and averted his gaze as he offered the woman in front of him his combat uniform shirt, "Here. I'll deal with him." The woman held back tears and meekly accepted Dawood's shirt before shrugging it on and leaving the tent. "What you gonna do? Report me?" The man scoffed as he pulled his pants back on and sneered at Dawood. Dawood lunged at the man and punched him before pinning him to the ground and growling in his ear, "You assaulted one of our own. You piece of shit! I'm going to make sure you pay for laying a hand on her!" "She asked for it! Wearing her top like that with those buttons undone! She begged for it! Who's going to believe you, Khan? I could pin this all on you," the man spat in Dawood's face. Before Dawood could crush the man's neck for even insinuating that the woman had asked to be sexually assaulted, he heard a group of footsteps behind him ad felt two sets of hands pulling him off of the assaulter.
"Khan, calm down!" Dawood heard his superior, Sergeant Major Timothy Jackson, yell out as he entered the tent. "Sir, he-he assaulted Corporal Jenkins!" Dawood yelled out as he struggled against the men who restrained him. "Staff Sergeant Dawood Khan, you will stand down! That is an order, soldier!" Jackson roared and watched as Dawood reluctantly shrugged off his restrainers and stood at attention. "Sergeant Mills, what the hell is going on here?" Jackson asked as he looked at the man who was on the ground, hiding his jaw. "He attacked me, sir! I did nothing wrong!" Mills yelled out as he pointed at Dawood. "Oh no you don't! You don't get to put this on me! You fucking piece of dog shit!" Dawood growled at Mills. "Then you explain to me why the hell you're missing a shirt and why Sergeant Otis Mills is on the ground with a busted lip," Sergeant Major Jackson said as he looked at Dawood. "I was heading to the barracks to lay down, sir, and I heard a scream. No one was supposed to be here so, I came here and found him with his pants off, trying to, you know. He had torn her shirt off which is why I gave her mine. Mills said no one would believe us. He'd peg this on me. I'm from the South, sir. We're taught to respect women, not hurt them," Dawood said with a snarl.
"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" Timothy asked as he grabbed Otis by his collar. "I didn't do anything!" Otis said as he held Timothy's gaze. "Find Corporal Andrea Jenkins. We're going to have to confirm the chain of events before we take action," Jackson said to a soldier standing at the entrance of the tent. "Khan, come with me," the Sergeant Major said as he led Dawood out of the tent. Dawood clenched his fists as he watched his comrades escorting Otis away from the tent. Dawood followed his superior past curious onlookers and entered Jackson's makeshift headquarters. "I can't have two minutes of peace and quiet in the place without someone mucking it up," Jackson growled and looked up at Dawood from his table, "and now this. Do you know how much flak I will take because Otis couldn't keep it in his pants? Not to mention all the unwanted media attention we'll get. Morale will be in the gutter." "Sir, this isn't about us," Dawood said as he looked at Timothy is confusion, "Corporal Jenkins was assaulted. You have to do something about it." "Do I?" Jackson sighed and poured himself a glass of water. "Sir!" Dawood cried out in indignation. "Khan, you have to put yourself in my shoes. Mills may have acted incorrectly but he's a man. Boys will be boys." Jackson sighed. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" Dawood asked as he held back his rage. "Go ahead," Jackson said as he downed his glass. "What you're doing is wrong. She'll become another statistic. Another woman wronged by our military. Sir. I'm a witness. You can't just deny that anything happened," Dawood whispered as he forced himself to keep a neutral tone.
"Khan, Khan, Khan," Jackson began; now using a condescending tone. "You're a soldier. You follow orders. I have to protect the morale of those under me. To do this, I will talk to Jenkins and get her to drop any complaints she has. You think this hasn't happened before? This happens and we try our best so that it doesn't get out. War's tough. It messes with your mind. Even the greatest of men can make mistakes. We'll keep this between us." "Mills is not a great man. War is tough, sir, but it doesn't make you sexually assault your colleague. I have seen little kids blown apart. I have seen women cradling the remains of their decapitated husbands, but that does not give you an excuse to hurt your comrades. You're letting this go unreported? Have you even thought of how this will affect Jenkins? She's the victim, sir, but you're siding with Mills because boys will be boys. Does that even make any sense?" Dawood asked in utter disbelief. "Boy, what do you know? If you dare report anything, see if I don't make your military career end in the blink of an eye. Who do you think they'd believe? You, a goddamn Muslim, or me, a patriotic American?" Jackson growled as he slammed his glass on the table. Dawood clenched his fist and held his rage in check. Not only was his superior a misogynistic bigot, but he was also forcing him to turn a blind eye towards a sexual assault that he had seen personally. What was his justification? That war makes things excusable? He couldn't stand that. He'd find Jenkins and talk to her. He'd report this because she deserved justice.
