Thieves Fall Out (Hard Case Crime)

by Gore Vidal

  “If you make another crack about Anna I’ll do it again,” said Pete in a low voice, his body tingling with rage, with this sudden release.

  “You don’t seem to realize, Mr. Wells, that I can kill you.”

  “I’m waiting,” said Pete, and deliberately he turned his back on the other and retrieved his cigarette, which had fallen, lighted, to the floor; but there was no shot, no attack.

  “You’re a brave man,” said Mohammed Ali, when Pete again faced him. “I should hate to see you killed, because there are so few in the world. I am sincere about that, believe me.”

  “Thanks.”

  The policeman straightened his collar. Pete saw, with satisfaction, a livid welt on the man’s cheek. “But I am not going to kill you yet, Mr. Wells, as much as I should like to. We will take care of that later on.”

  “Any particular reason? Or do you just like the idea of shooting American tourists?”

  Mohammed Ali sat down again on the chair at the table. “Ah, Mr. Wells, if one were to shoot all the American tourists one would like to shoot, the Nile would be red with blood. No, my reasons for shortening your life have to do with your real mission in these parts. You are not here to look at the temples.”

  “Tell me more.” Pete was beginning to relax. He was sure that sooner or later he would have to pay for his flare-up, but meanwhile he felt wonderful, like a man again. For a few minutes, at least, he enjoyed the sensation of being in charge of his own destiny.

  “I must tell you right off that I am on the best of terms with the lady who sent you here.”

  “Sent me?”

  The policeman sighed. “I am doing you the courtesy of being fairly honest with you; at least don’t try to deny facts that are known to me. I know that she sent you here. I know why you are here and what you must do.”

  “What is that?” Pete was curious to know.

  “There is no point in discussing it. I take the view that the Countess’s dealings are outside my province, at least in these matters. She and I long ago reached an understanding. I will not interfere. But others may.”

  “That’s real interesting,” said Pete, undoing his shirt; he had begun to sweat and the cloth was sticking to his back. He peeled the shirt off and tossed it on the bed, aware that the other was sizing him up like a boxer, gauging power, looking for a soft spot. “Excuse me,” he said mockingly. He swung his feet up on the bed and stretched out, still keeping his body poised for action, prepared to spring like a wire coil at any unexpected move on the other’s part.

  But Mohammed Ali was not contemplating violence, for the moment. “Hélène chose well,” he said.

  “Those are kind words.”

  The policeman’s eyes narrowed. “You are strong and you are certainly courageous, but you are a fool, Mr. Wells. You are deliberately antagonizing an official of the police in a country where the police have wide, extremely wide powers.”

  “You’ve got a point,” said Pete. “But I figure that you’re playing a game yourself. You’re fairly anxious to use me—for a while, at least. When I get the picture, I’ll act differently.” He said this coolly, realizing all too well the phoniness of his bluff. But it worked.

  “Very realistic, very realistic, Mr. Wells.” The policeman nodded approvingly. “It will be an honor to know you. Then let me put the case to you directly. I should like to know when you are planning to go back to Cairo. I will know, in any case, but I should be happier if I could have your co-operation. Second, I strongly advise you not to become involved with Fräulein Mueller.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “She is involved with someone else. I can’t tell you more. If you are not careful, you will offend that someone, and then Allah help you.”

  “Did he send you to me?” asked Pete innocently, knowing perfectly well who “he” was, but pretending ignorance.

  “Certainly not. I pass this information on to you only in the spirit of friendship.”

  To which Pete said, “Ah.”

  “I may say that I do more than pass the word along. I must warn you not to see her. If you disregard my warning, then I will be forced to deal severely with you, and I should hate to do that.”

  “I’m going to do as I please,” said Pete pleasantly. “If you interfere in what is none of the police’s business, I’ll get in touch with a good friend of mine at the American Consulate and he’ll make trouble for you.”

  “Meaning Mr. Case?”

