The Zebra Confessions

Hissing softly, the .22 caliber bullet slapped rudely into the back of the old man's head. Gray hair and withered brown scalp quickly parted as the projectile punched past the bone to tunnel a meandering path through the soft tissue inside. The force of its velocity mostly spent, the bullet failed to break through the opposite side of the skull. Instead, the now misshapen lump of metal exhausted its remaining energy cartwheeling lazily about the less resistant tissue of the brain. Like a stone, the old man dropped face first to the pavement, blood gurgling across the shoulders of his black thousand dollar suit. The Most Honorable Reverend Martin Muhammad was dead.

As the old man fell, Cecil Muhammad quickly glanced at the building from where he knew the shot had come. From an upstairs window the briefest flash of black skin met his eye before the assassin began his retreat. Yet as Cecil pictured the assassin rushing down the stairs, happily tallying the reward for his services, a cold sneer crossed his lips. For the thought reminded him of his third son Mustafa, already waiting for the assassin at the safe house, loaded gun in hand. Idiot assassin, just like a dog on a leash, blindly, always blindly, following another's command.

Yet Cecil Muhammad knew what it was to follow as well. In fact, he'd been following The Most Honorable Reverend Martin Muhammad for almost fifty years to this day. For it had been Martin who swept dirty little Cecil off that street corner so many years ago and renamed him. It had been Martin who fed and clothed him, educated him, instructed him in finance and manipulation, and most importantly of all, it had been Martin who taught him about desire.

Deciding that enough time had passed, Cecil then summoned up his most enraged tone and jabbing forth a trembling finger of judgment he pointed in the opposite direction of the assassin's flight. Bolstered by the years of oraory practice his voice swept across the guards with the righteous lash of vengeance.

   "There he goes. Around that corner. I saw the devil who did this. It was a white man."

Like dogs freed from the leash the guards leapt forward in a frenzy, their thoughts of failure instantly converted to the blinding rage of the hunt. Yet as the footsteps of the others quickly faded into the distance, two of them stayed faithfully behind to attend the lifeless form of their leader. Cecil Muhammad hid his eyes as he knelt next to the body, his back shuddering with practiced sobs of grief. And though the remaining guards kept a respectful distance, they were still forced to wipe back their tears, so moved were they by Cecil's open expression of love for The Most Honorable Reverend Martin Muhammad.