He tried to do that. He found Andrea cowering near a truck with her head buried between her knees. He tried talking to her, but realized that Jackson had gotten to her first. "Here," Andrea whispered as she handed Dawood his top back. "We can report to someone higher on the chain of command," Dawood said as he looked at Andrea. "I don't want to, sir," Andrea sighed. "Jenkins. You were wronged. You need to file a report," Dawood adamantly insisted. "Permission to speak fre-," Andrea began but was interrupted by Dawood. "Yeah, yeah." "I'm not the first, Dave. I won't be the last. I come from a small Quaker family. You know that. I rebelled and joined the army. I can't have my parents' good name be dragged through the mud. You're a good guy. Your mama raised you right. I know I should report this. I feel so dirty, but the Sarge said that no one would believe me. Please don't try to do anything on your own. I know you want me to get justice. I just-I can't," Andrea whispered and frowned before heading towards a group of mechanics near the trucks. Dawood stood at a loss for words. He clutched his top and clenched his teeth as he watched Andrea force herself to smile with her colleagues. He knew this was wrong. He felt that he would never be able to face his friends and family again if her simply let this go. Letting this go would mean he had not only failed his mother, who taught him how to respect others, but also his religion which taught him to protect women, children, and the elderly.
Dawood woke up the next morning, earlier than his associates. He had decided to go to Timothy's superiors to get Andrea the justice she deserved. Before he could reach the main office, a young recruit on his first tour of Afghanistan came running towards him. Dawood frowned as the young man went through all formalities and then said, "Sir, you're needed in interrogation." "I'm needed in interrogation?" Dawood asked irately. "No-uh-I mean, sir, um-," the young man stuttered and colored furiously. Dawood glanced at the newbie's nametape and said, "Calm down, Berkowitz. What'd they need me for?" "They got him, sir. Abdul Rehman, the commander for the Taliban in this area. They got him. They need you as a second translator, sir," Berkowitz explained confidently. "You're shitting me," Dawood mumbled in awe. Abdul Rehman was known as the head honcho of the Taliban in the area Dawood usually patrolled. He had seen Abdul Rehman's followers murder innocent women execution style because their clothes were deemed indecent. Dawood had personally been on missions to hunt Abdul Rehman down. He was known for enjoying his time with prostitutes while demanding a jihad or Islamic struggle, against the West by his followers.
Berkowitz looked at Dawood expectantly and called out, "Sir?" Dawood was torn. He wanted to go and report what had happened to Andrea, but he was also ordered elsewhere. Dawood growled and kicked at a rock near his boot to vent his frustration before looking at Berkowitz in annoyance, "Lead the way, Berkowitz." He followed the young man to one of the makeshift interrogation centers the US Army had managed to set up on base. "I want to know where Haji is, Khan," First Sergeant Dixon called out as he patted Dawood's shoulder and brought him close. "Is it really him, sir? Is it really Abdul Rehman?" Dawood asked. Dixon squeezed Dawood's shoulder and whispered, "You know we've been after this son-of-a-bitch for a long time. I wouldn't joke about this. Now, we got a couple guys in there with the translator. I just need you to crack this one like you do the others. You're my main man, Dawood. Let's get this scum and his leader." "Yes, sir," Dawood nodded before heading inside the room. The room smelled of decay. Many of his comrades would dump trash near the miniscule window to give the room a musty smell. A lone light bulb illuminated the room, allowing Dawood a moment to study the radical extremist in front of him.
A chair was bolted down in the middle of the room. Two soldiers were glaring at the man sitting in the chair as a local Afghan translator helped the men get their message across. The chair's worn leather straps bit into the man's wrists as he struggled against them and cursed at the soldiers. The room smelled like a mixture of feces and urine. Many a prisoner had lost all control of their bodily functions by the time the interrogators were done with them. Dawood finally let his eyes rest on the man sitting in the chair, fully restrained by the leather straps at his wrists, chest, and feet. He was no older than forty, Dawood estimated. He could be younger; the environment in Afghanistan was harsh, as was the upbringing of most men there. His skin was leathery, tan, and dry, as if he spent too much time in the sun. His hair was black, long, almost shoulder-length and slightly wavy. A scar ran down his cheek and disappeared underneath his disheveled beard. The two hazel orbs that stared and held the translators gaze showed no emotion as one of the soldiers slammed his fist on a nearby table before yelling, "Where is Haji?"
