I'm Cherry, Fly Me! by Gardner Francis Fox

Author:Gardner Francis Fox [Fox, Gardner Francis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sexectioner, Secret agent, Vintage Sleaze
Publisher: Gardner Francis Fox Library LLC
Published: 2021-06-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Ibn Mahmoud Chakir was the perfect escort. He took me dancing to a little bistro where candles were lit against the dimness of the big room, where a musical combo made sweet rhythms with the strings and drums. He was a good dancer, too, he could do just about every dance step we tried.

Still, there was a bad taste in my mouth after seeing that mafioso type. He had done nothing except look, he had made no grimaces or gestures that I could take as threatening. I told myself that maybe I was getting too suspicious. But then, I also informed myself, I had good reason to be.

It was two in the morning when the sheikh dropped me off at my hotel. I was a little surprised that he had made no play for me, there was no invitation to come up and see some more of his jewels. Those that I was wearing he begged me to keep for the moment, telling me that I could return them tomorrow and select new ones when we went out for dinner the next night.

There was a little packet waiting at the desk for me. The clerk handed it over with a quizzical look and the information that a local gendarme had left it.

I carried it up to my room and opened it behind locked doors. Several photographs tumbled out, together with a note from Inspector Sablette. These were the films I had taken from the freight car roof, together with some blowups of them.

I studied them without any particular excitement until I came to one picture that pinned me to the bed where I was sitting in total surprise.

My eyes were looking at the face of the mafioso type who had dined near us in the Byblos restaurant tonight! There was no mistake. This was the same guy, all right.

I sat there, rather stunned. How had he picked up my trail so soon? Even the Mafia aren’t magicians. There was a sane, simple explanation, but I was damned if I could think of it.

I got undressed and slid into bed, still trying to figure out my own personal little puzzle. The leak! The leak! Where was it? Nobody but Rene Sablette knew I was going to be in Saint Tropez. Unless it was coincidence! But I put that idea aside.

There were too many coincidences in this case, already! And that meant only one thing, that they followed a pattern of some sort. They seemed like coincidences to me because I couldn’t understand that pattern, I could not grasp the key that would unlock the whole picture to me.

Next morning, Ibn Mahmoud Chakir was in the Pinede lobby, waiting for me as I came down for breakfast. We would go out in his yacht, he said, we would swim and dance and dine on it, I must bring my bikini and perhaps something to wear when we were done with swimming.

It sounded like a fun thing, and I was delighted with his offer.

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