Cutting through a zigzag of quiet, dark alleys, we passed out of the Jewish quarter and to a Moorish neighborhood, indistinguishable from the Jewish neighborhood except that there were people on the streets. We walked for some time, and I focused on remembering the route. It might be useful to know if I ever had to come back, or if we had to make a quick escape tonight.
She stopped at a plain wooden door, freshly painted white to make it stand out in the dim alley. I realized we were just around the corner from the American Legation. She knocked once, then three times, then once again.
A slit opened in the door. A pair of dark eyes studied her for a moment, and studied me for a much longer moment.
“Do you vouch for this man?” The voice sounded feminine and spoke in English with a New York accent.
“Yes,” Melanie said.
A bolt slid back. A chain was removed from the door, and then a key turned in a lock.
The door opened to reveal a dusky brunette with curves in all the right places. She looked half Mexican or something.
Melanie and the woman threw themselves into each other’s arms.
“So good to see you again! It’s been so long,” Melanie said. She turned to me. “Kent, this is Madam Tammany.”
“No relation to Tammany Hall, I hope.”
Yeah, it was a dumb joke she must have heard a million times. But what are you supposed to say to a madam who’s hugging your girlfriend?
She laughed and took my hand. Warm and soft. Watch it, Kent.
“I’m from New York City. The political machine used to protect working girls, for a cut of the take, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Come inside.” She hooked an arm around both of us and led us down a wide hallway. Our footsteps were absorbed by a thick carpet. Moroccan tapestries hung on the walls. From somewhere I heard a string quartet. It sounded live, not from a record.
We came to a sitting room where lounged a few of the ladies of the establishment. Now my line of work has taken me to a lot of bawdy houses, both cheap and high-class, and one thing that I’ve noticed is that no matter how expensive the place is, the women are never very attractive. I won’t go so far as to say I’ve never seen a good looking whore, but they’re rare. And now I knew why they were rare.
They were all at Madam Tammany’s.
Draped over a chase lounge was a stunning redhead. Sitting on some cushions on the floor were two doe-eyed Moorish girls sharing a sheesha. A long-limbed blonde beauty standing in the corner gave me a sultry smile as she lit a cigarette.
I adjusted my collar. It sure was warm in here. Someone should open a window.
Melanie gave me a sour look. I shrugged. What? This was her idea.
Madam Tammany led us into a side room with a low Moorish table and cushions. We sat on the floor. A gorgeous African girl with coffee-colored skin served us tea and shut the door as she left. I looked around. Everything I had seen from the women to the furnishings looked high quality and clean. This place was several steps above any brothel I had ever seen.
Madam Tammany turned to Melanie. “You mentioned on the phone that you’re looking for someone.”
Melanie gave her a brief explanation of what had happened with the bank and how the three Egyptians seemed to be involved. As she talked, a smile played around the corner of the madam’s lips. Nice lips, too. I tried not to look at them too much.
“Three heavyset Egyptian businessmen in their middle years? Yes, they have been here. They threw quite a lot of money around.”
“Do you know where they are now?” I asked, leaning forward eagerly.
Madam Tammany chuckled. Lovely voice.
“I know where one is. He’s still here. He came three days ago and hasn’t left.”
Melanie and I stood up at the exact same time. I felt inside my coat for my gun. Melanie opened her handbag.
The madam sprang to her feet. “Now wait a minute. I don’t want any violence in my place.”
“There won’t be if he behaves,” I said.
She turned to Melanie. “Be sensible. Can’t you do this quietly?”
Melanie put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll try. But if we don’t do it we have to call the police, and none of us want that.”
Madam Tammany sighed, shook her head, and gestured for us to follow.
We passed down a long hall with several doors on either side. A giggle and a groan came from one of them.
She opened a door at the end of the hall and we came out into a courtyard. A colonnaded area ran around the sides, and the center was entirely taken up with a large, square pool.
Every case has that point when you know you’ve made a break. Suddenly you come across something or someone that you know is going to bring it all forward and get you a lot closer to wrapping it all up.
This time, it was a fat naked Egyptian floating on his back surrounded by half a dozen lovely nude girls.
“Come on out of there,” I called to him in English.
He looked at me with eyes hooded and bloodshot from smoking kif. He clucked his tongue, turned, and swam away. His ass looked like a two oversized loaves of bread.
I reached for my gun.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Madam Tammany screamed, so I calmed her down by handing the gun to her.
Then I dove into the pool.
The fat man squawked, the girls scattered, and I grabbed the nearest part of him I could.
It turned out to be a part of a man I’d never grabbed before. Tangier was getting to me.
“Mister Bob, I presume?” I asked.
“What? My name is Hussein Naguib. Let go of me!”
“Oh, don’t mind me, that’s just a Tangier in-joke.”
I let go and grabbed him by the neck instead.
“You’re insane! Get off me.”
I dragged him to the edge of the pool, my jacket fanning out in the water like a lily pad. All those nude beauties had already left. Pity. Hussein Naguib was far less attractive.