Dawood cleared his throat to make his presence known in the small room. His boots crunched against the floor as he paced behind the soldiers already in the room. Abdul Rehman's hazel eyes now followed Dawood as he paced. "They sent another one of their dogs," Abdul Rehman muttered in Pashto. The soldiers glanced at Dawood before giving each other a nod. They quietly escorted themselves out of the area, leaving only Dawood, the translator, and Abdul Rehman in the poorly lit room. "How do you feel knowing that once I get out of here, I will personally take your daughters for my enjoyment?" Abdul Rehman growled at the translator in Pashto. Dawood held Abdul Rehman's stare as the man violently fought against his restraints. He continued spewing belligerent statements at the translator, all in Pashto. Dawood knew that their conversation would be in Pashto, which was why he was called. He was fluent in Pashto, courtesy of his father. He also knew that the last thing Abdul Rehman expected was for the seemingly Caucasian soldier in front of him to begin speaking the tongue of his motherland. "Just tell us where Haji is," the translator repeated. "I will find your mother and father, Abdullah, and I will personally flay them. First, I'll flay your father and I'll make your mother, wife, and children watch. Then, I'll flay your whore of a mother. Do you think you'll be left alive after selling out your people to these pigs?" Abdul Rehman whispered viciously.
Abdullah was visibly shaken as he glanced at Dawood. "Go on. Tell him what I said," Abdul Rehman egged on the translator. At that moment, Dawood motioned for one of the soldiers standing guard outside and gave him a nod as a chair was brought in for him. Dawood carried the chair towards Abdul Rehman and placed it right in front of the terrorist before sitting down in front of him. "He wants to kill your parents?" Dawood asked Abdullah in English. Abdullah gulped and whispered to Dawood in English, "I only took this job so we could escape from them to America. My family doesn't deserve to die just because I want a better life for them." "Are you frightened, infidel?" Abdul Rehman whispered fiercely in Pashto. "No," Dawood replied back in Pashto before giving the terrorist a smirk. The bearded man did a double take, as Dawood continued to speak in Pashto, "How is it that you're making threats when it's you who is a prisoner?" "So now they've forced you to learn our language? You will never silence us. We are Allah's chosen people. We will fight until the entire world is under an Islamic caliphate," Abdul Rehman declared. "And who will be caliph? You? Or will it be your leader?" Dawood asked in intrigue. "Haji will take over this world. He will drive out you and your pale skinned infidel brethren!" Abdul Rehman roared.
Dawood sighed and shook his head before whispering, "I doubt your haji has ever even stepped foot in Makkah or Madinah. Why do you insist on smearing such a beautiful title?" Abdul Rehman looked at Dawood in surprise, which quickly turned to anger, "What do YOU know about the hajj? You infidels call all of us haji." "I know that my brethren, as you put it, are quite ignorant when it comes to the term haji. They like to lump all Arabs and Afghans together. Then they call you all haji as if it's a derogatory term. However, I don't think they understand that earning the title of haji is difficult in itself. A haji is someone who has been on hajj, the holiest of pilgrimages in Islam. A haji is not a terrorist who murders women and children under the pretense of Islam. Now, tell me, who is your haji? What's his real name?" Dawood asked as he cocked his head to the side. "Do they make you study Islam as well? How dare you talk about our religion from your dirty mouth?!" Abdul Rehman yelled in anger as he struggled against his bonds.
"Bismillah-ar-rahman-ar-raheem," Dawood began in Arabic. "No! How dare you?! How dare you desecrate words from the Qur'an with your infidel mouth?!" Abdul Rehman screamed as he violently thrashed against his restraints. Dawood noticed that Abdullah flinched upon Abdul Rehman's outburst. "Abdul Rehman," Dawood whispered, making the terrorist snap his head towards Dawood. "You are wasting your time with me. I will never forsake my brotherhood," Abdul Rehman growled. "That's strange. All of your brothers we have captured said the exact same thing before telling me exactly what I needed to know. It's funny. You have such a wonderful name, Abdul Rehman," Dawood sighed before shaking his head. "You know what it means?" Abdul Rehman asked curiously. "Of course. Abdul means that you're the servant of something and Rehman is one of the names of Allah. To be more precise, Ar-Rehman means the Merciful. It's a fitting name for our creator. He is truly merciful to the pious," Dawood continued. "Our creator? You're Muslim?" Abdul Rehman asked in confusion. "Oh, no, no. I'm not Muslim to you. To you, I'm an infidel fighting for the infidel army of the West. To you and your precious Taliban, I am the enemy. To you and your kind, I am to be murdered merely because I was born in a different country. I am not a Muslim to you or your kind. To be a Muslim, in your eyes, you must take the lives of innocents. You must murder, rape, and pillage your own people. You must subjugate anyone who is not conforming to YOUR version of Islam. It's a pity, Abdul Rehman. It's a pity that your parents named you this precious name. Don't you think so, Abdullah?" Dawood asked.
