Free Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 03 - Cairo Caper by Barbara Silkstone

against me.
    Before she had a chance to object, the stranger unwound some dirty bandages, bumped her helmet, and wrapped the rags around her head and neck. What the hell?
    Fiona’s eyes flooded with startled tears. “Help”
    “Take photo!” the peddler yelped. “Kodak! Kodak!” he sounded like a grubby duck as he placed his arm around Fiona and posed in a touristy stance.
    Roger yanked the guy by the shoulder, until they were nose-to-nose then he yelled at him in Egyptian. The peddler argued back and wound more rags around Fiona. I kicked him in his right shin. He gave me a gleefully sadistic look and kept wrapping Fiona who was now his stunned prisoner. I would have kneed him but he wore a dozen layers of musty robes, and moved faster than the Tasmanian Devil. I couldn’t figure out where to aim.
    Roger grabbed him from behind in a stranglehold. Ick. Mummy germs on Roger and Fiona. The man rattled off a slew of words including US dollars. He broke loose and stood holding his hands in a prayerful pose.
    “Bollocks! This street blackmailer won’t take the bandages off unless we give him money, and he won’t leave without his bandages. This is one of the nastiest peddler tricks. I don’t want to create a scene, otherwise I’d beat the shit out of him.”
    Fiona reached for me. I stepped back. She looked and smelled like a mummied zombie.
    Grinding my teeth, I began to pull at the nasty cloths.
    The peddler jerked my hands away. I imagined the cooties parading from the bandages to my fingers. There wasn’t enough lice soap on the planet to make me feel clean again. I could see Fiona’s green eyes peeking through the wraps. She still made no move to free herself. Her chest started to heave. She was either going into shock or about to barf.
    Roger discreetly twisted the peddler’s arm behind his back. “Take the rags off or you will be armless.” He scanned the crowd but his move went unnoticed.
    To observers it was a typical street vendor with a dissatisfied customer.
    “Is joke!” the little man said. “Not funny? Will take mummy wrap.”
    Roger yanked the end of the wrap, and Fiona spun like a Hanukkah dreidel, ending on her fanny on the ground. She staggered to her feet and clung to me like a wart. She was going to have to be surgically removed.
    The little man extended his hand to Roger. “Tickemoff.” He bowed.
    Roger put his hands in his pockets. “Tick them off?”
    The man broke into a snaggled-tooth grin. “No. Say like this… one name, not three. Tickemoff.” He wiped the grime from his face revealing a much younger man.
    “Are you a Russian?” I said.
    “No, missy. Tickemoff is old pharaonic name.”
    Roger stepped between us. “Cut the chatter. Have you seen a Frenchman with a Land Rover?”
    “We are all Frenchmen at heart, are we not?” He batted his eyes at Fiona. She climbed further on my back and burrowed into my shoulder.
    “Answer the question,” Roger growled.
    “A Frenchman stopped at my home two, perhaps three hours ago. He was seeking petrol. He disappeared before I could make a deal with him. For tourists there is no petrol in Alexandria. The government has taken all the fuel.”
    He bent in to whisper although there was no one within hearing distance. “I have petrol at my villa.” He put a filthy finger to his mouth. “I will be most happy to sell it to you. Very cheap.”
    Roger shot him a quizzical look. “What did that Frenchman look like?”
    “Like Niles. Brother of Frasier Crane.”
    “You have American television?” I asked.
    “We are known in my village for our international culture. We have Seinfeld and George… and Kramer.” He let out a high-pitched cackle. “You must come to my house. You will see my plasma screen. You will meet my five unmarried sisters.” He glanced at Roger. “And I will sell you the petrol and give you ten mini-sphinxes for free.” He held up eight fingers.
    Roger tapped the right hip pocket of his jacket where the