Mysterious Cairo by Edited By Ed Stark, Dell Harris
Authors: Edited By Ed Stark, Dell Harris
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ventilate the bum.' No offense, of course."
I chuckled. "Nails" was all heart.
"He hits the ceiling, starts babbling in some other language. Tells me we shouldn't even muss your hair, just keep you pinned for a little while, then blow. So I agree — three of the boys pay you a friendly call, and you off one of them. Benny had a lot of friends, y'know."
"He's with most of them now, Nash," I shot back. "Did this joker tell you why he was so hot to have me stalled?"
"Nails" shook his head. "Nah. He didn't offer, I didn't ask. That ain't the way I do business. But I heard your office got the once-over this morning, gumshoe. Maybe you dug up something . or somebody . that should've stayed buried."
It made sense, except that I wasn't on a case right now, in either of my identities. But "Nails" was a rotten liar — that's why he was still small-time. If his boys hadn't broken into my place, that meant my secret was still a secret . at least from this crowd.
"Can you describe the guy who hired you?" I asked.
"Nails" got red in the face. "Hey, I ain't no squealer! I gave you this much, and I'm letting you walk out of here, instead of being carried out. But don't push your luck!"
I reached — slowly — for my wallet, and translated my question into a language "Nails" could understand. He pocketed the hundred and said, "Sure, I remember him. About your height, white hair, thin moustache. Oh, and he wore an eyepatch over his left eye."
"Nails" gave me his permission to beat it and I hit the street. I get a real kick outta him. Takes in a hundred grand, and can still be bought for chump change. Anybody else, I'd be suspicious — but "Nails"?
Anyway, the burglars, their boss — none of them sounded familiar. I started running down a list of people I'd insulted lately, trying to pin the big spender who hired Nash.
What I didn't know was, if I'd stayed in the office instead of visiting Nash, I'd have met the man. As Sadi told me later over the phone, while she was straightening out the office, somebody knocked at the broken door. It was "Daddy Warbucks" himself, complete with eyepatch and a heavy French accent. Sadi told him I wasn't there and he got flustered. Kept asking where I'd gone to, when would I be back, and Sadi snowed him as best she could.
"It is imperative I see Mr. McMasters immediately," he insisted. "It is a matter of ze gravest importance."
"Why don't you explain the situation to me, sir, and I'll give Mr. McMasters your message when he comes in," Sadi offered, and her visitor shrugged.
"Very well, mademoiselle, if I must," he said. "I am acting as ze agent of a certain . party who is seeking a lost object. He is willing to pay handsomely for its recovery, and no questions will be asked."
"What sort of object?" Sadi asked. She had a pretty good idea Frenchie was lying, but she was willing to play along and see where he was heading.
"It is a weapon," he said quietly. "A weapon which, in the wrong hands, could wreak untold destruction. It has been stolen, and it must be recovered. I have here a drawing —"
Frenchie reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of paper. Sadi did her best not to show any surprise when she saw it held a sketch of the Scarab's Sting. It was detailed, and the ink was fresh — whoever drew it had my piece, or had seen it up close recently.
Sadi turned back to Frenchie, determined to stall him, but he wasn't having any. When she saw he was getting set to leave, she said, "Mr. McMasters will want to know for whom you are acting. He never accepts a case without knowing the identity of his client."
Surprisingly, Frenchie didn't hesitate a moment. "Oh, pardonnez moi', did I not make that clear? I am acting on behalf of ze Silver Scarab."
* * *
I contacted Sadi from a pay phone outside of the Oasis and got the whole story. Our "client" had left a card — his name was Montaigne, and he was staying at the Sesetek Arms Hotel just south of the El Gala Bridge. He asked that I get
I chuckled. "Nails" was all heart.
"He hits the ceiling, starts babbling in some other language. Tells me we shouldn't even muss your hair, just keep you pinned for a little while, then blow. So I agree — three of the boys pay you a friendly call, and you off one of them. Benny had a lot of friends, y'know."
"He's with most of them now, Nash," I shot back. "Did this joker tell you why he was so hot to have me stalled?"
"Nails" shook his head. "Nah. He didn't offer, I didn't ask. That ain't the way I do business. But I heard your office got the once-over this morning, gumshoe. Maybe you dug up something . or somebody . that should've stayed buried."
It made sense, except that I wasn't on a case right now, in either of my identities. But "Nails" was a rotten liar — that's why he was still small-time. If his boys hadn't broken into my place, that meant my secret was still a secret . at least from this crowd.
"Can you describe the guy who hired you?" I asked.
"Nails" got red in the face. "Hey, I ain't no squealer! I gave you this much, and I'm letting you walk out of here, instead of being carried out. But don't push your luck!"
I reached — slowly — for my wallet, and translated my question into a language "Nails" could understand. He pocketed the hundred and said, "Sure, I remember him. About your height, white hair, thin moustache. Oh, and he wore an eyepatch over his left eye."
"Nails" gave me his permission to beat it and I hit the street. I get a real kick outta him. Takes in a hundred grand, and can still be bought for chump change. Anybody else, I'd be suspicious — but "Nails"?
Anyway, the burglars, their boss — none of them sounded familiar. I started running down a list of people I'd insulted lately, trying to pin the big spender who hired Nash.
What I didn't know was, if I'd stayed in the office instead of visiting Nash, I'd have met the man. As Sadi told me later over the phone, while she was straightening out the office, somebody knocked at the broken door. It was "Daddy Warbucks" himself, complete with eyepatch and a heavy French accent. Sadi told him I wasn't there and he got flustered. Kept asking where I'd gone to, when would I be back, and Sadi snowed him as best she could.
"It is imperative I see Mr. McMasters immediately," he insisted. "It is a matter of ze gravest importance."
"Why don't you explain the situation to me, sir, and I'll give Mr. McMasters your message when he comes in," Sadi offered, and her visitor shrugged.
"Very well, mademoiselle, if I must," he said. "I am acting as ze agent of a certain . party who is seeking a lost object. He is willing to pay handsomely for its recovery, and no questions will be asked."
"What sort of object?" Sadi asked. She had a pretty good idea Frenchie was lying, but she was willing to play along and see where he was heading.
"It is a weapon," he said quietly. "A weapon which, in the wrong hands, could wreak untold destruction. It has been stolen, and it must be recovered. I have here a drawing —"
Frenchie reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of paper. Sadi did her best not to show any surprise when she saw it held a sketch of the Scarab's Sting. It was detailed, and the ink was fresh — whoever drew it had my piece, or had seen it up close recently.
Sadi turned back to Frenchie, determined to stall him, but he wasn't having any. When she saw he was getting set to leave, she said, "Mr. McMasters will want to know for whom you are acting. He never accepts a case without knowing the identity of his client."
Surprisingly, Frenchie didn't hesitate a moment. "Oh, pardonnez moi', did I not make that clear? I am acting on behalf of ze Silver Scarab."
* * *
I contacted Sadi from a pay phone outside of the Oasis and got the whole story. Our "client" had left a card — his name was Montaigne, and he was staying at the Sesetek Arms Hotel just south of the El Gala Bridge. He asked that I get
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