"Why would you ask me that?" Abdullah asked. "Because, Abdullah, you and I are infidels in this man's eyes. You and I, we strive to be pious and peaceful Muslims. We begin our daily tasks with, bismillah-ar-rahman-ar-raheem. Do you now what that means, Abdullah?" Dawood asked. "It means, in the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful," Abdullah answered. "The Beneficent and the Merciful," Dawood repeated before looking at Abdul Rehman. "What's your point? I know how to recite that too," Abdul Rehman asked. "You see, our creator, He is merciful. He forgives, Abdul Rehman, and here you are posing as his humble servant? You murder. You pillage. You rape women and burn men alive. You are everything BUT a humble servant of Allah. How dare you call yourself a Muslim?" Dawood asked in anger as he grasped Abdul Rehman's chair and shook it violently. The terrorist widened his eyes in surprise at Dawood's outburst.
"Do you know what grief and regret are, Abdul Rehman?" Dawood asked as he stood up and looked at the restrained man. The bearded man stayed silent as Dawood continued, "Grief is a feeling humans feel when they lose something precious whether physically or mentally. Regret is something that usually accompanies grief. Grief can make a person do vicious things. Do you know what fills me with grief, Abdullah?" "No, sir. I don't," Abdullah whispered. "I am filled with grief when children, Muslim children, are persecuted throughout the world because your voice is louder than mine. I am filled with grief when children are bullied, women are tortured, men are beaten because they think we are like you," Dawood explained. "You are not like me. You have sold your faith for modern comforts. Do you know why your kind loses their minds when they come to war? Why they blow their brains out when they go back to their perfect lives?" Abdul Rehman snarled. Dawood managed to control his rage as Abdul Rehman began berating the US Army and the soldiers there. "You all see war as some fairytale and when you come here and see the remains of your companions, you realize that the world isn't as pretty as you think it is. No one likes you or your countrymen. Do you know why we survive? We have known nothing, but death and destruction. We will prevail while you go home and end your lives with the burden war brings," Abdul Rehman smirked.
Dawood nodded, knowing full well that PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was a leading cause of suicide amongst veterans. He continued nodding as he exited the room and looked at Dixon who waited in anticipation. "Well?" Dixon asked. "I need to borrow your gun, sir," Dawood requested. "Do you think I'd let you take a gun in there with him?" Dixon asked in disbelief. "I need to put the fear of God in him. He's mocking us and our own. He's not cracking otherwise. The walls aren't that thick, sir. Make sure no one is on the other side of the far wall," Dawood explained before taking the rifle into his hands. He made sure that it was loaded before gazing into the scope. It was eerie how comfortable he was with a gun in his hands. He wasn't trigger happy, but he was efficient. He knew where to aim to kill and where to aim to maim. He intended to do neither to Abdul Rehman, but he would make him crack. "Khan, I have to go elsewhere. Make sure you crack him," Dixon called out. "Will do, sir," Dawood nodded.
He re-entered the room and could see the animosity that rested behind Abdul Rehman's hazel eyes. "You know, in another world or another time, we could have been cousins. My ancestors walked on this land too," Dawood began again in Pashto. "I would rather die than accept an infidel sympathizer like yourself as my family," Abdul Rehman growled. "You sure do like growling, don't you?" Dawood asked as he patted the rifle, which now rested on his lap. Abdul Rehman fought against his restraints as Dawood quietly watched him. "I will never understand why terrorists, such as yourself, seem to think that they are more pious than the rest of the world. You think as if Allah will give you a free pass into heaven simply because you were murdered by people from another country," Dawood sighed before shaking his head. "My creator will reward me graciously for waging jihad on you and your infidel companions. There is no room for infidels or their sympathizers in this world. This world belongs to Muslims alone," Abdul Rehman declared. "Then, why are YOU still here?" Dawood asked curiously. "What?" Abdul Rehman asked in confusion as he inhaled angrily. "You said that there was no room for infidels in this society, so why are you still here? No one is a bigger hypocrite or infidel than the Taliban and their associates," Dawood pointed out. "You DARE to call ME an infidel?!" Abdul Rehman roared.
Dawood smirked and shrugged before cocking his head to the side and asking, "Tell me, Abdul Rehman, do you fear death?" The question caught the terrorist off guard and Dawood noticed that the angry bearded man was struggling to keep up with Dawood's change of pace. That's how they cracked. That's how they always cracked. They were used to fighting, using violence, etc., but they hated being in a calm setting. They hated being reasoned with since all they ever used were scare tactics and terrorism. Dawood used scare tactics, but he never used terrorism with scum like Abdul Rehman. "I am not afraid of death. Muslims aren't afraid of death," Abdul Rehman said proudly. "Why aren't you afraid of death?" Dawood asked as he patted his rifle gently. "Muslims are taught not to fear death. That is why we win against the infidels. I can see it in you that you fear death," Abdul Rehman smirked. "I don't fear death, because as you said we're taught not to fear the inevitable. That being said, I don't go looking for it either, because as you know, Allah had instructed us to preserve life. Our merciful creator has instructed us to preserve all life because we will only be given one chance at it. He has given us permission to even eat the flesh of swine if we are dying of hunger. You may eat it for sustenance so that you may live another day, but not gorge on it. Such is the value of life. I don't fear death, Abdul Rehman, but I do fear what comes after death," Dawood explained.
