Heather’s hands were unsteady. Aziz noticed tears down one cheek.

“Last night,” Ghazi started. He spoke English for Heather’s sake. “Aziz was to close Del Fuegos. I told him go home, get some sleep, I do this.”

Aziz remembered Rafik. So, you closing up Del Fuegos tonight?

“Outside Del Fuegos, a man waits.” Ghazi continued. “He tells me he is secret service.”

Ghazi looked to Mourad, who looked puzzled but said, “Did he say he was federal?”

“I did not hear that word.”

Mourad shook his head. Heather looked as if she was searching for an answer too but couldn’t find any.

“Okay. This secret service, this police.” Hamid urged Ghazi on.

“He says, ‘Please step into my vehicle, sir.’ ” Ghazi imitated an official voice. “He takes me to that highway they are building, and”—Ghazi motioned to his face and chest—“does this.

“He says a snitch says I am a credit card fraud. Illegal. Stowaway. Now I must snitch also to fix my problem.”

The U-Stor-It. Rafik and Kamal had done this. Rafik thought it would be Aziz, not Ghazi, closing Del Fuegos. Aziz remembered boasting about the new duties he had, using the register, taking credit cards, closing up. “My first night to put on the alarm is tonight,” he had said. This was their revenge. This was to get Aziz deported, so their schemes could grow. Ghazi had walked into the rigging meant for him.

“This police comes here this morning,” Ghazi said. He looked at the oven clock. “In one hour forty-five minutes.”

“Aaberdi,” Lahouari whispered. So little time.

“Wait. Wait,” Mourad said. “Who is this snitch?”

Ghazi looked at Aziz. Aziz shrugged. There was no reason not to tell.

“Kamal,” Ghazi said.

“Kamal?” asked Heather, her voice nasal. “The Kamal we lived with? Who hit me? That Kamal?”

“Who is Kamal?” Mourad said over her.

“He was before you,” Aziz said to his brother. “The first place, in Everett. There were many there. Kamal hit Heather with a chair. Hit me also. Kamal is—”

“Violent,” Heather finished.

“He is scheming with Rafik,” Aziz said, using Arabic so he could explain quickly to Mourad. “They have been selling stolen goods. For over a year now.”

“You knew this? And didn’t tell me?” Mourad turned to Aziz, then Ghazi.

“We were not sure,” Ghazi said. “We tried to find out. Kamal last month discovered Aziz trying to find out.”

“How?” Mourad was not pacified.

“Tell me,” Heather kept interrupting. “In English. In English.”

“There is no time for this,” Ghazi said.

Mourad dropped his shoulders.

“This is the thing,” said Ghazi in English. “Eight, this morning. This police, this Hank Bridges, comes to take me. I won’t be here. But if I am not, he will take everyone.”

Aziz understood Rafik not coming home last night. Rafik would never come home. Aziz looked at Heather. Tears still, no sobbing.