I hauled him out, feeling like I’d landed a whale. Good thing I didn’t rupture myself. Melanie handed him a towel in order to preserve her sanity.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he sputtered after getting the towel around his waist. He looked me up and down. Water dripped down my suit to make a widening puddle at my feet. I’d have to get it dry cleaned later and put it on expenses.
“We’re here investigating the South Continental Bank. The lady here lost a bundle, and so did a bunch of other good people. We know you’re mixed up in it, so spill the beans or I’ll strangle you with that towel.”
“I don’t know where the money is!” he cried. “Pieter Vlamin robbed me too!”
“All right, how about you start from the beginning?”
He paused. I poked him in the belly.
“Speak.” I didn’t want to give him time to make up some story.
“In my country the government is nationalizing everything. Stealing is the better word. Farms, factories, buildings, anything they want they are taking. I am a businessman with a textile mill and a cloth wholesale company. Nasser has already started the process to take them from me, two great businesses my father built up from nothing. Nasser wants to take it all. So I sold all the stock I could, and decided to move the money to a safe place.”
“Tangier. But why did you pick the South Continental Bank?”
“Because it has no branch in Egypt. People who have moved their money to overseas banks are now being told to switch their accounts, because the offices of those banks in Egypt are being harassed. Many of the big banks don’t want to touch Egyptian money now. Mr. Vlamin seemed eager to help and gave me a good rate. We have been corresponding for some months. So I came here last week, checked on the bank, decided it was a safe investment, and had the money wired to him.”
“You and your colleagues,” Melanie said.
Naguib tried to look innocent. “What?”
Melanie frowned at him. She was a no-nons
ense kind of girl, and this guy was handing her a line. “The other two you came here with. Ahmad Zaky and Muhammad Sarhan. Where are they now?”
Naguib’s eyes got shifty. “I don’t know.”
I gave him a slap. It sounded extra loud on his wet jowls.
“They’re gone!” he wailed.
“Gone where?” I asked.
Naguib turned to Madam Tammany. “Is this how your customers are treated?”
“It’s this or the police, I’m afraid,” she replied. She didn’t look happy, though. I hoped this didn’t hurt her and Melanie’s friendship. Actually, I did hope that.
“Police? I’m not the criminal, Pieter Vlamin is.”
“Then why haven’t you complained to the police?” Melanie asked.
“Because…um…”
“Because the money isn’t yours,” Melanie said. “In the scramble for Egypt’s assets, you and your friends saw an opportunity. You grabbed someone’s money, and took the cash out of the country before Nasser robbed you.”
I put an arm around her. “Honey, I think you’d make a fine private detective.”
“Stop dripping on me. Now listen, Mr. Naguib. The police are looking for you. They think you might have something to do with the bank’s disappearance, and they have questions for you about the murder of Ronnie the Pusher. You can talk to them or you can talk to us, so answer Kent’s question. Where did your friends go off to?”
Naguib went pale.
“Murder? Who is this Ronnie? What does he have to do with this?”
I studied Naguib. I can usually tell when people are lying, especially a dummy like him. As far as I could tell, his surprise was genuine.
I cut in. “Ronnie was a drug dealer who was seen several times having talks with Pieter Vlamin. This happened just before the bank disappeared. Ronnie was murdered around the time that Pieter left with his bank. He was found hanged in his apartment, made to look like he had killed himself. Whoever did it was an amateur, though. It was easy enough to see it was murder.”
Naguib shook his head. “I never met this Ronnie, I swear.”
I thought about that for a moment and it made sense. There was no need for Pieter to introduce Ronnie to some clients he was about to fleece. I wish I knew why Pieter was hanging out with Ronnie at all. His connections at the port? Was Ronnie able to get a boat more easily than Pieter? But Bill Burroughs said that Ronnie was strictly retail and didn’t deal with shipping. He’d have connections, though.
“So where are your friends?” I asked.
“In a cheap hotel in the medina, under false names.”
“Take us there.”
Naguib hesitated, then nodded. “I will get dressed.”
As he entered a cubicle beside the pool, I grabbed a towel lying on a bench nearby and tried to dry off.
“Why in the world did you jump in the pool like that?” Melanie asked. “You could have just pointed the gun at him and made him get out.”
“I felt like going for a swim.”
Actually it was a tactic to break him. A big guy like that with lots of money is used to getting his way. Thinks he can shove everyone around, and for the most part he’s right. That’s why I had to to get him off balance. I acted crazy and from that point on I had him in the palm of my hand. See how quickly he told us everything we wanted to know? Pointing a gun at him from the side of the pool would have scared him, sure, but the survival instinct would have kicked in and he would have gotten crafty, made up all sorts of lies. Catching him by surprise like that brought down all his defenses. He didn’t know what to think, and ended up speaking the truth.
Naguib came back a couple of minutes later and we headed out, my shoes making an embarrassing squishing sound. Melanie kept looking at me and giggling. She gave me a scarf to put around my gun holster so my weapon didn’t get wet. She’s practical that way.
Naguib led us into a rough part of town just off the Petit Socco, which was dark and abandoned at this hour. The Egyptian looked around nervously, now more scared of what might come out of the shadows in an area like this than the two armed people walking behind him.