"What?" Abdul Rehman asked. "You didn't think that far ahead, did you? Our judgment. I fear my judgment, Abdul Rehman. I fear facing my creator with my sinful life. You see I have taken other's precious lives. Of course I've asked for forgiveness for these deeds, but what if Allah doesn't forgive me? Can you imagine, burning in a fire hotter than a thousand suns? I'm sure you can. Your followers have burnt many people alive, on your orders. I'm sure you remember their screams, their cries for mercy. Now, imagine yourself in their place. You see I've killed a couple of people, Abdul Rehman, but you've killed more. You don't even ask for forgiveness, Abdul Rehman. YOU think it's right what you do," Dawood pointed out. Dawood could see that his words were having an affect on the Taliban in front of him. The older man squirmed and fought against his restraints, as Dawood's words seemed to replay in his mind. This was a cold-hearted killer, who seemed to be on a holy war. Now, Dawood had planted the seed of doubt in this vicious man's mind. "Your not afraid of death, right?" Dawood called out as he stood up and backed up from Abdul Rehman's position.
Before the terrorist could reply, Dawood lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger, eliciting a deafening bang from the machine. The bullet grazed past Abdul Rehman's turban and buried itself in the wall behind the terrorist. Dawood noticed that the vicious man in front of him had accidentally relieved himself in fright. The fear in the older man's eyes showed that Dawood could swoop in for the kill. "Are you ready to meet our lord and master, Abdul Rehman? Are you ready for judgment? I won't miss this time," Dawood asked softly. "D-don't-don't-," the radical extremist begged. "You see, I could kill you now and spend the rest of my life begging for forgiveness, but you will be dead. That means you will be judged for all the evil you have done until now. Can you imagine facing Allah with those vicious deeds under your belt?" Dawood asked as he shook his head. "I-I don't want to face Him like this," the older man cried as he bunched up his fists. "Then tell me who Haji is and where I can find him. Then, beg for forgiveness for the rest of your life in whatever prison my fellow infidels throw you in," Dawood whispered.
Abdul Rehman broke like an expensive Ming vase. They all usually did, Dawood thought and began running towards Dixon's tent. He knew he wouldn't be able to face his creator the way he was with the deeds that he had done. He needed to make things right. He'd begin by alerting Dixon of what happened to Andrea. He had to make that right. He was different from the radical extremists of Islam. It was time that he made sure the rest of the world knew that too. Before Dawood could figure out which tent Dixon was in, he heard Timothy being reprimanded in a nearby tent. "What's going on?" Dawood asked one of the new recruits that had been shipped out there. "Sir!" The young man cried out in surprise as he saluted Dawood. "Yeah, yeah. What's going on?" Dawood asked as he leaned close to the tent's flaps. "I don't know, sir. I was told to make sure no one would disturb them," the man said as he gulped. "Who is in there?" Dawood asked the private. "Sergeant Major Jackson is in there and so is First Sergeant Dixon. Sergeant Major was hauled in there by the First Sergeant an hour ago. I think a couple of our guys went rogue last night and hurt a lady in one of the nearby villages," the private said in a hushed whisper. Dawood felt a lump in his throat as he heard Dixon yell out, "He assaulted one of our own yesterday and you LET IT GO?! Now I've got a dead Afghan woman on my hand, a vehicle and three soldiers AWOL, and God knows what sort of PR nightmare that will follow. You get them back here. Take a team. Take two. You get them back here and you let me deal with that son-of-a-bitch."
******
He shook his head to come back to reality. Dawood rubbed his temples as he jogged on the pathway at a nearby park. His memories were always vivid and he hated them. He hated knowing that he had witnessed Otis's destructive side and said nothing that day. He should have reported him. He should have gone to First Sergeant Dixon and reported him. If he had done that, the woman in the village wouldn't have been raped. She wouldn't have been murdered. His colleagues, his friends, wouldn't be dead by the IED that tore their convoy apart. He wouldn't have gotten injured and so much could have been okay. Instead, he waited until the next morning. He waited and people died. He waited and his military covered up the incident like nothing happened. Sure, Otis was dishonorably discharged, but that didn't make up for the deaths that were in an essence, on him. Otis was a small minority of those that served in the military, in fact, prior to meting Otis, Dawood had never truly experienced any sort of unfavorable situation in the army. Otis had shown Dawood that even though they were taught to be the best and to be honorable, there would always be those that were inherently evil.
