Free Thieves Fall Out by Gore Vidal Page B

because there are so few in the world. I am sincere about that, believe me.”
    “Thanks.”
    The policeman straightened his collar. Pete saw, with satisfaction, a livid welt on the man’s cheek. “But I am not going to kill you yet, Mr. Wells, as much as I should like to. We will take care of that later on.”
    “Any particular reason? Or do you just like the idea of shooting American tourists?”
    Mohammed Ali sat down again on the chair at the table. “Ah, Mr. Wells, if one were to shoot all the American tourists one would like to shoot, the Nile would be red with blood. No, my reasons for shortening your life have to do with your real mission in these parts. You are not here to look at the temples.”
    “Tell me more.” Pete was beginning to relax. He was sure that sooner or later he would have to pay for his flare-up, but meanwhile he felt wonderful, like a man again. For a few minutes, at least, he enjoyed the sensation of being in charge of his own destiny.
    “I must tell you right off that I am on the best of terms with the lady who sent you here.”
    “Sent me?”
    The policeman sighed. “I am doing you the courtesy of being fairly honest with you; at least don’t try to deny facts that are known to me. I know that she sent you here. I know why you are here and what you must do.”
    “What is that?” Pete was curious to know.
    “There is no point in discussing it. I take the view that the Countess’s dealings are outside my province, at least in these matters. She and I long ago reached an understanding. I will not interfere. But others may.”
    “That’s real interesting,” said Pete, undoing his shirt; he had begun to sweat and the cloth was sticking to his back. He peeled the shirt off and tossed it on the bed, aware that the other was sizing him up like a boxer, gauging power, looking for a soft spot. “Excuse me,” he said mockingly. He swung his feet up on the bed and stretched out, still keeping his body poised for action, prepared to spring like a wire coil at any unexpected move on the other’s part.
    But Mohammed Ali was not contemplating violence, for the moment. “Hélène chose well,” he said.
    “Those are kind words.”
    The policeman’s eyes narrowed. “You are strong and you are certainly courageous, but you are a fool, Mr. Wells. You are deliberately antagonizing an official of the police in a country where the police have wide, extremely wide powers.”
    “You’ve got a point,” said Pete. “But I figure that you’re playing a game yourself. You’re fairly anxious to use me—for a while, at least. When I get the picture, I’ll act differently.” He said this coolly, realizing all too well the phoniness of his bluff. But it worked.
    “Very realistic, very realistic, Mr. Wells.” The policeman nodded approvingly. “It will be an honor to know you. Then let me put the case to you directly. I should like to know when you are planning to go back to Cairo. I will know, in any case, but I should be happier if I could have your co-operation. Second, I strongly advise you not to become involved with Fräulein Mueller.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    “She is involved with someone else. I can’t tell you more. If you are not careful, you will offend that someone, and then Allah help you.”
    “Did he send you to me?” asked Pete innocently, knowing perfectly well who “he” was, but pretending ignorance.
    “Certainly not. I pass this information on to you only in the spirit of friendship.”
    To which Pete said, “Ah.”
    “I may say that I do more than pass the word along. I must warn you not to see her. If you disregard my warning, then I will be forced to deal severely with you, and I should hate to do that.”
    “I’m going to do as I please,” said Pete pleasantly. “If you interfere in what is none of the police’s business, I’ll get in touch with a good friend of mine at the American Consulate and he’ll make trouble for
you.”
    “Meaning Mr.