The Hilton was only a short walk along the corniche. If it was a setup, it was overelaborate. He decided to trust Tall, take the chance and fight his way out if he had to.
Room 1506 was at the back of the hotel, halfway along a curved corridor, overlooking the Nile. Clay banged on the door.
After a moment a voice came. ‘Who is it?’
‘Open up, G,’ said Clay. ‘I’ve got your money.’
The sound of the chain being pulled back, the bolt sliding. G peered out from a darkened room. ‘Fuck, Straker. Wait a minute, man.’
G made to close the door but Clay jammed his boot into the opening and pushed the door open.
G stumbled back. He was naked, blinking in the light from the hallway. ‘Fuck me,’ he gasped. ‘I said wait, man.’ Behind him a Nubian girl lay sprawled on her stomach, legs parted. She was naked. Her mahogany skin shone with perspiration.
Clay closed the door behind him, drew the G21 and levelled it at G’s balls. ‘I told you to back off.’
G covered his nakedness with his hands, stepped back and bumped into the corner of the bed. The girl gasped, flipped over onto her back, pulled the sheets up under her chin then lay staring at them open-mouthed.
‘What’re you talking about, Straker? I did what you said, man. The AB thinks I’m still hunting you down.’
‘Get rid of her,’ said Clay.
G turned to the girl. ‘Yallah,’ he barked. ‘Get out, stupid cunt.’
The girl slipped from the bed and started dressing. She looked very young, her breasts mere thimbles. She was speaking rapidly in Arabic, pointing at G.
‘Pay her,’ said Clay.
G sidled up to the desk, peeled off a couple of notes and tossed them on the bed. The girl grabbed the money, slipped a dress over her head and hurried to the door, shoes and purse dangling from her hands. She closed the door quietly behind her.
‘The woman,’ said Clay. ‘In Giza.’
‘Shit, man,’ he hissed. ‘I didn’t do that.’
‘I know you didn’t. But you were using her to get to my friend.’
G smirked, but wiped it away.
Clay buffered his anger, held it back. ‘Why were you there?’
‘They want something. Some document. They’re willing to pay for it. They think your bokkie has it. I thought she might have hidden it in the shack.’
‘That’s why you didn’t lead the cops there yourself.’
‘Gotta protect your sources, man.’
‘So, you’re working for these assholes from the Consortium, now.’
‘Shit man, I don’t know anything about any “consortium”. It’s the AB, Straker, like I said. They and the locals, they’re working together. Common objectives, all that shit.’ He ran one hand through his hair, kept the other over his cock and balls. ‘Shit, man. I don’t know what these fuckers get up to. As long as they pay, I do what they tell me.’
‘A lot of that going around.’
‘Keeps you alive, man.’
Clay breathed deeply, fought back a wave of vertigo. He was getting better at managing the episodes, hadn’t been crippled by one for a while. ‘You still want the deal?’ he said. Perhaps G was venal enough. ‘Or should I just blow your balls off?’
G’s eyes widened, focused on the gun. He nodded. ‘Calm down, man. You told me to wait. That’s what I did.’
Clay stood, gun still aimed at G’s groin.
‘Say something, Straker. You’re giving me the bossies, man.’
Clay caressed the trigger. ‘Lying bastard.’
G shrank back. ‘Look man, it’s all set up, yeah? I contacted them, like you said. Told them I could get you. I couldn’t just sit around for three days doing nothing. They’d know.’
Clay lowered his weapon.
‘How about you put that away, yeah?’
Clay jammed the Glock into his waistband.
‘You got the money?’ said G.
Clay threw a wad of cash on the bed. ‘Forty-eight hours. Then tell them.’
G’s eyes lit up. ‘And the proof?’
‘We do it now.’
Clay reached under his shirt, unsheathed his neck knife in a reverse grip. Then he placed its tip inside the top of his right ear, pointing forwards. ‘I’ll know if you haven’t told them.’
G nodded, staring at the blade.
Clay fixed G’s stare and drew the blade in a smooth arc, down and back. The top of his ear fell to the carpet. Blood welled from the wound, ran across his jaw and neck.
G recoiled. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered.
Clay resheathed the knife, the pain starting to come properly now. ‘You got a camera?’
G pointed to his duffel bag, on the floor by the TV.
Clay pulled out the G21. ‘Slow and careful.’
G stepped back, rummaged in his bag and produced a small instamatic.
Clay reached his stump up to his ear, smeared it in blood and dragged it across his chest. Then he lay on his back on the carpet and splayed his arms, the G21 still pointed at G. He opened his mouth, letting his eyes drift. ‘Get going,’ he said.
G hovered above him, fumbled with the camera and snapped off half a dozen shots.
After, Clay stood, backed away to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and held it up against his ear with his stump. ‘Forty-eight hours,’ he said.
‘If I can get the file, I might be able to convince them that I killed your bokkie, too.’
Clay nodded. ‘If in two weeks I’m clear, I’ll tell you where you can get the file, and I’ll wire you the rest of the money. Write down your bank details.’
G reached for a pencil, knocked it to the floor, stooped to pick it up then scribbled the details on a slip of hotel paper and handed it to Clay. His hand was shaking. ‘Did you tell Crowbar?’
‘Ja, definitely.’
‘What’d he say?’
‘He said thanks.’
G’s face twisted into a gapped smile.
‘He also said that if you sell us out, he’s coming for you, broer. You know what that means.’
The smile was gone. G grabbed the cash, started flipping through the notes.
‘Got it?’ said Clay, wiping the blood from his face and neck.
‘Sure, man. Got it,’ said G. ‘Just disappear good, okay?’