“I’m kind of busy here, Shada. Besides, shouldn’t you be home by now? Your family—”
“My father is happy that I have made many American friends. He likes me to learn new things. What is all that electronics about?” Though Shada had the long dark hair and natural beauty of a native Moroccan, she spoke with a British accent, which made me wonder where she’d gone to school. If I knew, I’d call up the headmaster and let him know that her English teacher had aced second language instruction, but the curriculum hadn’t taught Shada crap about minding her own business.
“We’re doing a study on climate change,” Bergman muttered. “Stay right here. I’ll go get the book.” Shada called after him, “Should you not be at one of the poles? I read that much information can be gleaned from the ice—”
“Climate’s everywhere,” Bergman replied irritably. “Plus we’re close to the Western Sahara. What better place to monitor heat increases than a desert?” For once Shada had no answer. Bergman said,
“Here’s another book I bought for the plane trip over here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work—”
“Did you read it? Shall we discuss it when I am finished?”
“I read them all. It was a long flight.”
“Oh, wonderful!” I heard the patter of clapping hands. “I would like to ask you about the story I just finished, okay? I have many questions, such as why any sane man would believe that a bear could talk—”
“Okay, we’ll do that. But later. Because I have to work now. The weather waits for no one.”
“All right then, I will see you tomorrow!” I barely heard the last bit, because it came after the door had clicked shut.
“What a pain in the ass,” Bergman muttered. “She’s like a helpful infection. You want to get rid of her, but she’s so nice. I’ll bet her face hurts at the end of the day from smiling so much.”
“Do you want me to take care of her for you?” asked Cole.
“No!” Realizing he’d jumped in too fast and way too loud, Bergman added quickly, “Have you seen her brother meet her for the walk home? He’s bigger than a dump truck. Make a move on her and he’ll crush you like an old metal garbage can.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” said Cole, grinning at me as he drew a heart in the air with his forefingers.
“Uh,” Bergman cleared his throat.… “Don’t we have more important things to worry about?” I sighed. “Muchly, so get busy, will ya?”
I imagined him checking his satellite maps and hacked surveillance video, not to mention the tracker he’d attached to our target’s right boot heel. While we waited for his pronouncement, Cole reached behind his back and pulled a tranquilizer gun out from under the light jacket he wore. It was a lean, black weapon that blended so perfectly with his jeans that it disappeared when he dropped his hands to his sides.
“That looks… lethal.” Could be, too, if we got the dosage wrong. Which we didn’t, because I double-checked it myself. Maybe we won’t need it, though. Maybe he’ll cooperate. I cleared my throat. “Was it stuck in your belt?” I asked.
“Yeah. But don’t worry, the safety was on.” He lifted the barrel slightly. “Hey, imagine what would’ve happened if I’d shot myself in the butt. My cheeks would’ve been numb for a week!” I took off down the sidewalk. I kept to the shadows, avoiding puddles of brown liquid that I knew weren’t water because according to Franck Landry, who’d been ecstatic to rent all five of his riad’s rooms to us, it hadn’t rained in the past two weeks.
Cole jogged after me. “Jaz, where are you going? We don’t even know—”
“I’d rather walk aimlessly than discuss your ass, all right?”
“Yeah, but this isn’t just my ass. This is my numb ass. Do you think my legs would stop working too?” I was getting ready to grab the gun and perform an experiment that would satisfy both his curiosity and my irritation when Bergman said, “Got him. Two blocks northeast of you. He’s not moving.” We turned the corner, moving so quickly we nearly plowed into two men who’d just exited a diamond-painted door. Just before it closed I saw a lantern hanging above a mirror at the end of a tiled hall with four arches along its length leading off into darkness. Cole mumbled an apology in French and pulled me around the men, who wore light shirts, long pants, and baseball hats, all of which were blotched with mustard-colored stains. And damn, did they stink! They must work at the dump we’d been smelling.
One of the men, a black-mustached thirtysomething with a scar under his left eye, spoke to Cole, who replied sharply, his hand tightening on my arm. Already I was used to natives offering to guide us anywhere we wanted to go, but these guys didn’t have the look of dirham-hungry street hustlers. I looked up at Cole. His face had gone blank, a bad sign in a guy who assassinates his country’s enemies for a living.
The .38 strapped to my right leg weighed a little heavier, as did the knife in my pocket, reminding me of my offensive options. But I didn’t want to spill blood knowing a vamp was prowling nearby. “What do they want?” I asked.
“The dude with the scar is demanding a toll for the use of his road, and extra payment for nearly running him and his friend over.”
“What’s his name?”
Cole asked, and while the man replied I checked out his companion. He was maybe fifteen, a brown-eyed boy with lashes so long they looked fake. He couldn’t even meet my eyes.
Cole said, “His name is Yousef. The kid’s name is Kamal.”
“Tell Yousef I’ll pay.”
“What?”
“Tell him.”
Cole began to talk. I swished forward, making sure my skirt swirled around my knees as I moved. I looked up at Yousef like he was the cutest teddy bear I’d ever hoped to squeeze. Even though he couldn’t understand the words, I figured he’d get the tone as I reached down the V-neck of my dress with my left hand and said, “Just gimme a second, okay? I keep my money in here so I don’t have to worry about pickpockets. I understand they can be something of a problem in Marrakesh. Am I right?” By now I’d come within an arm’s length of the reeking man, who was staring at my hand like he wished it were his. He never saw the base of my right palm shoot up. Just grunted with shock as it jammed into his jaw and knocked his head backward. He staggered. Cole aimed the tranq gun at Kamal to make sure he stayed peaceful as I followed Yousef down the sidewalk, throwing a side kick that landed on his chest with the thump of a bongo drum. He landed flat on his back in the street.
I watched him struggle to breathe as I said, “We go where we please, you son of a bitch.” Cole translated. To my surprise Yousef smiled. I looked over my shoulder at Kamal. He was staring around nervously, making me think he didn’t savor a conversation with any authorities that might show up to investigate the noise. But he didn’t seem worried about Yousef. Maybe girls hit him a lot.
“Feel better?” Cole asked me.
I backed off Yousef before the bully’s blech could stick. “Yeah. Let’s go.” We headed down the street, keeping our eyes and Cole’s gun on the little gang until we reached the end of the block and turned north. Yousef called after us.
“Unbelievable,” said Cole as he shook his head.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He wants to know if he can see you again. He says his uncle’s friend owns a good restaurant above the Djemaa el Fna.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No.” Cole’s wild blond hair danced at the suggestion. “I think he liked what you did to him. In fact, I