Death Before Power

Out in the streets of Algeria, Zayn was met with the usual traffic of cars and people walking in groups, unaware of what had happened in the ice cream shop one block down. He scanned the block ahead of him for someone wearing all black. He cursed himself when he remembered how his father's attacker had been right in front of him. Seconds passed and when they turned into a minute, Zayn's patience ended. He knew whoever shot his father wasn't stupid enough to still be nearby. He knew, but he had to try and look.

Then he pulled out his phone and called Soraya. She answered on the third ring. Zayn stepped back against the gray apartment building's wall as people continued to walk by. "Soraya, are you free?"

"Yeah," she answered. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to check who recently bought product from Ramzi."

"Why him? He doesn't have special customers."

"To me he might. One special person." Zayn kept an eye out as old men walked by him conversing, children running and clinging to their parents, and customers serving food at the taco shop across the street. "He's the only one who deals publicly."

"For what product, Zayn?" Soraya asked.

"The snow," he answered.

"Okay. I'll call you back."

"Fast, Soraya. It's an emergency."

Zayn slid the phone in his pocket and glanced across the street on the left side. Apartment buildings defined the street, old and new, with chipped walls, peeled paint and cracked cement. A grocery shop attracted a lot of business across the street, selling the fresh French baguettes and milk and eggs. Every morning people replenished what they had eaten the day before. Fresh food was one thing Algeria prided itself on.

But to the right of the grocery shop was an alleyway, and in front of that alleyway stood five people, three on the left side and two on the right side. The man and woman on the right pointed into the side-street full of garbage cans. The man wore a gray hoodie with blue jeans while the woman had her brown hair in a ponytail with silver earrings sparkling in the distance, a dark blue denim jacket and black jeans. Zayn knew what would happen.

The three customers on the left still had their backpacks on and seemed to be in high school, ditching class, the kind Zayn hated seeing, the kind who unknowingly threw their future away for something that could permanently crush their potential.

He knew he had something more important. Zayn needed to find his father's shooter.

But he couldn't let those students make that transaction.

He couldn't.

So with gritting teeth, a tight jaw and closed fists, Zayn ran across the street and waved at the driving cars to stop and let him cross. A white four-door sedan with the Peugeot symbol of a standing lion honked at Zayn, and with lowered tinted windows, started ordering for him to get out of the way, calling him crazy and asking if he had a death wish. They flicked cigarette buds at Zayn as they drove off.

Once on the sidewalk, Zayn ignored turning to see the faces of those who threw things at him. He identified two girls and one guy as the customers who entered the alley. One of the girls had curly brown hair, a blue bracelet on her right wrist, wore a white cardigan, blue jeans and white sneakers. Her friend, Zayn assumed, wore a black jacket, blue jeans, black boots, and kept the gray attached hoodie on her head. She motioned with a finger for the third one in their group to follow, the guy who wore a light blue t-shirt, dark green shorts, white sneakers and his black hair was styled to the left.

Once all of the assumed to be high school students followed the drug sellers into the alley, Zayn strolled himself over, avoiding the people who approached him, finding himself shoulder to shoulder with the new white apartment wall, which extended all the way to the alley's entrance. Up the block, a woman selling almonds, walnuts, pistachios and hot green tea pushed her wooden cart until two older men motioned for her to stop and accept their order.

Someone started screaming across the street by the entrance of a cracked apartment building. The white entrance steps were broken, with cement on the side of the stairs. The man who caught Zayn's attention wore ripped pants at the knees, stained and cut in multiple places, with a muddied blue shirt and dirty black socks. "It's not me! I didn't do it! I'm innocent!" he bellowed. "Believe me!" He pulled out a bottle of alcohol, something a majority of people in Algeria did not drink, and chugged it. The people across the street made space between themselves and the drunken old man. "You're all judging me! Judge yourselves!"

"Humans," Omayra laughed at the spectacle. "Your weakness hasn't changed in centuries. And it never will."

Zayn noticed everyone's attention was stolen by the alcoholic old man, so he turned and stepped into the dim alley, avoiding the trash cans and bags on the ground, the wet puddles of water, soda, and juice. He located the three high school students near the end of the walkway, standing on the left while the two drug sellers stood on the right.

The highschool guy handed his cash over to the woman selling the drugs, and her partner tossed the clear bag of what looked like white powder in the distance to one of the highschool girls.

Transaction complete.

As the drug sellers turned to walk away, they noticed Zayn and stopped all movement. Whatever thoughts first came into their head must've scared them because they turned to the highschool students and asked them if they had been set up. Zayn could hear them because of how close he had gotten.

"No," Zayn answered. "You two are just unlucky." He stopped about five feet away from the drug sellers. He saw both of them had a black spiraling tattoo from their adams apple down to their chest, a mark of Ramzi's group. "But you can still get out of here no problem if you listen to me."

"What're you? Off-duty cop?" the drug seller with a gray hoodie asked. He grinned and stretched his back. "Keep it moving. A lot of cops die trying to play hero in Algiers."

Zayn couldn't contain his laughter. He even shut his eyes and leaned back as he stood, cheeks starting to hurt, hands on his stomach. "If I was an officer, I'd already have my gun drawn, you dumbass." He remembered Officer Samir. They had drawn their guns on Zayn multiple times to confirm their own safety. "You take three high schoolers into an alley and don't think that looks sus."

