Ikram sat on his bike for the longest time. The sun had risen just above his eyebrows and the first birds had flown to god knows where. He tapped the tank of his bike and waited again. Somehow the cloth pendant last night had made the old man jumpy and he had asked Ikram to go meet someone. A friend, he was told.
Ikram yawned and relaxed his head onto the top of his bike's tank. He felt the smoothness of the metal and the smell of grasses and trees mixed with the stench of oils and greases. He grinned. They somehow made him calm. He let his arms dangled on the side of his bike and exhaled long and bored.
"Here is the address. Sorry it took me so long, I forgot where I placed my address book"
Ikram jumped at the voice. His helmet rolled on the wet ground, pushed by his startle. Ikram grabbed the piece of paper and unfolds it. It was a place in the capital city. He knew where it was, he seldom went there for a late night snack. Ikram turned to the old man who held to him his helmet. He tried to smile, but only an annoyed grin went passed his face. The old man simply replied with another grin as if he understood. Ikram took the helmet from the old man's frail hand and slides his head into it.
"You know where it is?" said the old man.
Ikram nodded. "Yes, Ustaz. But... if I remember correctly, this address belongs to a restaurant" he said and he folds the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his biker jacket.
The old man acknowledged Ikram's words. "Yes. The owner of the restaurant is the one you seek. Tell him, Ustaz Halim asked for his help" he said and paused, pulling something out of his dirtied white robe. "And give him this. He will understand" he said handing to Ikram a piece of dark cloth.
Ikram frowned. "This was from the pendant?" he said.
The old man nodded and smiled. "You are a keen observer" he said and placed the dark cloth into Ikram's opened palm. "If only you learned to do good, you'd make an excellent exorcist" he said and backed away from Ikram's bike.
Ikram clicked his tongue. He was trying to be good. He rubbed his fingers, its itch was telling him to punch the old man, but he kept it away. Not this time. Not yet.