4 CONNOR
I hadn't expected to still have company at this hour, so I was forced to spread the files across the counter while the girl read a dozen books simultaneously on the bed.
Our earlier conversation seemed to have genuinely irritated her, making her bury herself in the books exactly as I'd expected.
The reports we'd gotten today weren't enough to determine that Ammit was behind the woman's death in the square. But something in me screamed that even if it was him, something was off.
Samantha's complaint interrupted my thoughts.
“Can you growl a little quieter?” she grumbled.
“I'm not growling,” I shot back. “I'm thinking. It's what people like me do.”
“Boring people? Stupid people? Red Pills?” she mocked. I tried to ignore her, but before long she was behind me, snooping. “That's a Khopesh, right?”
I was holding an image of the 3D mold made by a specialist in New York. It was the closest we'd gotten to the original so far.
“I think so.”
“Definitely is.” She took the photo from my hand and went to the kitchen cabinet, pulling out a small magnifying glass. “This is… interesting.”
“What?” I moved closer, trying to see what could be so interesting about a photo of a 3D model.
“It's fake.”
“Obviously—it's literally made of plastic filaments.”
She looked up from the lens and shot me a look.
“I mean… the design is beautiful, but it doesn't belong to any specific period.
Khopesh swords were symbols of power, wealth, justice…
but mainly power. A weaponsmith's work was like a signature—it indicated where, when, and by whom it was produced. There are records of Khopesh use by the Sumerian civilization about three thousand years before Christ. But it was the Egyptians who turned it into a battle weapon. The sickle-shaped blade made it versatile for both attack and defense, and—” she could clearly see in my eyes that I wasn't following.
“Okay. I'll get straight to the point. It's an excellent piece, but it's not ancient like your paperwork claims. It was probably made by someone born long after 1500 BC.”
I took the photo from her hand and looked at the gray 3D design again.
“How can you know all that from looking at the photo for less than a minute?”
“Not all the books I read are romance novels.” She put her magnifying glass back in the cup cabinet. “Either way, it's expensive work. Not just anyone could make this, even if they got some details wrong.”
“You're pretty sharp.”
“You'd know that if you stopped brooding all day and learned to accept help.”
“The police have excellent specialists. I didn't think it was necessary.”
“Well, looks like your investigation is going great. Your suspect is in custody, right? Oh, of course not.” She grabbed the purse hanging on my chair. “You know what, forget it. I have a date anyway. Don't wait up, Detective Know-It-All,” she said before disappearing through the door.
I stared at the phone and only then realized I was late to meet Bob and his contact, though now I questioned whether it was even necessary—the girl had given me a new perspective.
I peeked out the window to see if he was arriving yet and watched Samantha get into a blue car with tinted windows. It was hard not to think she should be more careful with these dates. Especially since she clearly wasn't used to them.
Well, that was an occupational habit, but it wasn't my business.
I put away the files and grabbed my gun. I hurried down the stairs and decided to call Bob on the way. As I walked through the city—night had fallen now—the sounds of traffic and pedestrians seemed to grow louder.
Different music and percussion played everywhere, and people crowded the sidewalks.
In certain stretches, they spilled into the streets.
It seemed like some were taking advantage of the cooler night temperatures to shop.
Every kind of spice scent hung in the air, and packed restaurants spilled onto the sidewalks.
We'd agreed that Bob would meet me in front of the same bar as the night before. When I got there, he hadn't arrived yet, so I leaned against a lamppost, watching the crowd and soaking in a bit of Egyptian nightlife.
“Got a light?” A girl with golden hair falling in waves over her shoulders was looking at me.
“Sorry, I don't smoke,” I replied.
“Of course not. With a physique like that, I should have thought of a better excuse to approach you.” She smiled and caught the scarf slipping off her shoulder—the fabric was so light. “You don't drink either, do you?”
“No,” I lied. Not out of malice. She was beautiful, but I preferred to keep my head clear. And my pants on.