"Hey!" Ahmed called out as he passed by Dawood in his car. "Hey," Dawood smiled, wiping his forehead with his sleeve before jogging over to Ahmed, "what's up, bro? What brings you here so early?" "Uncle wanted me to drop him off at work since his car was in the shop. The brake light was on and he didn't want to risk it," Ahmed explained as he opened the passenger side's door and motioned for Dawood to get in. Dawood hopped into the car and nodded before saying, "Yeah, I know. He was asking me to rent a car for him while his car was out. I was going to do it later in the day. I didn't know Baba had to be at work so soon." "I think he has produce deliveries today. You know how he gets when produce is delivered. Only perfection is to be had at his stores," Ahmed smiled and poked Dawood's shoulder with his finger. "What was that for?" Dawood asked as he wiped his neck with a paper towel from Ahmed's car. "You look pale. You feeling alright?" Ahmed asked as he headed back toward the Khan abode. "Yeah," Dawood lied as he took a deep breath, "just woke up extra early for some reason." "How's Annie Bhabi?" Ahmed asked as he parked in the driveway and turned the car off. "She's good. I think she's getting a little homesick though," Dawood said as he gnawed on his bottom lip, "because she gets up in the middle of the night to call her mother every other day. Maybe I should have her flown out once I get rid of the debt I racked up in Lahore." "Dawood, as your best friend and as your brother, I have to say," Ahmed began and winced, "that I think you need to limit your spending. I know you want your wife to be happy, but it's not like you're willing to accept help from me. You and I both know that I can clear your debt but you won't let me." "It's MY debt. I shouldn't have borrowed to begin with, but I did and well, I have to clear it," Dawood sighed before smiling and waving at his father who was on the front steps.
"You're out early, Dawood," Harun smiled and gave Dawood a pat on the back as his youngest gave him a hug. "Just got up extra early, Baba," Dawood explained and looked past his father to see his mother sitting in her wheelchair while reading the Qur'an. Amina had lost a considerable amount of weight since their return. It worried and pained Dawood, but he always tried new ways to get her to eat. "Assalam alaikum, Uncle," Ahmed said as he gave Harun a hug. "Walaikum assalam," Harun smiled and returned the hug. "How's your morning been, my son? Thank you for coming so early to pick me up." "Sir, any day I can help my parents is a good day for me. Please don't thank me. It's my honor," Ahmed said as he humbly lowered his head and placed a hand on his heart. Dawood smirked and smacked Ahmed's head lightly, "Stop being so dramatic. Baba, I'll come with you. Let me just check on Mama and grab something to eat." "Me too, sir," Ahmed said and followed Dawood inside. "Auntie looks weaker," Ahmed whispered to Dawood. "She rarely eats. I hate it. She says she's not hungry. Just watch," Dawood said as he approached Amina and gave her a hug as he leaned over her wheelchair from behind.
"Dawood, my handsome son, what are you doing?" Amina asked with a soft laugh. "Giving my awesome mama a hug. What's up, beautiful?" Dawood asked as he sat at her feet and looked up at her. "I'm old, Dawood. I know my beauty waned away a long time ago," Amina chuckled and lightly smacked the top of Dawood's head. "Oh come on, Auntie. You're mega beautiful," Ahmed said as he now gave her a hug. Amina looked at Ahmed and Dawood fondly before whispering, "What good did I do in the world to receive such handsome men as my sons?" "I'm pretty sure Allah rewarded you for being so patient with Bhai," Dawood teased, but quickly regretted his words as Amina's smile slowly faded into a frown. "Auntie, he's sorry for being rude," Ahmed said quickly as he sat at Amina's feet as well and held her hand. "I'm not angry at either of you for speaking the truth. I gave birth to five children from this womb and all five of you are so different. I am ashamed at the hostility Sulaiman showed in Lahore. I am ashamed of his attitude towards his family. I fear for what he will do once I am gone," Amina whispered. "Then don't go anywhere, Mama. Get better, stay with us, and continue your reign over our family," Dawood said as he took and kissed his mother's free hand gently. Amina smiled and gently caressed Dawood's face with her frail hands, "My Dawood, my sweet, sweet baby. How have you become such a gentle spirit in this house? How will you survive here without me? I know what will become of this family when I'm gone and I weep at what will become of the two of you. I never noticed how your siblings always treated you with indifference. I never realized and now it's too late to change them. They are who they are. If I was born again, I would make sure to spend as much time with your siblings as I have spent with you."