He was right to be afraid. I kept my hand close to my gun and Melanie did too.
Naguib took us to a dark alley off Rue Mokhtar Ahardan and to the grimiest pension I’d ever seen in this city, and that’s saying something. It stood at the junction of two alleys, the building jutting out in the space between like the prow of a foundering ship. All the windows were shut tight. Through one pair grimy shutters, a dim light shone through a space left by a missing slat. A sign stood above the front door, but it had faded so much I couldn’t read the name of the hotel. The front door was open, and a Moor sat on a couch just inside, smoking a sebsi. The smell of kif wafted out to us.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I said. “Your friends are staying here?”
“They didn’t bring enough money. They thought they could make a withdrawal from the South Continental Bank.”
“And you never thought to help them out?” Melanie asked.
Naguib gave her a haughty look. “Why should I?”
I shook my head. “You’re a piece of work.”
We went inside. The Moor didn’t bat an eyelid when we passed him, didn’t even turn his head. I would have thought he was unconscious except the little bowl of his pipe suddenly lit up in a cherry red glow.
Up a flight of creaking stairs in the near darkness, then down a hallway breathing stale air. Something crunched underfoot. I didn’t want to know. Melanie gripped my arm.
We got to a door outlined by the dim light coming from behind it. Naguib knocked. An annoyed grunt came from within. Naguib called out in Arabic and there was a heavy footfall on the other side of the door.
It opened. A short, squat Egyptian, completely naked, stood on the other side. He looked at us with open suspicion and didn’t even try to cover himself when he saw a woman in the hallway.
I looked beyond him. The room matched the rest of the hotel—a bare wooden floor of splintered and warped boards, walls of flaking plaster, a single candle on a bedside table, and a rumpled bed. On the bed lay the other Egyptian and their boy for the evening.
The boy was young. Too young. Hell, they’re all too young, but at least the older ones know what they’re getting into.
I shoved past the naked Egyptian and asked the boy in Spanish, “How much did they pay you?” All these little hustlers speak some.
He named a sum that would barely cover breakfast at the Cafe Tingis. I turned to the man lying beside him.
“Give him four times that amount.”
“Who the hell do you think you are coming in here and giving orders?”
I pulled out my gun. Melanie’s pink scarf, which I had wrapped around it to keep it dry from my soaking wet clothes, fluttered to the floor. The Egyptian didn’t notice. He was too busy looking at my gun.
The Egyptian fumbled for some coins, squinting as he counted them out in the dim light. The boy grabbed them all and began to get dressed. The Egyptian on the bed was too smart to complain.
Melanie handed the boy some more money and slapped his hand away when he tried to pick her pocket. These kids can’t afford gratitude. Once he left, I closed the door behind him.
“All right,” I said, standing where I was since there was nowhere to sit. “Here’s how it is. I’m investigating the disappearance of the South Continental Bank. I know your names are Ahmad Zaky and Muhammad Sarhan. I know you stole 300,000 pounds sterling in Egypt and wanted to hide it here. I also know I’d like to plug the two of you in the gut and leave you to bleed to death. Whether I do or not depends on whether you can help me find Pieter Vlamin.”
The two Egyptians looked at each other, a silent communication passing between them. I figured them for old partners in crime. I could practically see them calculating the odds, trying to find a way to weasel out of this.
“If we help you, will you agree to stay silent about our doings in Egypt?” the naked one ask
ed.
“If you help me, you get to see sunrise.”
They sized me up—small man, big gun, iron will. The one lying on the bed spoke.
“We have no idea where Pieter Vlamin disappeared to. If we did, we would have tracked him down ourselves. I did meet one of his associates. Perhaps he knows more.”
The other two Egyptians looked at him. Obviously they hadn’t been privy to this information.
“His name was Ronnie, an American who dealt in drugs. I like to try new things.”
“I noticed. Keep talking.”
“Well, I had heard you could get anything in Tangier, and there were some drugs I had always wanted to try but could not get in Egypt. I asked Pieter about it, since he seemed such an obliging chap, and for a small fee he introduced me to Ronnie. I made a purchase from him. I haven’t seen him since. I went looking for him in the places I’ve seen him, but could not find him.”
“That’s because he’s been murdered.”
The Egyptian seemed surprised but not phased by that. “Who killed him?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
I bit my lip. Another dead end. Melanie spoke up.
“You mentioned you’ve seen Ronnie in various places. Where? Can you remember any details that might help us?”
“We met at the Cafe Central, made the arrangements, and he left. A few minutes later a boy came and took the money. A few minutes after that another boy delivered the drugs. I saw Ronnie two other times after that. Once coming out of a tobacconist on the Boulevard Pasteur. The other time I was swimming on a beach to the west of Tangier and I saw him there.”
“On the beach? Was he swimming?” That didn’t sound like Ronnie the Pusher.
“No, he was fully dressed. Walking in the direction of Tangier.”
“When was this?”
“Three days ago in the early morning. I asked him if he had seen Pieter, because I was already out of money, but he said he was looking for him too. Said he’d kill him if he found him.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No. He passed me by. He looked like he was in a hurry.”
“Where exactly did you see him?” Melanie asked.
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