Free Tangier by William Bayer

want to tell me about? I rely on your antenna, you know."
    "Thanks, Hamid. I appreciate that. Aside from the church affair, Tangier's had a very dull week. But our high season begins in a month. Then everything'll pick up."
    Hamid nodded. There was a pause. "I'm concerned about you, Robin," he said. "How long are you going to stay here and waste your life?"
    "Now don't start that again—"
    " I will . When we met you were a real hippie—not one of these imitations I see around today. You were wild and passionate about life, but now I see you're settling in your ways. You neglect your work and bury yourself in gossip. Watch out, Robin. The years will pass, and in the end you'll find you're just another Tangier writer, a shadowy presence who doesn't finish his books."
    "Hmmm. Maybe so. But I'll have one distinction left."
    "What's that?"
    "I'll still be an informer for the police."
    "Oh, yes. You'll always be that. Perhaps, as you've said, it's your real métier."
    "You know, Hamid—" Robin began to laugh. "You're the only Tangerene who dares to speak to me like this. The others are too terrified because of the power of my column. They come around regularly to kiss my ass, and I adore them for it since I've kissed ass all my life and now, finally, I'm in a position where people must kiss mine."
    "Still—"
    "I know. You think I should leave, become serious, start a new life. Actually I'm thinking of starting a business here. My clients will be rich people who want to make it in Tangier. For an extravagant fee I'll set them up. Sooner or later they'll get to Barclay's for lunch—he'll try out anyone once. My final payment is delivered the day they get the invitation, but after that they must keep me on retainer if they don't want to be blasted in my column. I could make myself a fantastic living and enjoy the pleasure of being completely corrupt."
    "But you wouldn't sell out your column, would you?"
    "No. I suppose not. As much as I adore the idea of being your informer, and long to roll about in the gutter, the integrity of the column must be preserved. We're alike in that way, Hamid. I've often wondered why you haven't allowed others to make you rich."
    "Oh—I don't know. I'm a simple man. I want to be respectable. An honest cop."
    "Oh, Hamid, you're beautiful. And lucky too. I live alone, picking up scum here and there, whatever crosses my path. But you have Kalinka, and you're in love."
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    B ack at the S û ret é at two o'clock, Aziz greeted him with a grin. "I've completely terrorized the ballet dancers. They want to see you and beg for mercy on their knees."
    "Spare me, Aziz. You take charge of the case. If the prosecutor agrees, ship them out tonight. Take them in handcuffs to the airport. The humiliation will do them good."
    "Marvelous idea. Why didn't I think of it?"
    "Because you're only a detective. A long time yet before you become the chief. I want you to contact our informants at the American Consulate, find out what you can about Zvegintzov and Lake. Has Zvegintzov been there for dinner? If he has, what did he say? See the butler and check with the maids. Also there's Kranker, the American. See the visa people downstairs and tell them to harass him a bit. When he comes in they should hold up his renewal. I think he's messing around with children, and I want him scared."
    There were a few more matters to dispose of, then Aziz left and Hamid began to go through the motions of his job. He read dossiers and checked the status of his cases, but his mind kept returning to Kalinka. He thought of her sitting in their salon, or lying in their bed, smoking, filling her lungs with the harsh, acrid smoke of hashish. He must get her to stop, slowly, gradually, lead her out of her world of dreams. Then maybe he would marry her. But would she be different, a different person? Would he love her as much as he did now?
    It was a difficult afternoon; the problem of Kalinka nagged until he grew