Ahmed wrinkled his forehead and said, "Stop speaking like that, Auntie. Just focus on getting better." Amina laughed and leaned forward to give Ahmed a hug, "My Ahmed, my sweet and bashful honorary son. Thank you for being my little one's brother. Thank you for keeping him sane in a family that neglected him. I want you both to always be each other's support. Never let anyone divide you. If things become difficult when I am gone, both of you have each other. I am thankful that Rubina's parents decided to have your engagement with Rubina before we left. She is a lovely girl and I know she'll take care of you. My heart is at ease knowing that both of you have or will have wives to lean on. Your duty will be to take care of Rana. I know she is focused on her military career, but try to encourage her to find her soul mate as well." Dawood caught Ahmed wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, something Amina didn't notice yet. "Mama, you can do that because you'll get all better and stuff, but to get better you have to eat. Have you eaten, Mama?" Dawood said as he changed the subject to cover for his brother. "I wasn't hungry. I don't have much of an appetite nowadays," Amina sighed. "I'll get you something to eat," Ahmed said quickly. "Ahmed, I'm not hungry," Amina protested as she began to turn around. "Well, if you don't eat, we won't eat, Mama," Dawood shrugged and saw the internal conflict on Amina's face. He knew her maternal instinct would cause her to eat for their sake and that was what he counted on. "Alright, fine," Amina sighed in defeat.
After a quick breakfast with Amina, Dawood tagged along with Harun, hoping to help him receive the produce deliveries from the local farmers. "I saw what you two did," Harun said from the front seat of Ahmed's car. "What do you mean, Baba?" Dawood asked as he looked at his father. "You forced Amina to eat. I couldn't get her to do that," Harun sighed, "because she's so stubborn." "We kind of used emotional blackmail though. We said we wouldn't eat if she wouldn't," Ahmed said as he screwed up his face. "Don't feel bad about that," Harun began. "I would do anything to get her to eat." "She needs to realize that we need her and she needs to force herself to eat. Ahmed, you have to make sure she eats when I go back on base," Dawood said as he looked at Ahmed. "Yeah, I know. You don't have to tell me that. I know," Ahmed said with a frown. "I would have done that anyhow," he added as he looked at Dawood through the rearview mirror. Dawood nodded and looked out of the window as he frowned. He knew that his mother was sick but people got better, right? Her doctor had even said that having a positive attitude and being optimistic was half the battle. She needs to understand that she had to have a positive attitude in order to beat this disease.
They drove in relative silence to the warehouse where the food deliveries were to be made. "Will you be joining us, son?" Harun asked Ahmed as he got out of the car. "I have work today, Uncle. I wish I could join you," Ahmed sighed, "but you have this hunk of steel to help." "Yup, Baba," Dawood smiled and flexed dramatically. "Look at all this steel." Harun smiled and nodded before waving goodbye to Ahmed as he drove off. Dawood followed Harun into the warehouse and marveled at the group of people, wearing surgical scrubs, standing at attention for Harun. "Good morning everyone," Harun said as he waved at the group. "Good morning, sir," the group greeted in unison and turned curious glances towards Dawood. "This is my youngest son. He's here to help this morning. The trucks should be in soon. Please put on your gloves and aprons," Harun instructed and headed to a small office before motioning for Dawood to follow.
"Baba, are they doctors?" Dawood asked as he turned to watch the group put on white aprons and gloves. "No, my son. They are my most trusted employees who understand my principles. They merely wear scrubs because they informed me that they were less constricting and easier to work with. We wear the white aprons to see if any fruits are damaged or spoiled. Their juices tend to leak on the aprons and then we deem them unfit for our markets," Harun explained as he changed into a pair of scrubs and tossed a pair to Dawood. "What's the criterion for good food, Baba?" Dawood asked as he swiftly changed into the scrubs and pulled on an apron. "As Muslims, we are taught not to cheat in trade. Our customers expect to pay for perfection and in that case, we must deliver. We can't add weight to our scales, we can't hide rotten fruit under fresh fruit, and we generally cannot cheat our clients. Which is why I spend the mornings like this, checking each piece of fruit that will go into storage that will eventually reach one of our stores. It's tedious and time consuming but it is necessary," Harun explained. "Baba, no one does this," Dawood said and headed back toward the group that was waiting for the trucks. "And that is why I am successful and they are not. I have my principles, son, and I hope one day that you have these principles as well. Eating less is better than cheating others," Harun explained and smiled as the first truck pulled in.