“You're not an easy target.”
“I'm sorry… I don't want to seem rude. I'm just not looking for company,” I said finally. Clear and direct, to avoid any misunderstanding.
“Oh.” She looked embarrassed. “I… I'm sorry. It's just that I was trying to get away from some guys, and it seemed like a good idea to pretend I knew you.”
I looked around. My damn cop instincts wouldn’t let me ignore a defenseless girl fleeing from a bunch of creeps.
“I’m sorry.” She turned to leave, but I stopped her.
“Are they still here?” I asked, and she glanced around.
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay... I’m waiting for a friend. We can sit here and grab a drink. That might scare off some jerks.”
“Thank you so much.” She smiled and slipped her arm through mine. We went into the bar and grabbed a table near the window. I texted Bob to let him know I was inside and pocketed my phone.
The bartender greeted us in Arabic, and I tried to explain I didn’t speak the language, but my guest apparently did—she was already asking what I wanted to drink.
“Water, please.”
She made a face and then relayed it to the bartender. At least that’s what I thought.
“Arabic, huh,” I remarked when he walked away.
“I know a little.”
“Seemed like a lot more than a little.”
“Thanks for agreeing,” she said, looking at me.
“I hope by the time my friend gets here, they’ll be gone.”
The bartender brought her drink and a glass of something that was definitely not water.
“Sorry. It didn’t feel right offering you water as a thank-you.” She smiled. “But in my defense, there’s no alcohol in it.”
I stared at the yellowish liquid in the glass, and when she raised hers toward me, I picked up mine.
“To my hero...” she paused for a moment. “What’s your name again?”
“Connor.”
“To my hero, Connor.”
Our glasses clinked together. I took a sip of the cool liquid and was grateful.
I checked my phone again, looking for any sign from Bob, but nothing. I set the phone on the table.
“By the way, Connor, my name’s Cassie.” She smiled and took a sip of her drink.
“What brings you to Egypt, Cassie?” I asked, taking another sip.
“I came to see a friend.”
I sighed deeply... I felt tired. I’d been awake for hours, and it was getting hard to stay focused on the conversation.
“It’s really hot in here,” she commented suddenly. “Don’t you think?”
I noticed I was sweating a lot. It was hard getting used to the climate on this side of the world.
“We can grab a table outside.” She stood up suddenly, and I followed suit.
I felt her arm slip through mine and we started walking, but my legs felt heavy.
“I’m more tired than I expected.”
“I know how you feel. It’s been hard since I got here,” she said, helping me through the door.
“Are you sure there wasn’t alcohol in that drink?”
“Of course not. It was just juice.” She kept smiling, but I knew something was wrong.
When we walked right past the tables and reached the street, I tried to go for my gun, but my arms were too heavy. My eyes slowly closed, and I only caught a glimpse of Cassie’s face. She just seemed to watch me fall.
A huge void opened up, as if someone had switched off the lights. It took a while before my eyes opened again.
I was slumped in the corner of an alley. My pockets were turned inside out, and I was shirtless and barefoot.
“Damn city,” I muttered. I tried to stand but was still too groggy. I dragged myself a bit, and a snippet of recent memory came to mind. Cassie’s smile, and then my body being dragged through the streets.
I looked around and recognized where I was. A few yards from the building. I took a deep breath before another attempt to move. I gathered all the strength I had and managed to get myself partially upright.
“Hey, are you okay?” The female voice came from behind me. Then the scent of orange blossom made me nauseous. I felt a small hand touch my shoulder and looked at her. Samantha was staring at me, confused. “I guess that’s a no.”
She promptly pulled my arm toward her and did her best to help support my weight. I had to hold back vomit several times whenever her hair swayed near my nose.
With great effort, we climbed the stairs and I dragged myself to the bed. With her help, I threw myself onto the mattress. After using my last reserves of energy, I passed out again, certain I wouldn’t wake up for the rest of the night.