William Bayer - Tangier

Back in the suburbs he slowed as he passed the Knowles‘, then drove on to the traffic circle and parked. He turned off his headlights and lit a cigarette. There was no one about.

It was another twenty minutes before she appeared, jogging around the corner at a rapid pace, the white stripe of her sweat-suit flashing light from the dim street lamps. She loped around the circle, waved at him as she passed, then raised three fingers and started around again-meaning, he supposed, that she was going to run the circle thrice.

He watched, becoming dizzy as he followed her with his eyes. On her third pass she suddenly stopped, then leaped beside him into the car.

"Hi!" She smiled, leaned forward, planted a long, wet kiss on his lips. Her forehead was sweaty and so was the rest of her-he could feel the moistness as they embraced.

"Can I call you Dan, Mr. Lake?"

"Sure, Jackie. Sure."

"Well, Dan -"

She reached for his tie, loosened it, unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. Then with a single stroke she unzipped the front of her sweatshirt. Her breasts popped out. She was naked underneath.

"I'm horny, Dan. It's not healthy to keep urges bottled up." She placed her hand on his crotch. He couldn't believe it. She started fumbling with his fly.

"Jackie-"

"Shhh!"

"Jackie!"

"Don't talk, Dan. We've only got a few minutes. Foster will worry if I'm gone too long." She kissed him again, struggling with his zipper. "I want you, Dan. I want you inside of me. But not tonight. It's really impossible to ball in a car." She got the zipper open then and started to fondle him through his shorts. "Drop them, Dan. I want to suck."

She mopped her forehead on her sleeve, then lay her head across his lap. She was sucking him, humming while she did it, the vibrations of her clinging lips bringing him alive.

He felt frightened at first, then hopelessly aroused, the object of fellatio in a diplomatic car. It was crazy the way she lay across him like a vixen, body contorted, straw hair strewn across his lap. But suddenly he was delighted by the danger, and slipped down in his seat. He forced her head against the steering post, and with terrifying spasms shot off in her mouth.

The whole thing had taken less than a minute. When he opened his eyes he saw her making obscene swallowing motions with her throat.

"God! What if someone saw?"

"Never mind, Dan. It's over now."

She sat up and cupped her breasts. There was a radiant, triumphant expression on her face. He reached for her, but she pulled back.

"No, Dan. Not now. Next time you'll have me. I'll call you tomorrow as soon as Foster leaves for work."

She zipped up her sweatshirt and backed out of the car. From outside she blew him a kiss, then jogged around the circle and disappeared. He sat alone then, his limp cock oozing onto the plastic seat.

What, my God, have I done?

For a while he drove around the city, losing all track of time. He drove the Boulevard again, and Avenue d'Espagne, then turned and twisted through the maze of narrow streets that ran between the Grand Socco and the beach. He drove up through the old Jewish quarter and into the Casbah, madly honking his horn. He passed beneath the arches, the narrow street along the walls, until he arrived at the Place de Casbah and pulled to a screeching halt.

He looked about. The great square was deserted. He got out, walked to the battlements, stared down the cliffs at the moonlit bay.

What's happening?

He knew now he'd never get to sleep. His head was on fire, though he was sure he was no longer drunk. The encounter with Jackie had taken care of that, and now he felt caught up by something, some passionate force that had seized hold, and to which he'd relinquished all control.

Am I going to snap? Is this the night I'm going to break?

He didn't think so. Despite all that had happened he felt a new, clear vision taking hold. He was a man of the night, a man who acted while others slept. There was a destiny for him in Tangier. Z! Z was the quarry, the man he must begin to hunt.

In Dradeb there were still people in the streets, but he felt no fear of them as he drove through. He'd heard much lately of their vicious taunts and flying rocks, but tonight he felt invincible, the master of Tangier.

After he crossed the Jew's River he slowed down, searching for Zvegintzov's car. He saw it, a rusting old Peugeot. He parked behind it and looked about. The shop was closed. The grill was down, but he could see light coming from a window off the side. He'd never been in there, the room behind the store. He knew it was where Peter slept.

He locked the car, crossed the street, then moved carefully, pressing against the side of Zvegintzov's house. There was a window ahead that cast out light. He stooped beneath it, rose slowly, and peered in through the glass.

He saw Peter then, sitting on his bed not a dozen feet away. He was talking-Lake could hear the sound, though he couldn't make out a single word. He ducked, fearing he might be seen, then realized he was in darkness, invisible to those inside. He backed off a bit, then rose again. He had to see who else was there.

It was the girl, the one living with Ouazzani, Kalinka, Zvegintzov's wife. She was standing, facing Z, at the opposite end of the room, the two of them in profile, faces illuminated by a frayed old lamp. They seemed excited-he could see that in their gestures. Listening carefully, he realized they were speaking Vietnamese.

Suddenly he felt powerful, full of the power that comes to those who spy on others unseen. People said this woman never saw Z anymore. What luck to catch them together, and, too, it fit in with his theory that she was Peter's link with the police. He recalled his encounter with Ouazzani the other evening, coming upon him in the shop, finding Peter in the midst of tears. Later, outside, he'd aroused the Inspector's anger by asking him about his girl. Clever, the way he'd drawn that anger out. Now he wondered who was controlling whom. Blackmail, perhaps, with Ouazzani pulling the strings. Or did Peter have the Inspector in his grip? He didn't know. It was all too complicated; he hadn't sufficient information yet. Now he only wished he had a Minox-one of those miniaturized spy jobs with a superfast lens. He'd snap a picture of the girl and Z, post it anonymously to the police. What would the Inspector do? How would his superiors react?

As he stared at them, however, he became aware of something else. There was something going on in the room, something desperate. He could sense it in their tones as they mouthed their tortured words. Were they arguing? Z seemed tense, and the girl, standing before him, so straight, tiny, thin before his hulk, she, he could tell, was the cause. Was Z sobbing? Lake wasn't sure. Yet her sounds, high-pitched Oriental chirps that cut to him through the glass, were answered by Peter's heavy moans that made the window rumble beneath his palm. Lake was fascinated. All his senses sprang alert. A drama was being played which he, a secret observer, shared.

None of this fit with his image of Zvegintzov the ruthless agent. There the Russian sat, slumped upon his bed, lines in his face gouged deep, wiping at his eyes.

Silence. The confrontation was at an end. The girl stared at Z, who returned her gaze, then dropped his head upon his chest. What had they been saying? What dark Oriental exchange? Lake felt bewildered standing outside, accidental witness to some inexplicable event.

There was movement then. Peter stood as she moved toward the door. It let out, Lake realized, onto the other side of the house. He could hear an exchange, most probably their goodbys, saw the girl disappear, then watched as Z stood alone staring at the floor.

A moment later he heard the ignition of a motorbike. He darted back to the street just in time to see the girl ride away. He ran to his car, drove rapidly, was halfway through Dradeb before he saw her scooter again. He slowed, dimmed his headlights, followed her to an old building where the Marshan Road intersected with Ramon y Cahal. He waited, watched, saw her enter the elevator from the street. She'd pushed a minute-long night light when she'd gone in, and now it illuminated a cagelike elevator shaft. He watched as she rose slowly out of sight. No choice now. He knew he must follow her up.