Dawood rushed over as Harun helped his employees unload the truck. He climbed onto the bed of the truck and smiled at another employee before taking over his father's task of unloading the truck. While he was around, he wouldn't let his father do any heavy lifting. That was what children were for, to take care of their parents. His parents had spent a good majority of their lives raising him and now, it was his turn to return the favor. Dawood followed the actions of the employees who had quickly unloaded the large truck and now laid down the baskets of fruit and vegetables on tables to be inspected. Each apple, each tomato, and each kiwi was taken out of their baskets, given a visual inspect, given a tactile inspection, and then cleaned before being placed in new baskets. If a piece of produce was deemed unworthy, it was placed in its original basket and set aside. The produce that was rejected was then sorted to see if they were still edible or not. If they were edible, they were packed to be donated to Ahmed's soup kitchen. If they weren't edible, they were tossed into a compost heap. No piece of fruit was wasted. That was something Dawood noticed and admired. Harun shook hands with the truck drivers, offered them refreshments, and always paid in full for the produce. "Hey, Boss's little boy," an elderly woman called out to Dawood. "Yes, ma'am?" Dawood smiled and headed over to the woman. "Some guys were looking for you up front. They were in suits," the woman said and motioned towards the parking lot. "Oh? I'll go check it out. Thank you," Dawood smiled and jogged towards the parking lot.
He saw them leaning against a parked, black SUV and immediately felt his smile disappear. "Agent Hoffman," Dawood acknowledged as he approached the three men. "Ah! Mr. Khan!" Agent Hoffman said in mock surprise. "Good to see you again, Mr. Khan. Mind if we have a word with you?" Agent Steed asked as he motioned towards the SUV. Agent Farmer wordlessly opened the door for Dawood as he silently climbed in. "How's it going, Mr. Khan?" Agent Hoffman asked as he sat next to Dawood. Dawood frowned and looked at Hoffman before saying, "What do you want? I told you all I'm not interested in spying on my own community." "Now, now, Mr. Khan," Agent Steed began, "we don't want you to rush to such a decision so quickly. I mean we even let you get married while you thought about our proposal." "LET me get married? What made you think that you LET me get married," Dawood asked in irritation. He bit his tongue to stop himself from cursing the men out at the realization that they had been watching him. "Oh, Mr. Khan. Do you really think that we couldn't stop you from going to Pakistan? We allowed it. After all, every man deserves to have at least one marriage that's memorable," Agent Hoffman smirked. "You do realize that all we had to do was put you on the no-fly list to stop your marriage. You should thank us for that. I mean we did it for your dying mother. She deserved to see her youngest get married," Agent Steed said in a condescending tone. "Don't talk about my mother," Dawood growled.
"Enough with the bullshit," Hoffman said and lit a cigarette. Dawood coughed as Hoffman blew a ring of smoke towards him. The agent then said, "You've had ample time to think about our proposal. We've allowed you to go on with your life up until now. Now, we want an answer." "My answer stays the same," Dawood began, "I will not spy on my community, regardless of what you say or do. I know what you guys do to get informants into different communities. You frame them, you blackmail them, and you threaten them. I am not afraid of you, gentlemen. You can try to Photoshop pictures of me with naked ladies like you did with that imam up in Chicago, or you can pull up my criminal record and promise to make things disappear on my record if I help. You could always bring up any immigration problems I may have like you did for that doctor in LA. You could do all of that and more and I'd still say no. Do you know why? Do you? Calm down, Agent Farmer. Don't try to kill me with your death stare. I'll tell you why. It's because I am not afraid of you. You could Photoshop me with naked ladies. I'd own it. Heck yes, I was with naked ladies. You could try to find a criminal record, I don't have one and as far as immigration problems go, I was born here. Now, I have nothing more to say to you gentlemen, so, excuse me."
With that, Dawood opened the car door and hopped onto the ground. He heard them angrily exit their car and felt a hand on his shoulder that violently spun him around. "Now, you listen here, you piece of sandnigger shit," Hoffman said as he gripped Dawood's collar and violently shook him. "I'm sick of your cocky attitude. You don't understand what lengths we will go to, to get you to work for us. If you don't, you don't know what we can do to make your life miserable. Criminal records? You don't have to worry about that if we make you the biggest criminal in America. WE have that power. You WILL work for us or we will make you the most hated man in America. We will make your life here unbearable. Think on that, you fucking muzrat." With that, Hoffman pushed Dawood to the ground and gave him a kick in the side before heading back to his SUV. The other agents wordlessly followed their leader and drove off before Dawood could get on his feet. Dawood winced and cradled his side, wondering why the FBI was so obsessed with him. He stood up and winced again as he realized that Hoffman's kick landed near his kidney. He tried catching his breath and forced himself to fix his composure only so his father didn't suspect anything. He frowned at Hoffman's words and whispered, "Screw you, Hoffman. This is America. This is my home. These are my people. What's the worst you could do to me?" With that, he headed back inside to help his father.