Redemption - Leon Uris [192]
“Garden, parlor, veranda, three bedrooms, roach-free, access to Memphis Palace-type liquor, police protection, and ladies on call.”
“Hmmm,” Sira pondered as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together as though he were caressing the fifty-pound note. It would be no problem to obtain this for a staff officer, but none of them could pay the passage. With the sheiks in Turkish territory and ordinary travelers scarce, a number of villas sat empty. I go one step further, he decided, once I ascertain if…“Will there be a continuing way I could serve the situation?”
“You mean further commissions, somewhat more than a shilling from a Brit officer, damp with the sweat of his palm?”
A toothy smile and an innocent holding apart of Hamdoon’s hands was followed by holding his heart.
“Absolutely,” Chester said.
One does not come to decisions so quickly. What if this is a trap? What kind of trap? No, it was not a trap but one must discuss this with other parties, there must be conversation…the fifty-pound note was still before him. How much more was in stock? A hundred? A half-year’s wages, maybe more! Does one reveal his sources so easily? After all, Hamdoon, he told himself, you are a great concierge in a cheap land. You know where everything is….
DO IT!
Hamdoon picked up the phone, waited, then went into a passionate discussion and, after a time, set the phone down. “I believe I can do you some good. I have arranged an immediate appointment with a prominent gentleman or great honor and impeccable connections. Usually, it takes days to see him. He has made such arrangements for minsters, generals, great sheiks. BUT! Do not waste his time. You must be prepared to pay a great sum, at least sixty to seventy-five pounds a week, exclusive of the women and drink.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll go ninety a week for the right place. You, Mr. Sira, make the deal for me. Anything you can get it for, under ninety, goes into your pocket plus another five a week.”
“You must be prepared to pay in advance.”
“Afraid not. We’ll pay half a week in advance and the balance at the end of each week.”
Hamdoon Sira was standing before a cask of gold. Only Allah knew what else he could provide these men. If only all the English were as forthright as Mr. Goodwood. He jotted the name of Farouk el Farouk. “I’ll have the hotel limousine brought around for you.”
Chester ripped the fifty-pound note in two and gave a half to Mr. Sira. “The rest when you close the deal.”
The bell tower clock tolled eight-thirty, which meant it was seven-thirty. As dusk fell, the calls of the muezzins floated from the minaret tops. Rory and Johnny were on the verge of panic envisioning the dear innocent face of Chester lying in a slimy, cobblestoned gutter with his ears and tongue missing.
Bong…clang…burrrrr…bong… tolled the bells.
“Ah Jaysus! Chester! Johnny, it’s Chester!”
“You dirty little sonofabitch, where have you been? We’ve been going crazy!”
“Ought to break your fuckin’ neck, that’s wot!”
Chester sighed. “I almost found us a place.”
“Almost, what do you mean, almost!”
Chester recounted the day, up to the meeting with Farouk el Farouk.
“He had a real obscure office on the second floor of a building on Sheik el Bustan. Pleasant fellow. I cut through the red tape and laid out our purpose and requirements.”
“Including the women?” Johnny wanted to know.
“Including the women,” Chester assured him.
“Ah, good lad.”
“There’s some villas in the Zamalek. Most of his regular clients got caught in Switzerland or otherwise by the war. The pommy officers haven’t got the money or are too cheap to take them off his hands. At first he didn’t even want to show them to me.”
“What happened?”
“We got into a backgammon game. You know, he had centuries of tradition behind him. When I had him down over two hundred I told him I’d call it even if he showed me one of the villas,”
“How was it?”
“Arabian nights…Scheherazade