“Saleh, our mutual friend says that State TV is not accepting the ending for the Abbas show. Their exact words: Abbas, the great sniper of Iraq, cannot be taken down like that by a common enemy sniper, and a woman at that. Audiences will not accept it. Nor will State TV accept that Abbas falls in love with a female enemy combatant.”

“Then tell our mutual friend and State TV to go to hell.”

“Our mutual friend also says that once you have finished with the business of a certain French book and its owner, if you don’t go to Erbil for that other business, whatever that is, he will have to send people after you.”

“Tell our mutual friend that once he is in hell, he should remain there.”

“Where are you, Saleh?”

“In a graveyard of hopeful car parts.”

“I have one piece of good news though. Two, actually.”

“You are going to have a child with the boss—and they are twins!”

The silence was painful. And now I saw the legless man slide down the car shells with such ease, and with a cigarette in his mouth, as if he had natural glue on his palms.

“I’m sorry, Atia, for my bad behavior. I think it’s called jealousy. Or maybe defeat. Maybe both.”

“The boss—Mafiha, my husband, your friend—has rid you of your problems. He spoke with State TV. And they told Saeed he had better withdraw his lawsuit against you regarding the Abbas show, if he knows what’s good for him. They are committed to you being the original creator of the series.”

“All they want in return is a happier ending for Abbas, right?”

“Of course.”

“Thank the boss for me.”

“He also took care of that other lawsuit against you.”

I had already forgotten that Avesta, my pretend cousin, intended to sue me too for the article I’d written about his theft of Miss Homa’s ideas.

“The painter guy. Your cousin.”

“My so-called cousin!”

“The new magazine has decided to commission a long article on him. You don’t have to do a thing. Mafiha will write the article himself. The lead piece in the art section for our second issue.”

It was too clean an ending for it all. And it was classic Mafiha. Just taking care of business with more business.

The legless man had disappeared and the guys turning the old tractor into an armored vehicle were swearing, livid about something. Apparently their oversized gadget’s turret was stuck and wouldn’t turn.

“Any chance your husband could fix my issues with our mutual friend as well?”

“You know that’s beyond his scope.”

“I guess there are still some things the great man cannot do.”

“Saleh!” Atia’s voice was forceful. “You need to call our mutual friend. In fact, you need to get back here as soon as possible.”

“What’s for me there, Atia?”