Relative Danger Read Online Free Page B

that Doug stumbled upon the right street corner and Le Café du Desert. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. Time to start the investigation.
    “Good morning, I am looking for a Mr. Ahmed. Is he in?”
    “Tea?” asked a short man in a red vest and bow tie.
    “No, just can I talk to Mr. Ahmed?”
    “No tea? Coffee?”
    “I’m looking for Mr. Ahmed,” Doug said, trying not to raise his voice, but knowing that he was. “I need to talk to Mr. Ahmed. I have a message for him from America.”
    “Oh,” the short man said. “A message from America for Mr. Ahmed. I am Mr. Ahmed. Please sit, I will bring you tea.” His English was excellent, but there was a strong, and to Doug, unidentifiable, accent.
    Doug had a seat outside, next to the door, and Mr. Ahmed soon returned with a small, steaming pot and two glasses. He poured the tea, raising the pot up over his head as he poured, a thin stream of mint tea filling the glass from the center.
    “If you’re Mr. Ahmed, how come you didn’t say so?” Doug said as he sipped the tea, trying not to drop the scalding-hot glass.
    “No one in Moroc calls me Mr. Ahmed. Here I am Fahad. I have not been Mr. Ahmed since before you were born. I did not know that anyone who knew Mr. Ahmed was still alive.” He sipped his tea, drawing a finger along the bottom of his white moustache to remove any drops. He’d only be Edna’s age, thought Doug. He must have had a harder life.
    “Did you know a Russell Pearce, Mr. Ahmed? I have a message for you from him.”
    “He’s still alive?” the man said with sudden interest. “I can’t believe he’d still be alive, he was so reckless. We met not far from here, a long, long time ago. He bought me my first real hat. Brought it with him from New York City.” Mr. Ahmed poured some more tea, this time without the flourish reserved for tourists. “Are you from New York City?”
    “Ah, no, I’m from Pottsville.”
    “Is Pottsville near New York City?”
    “No, it’s in Pennsylvania.” He tried not to sound apologetic but did anyway.
    “Oh that is close. Have you been to New York City?” the old man said, sipping his boiling tea.
    “Ah, no,” and now he was apologizing, “I haven’t.”
    “You come all the way to Morocco to sit at my café and yet you don’t go to New York City? I would rather go to New York City than Morocco, and I’m an old man.”
    “I’ll get there someday, but right now….”
    “Somedays don’t always come,” he said, wagging his finger at Doug. “ Carpe diem . Do you know Latin?”
    “Afraid not. Look, what I need is….”
    “ Parlez-vous français ?”
    “No. I just was wondering….”
    “ Wash kt’aref Arabia ?”
    “Huh?”
    “You seem quite unprepared for life outside of Pottsville,” Mr. Ahmed laughed. “But here you are!”
    Should I be embarrassed or insulted, Doug thought, looking at the hunks of tea leaves that congealed at the bottom of his glass. And who drinks tea out of a glass anyway? “Yup. Here I am,” he said.
    “So, you have a message for me?”
    Doug decided not to tell him about his uncle; there were too many questions he did not have the answers to yet. And this was it, his first contact and his first clue to the mystery. He found himself leaning forward and talking in a softer voice. “I’m supposed to tell you that I’ve taken up the hunt for the eye and that you could help me find Sasha.”
    The old man looked at him for a moment. “What does this mean?”
    “What do you mean, What does this mean? I’m doing the hunt thing now and you’re supposed to have me meet Sasha.”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t know, you’re supposed to know that,” Doug said. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Look, you know Russell, right? Well he sent me here to find you and I did. Now I’m supposed to tell you that I’m on the hunt….”
    “What hunt?”
    “The hunt for the eye, that’s what I’m supposed to say.”
    “What eye?” the man asked, still