Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

Hedy looked at Heidi and said, “He’s a wise guy, too, Heidi.” She turned back to Bond and asked, “How do we know you’re not a serial killer?”

“Ladies, please,” Bond said. “My apologies, Hedy, if I offended you earlier today. It was not intentional. As you say, you do look uncannily like your sister. Now, if you’re saying that your dilemma is that the same man falls in love with both of you, I can understand why. Might I suggest a reasonable solution to your problem? That would be to agree to share the man, and I’m afraid that’s just what you’ll have to do this evening. Let’s have dinner, shall we? I’m starving.”

Heidi laughed, but Hedy remained unreceptive. She followed along grudgingly when the maître d’ asked them to first wash their hands, the Moroccan way, with a pitcher and basin. They were then shown to the tented side of the restaurant, where they sat on cushioned seats at low tables. Heidi commented on the beautiful décor and Hedy said, “Let’s hope the food warrants it.”

As it turned out, the food was excellent. For starters, they shared panaché de briouates aux crevettes, a variety of puff pastries stuffed with shrimp, chicken, and minced meat. Bond had tagine de kebab maghdour aux oeufs, a traditional Moroccan dish of meat kebab in a spicy paprika sauce with a fried egg on top. It was served in a tagine, the Moroccan pot shaped like an inverted top. Heidi had roasted rack of lamb, and Hedy opted for chicken with couscous. The girls insisted on drinking cold beer, so it was Spéciale Flag all around.

“So does this meet your expectations?” Heidi asked her sister.

“It’s pretty good,” Hedy admitted, finally cracking a smile.

They exchanged the usual sort of small talk that occurs when people are meeting one another for the first time. The girls talked about growing up in California, as Bond suspected, on the beach. They had been models when they were children, doing print and television ads for a variety of products.

“We were cute kids,” Heidi said.

“You still are,” Bond added.

“But we decided to join the real world when we became teenagers,” Hedy explained. “We both liked the traveling part of the modeling jobs, so that’s what we decided to do. We’re pretty good travel writers, if I say so myself.”

“I do most of the PR because Hedy says I’m more bubbly than she is,” Heidi said. “Hedy does the lion’s share of the writing. We both do the research. We make a good team.”

“We’ve always been inseparable,” Heidi explained. “We do everything together.”

“Everything?” Bond asked.

“Not everything,” Hedy quickly answered.

“If we ever disagree on something, we flip a coin. Heads I win, tails she loses.”

“Very funny,” Hedy said.

There was a moment’s silence before Heidi said, “Mr. Cork says he’s an importer and exporter.”

“Oh?” Hedy asked. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Bond shrugged. “I make sure things go in and out. Smoothly.” Heidi grinned at Bond. Hedy caught the exchange and frowned.

“Seriously,” he continued, “I work for a firm in London that deals with arts and crafts. Carpets, mostly. There’s a man in Tangier we buy from. I need to see someone in the medina tomorrow. I arrange the deals and let others deliver.”

“You were in Tangier last night?” Hedy asked.

Bond nodded.

“Did you hear about what happened on that ferry?”

Bond felt a sudden stab of paranoia. Had she been reading the papers? Had she recognized him?

“Yes, I heard about it this morning.”

Heidi shook her head. “It was terrible.…”

Looking at Bond, Hedy said, “I hope they catch the guy who did it.”

“Me, too,” Bond said, meeting her gaze. She was studying him intently. Had she seen the drawing in the newspaper? Was it safe to be in their company?

The girls shared a piece of chocolate cake for dessert and they all had coffee. A live band had begun playing traditional Moroccan folk music. Finger cymbals rung throughout the restaurant, casting a mesmerizing and exotic charm over the diners.

“Do you go back to London after you’re through here, John?” Hedy asked.

“I think so,” Bond said. “I may … I may be sent somewhere else. I’m not sure yet.”

“What should we do now?” Heidi asked cheerfully. “The night is young, as they say.” She winked at Bond.

“The night is quickly fading,” Hedy said. “Come on, Heidi, I want to hit the sack.”

“Hedy! It’s so early!”

“We have to get up early, remember? We have that guided tour of the city.…”

“Big deal. I’d rather stay up and hang out with Mr. Cork.” Heidi was a little tipsy from the beer.

“I don’t think so, sis. I’m sure Mr. Cork needs to go to bed early, too,” Hedy said.

“Hedy, don’t be rude,” Heidi said. “I know, let’s flip for it.”

“Please, Heidi.”

Heidi looked at Bond, shrugged, and shook her head, as if she were asking, “What am I going to do with her?”

“As a matter of fact,” Bond said, “I am a bit tired. Bit of a headache, too. I think Hedy has the right idea. I’m sorry, Heidi, but I’m afraid I will be retiring after dinner, too.”

“Well, shoot,” Heidi said. “Here I am in the city where ‘As Time Goes By’ came from, and I have to go to bed early.”

“Heidi, Casablanca was made in Hollywood,” Hedy said, rolling her eyes.

Bond insisted on putting their meals on his bill, for which Heidi was overly grateful and Hedy seemed resentful. He bid good-bye to the girls as they walked to the lift.

“We’re in room 415, if you can’t sleep,” Heidi said with a giggle.

“Heidi …” her sister groaned.

Bond got off at the third floor and went to his suite. He had enjoyed the girls’ company, but there was something odd about them that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. The wig business was a bit strange. He didn’t completely buy their explanation for their taking turns wearing it. Hedy could be a problem, but he wasn’t going to worry about her. He didn’t think she would try to turn him in to the authorities, even if she did suspect him of the terrorist attack. It was too bad he couldn’t have found a way to be alone with Heidi. She seemed rather spirited … but after further thought he knew that he needed to rest. She probably would have kept him up all night.…

Bond undressed, took a warm bath, took four of Dr. Feare’s tablets, and got into bed naked, his Walther PPK safely underneath his pillow. He fell into a deep, troubled sleep and dreamed fitfully about his double. The other Bond was pointing a gun at him and smiling malevolently. Heidi and Hedy were on either side of him, laughing. The gun went off and Bond thought he was falling into a dark, bottomless pit.

That’s where he stayed until the alarm clock woke him at six o’clock.

At 7:45, Bond stood on the street called Ville de Casablanca inside the medina, watching the exterior of the address on Clayton’s piece of paper. The door was part of a large building with several shop fronts. Berrakas had been built in around several of them, including number 14. Various wares were displayed for sale, but number 14 was curiously empty. The door itself was cloaked in shadow and couldn’t be seen.

A beggar sat cross-legged just on the outside of the berraka, a tin plate with a few coins in front of him. He didn’t look particularly homeless; on the contrary, he was dressed in a clean jellaba and appeared healthy. A watchman, perhaps?

Bond had arrived at the scene fifteen minutes earlier. The night had not given him the rest he had hoped for, so he had begun the day with the persistent headache and a nervous energy that bordered on anxiety. He had eaten a light breakfast of eggs and toast in the hotel (and hadn’t seen the twins, thank God), then walked the quarter mile to the medina. Now, though, as he watched the old quarter of town come alive with the noise and smells of the day’s bartering, Bond felt a little better. The anticipation of something happening, of some possible revelation, brought back the welcome rush of excitement and interest.