Golden Bird

"Nonsense, it pleases me ... and now a toast ... " he lifted his glass. "To a most charming couple, and I hope to have the pleasure of your company again before you leave."

"That's kind of you, but I'm afraid that will be quite impossible, you see we're leaving tomorrow, we only came for the weekend"

"Ah, what a pity." Abdulah expressed sincere disappointment. "So short a stay, then at least allow me to give you a memento."

He motioned, and a tall, long legged, skimpily clad girl came over to the table. Around her neck hung a large, professional looking camera.

"Ah, Candy my dear, would you be so kind as to take a picture of me with these attractive people."

"Certainly, Excellency," she held the camera up, focused the lens, and clicked two pictures. Then she took out a pad of paper from a pocket in her short black mini skirt and handed it to Sara. "Please write your name and address so we can send you a copy."

Sara complied, and when she handed the girl the paper, she caught a look at Abdulah, who's expression was one of pure evil, and Sara again repressed a shudder.

* * * It was just before dawn, and Jack could see the sky beginning to brighten as he hurriedly packed the few things he had left. He wasn't sure where he would go, but he knew he had to split-and quickly. The night had started off so good. Stella had come up with five hundred dollars, and he had been on a roll. He should have stopped when he'd made the five grand back, but just a little more, just a little more-for Stella, and maybe they could have started all over, but no, he had to screw it up again, and now he was into Abdulah for twice the original amount. Ten friggin grand! Damn! And Jack had the feeling that fat son-of-a-bitch wouldn't be happy to hear that all he had to his name was a Timex watch, his clothes, and a lousy two hundred dollars, which wouldn't get very far, but was a start.

A knock sounded at the door and he froze. Panic started to seep into his awareness and tiny beads of sweat collected above his lip. He glanced around the room. There was no place to hide-not even a closet-just a bed, well, a cot really, and an old battered bureau, donated to the Y, no doubt, by some good Samaritan. He went to the window-no escape there-it was three stories straight down to a concrete sidewalk.