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I'm not exactly what you'd call "buff." My idea of exercise is unloading gallons of milk from the mini-van. I suppose my laziness is a reaction to all the times I had to run the track and pass physical fitness tests while I was a cop. I hated exercise then and I hate it now. Only it shows a lot more now than it did then. The truth is pizza buffets really do come back to haunt you.
Being overweight and out of shape, I'm sure I looked like an easy target to these thugs. But they didn't know the rules.
Rule number one: Nobody puts their hands on me without permission.
Rule number two: Anyone who breaks rule number one finds out that I may be a chunky little woman, but I'm a chunky little woman with martial arts training and lots of attitude.
The hand that was clamped across my face smelled like old socks and cigarettes. Another arm snaked around my waist, and that miserable dwarf stood in front me, grinning like Dopey gone bad. I was not amused.
I brought my elbow back hard into Smelly's nice, soft gut. He let go and I spun quickly to the left, snatched him by the elbow and brought him forward, putting my foot out to throw him off-balance. It worked. He slammed to the floor, catching the dwarf as he fell. The dwarf lost his balance and toppled over on top of Smelly.
The two flailed for a moment -- arms and legs tangled in their robes -- while I grabbed a bottle from the counter and waited. Smelly threw the dwarf off him and came up, but he failed to notice I was at his back. I conked him on the head and put a foot out to stomp on the little guy's robe hem. I caught him just as he was heading lickety-split for the door.
The dwarf was mumbling something in Arabic when I reached out and grabbed him by the nape of his nasty little neck. I shoved him up against the door and turned him around, then reached out and placed my finger strategically under his ear. And I pressed ever so slightly.
"Ow, ow, please Missy, please, to stop this torture!" He yelped. It hurt. I knew it hurt because I've used that particular little trick on a lot of very uncooperative citizens of the streets. First time I'd ever tried it on a dwarf, though. I didn't ease off, just glanced to make sure Smelly wasn't stirring, then put my face down next to the dwarf's.
"You speak English?"
"A little. Please leave me. I will do anything."
"Then talk. Now. Why did you two jump me?"
"For money. I swear. This is all. Please, let me go." He was starting to sweat -- a lot.
"Let you go? I suppose I could. But what's in it for me?" That got him. Old Dopey quit struggling for a second. I could see he'd never had a victim turn the tables.
"You? You want my money?" He asked me, squinty little eyes looking at me with amazement.
"No, you pea brain. I'm not holding you up. I just want to know why I shouldn't turn you in to the police. I'll bet robbing one of Abu Assad's employees will get you a couple of years in prison, at the very least."
Now, I'm fairly intelligent. Or at least I was before I became the custodian of a teenaged daughter. But, for the life of me, I would never have believed that dwarf's reaction if I had not personally witnessed it.
The little guy started shaking, knees wobbling, shoulders quaking. I watched as his color shifted from swarthy to slightly greenish. Frightened eyes regarded me as though I'd just turned into a three-headed cobra.
He said something in Arabic that had the distinct flavor of a prayer, then tried to pull away from my grasp. I pushed down on that spot by his ear. He screeched.
"Be quiet. Answer my questions and I might let you go. Do you know of Abu Assad?"
"Yes, Missy," he said and swallowed.
"You are afraid of him?"
"Yes. Please, Missy, do not tell. Please. I will do anything," he begged.
"Why?" That caught him short. I guess he thought that anyone who worked for Abu Assad would know all about him.
"Because today is not a good day to die."
"He would kill you?"
"It is known what happens to those who displease the esteemed gentleman," he said. Behind me, I could hear Smelly moaning. I needed to finish up this interrogation and get moving.
"What else do you know about him?" Dopey's eyes narrowed a bit. I could tell he didn't like where this conversation was heading.
"Sometimes he uses certain people like me..."
"Dwarfs?" I asked. It was his turn to fix me with an impatient look.
"No, thieves," he explained with the tone of voice one uses with a small child.
"What does he have you steal?"
"Not steal. Watch things. Other people."
"Have you ever done this for him?"
"No." His eyes shifted. I could tell he was lying.
"What about your friend over there?" I pointed to Smelly, still on the floor. Dopey nodded. Smelly was starting to shake his head. I decided I needed to get out there before he woke up.
"What's his name?" I jerked my thumb at Smelly.
"Ahmed."
I grabbed him and pushed him toward Smelly. Opening the door, I heard the other man say something that sounded rather impolite as Dopey landed on him. I left quickly.
* * *
Walking rapidly back the way I came, I passed Abu Assad's building and kept walking under I finally found a telephone. I punched in the card numbers. On the other end of the line I heard it ring and then someone picked up.
