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Authors: Duncan Falconer
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the entire force. Like the majority of city Iraqis the team all wore their hair short and had well-groomed, closely trimmed facial hair - all except Hassan who wore a beard that he trimmed occasionally when it got too bushy.
‘That car,’ Hassan barked, indicating a fresh-looking BMW with a well-dressed young man behind the wheel who was waiting to enter the busy junction from the bridge. ‘Go!’
Abdul looked at the BMW, knowing what he had to do and hating it. He picked up his Kalashnikov, pushed away from the police vehicle and walked towards the car, reluctant but obedient as always. This was why he loathed being in the police, or at least in Hassan’s squad.
Disobeying traffic signals had become a national pastime in Iraq since the end of the war. Not a single electrically operated traffic indicator worked and since many of the major roads were partially or fully blocked off for security reasons drivers drove pretty much any way they wanted to in order to get to their destinations. That included mounting pavements, driving the wrong way down roads - including motorways - and going against the flow on roundabouts. This practice played into the corrupt police officers’ hands: they selected their victims like sweets on a tray. When Hassan ordered Abdul to commit his first crime, the extortion of a few thousand dinars, equivalent to a couple of US dollars, from a motorist the peer pressure had been overwhelming and Abdul had not been strong enough to defy it. But since the crime involved little more than a brief conversation with no threat of repercussion,Abdul had slipped into it rather too easily. His excuse was that it was far less hassle to take part in the team’s ‘extracurricular’ activity than to defy it. But if Abdul had examined himself more honestly he would have had to admit that although he did not like doing it he did enjoy the extra spending money it provided. Over a short period of time the battle with his conscience had been lost and at the end of the day all that remained was a general distaste for what he did. But he did it anyway.
Abdul walked to the front of the BMW and held out his hand to stop it. The young driver immediately rolled his eyes as he obeyed and pushed the button that rolled down his window.
‘Can I see your registration papers?’ Abdul asked.
The young man reached into his inside breast pocket, removed the papers and held them out to Abdul.
Abdul scanned through them quickly with an experienced eye and spotted a discrepancy. ‘Where is the court registration?’ he asked.The process of registering a new car was not particularly complicated in Iraq but since there was no longer a mail system a new owner had to present himself and the paperwork at the relevant courthouse as well as at his local police station to complete the transaction. It was an inconvenient process for many but a car was technically illegal until the procedure was completed. Although the offence was considered nowhere near serious enough for the car to be confiscated or to have the offender appear in court, technically the vehicle could be temporarily impounded and it therefore left a window of opportunity for corrupt officers to harvest a little bribe.
‘Your registration is incomplete,’ Abdul said.
‘I plan to do it tomorrow,’ the driver said, wondering why he was wasting his time debating the subject. But the Arab instinct to haggle was far too strong in him.
‘I understand,’ Abdul said. ‘But do you understand that it is not complete today?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the driver said. ‘I will take care of it immediately.’
‘But you understand,’ Abdul said politely, beginning to wonder if indeed the driver did understand what he meant without him actually having to say it up front.
The driver sighed as he reached into his pocket and produced several notes.
‘I see you do understand,’ Abdul acknowledged as he took the money and stepped back from the car to allow it to
‘That car,’ Hassan barked, indicating a fresh-looking BMW with a well-dressed young man behind the wheel who was waiting to enter the busy junction from the bridge. ‘Go!’
Abdul looked at the BMW, knowing what he had to do and hating it. He picked up his Kalashnikov, pushed away from the police vehicle and walked towards the car, reluctant but obedient as always. This was why he loathed being in the police, or at least in Hassan’s squad.
Disobeying traffic signals had become a national pastime in Iraq since the end of the war. Not a single electrically operated traffic indicator worked and since many of the major roads were partially or fully blocked off for security reasons drivers drove pretty much any way they wanted to in order to get to their destinations. That included mounting pavements, driving the wrong way down roads - including motorways - and going against the flow on roundabouts. This practice played into the corrupt police officers’ hands: they selected their victims like sweets on a tray. When Hassan ordered Abdul to commit his first crime, the extortion of a few thousand dinars, equivalent to a couple of US dollars, from a motorist the peer pressure had been overwhelming and Abdul had not been strong enough to defy it. But since the crime involved little more than a brief conversation with no threat of repercussion,Abdul had slipped into it rather too easily. His excuse was that it was far less hassle to take part in the team’s ‘extracurricular’ activity than to defy it. But if Abdul had examined himself more honestly he would have had to admit that although he did not like doing it he did enjoy the extra spending money it provided. Over a short period of time the battle with his conscience had been lost and at the end of the day all that remained was a general distaste for what he did. But he did it anyway.
Abdul walked to the front of the BMW and held out his hand to stop it. The young driver immediately rolled his eyes as he obeyed and pushed the button that rolled down his window.
‘Can I see your registration papers?’ Abdul asked.
The young man reached into his inside breast pocket, removed the papers and held them out to Abdul.
Abdul scanned through them quickly with an experienced eye and spotted a discrepancy. ‘Where is the court registration?’ he asked.The process of registering a new car was not particularly complicated in Iraq but since there was no longer a mail system a new owner had to present himself and the paperwork at the relevant courthouse as well as at his local police station to complete the transaction. It was an inconvenient process for many but a car was technically illegal until the procedure was completed. Although the offence was considered nowhere near serious enough for the car to be confiscated or to have the offender appear in court, technically the vehicle could be temporarily impounded and it therefore left a window of opportunity for corrupt officers to harvest a little bribe.
‘Your registration is incomplete,’ Abdul said.
‘I plan to do it tomorrow,’ the driver said, wondering why he was wasting his time debating the subject. But the Arab instinct to haggle was far too strong in him.
‘I understand,’ Abdul said. ‘But do you understand that it is not complete today?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ the driver said. ‘I will take care of it immediately.’
‘But you understand,’ Abdul said politely, beginning to wonder if indeed the driver did understand what he meant without him actually having to say it up front.
The driver sighed as he reached into his pocket and produced several notes.
‘I see you do understand,’ Abdul acknowledged as he took the money and stepped back from the car to allow it to
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