Sixty

Ghita had crisscrossed Boulevard Mohammed V all evening, checking the cafés and the dingy drinking dens tucked away in the backstreets. She might have been repulsed by the derelict men who patronized them, but her mind wasn’t on judgement. Rather, it was on finding someone who could lead her to the Falcon.

Behind the market she came to an especially run-down bar. There was no name outside. And, in place of a door, a curtain hung fashioned from what looked like strands of bath chain. Ghita peered inside, into the cumulonimbus haze of cigarette smoke.

In varying stages of inebriation, half a dozen men were reclining on broken chairs, nursing half-empty bottles of Flag Spéciale. A couple of loose ladies were attempting unsuccessfully to drum up business.

On the floor near the bar, a man was having his shoes cleaned. Ghita recognized the shoeshine box, which had a gold cross on the side. She stormed in and tapped Saed on the neck.

‘I need to speak to you,’ she said urgently.

He looked at her feet.

‘I clean those, OK?’ he said.

‘I don’t want my shoes done.’

‘So?’

‘So, I need some information.’

Choking into her hand, her face screwed up, Ghita took a seat at a booth. Saed sat down opposite.

‘I’ll get you a drink,’ she said. ‘You want a Coke?’

The boy made a sign to the barman, and a pair of green bottles were slapped down on the table-top.

‘You’re far too young to drink that!’ Ghita said reproachfully.

‘No, no, no...’ Saed replied. Lighting a cigarette, he blew the smoke out to the side.

‘What would your mother think?’

‘I have no mother.’

‘Your father then... what would he say? I bet he’d spank you!’

‘I have no father. No one to do spanking,’ said Saed, downing the first beer in one. ‘So I am free.’

Ghita’s disapproval eased. She lowered her head subversively, her thumb feeling the curved lines of her iPhone.

‘What do you know about the Falcon?’ she asked.

The shoeshine boy froze.

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Keep away from the Falcon,’ said Saed, wiping the froth off his lip.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s had my father imprisoned for a crime he’s incapable of committing. I need to know where he’s being held.’

‘Then look for the police commissioner. You need him. Not the Falcon.’

Ghita frowned.

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he knows everything.’

Ghita’s eyes widened.

‘Should I give him baksheesh?’

The shoeshine boy waved a hand dismissively through the air.

‘No, no, just drinks. That’s what he wants.’

‘Drinks?’

‘Scotch.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I know everything... like the commissioner,’ the boy said, reaching out for the second beer.

Ghita tapped a manicured fingernail to the table.

‘And where does the commissioner drink his Scotch?’ she asked.

Saed winked at the ground.

‘Down there.’

‘Where?’

‘In the tunnels.’

‘What tunnels?’

‘The ones under the city. There is a world down there.’

‘Is there?’

Saed nodded.

‘You don’t know that?’

‘Apparently not,’ Ghita replied curtly. ‘When can I go there, to buy him the Scotch?’

The boy shook his head.

‘You cannot go there. Only... you know... working women can go there.’

‘Then will you go?’

‘Too young for Club Souterrain.’

‘So what can I do?’

‘Find someone else.’ Saed took a gulp of Flag, and lit a second cigarette off the end of the first. ‘The American?’ he said.

‘That imbecile? Oh, God no!’

‘One of your friends?’

Ghita’s expression soured.

‘I don’t have any friends,’ she snapped.

All of a sudden, Yankee Doodle Dandy blasted out from the iPhone. It was Mustapha.

‘Chéri, I came looking for you!’ said Ghita.

‘I know you did. My father told me.’

‘When can I see you, my dearest? Will you come for me?’

There was hesitation on the other end.

‘Ghita, I must inform you that... that...’

‘What?’

‘That our engagement is off.’