How to Betray Your Country by James Wolff (spicy books to read .TXT) 📕

expectantly, but when August didn’t respond he hurried forward attentively with his words. “Was I very helpful last time, did I save your bacon? It was my pleasure to do you a big favour, helping you to hide. We did not have the opportunity to talk afterwards. But in my opinion we worked very well as a team, with you in charge giving me the benefit of your experience, and together we pulled the wool over their eyes.”

“I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out, Youssef. Beatrice has the last word on hirings – my hands are tied. Now I’ve really got —”

“There is no need to apologize, my friend. I was pleased to meet Miss Beatrice, as well as Mr Larry from the embassy. No positions vacant at present, unfortunately, but we established a connection and I believe he will remember me fondly if we have the good fortune to meet again. Now, speaking of good fortune, I have a few of your favourite cigarettes here.” He took a crumpled packet from his pocket and shook a couple loose. “Shall we go to our usual meeting place upstairs and enjoy the sunshine on this fine day?”

Even from a couple of metres away August could see that the cigarettes were a cheap local brand that had been placed into a different packet.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said, fighting a wave of nausea. He took Youssef by the arm and turned him towards the door more roughly than he intended. “There’s nothing I can do to help you —”

“Help me? Do not say this, my friend.” A flash of anger and then a broad smile. Youssef gently shook his arm loose. “Have I asked for your help? My goodness. If anything, I wish to help you.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Bachelors about town, this is what Miss Beatrice said. I have made certain arrangements, I have paid certain deposits on your behalf. An evening of executive entertainment for Mr August and Mr Larry, exactly as you were instructed to plan. You can tell her that you prepared everything, it will be our secret. I have spoken to the finest cabarets and reserved VIP seating for two gentlemen, they will prepare cocktails and delicious food while the most beautiful girls in the city dance in front of you. It will be a night like you have never dreamed.”

“You’re right about that much. Look —”

“A small commission from the club, a small commission from you, that is everything I need. Miss Beatrice said there is an expense account, so I know this will not be a problem.”

“It’s not going to happen, Youssef.”

“As I said, a deposit has been paid on your behalf, exactly as you instructed. You asked about drugs too.”

“I didn’t say anything about —”

“Cocaine, hashish, even Viagra – anything you want. Look, I brought you a free sample.” Youssef took a dusty tissue from his pocket and unfolded it to reveal five grey pills. “For a small price…”

August leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted was to become entangled in someone else’s need.

“What kind of lady do you prefer?” Youssef asked. “Blonde or brunette?”

He couldn’t expect anyone to understand. He didn’t know how he would have explained it if someone had asked. Her death had not been an event, a thing that had happened at 3.54 one afternoon and was from that point onwards in the past, retreating by the day, like the ripples that followed a stone thrown carelessly into a puddle by the wheels of a lorry turning too fast. Her death had torn things open. It had stained time. It had disfigured life forever, like a jar of acid across the face.

“My friend?” said Youssef. “Let us agree on a date for —”

“Listen, I can’t help you. You’ve got to leave.”

“I am not asking for your help!” shouted Youssef.

Beatrice appeared at the door to her office. “What on earth’s going on here?” she said.

“Miss Beatrice,” Youssef said, quickly finding his smile. “I am sorry to disturb you in this unforgivable manner. Your employee here is creating chaos. I have come to offer my services —”

“Is this a joke?”

“Not at all. I have excellent qualifications and —”

“We’re not hiring.”

“Perhaps the walls need painting and —”

“I don’t care about the walls. Move fast and break things, that’s our motto.”

“Terrific, terrific.” Youssef looked confused. “What about cleaning up afterwards? Someone must clean up afterwards. Of course I am not a cleaner, but in this case…” He indicated the unpainted walls, the tangle of coloured wire casings thrust from the ceiling like something used to teach children about arteries and veins and muscles. “There is water on the kitchen floor. What about unexpected slippage? What about electricity?” He shook his head. “I will be very happy to come here and make everything shipshape. No, please do not shake your head, I am very happy to do this, please, I am desperate for —”

“Youssef – is that your name?” Beatrice said. “Youssef, we haven’t got time for this. There are no jobs and even if there were, frankly, you’re not the sort of person we’d give one to. I mean, take a look in the mirror sometime. We have very high standards. August and I have discussed this and we’re in complete agreement. Perhaps you should try, I don’t know, a restaurant or a construction company. They seem to take on plenty of unskilled workers. Now will you please leave so we can get back to work? Or do I have to call security and have you thrown out?”

Youssef folded the tissue paper around the pills. His hands were shaking and he dropped one on the floor. It bounced three times and skittered towards the puddle spilling out from the kitchen. He hurried to retrieve it and untucked a corner of his shirt to dry it carefully.

“For God’s sake,” said Beatrice, “is this some sort of fucking joke? Will you hurry up and