Angry White Mailmen by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: sf_detective
Published: 2017-09-12T12:55:37.167000+00:00

Chapter 27

Abeer Ghula woke up in a luxury suite of the Marriot Marquis Hotel in the heart of Manhattan's theater district and kicked the sleeping woman in the bed beside her.

"Get me breakfast."

The woman—Abeer could not recall her name- awoke with a start. She looked about, saw her clothes on the floor and her NOW button on the end table with her watch and slowly remembered who she was and how she had gotten here.

"What did you say?" she asked sleepily.

"I said, 'Get me breakfast, wench.'"

"I'm not your wench."

"You were given to me by NOW to serve my every need. I have had you in bed, and now I would like breakfast in bed."

"I'm strictly security. Call room service."

"You call them."

"I'm not your slave!"

"Yes, you are. You were given to me."

A pungent personal characterization and an oversize pillow came flying in Abeer Ghula's sharp-nosed face.

Whipping it away, she reached over and smacked her erstwhile bed partner in the face.

"That's for your insolence, woman."

The woman grabbed her stung cheek. "I—I thought you loved me."

"I did love you. Last night. Now I am hungry. I love food. You will bring me all I ask, or I will find another who worships my womanly wisdom."

Her lower lip quivering, the woman whimpered, "What do you want?"

"For breakfast, pork. All kinds of pork. Pork is forbidden by Allah, but Um Allaha has decreed it halam not haram. I will have pork and endless cups of black Turkish coffee. And if you give me these things before my stomach growls, I may allow you to lavish your caresses upon the perfection that is my back. For it aches."

Meekly the white woman left the bed.

"And for lunch, I would like a man," Abeer Ghula called after her.

The woman started. "A man!"

"I like men—when I am not in the mood for women. I had two husbands until they discovered each other."

"I can't love a woman who loves men!"

"You will love who I tell you to, or Allaha will turn her scornful back upon you," said Abeer Ghula, turning her own scornful back on the angry, hurt face of the white woman whose name was unimportant because she was only the first white woman Abeer Ghula intended to despoil on the path Um Allaha had chosen for her.

"I would like pork for breakfast and Turkish coffee."

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. Have it delivered by a blond-haired man with very broad shoulders. We do not have blond-haired men in my homeland. I would like to taste one. Blue eyes are my preference."

But the man who delivered the breakfast tray was neither blond nor blue eyed, and at first Abeer Ghula's eagle eyes flashed in her anger. Then she took another look at him.

"You are not what I asked for."

"I didn't exactly beg for this job, either," he said, wheeling the gleaming service cart to a stop and reaching into his pocket. He had deep-set dark eyes and wrists as thick around as bedposts.

"Remo Clear. FBI."

"I do not understand," said Abeer Ghula, sitting up in bed so that the royal blue covers fell from one dark- nippled breast.

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