"Sometimes it's best to do business right in the open," the woman said. She cracked her neck and waved for Zayn to move. "We're not going to hurt our clients. So move and we'll be gone."

After a deep breath and a twist of his arms, Zayn shook his head. "I've got a question for you two so no leaving." He pointed at the high schoolers. "Throw the bag over here now. Then you three can go."

"We just paid for this!" the girl with curly brown hair yelled.

"And now you're giving it back. I can tell this is your first time buying because no one else would do an exchange in the open like this in broad daylight." Zayn pointed at the three of them. "So this is going to be your last time buying or even thinking about buying, or I'll expose you both to Officer Samira. You heard of her? She specializes in drug trafficking."

"Shoot," the black haired girl said. She had black painted nails and black mascara. "I've seen her at our school."

"You can't come in here and take our customers away. They want to try things, let them try it." The guy who sold drugs flared his lip, and he stepped forward with a glare clenched fists. "You ain't coming in here and ordering us around." He pulled out a switchblade from under his shirt.

"You've got some time to put the knife away." Zayn stretched his arms as he walked towards the drug sellers. "I forgive easily."

"He's definitely a cop. Stab 'em and leave him for dead," the other drug seller said. She cracked her knuckles and motioned for the two high schoolers to prepare to fight. "You're our customers now. We stick together. Let's show this guy a lesson then get moving." She grinned and turned to Zayn, her expression morphing into disdain and violence. "We don't need people ruining our business. Last chance to turn around."

Zayn shook his head as he kicked an empty can of soda against the wall to his right. "Time's up." He stepped forward with his right leg then kicked the woman in her stomach, causing her to gasp then choke. As she fell backwards, her eyes widened at Zayn's white pupils in absolute fear and her open-mouthed expression didn't resemble pain from Zayn's kick but terror, terror from perhaps whatever she saw in Zayn . . . or whatever was staring at her from within his new white eyes.

"Please, no! No! Leave me alone! I won't! I won't hurt him!" the woman bellowed. Hysteria consumed her. She slammed both of her hands on her sides against the ground, back to back to back. "I won't. I won't. I won't."

"Ariya?! What're you doing?! Cava?!" the man a few feet to her left asked, her partner in crime. "Who're you screaming at?!"

"Ay," Zayn said, walking towards the guy. "I'm talking to you." Zayn jumped forward and punched the man's jaw, who took the jab well and swung back. Zayn sidestepped and kneed the man's stomach as hard as he could to end that fight as quickly as possible. He fell backwards to the ground, head hitting the concrete. But it wasn't the knee to the stomach that would end the fight.

"Your eyes," the man on the ground said, his forehead scrunched, sweat sliding down his face. "They're white and—" Then the man's expression disappeared, no fear, no anger. Robotic, one could say.

"What'd you do to him?" one of the highschoolers who stood behind Zayn asked.

"He MMA'd them both," the highschool guy answered. "How'd you learn to fight like that?"

"By not taking drugs," Zayn replied. He bent to one knee and slapped the drug seller's face. He didn't wake up after three slaps to the cheeks. "Hand 'em over and leave. And don't do it again." Zayn extended his right arm out without looking and waited with his hand open. The bag of drugs fell into his palm. "All right. Go."

The high schoolers ran out without speaking.

Zayn stood and glanced at both unconscious drug sellers on the ground and wondered what he was supposed to do with them. His phone then rang. He answered. "Hello?"

"Zayn, why didn't you tell me your they shot your father?!" Soraya yelled.

He exhaled. "There was no time. You find any info about a new buyer?"

"One. Someone wearing all black came in yesterday to buy a bag of snow. She noticed they had a black tattoo on the front of their neck. Their face was covered by a mask. So if we go off the black tattoo, it's probably someone from Ramzi's gang or some new group."

Zayn stepped forward and over the body on the ground. "I don't think Ramzi is directly involved, but we're going to crash their headquarters. If we're lucky, that's where the black hoodie buyer is right now after running away."

"You saw them?"

"Yeah . . ."

It sounded like Soraya set a cup on the table. "I'm on my way to their headquarters. I'll call Volkan, too. We're doing this together."

"Thanks, Soraya."

"See you in ten."

The call ended. Zayn slid his phone in his jean pocket. He strolled his way out of the alley without checking on the two unconscious drug sellers, then, right before exiting the alley, he felt a cold breeze blow against his face and past him, the same exact frigid feeling as when he was in the gray world with the gravestones.

And the remembrance of those gravestones brought back the idea of Zayn's eyes turning white. He had ignored it in the moment and continued to ignore it. The pills those two addicts were taking must've made them delusional. That was it, Zayn pondered. No one could have white eyes. Plus, wasn't white eyes the sign of the blind? No way. Not possible.

Zayn glanced behind him to see if the drug sellers had woken up. One of them had came to, the guy who was kneed in the stomach. He kept his hoodie over his head and was running to the back wall of the alley. With what looked like an eight foot wall, Zayn didn't believe he'd be able to jump over the wall, but the drug seller did, in fact, run up the wall then jump and kick himself higher to reach the top.

Amusing, thought Zayn.