  Pete was startled, but he betrayed no surprise. “I was thinking of someone else,” he said. “I happen to know Case slightly.”

  “He has not, alas, been able to find your traveler’s checks for you.”

  “What are you up to?” Pete was abrupt.

  The policeman fondled his wounded jaw thoughtfully. “I am up to many things. I am here on His Majesty’s business, for one thing; even in a casual country like Egypt, officials of the police do not roam about the country on private affairs.”

  “You intend to interfere with me and the Countess? With my trip here?”

  Mohammed Ali shook his head. “Far from it. I may even prove to be co-operative. You must be helpful, though. I should like to talk with you after you have seen the distinguished Said Pasha. That, for now, is my only request.”

  “Sounds O.K. to me,” said Pete, pretending innocence.

  “In fact,” said Mohammed Ali, “I may be of some use to the project.” He got to his feet. Pete tensed, ready to defend himself, but the policeman only slipped the book he’d been reading into his pocket, clicked his heels in mock salute, and said, “I must now attend to more official business. Remember, though, what I said about Fräulein Mueller. She is a marked woman in Egypt.” And on that curious note, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  * * *

  Pete slept uneasily through the hot languorous afternoon. He was awakened, as the rose light of evening streamed into the room, by the ringing of the telephone beside his bed, a venerable brass antique, large and unwieldy.

  The connection was bad, but even through the static he recognized Hélène’s voice immediately.

  “I wondered if you had got there all right,” she said, after the usual greetings.

  “No trouble getting here,” he said.

  “Have you seen Said yet?”

  “No sign of him.”

  “But Osman met you all right at the station?”

  “He did. I also met another friend of yours, a police inspector named Mohammed Ali.”

  He could hear a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the wire. “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to know when I was supposed to see Said. Wants to talk with me about some deal after I’ve talked to him.”

  “Be careful, Peter.” The voice was unmistakably urgent.

  “I sort of gathered you and he were friends.”

  “Nothing of the kind. He is treacherous! He promised he wouldn’t go to Luxor. Hastings made an arrangement with him, paid him a fee with the understanding that he would not meddle in this transaction.”

  “He didn’t stay bought?”

  “No.” There was a pause. Then: “I was afraid this might happen. Guard yourself well. You will need a weapon. Said will supply you. Under no circumstances deal with Mohammed Ali. He’s already been taken care of. If he becomes troublesome…”

  “Yes?”

  “Do what you can to protect yourself, and our project. It may be dangerous, especially the trip back to Cairo.”

  “I’ll look after myself.”

  “I hope so, Peter,” and the voice became soft and feminine. “I know you’ll be successful. All it will take is a little courage. You have that, I know. Then we can get to know one another, if you care to.”

  “I may take you up on that,” said Pete, trying to conceal his amusement at this obvious tactic. He wanted her still, but in a different way since he had met Anna; a colder, more violent way. The first tenderness had gone and only a pure impersonal desir
e for that mysterious body remained. It was a point of honor now, he thought, as he listened to her exotic voice over the long-distance telephone.

  After hanging up, he lay for a few minutes on the bed, watching the pink light turn to red in the sky outside his window. A warm breeze stirred the fronds of a palm tree beneath his window, a peaceful rustling noise. A car back-fired far away. In the hotel he could hear faintly the sounds of supper being made ready. For some reason he felt strong and confident, even though he still had no clear idea of what lay ahead, of what Said would have him do, of what Mohammed Ali might do to stop him. It was Anna, he decided, warm in the memory of her that morning in the temple. She had given him a center.

  He dressed carefully, then, and went downstairs.

  The dining room was fairly crowded with Egyptians wearing European suits. They sat eating quietly beneath the bright electric lights that shone harshly, unshaded upon the tables.

  Pete was stared at as he entered. He was the only Occidental in the room, except for Anna, who sat alone in a corner of the dining room. Pete walked straight to her table as though by previous plan. Eyes watched him, black, impassive eyes. She did not look up, pretending to examine the plate in front of her.

