The puree of mutton with reduction of saffron was deelish, but something in my fruit smoothie dessert made my lips puff. I looked like one of those aging actresses still trying to make it in Baghdad, the City of Dreams.

Poor things. You see 'em strolling up 14th of July Street or hanging in the lobby of the Al-Rashid Hotel, lips full of collagen and faces paralyzed by botox, still hoping for that big breakout role in a jihad recruitment video. Sad, really.

We came upon a likely group of young men wearing blue bandannas. If that wasn't enough proof they were Crips, the signs they were throwing confirmed it. We waved them over. "Boys," I said, "can you fellas tell me anything about gang war?" They laughed to each other and conferred hastily. I couldn't understand much of what they said, although I distinctly heard the phrase "bitch better have my money."

I turned to Sgt. Henderson. "Well," I said, "I'm certainly not going to pay these people! We're here to help them, and they should do it out of gratitude." He coughed into his sleeve and said nothing.

"Let's try the other gang," I said. "Maybe they'll be more helpful." It wasn't until the next morning that the Sergeant realized they'd tagged his Hummer.

We heard the music booming from every streetcorner as we drove into the Sadr City:

Got my mind on my Mahdi and my Mahdi on my mind ...

We rolled up on the Municipal Building to the easy flow of MC Mad Assam on the mic. Then we heard a voice call out: "Yo, yo, yo, yo!" The young man put down the grenade launcher and waved us over. The red checkerboard pattern in his kaffiyeh told us all we needed to know: he was a Blood.

"Got a bigarette?" he asked. (Bloods replace the letter "C" with the letter "B" at the start of a word - "B" as in "Blood," "C" as in "Crip." Crips do the reverse.)

"Yes," I told him. "Whatever. We need your help. Can you help us prove this is just a gang war, and Baghdad's just like Los Angeles?" He waved my question away impatiently. "I want you to listen to my music," he said. "If you respect my beats you will bring my song back to the USA, yes?"

He began to recite his lyrics:

"Al-Ansar Province on a Saturday night
my cousin's got on her burqa on low and tight
night's gettin' warm and I'm feelin' kinda freaky
so don't give no lip about that bitch, Al-Maliki"

"Let's go, Sarge," I said to my driver. "I think I need a cigarette."

His face was revealed no emotion. "Isn't that bigarette?" he replied.

Last stop. The Sergeant knows somebody who's familiar with this war, and with gangs in Los Angeles. Ed was with the 32nd Military Police Force, and had been a youth counselor in the Los Angeles ghettos.

"Listen, lady," he began. "The Los Angeles gangs are a response to historical forces. The African American population in that city doubled during World War II. In response, the white population began enforcing strict segregation of neighborhoods, forcing the African Americans into enclosed spaces without little outlet for activity. Black youth began forming 'clubs' for self-defense after some incidents of white-on-black violence."

Ed took a breath. "Then in the 1960's the infusion of organized drug and racketeering" -

I cut him off. "I'm not interested in Los Angeles, fella. I'm interested in how Baghdad is no worse than Los Angeles. Can you help me or not?"

He looked at me sadly. "Gang war is tragic," he said. "But don't you read the papers? Forty killed by a bomb one day. Sixty people found tortured to death the next day. 34,000 civilians killed in Iraq by violence last year, and many times that amount dying from inadequate health and other resources."

I turned to Sergeant Henderson. "This guy's a bummer," I said. "Why not come up to my hotel room for a little distraction?" He shook his head. "I'm staying here on Earth," he said. "I'm hoping I can go home soon, now that the public has stopped listening to people like you."

Back to the hotel room alone. Hey! That's exactly what happened on my last trip to Hollywood, when I went there to pitch my smokin' movie idea.

Hot. Lonely. Can't get laid to save my life. I don't care what they say.

This town really is like LA.
______________________________________________________________

APPENDIX: Ann Pitches Her Smokin' Movie Idea

ANN: Picture it, JB! We remake Escape From LA as Escape From Baghdad. Get it? The year is 2013 and Snake Plissken is back! Baghdad's in the grip of a perpetual civil war, and is now under the iron grip of a military occupation that's lasted for ten years. There's a doomsday device hidden there somewhere, and Snake has to retrieve it and save the world before it's too late! Whaddya think, JB?

JB: You had me until you mentioned the doomsday device, kiddo. The public will never buy it! If there's anything I've learned in this business, Ann honey, it's that you can't sell the same trick ending twice.
 

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