Page 55 - Three Adventures
P. 55

The Nazarene Foreskin

                       [from Fantastic Transactions, Vol. 3 (2006)]


          In  the  mirror  he  faced  on  the  stool  he’d  been  warming  all
        afternoon Scoop Reedle watched the girl enter the cool gloom of the
        Hotel Belvedere bar. There was nothing else to watch.
          Clearly  an  American,  he  observed.  Or  a  Canadian.  No  other
        woman not a prostitute would walk unaccompanied into this den of
        iniquity in tight-fitting slacks and a blouse incompletely buttoned. She
        looked  as  fresh-scrubbed  as  a  commercial  for  feminine  hygiene
        products. Just about as out of place, too, Scoop concluded. But she
        was heading for him.
          “Mister Reedle?”
          Her voice played  over the  strings of his addled sensorium like  a
        long-forgotten lullaby. He turned his hastily redirected gaze from the
        glass and ashtray  on the polished  surface supporting  his elbows to
        her face. It matched the voice.
          “That’s  right.  If  you’re  looking  for  American  Express  or  the
        embassy, they’re not in this part of Beirut. If you need a reliable taxi,
        I can get you one.”
          She smiled the smile of a tolerant friend, a very close friend. “No,”
        she  said  softly,  “I’m  looking  for  you.  I  read  your  piece  in  the
        International Gazette yesterday, and I think we can help each other.”
          As she finished her words she twisted her hips toward him and slid
        back  onto  the  next  stool  in  one  smooth  movement.  Something
        stirred in his imagination: yes, that seat, like his,  swiveled.  But she
        hadn’t taken advantage of that mechanical convenience. His instinct
        was to beckon the bartender, but he checked it.
          Reedle’s newsman’s nose smelled a story. And trouble. But a scent
        of roses had entered the room. “Really?” His optic nerves frayed into
        a cobweb of misperception. He knew it and he knew, as he knew he
        needed the resident spiders to trap pesky thoughts flying through his
        head, that he could clear them quickly if need be. “Perhaps you could
        tell me about it, Miss, ah—”
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