  “May I sit down?”

  “If you must,” she said, her voice so soft that it was almost a whisper. Her eyes avoided his as he sat opposite her.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  She looked up then, her dark blue eyes troubled. “No, no. I’m not angry. Why should I be?”

  “Because…of what happened at the temple.”

  “No.” A waiter brought them their first course, a sleazy fish full of bones. Pete ordered wine.

  When the waiter had gone and attention in the room was no longer focused on their table, Anna said, “I was only sad, Peter, that was all. It is much too complicated a situation. It would be hard to explain it even if I were free to do so, which I am not.” She smiled suddenly. “But at least I can—” She stopped abruptly, the smile growing fixed as she watched someone over Pete’s shoulder. She spoke quickly. “I am in Room Twenty-seven. If you can, come there tonight, after midnight. Make sure no one sees you.”

  “Good evening, Fräulein Mueller, Mr. Wells.” Mohammed Ali beamed, as though they were all old friends. He looked more rugged, Pete thought, in his tight-fitting inspector’s uniform. “May I?” he asked and sat down, uninvited.

  “What brings you here, Inspector?” asked Anna politely.

  “Breakers of the law, Fräulein.”

  “Which laws this time?”

  “Smugglers, traitors. The country is full of criminals.” He chuckled. “But I’m sure that doesn’t interest two foreigners on a visit to our famous ruins.”

  “We like to hear all the news,” said Pete. “You must be full of it.”

  Anna looked surprised. “Do you know each other?”

  It was the Inspector who spoke first, quickly: “We are Cairo acquaintances, Fräulein.” Inadvertently his hand traveled to his cheek, where the bruise received that afternoon was only partly hidden by talcum powder.

  “We had a talk this afternoon,” added Pete, aware of the quick glance Anna gave him, uncertain, questioning.

  “Mr. Wells is very much interested in our country,” said the Inspector smoothly, deboning his fish with a surgeon’s hand. “We discussed politics.”

  “Politics?” Anna’s face was expressionless, but Pete could see that she was nervous.

  “Yes. I explained the country to him quite well, I think. He had no idea how democratic it was, how well beloved our King is.”

  Pete was mystified. Anna was on edge, her face pale. “Are you really so interested in Egypt?” she asked, turning to him, a question in her eyes.

  But the Inspector spoke before Pete could admit to confusion. “Certainly he is. Mr. Wells is a student in government. In Mexico he—”

  “None of your business, Inspector, what I did in Mexico, or what you think I did.”

  “Why, Mr. Wells! I thought the Fräulein would be interested.”

  “I’m the only one who’d be interested in hearing what you have to say, but we can talk about it somewhere else, some other time.”

  “If you care to hide your light, as it were, I’m certainly not one to offend one who was considered a past master of—”

  “Watch it!” Pete’s face was set and menacing; he leaned across the table, as though ready to strike.

  The Inspector shrugged good-humoredly. “As you say, Mr. Wells. But we were talking politics, not your past distinctions.” Pete glanced quickly at Anna. Now she was the one confused; she looked from one to the other, a puzzled expression on her face. The Inspector pretended to notice nothing. As he ate, he talked.

  “Although our government is a strong one and devoted to the cause of the people, it has enemies, like any other government. Jewish nationalists, for instance, would like to overthrow our king because of the troubles in Palestine, because we are sending an army into that country to settle its problems in a businesslike way.”

  “The way you’ve handled your own problems here?” asked Pete.

  “In exactly the same efficient way,” and the Inspector managed to keep a straight face. “But there are other enemies. Some people would like to set up a republic, others a dictatorship.”

  “Not everyone is happy, then?” Pete wondered why the Inspector was talking politics; why, stranger still, Anna should appear so upset.

  “There are always malcontents, but we are fortunate in that we have an information service that is probably the best in this part of the world. There is nothing we do not know about.” He belched softly as he pushed the plate of fishbones away.