"Yes?" It was Blake.
"Blake, it's Eileen."
"Good grief, I just dropped you off an hour ago! What could possibly happen in an hour?"
"Well, other than being attacked by a dirty coffee-shop owner named Ahmed and a dwarf, not a single, solitary thing, now that you mention it," I said. There was a bit of a pause on the other end of the phone, then Blake sighed.
"I give up. You're in Cairo for two hours and you've been attacked by a dwarf? I'll bite. How did that happen?"
"Went to find a phone like you told me."
"You said 'attacked' -- are you OK?"
"Of course. You know me better than that. Look, I need to get back to the apartment before someone comes looking for me. The dwarf says he and Smelly..."
"Smelly?"
"Ahmed. He smells. Anyway, the dwarf says he and the other guy have worked for Abu Assad in the past. That Assad hires thieves to watch things and people for him. Ahmed did a job recently, by the way. Might want to shake him down." There were a lot of people on the sidewalk now, but no one paid much attention to me.
"OK. Where can I find this unholy duo?" I gave him directions to Ahmed's shop and quickly hung up, making it back to the apartment building and my room as quickly as possible. Tired from the trip, I took a nap.
* * *
Mahmoud's eyes were bright over dinner. He started telling me all the places the two of us would go on this visit. I was lost in thought, paying little attention to the 10-year-old, but finally something he said brought my thoughts back to the present.
"Wait a minute. Did you say 'horseback riding?'"
"Yes. Tomorrow morning. I've made all the arrangements. It will give you the opportunity to see the pyramids as you have never seen them before."
"Well, you're right about that one. I've never seen the pyramids at all. But I really didn't plan to do it while sitting on the back of a horse. I don't want to go horseback riding, Mahmoud."
"All right. Camel, then. It makes no difference to me, but camels are very bad-tempered. They spit, you know."
"OK, you've got me. Spitting camels sound even worse. But I'm warning you -- I don't know how to ride a horse!"
"Ah, I will teach you," he said. Great. He'll teach me. But it won't do him any good. I don't like horses and they don't like me, either. Oh well, maybe I could spend the day prying information about Abu Assad's security arrangements out of the kid.
* * *
Cairo is warm when the sun goes down and warm when it comes up during the spring months. I awoke to an odd sound, like someone singing really loud in Arabic, without music or anything. Mahmoud said it was the call to morning prayer from a nearby mosque and the sound was amplified by a speaker system.
I was still a little tired. I'm one of those of people who sleep miserably whenever I'm not in my own bed. And I was already cranky at the thought of climbing on a horse's back.
When I was a girl, I had these girlish thoughts about having a horse of my own. I wanted a Palomino stallion and was going to name him "Pal" -- I know, not very original. But I also didn't know a blasted thing about horses. The only ones I ever saw had Roy Rogers on them.
Then one day I was invited to a birthday party where the guest of honor had -- you guessed it -- a pony ride. I was so excited! The pony was a lot shorter than the Palomino of my dreams. And he had a grumpy old guy who led him around in a circle. But I didn't care.
I could hardly wait until my turn to climb up on that majestic animal and make my fantasy come true. I wanted to wrap my thighs around horse flesh -- to be at one with the animal. I waited in line and when my name was called, the little pony turned and gave me a look that told me he'd read my thoughts. Like Tarzan and Cheetah, we were communicating -- person to animal, mammal to mammal. What I didn't know at the time was that the little pony was a jerk.
My turn came. As I prepared to climb up in the saddle, I reached up and patted him gently on the side of his nose and the pony turned his head, laughed (I swear it), and then bit me on the finger.
I screeched, the vicious finger-chomping animal spooked, and it took off, running around the fenced-in back yard with the old guy chasing it. Ponies might be small, but they can also be quite destructive. What was left of the cake and ice cream, not to mention the presents, soon flew all over the back yard. The party broke up early, all the little kids were crying because they had to go home wearing cake and the birthday girl never spoke to me again.
I've held a horsey kind of grudge ever since. So when I found myself at the Giza pyramids eye level with a miserable piece of horse flesh and a disinterested guide, I almost turned around and called a cab. I would have, too, if it hadn't been for the camels.
The camels were only a couple yards away and I could smell them from where I stood. Let me put it this way: horses are downright aromatic compared to camels, which also spit and engage in other socially unacceptable acts. Besides, if you climb on a camel, you really climb. And when you're on a camel's back, "down" takes on a whole new meaning.
Later, of course, I would wish I had taken a camel. Especially when I found out that they might lope, but they don't generally do a lot of running. And that was important to me because, before the sand had time to heat up, I found myself on a runaway horse. And I didn't even know how to ride one that was standing still.
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