Omar's Life in New York
THE DAY AFTER THE MEETING WITH AMMAR, Omar was sitting in an office located in a beautiful and sprawling personal estate located in a suburb of New York. The office was richly decorated and stocked with many items that would be considered inappropriate under the prevailing laws in Iraq. Western liquor, food, pornographic posters—everything objectionable to an Iraqi devoted to Islam and his country were present in this office. A massive desk sat under a huge window that looked out over the pool and the deck area.
Omar picked up a bottle of Southern Comfort that was sitting on the desk and poured three fingers worth into a whiskey glass. He set the bottle down and popped open a can of Coke that sat next to the whiskey. He lifted the can and topped off the glass, then set the can down. He swirled the contents of the glass gently and took a sip of his drink, savoring it. He held the glass up to the light on the desk and noticed the deep amber color of his drink. He considered making one or two calls to arrange adequate companionship for the night. Did he want a blonde tonight? he wondered. A redhead? A sweet girl or a nasty one? These were the kinds of difficult decisions he did not mind making. The finest things in life had become available to him once he had reached the United States. He couldn’t resist them and he took great satisfaction in knowing that he didn’t have to resist them.
Enjoyment of these luxuries came as an ego massage to Omar; he could afford to enjoy luxuries that were unavailable to the common person in Iraq. Enjoying foreign liquor and a warm body in his own country were difficult, but in the United States, there was no one to watch him. His so-called loyalties to the Leader had reaped him rich profits. Travel, good food, good whiskey, and beautiful women were a way of life for Omar now. He controlled the sugar trade in the country and with every successful endeavor that he undertook for the Leader, his compensation increased. Already, his supply of money seemed unlimited.
“Oh, the things one can buy when one controls a war-torn nation’s sugar imports,” he exclaimed and began to drum on the desk. “Now, let’s see who’s going to help me out in getting the pistachio trade under control.” He finished his drink and mixed himself another.