and took out a bottle of whisky. He found a glass hidden under a stack of receipts and poured himself a decent measure. “Here’s to you; may your life be filled with laughter, may your pockets be filled with gold.” He raised the glass in salute, and drank deeply. Kelly laughed. O’Malley returned to his perch and looked at her with affection. “So, what’s up?”
Kelly opened the flap of the white envelope with a scarlet fingernail and took out one of the photographs it contained. “I wondered if you might know this man,” she said, and handed it to O’Malley.
He scratched his chin thoughtfully as he studied the photograph. “What makes you think I’d know him?” he asked.
“He’s Irish,” said Kelly.
O’Malley looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “If you don’t know who he is, how do you know he’s from the old country?” he asked.
Kelly smiled. “Uncle Fergus, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” he said, and took another drink from his glass.
“He rented a car, and the woman he spoke to said he had an accent.”
“Americans can’t tell the difference between Irish, Australian and South African, you know that. They all sound the same to them.”
Kelly shook her head. “I played her some tapes, and she recognised the accent as Irish.”
O’Malley beamed and raised his glass again. “Smart girl,” he said.
Kelly felt a warm glow inside. Normally she didn’t feel the need for praise; she regarded it as just another technique men used to try to get through her defences. But her uncle was different and she was pleased that she’d impressed him. “So, do you know him?”
O’Malley looked at the picture and shook his head. “He looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to the face.” He handed it back to her.
Kelly studied his face, looking for the signs that would let her know that he was lying, but his eyes returned her scrutiny with a steadiness that reassured her. She passed him the computer-enhanced photograph of the blonde woman. “What about her?”
O’Malley’s reaction was transparent. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened and he shot up off the desk. “Where did you get this?” he said.
“The desert,” she said.
“Recently?”
“Uh-huh. Uncle Fergus, the suspense is killing me. Who is she? Do you know her?”
“I do, girl. That I do. But Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what the hell is she doing in Arizona?”
Rashid threw the damp towel onto the floor and pulled on an old pair of men’s pyjamas. She was tying the trouser cord when the door to her bedroom slowly opened to reveal Rich Lovell standing there, leaning on the jamb with a sly grin on his face. “I sort of assumed you wouldn’t be wearing a Victoria’s Secret nightgown,” he said, looking her up and down.
“Get out of my room,” she hissed, fastening the top button of her pyjama jacket.
“Come on, Dina,” said Lovell, “why are you playing so hard to get?”
Rashid picked up a hairbrush and sat down at her dressing table where she ran it through her long hair with firm, even strokes. She watched Lovell in the mirror as he closed the door behind him. “If you don’t get out, I’ll call Carlos,” she said quietly.
“He doesn’t scare me,” said Lovell, walking up behind her and massaging her shoulders.
“Then you are truly a fool,” she said, continuing to brush her hair.
Lovell’s fingers tightened around her neck. He bent down and kissed her shoulder. She felt his beard scratch against her skin. “It’s been five weeks since I’ve had a woman, and you really turn me on.”
She stood up quickly, startling him, and she held out the hairbrush like a knife. “It’s not mutual, Lovell. You repulse me.”
Lovell grabbed the brush and tossed it to one side, then stepped forward and held her tightly against him. He tried to kiss her on the lips but she brought up her knee into his groin, missing his testicles but hurting him nonetheless. She pushed him hard in the chest and he staggered back, breathing heavily. He moved to grab her again but she stopped him by raising her hand. He waited to hear what she had to say, his eyes wild. “Just go,” she said. She could see his erection pushing at the crotch of his jeans.
“No,” he said.
She shook her head. “You couldn’t handle it,” she hissed.
“Handle what?” he said, confused.
“Me,” she said. “You couldn’t handle the way I fuck.”
He smiled evilly. “Try me,” he said.
Rashid licked her lips slowly. “You want it, you bastard? Well I’ll give it to you. But you’ll be sorry.” Lovell stepped towards her but she held up her hands again. “No,” she said. “You do it my way or you don’t do it at all.”
“Your way?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“Take off your clothes, and lie on the bed,” she ordered. For a moment it looked as if he was going to refuse, but then he undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing a hairless chest. He smiled as he took off his shirt, dropped it onto the floor, and unzipped his jeans. He sat down on the bed as he pulled the jeans off and stripped off his socks. He lay back and took off his boxer shorts, leaving him naked on the bed. He moved to roll under the covers, but Rashid shook her head. “No, I want to watch you,” she said. She picked up his shirt, sat down on the bed next to him and took his erection in her hand. She squeezed and he gasped. He reached for her but she shook him away. “My way,” she insisted. Lovell smiled and she felt him grow even harder in her hand. She straddled him smoothly, then leant forward, bringing his arms above his head. He tried to kiss her but she kept her head away from him, her hair dragging across his face. With quick, deft movements she used the sleeves of his shirt to tie his hands to the headboard.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to pull his hands free.
“This is the way I fuck guys I don’t like,” she said. She slipped off him and took the belt from his trousers, using it to tie one of his legs to the bottom of the bed.
“I don’t want it like this,” he said, pulling at his bonds. Rashid sat on the edge of the bed and took him in her hand again.
“It feels to me like you do,” she said, gripping him. He groaned. She went over to a wardrobe and returned with one of her own belts, which she used to bind his remaining foot to the bed. “I’ve only ever fucked two Americans,” she said. “Like you, they were pigs.” She stood up and picked up her wallet. From it she took a condom in a foil packet. She opened it and sat down on the bed.
“I don’t want to wear anything,” Lovell protested.
Rashid slipped the condom onto him in one smooth movement. “You think I’d fuck a pig like you without a condom?” she said. She spat in his face. “You’re crazy.”
Lovell tried to wipe the spittle from his face onto the pillow but he couldn’t reach. It dribbled down his nose and into his beard. Rashid saw his erection begin to subside and she stroked him until he grew hard once more. “Funny how you pigs lose interest when you feel threatened,” she said.
“Stop it,” he said. “Just untie me. I’ve changed my mind.”
Rashid laughed throatily. “You asked for it, you bastard, and now you’re going to get it.” She stood up and slipped off her pyjama top. She had broad shoulders and small breasts, hardly more than slight swellings. Lovell could see that she didn’t shave her armpits, and the growth there was thick and long. There was hair around her nipples. She pulled the pillow from under his head. “Lift your arse,” she ordered. He obeyed and she slipped the pillow under his backside. “They were hostages, those Americans. We had them in Beirut, kept them chained to radiators for months. They stank, but then Americans always stink.” She slowly untied the pyjama cord and let the flannelette trousers fall around her legs, revealing thin, brown legs. The hair at her crotch was as black and thick as the tufts in her armpits. Lovell’s eyes were drawn to it and she smiled. “One of them was a CIA agent, we never found out who the other one was. They were lousy fucks, Lovell. Are all Americans such lousy fucks, I wonder?”
“Untie me, Dina,” said Lovell nervously.
Rashid laughed at his discomfort. She turned her back on him and went over to the wardrobe. She bent
