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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