  “It still seems like a good country for a racket,” said Pete, unimpressed.

  “Some rackets,” said the Inspector, putting his hand over his glass as the waiter came by with red wine. “In public I am a good Moslem,” he said with a sigh. “No wine.” Pete drank, however, and so did Anna, mechanically, her eyes vague and her manner distracted.

  Mohammed Ali continued to lecture them on the current political situation in Egypt, to Pete’s boredom and Anna’s ill-concealed alarm. Fortunately, before coffee, the policeman was called away by a whispered message from the manager.

  “Excuse me, my friends,” he said, bowing low in the Oriental manner. “Duty beckons. Meanwhile, Mr. Wells, bear in mind my words of advice.”

  “Advice?” Anna looked at Pete, puzzled.

  “Oh, sure. Came to me this afternoon with a whole lot of junk, warnings mostly.”

  “About me?”

  “Why do you say that?” Pete looked at her curiously.

  She looked down at her plate. “He’s right,” she said, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it.

  “Right about what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The blue eyes were turned on him suddenly, like lights in the sea. “He told you not to have anything to do with me, and he’s right. You mustn’t see me. You mustn’t even talk to me. If—if I weren’t so selfish, I would have told you that myself.”

  “Anna.” At the sound of her name she paused. “I don’t care what you’ve done. Do you understand? None of that matters to me.”

  She smiled gently. “I’m afraid it isn’t so much what I’ve done as what I must do that matters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, Peter!” It was almost a sob, but she was a good actress and her face did not give her away to the other guests in the dining room.

  “Let’s leave the country, now. We can take the night train to Alexandria and get a boat to Naples.” He was startled to hear himself say this. It had come out unexpectedly.

  She shook her head. “You are sweet, but I couldn’t leave now, even if I wanted to. They wouldn’t permit it.”

  “They?”

  “Don’t ask me any more. For your own sake, please.” Then she left him, walking quickly between the tables to the lobby beyond.

 
Pete finished his coffee, wondering what to do next. He was getting in deeper and deeper, not only with Anna, but with the whole strange life of this country. His reason told him that he would be wise to take her advice, and Mohammed Ali’s, to keep his nose clean, not to meddle in their affairs. But it was too late for that. He wanted her, and not in the usual way. The body was only a part of it; more important was the woman, the frightened girl with dark blue eyes and a soft voice. He could help her; he was sure of that. As for the Inspector, he was fairly sure he could manage him. It was unlikely that the policeman would use the law against him. Without the law, Pete was confident he could handle the other. He’d been up against tougher ones, smarter ones, and he had usually had the better of it. He clenched his fist, thinking of Mohammed Ali.

  He spent the time between the end of dinner and midnight in the lobby drinking Scotch and talking to the manager.

  Pete had no trouble getting the subject around to Anna. The manager had already noted the fact that they had met.

  “You like her, yes? A woman of real beauty.”

  Pete nodded. “She’s certainly that. Even the Inspector seems to like her.”

  “Mohammed Ali? Yes, he is interested in her, but not that way. He does not like women.” And the manager winked. This was a new twist, thought Pete, a new complication. He had heard before that the Arabs tended to like men more than women; a custom of the country, springing, no doubt, from the old tradition of keeping women veiled and apart, unavailable. He recalled uneasily the way the Inspector had stared at him that afternoon.

  The manager babbled on. “No, it is not his interest in the Fräulein’s beauty that causes him to attend her so much. It is because of her friend in Cairo.”

  “You mean he’s been sent here to guard her?”

  The manager nodded importantly. “They say he is very jealous. No one knows why she came up here alone, but since she has decided to visit Luxor out of season, we are all honored, of course. Though it’s inconvenient having an inspector of the police staying in one’s hotel.”

  “You mean there are all kinds of deals going on in this hotel?”

  The manager giggled. “I have no idea, Mr. Wells. I do know, though, that the police have a regrettable habit of wanting to be included in ventures that don’t concern them.”