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Cairene Dawn [MultiFormat]
eBook by Jay Caselberg
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eBook Category: Fantasy/Mystery/Crime
eBook Description: Jacques was on a case, and Cairo was on his case. Egypt looked like a good place to end up for Agamemnon Jacques, until the woman walked into the bar, searching for her husband, but then Cairo's mysteries are older than most.
eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Powers of Detection, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2005
Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [188 KB], eReader (PDB) [28 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [14 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [14 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [75 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [85 KB], hiebook (KML) [91 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [41 KB], iSilo (PDB) [12 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [15 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [43 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [23 KB]
Words: 4532
Reading time: 12-18 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
The fog had been up again that morning, just like it was most mornings--that greasy Nile mist clinging to everything, making you wonder what strange, mystical land you might be in. Then the sound of car horns and traffic, the grind and burr of a population on the move would filter through, redolent with its own smells, none of them particularly pleasant. For a while though, you could imagine you were in another place, a place of magic and power. But then Cairo was a strange and mystical place, a melting-pot of nations and cultures bound to make you wonder what was real.
Perhaps it was that inability to pin things down that first drew me to that seedy, smelly city, heavy with its own exotic sounds and sensations. Nobody belonged in Cairo, not even the Cairenes, but it had been like that since the dawn of history. You see, the dirty and the grubby have their own particular tang. Some people like it.
Me? I'm Agamemnon Jacques. I can curse my parents for that one. Most people just called me Jacques. I preferred it that way.
That afternoon, I was sitting in a bar, waiting for a client. Not so unusual, but this was no ordinary bar. This was Harry's Pub, nestled in the heart of the Marriott, way up on the eastern side of Zamalek, playground of the well-to-do. Next door lay the grounds of the Gizera Sporting Club and all around the marks of the wealthy. The hotel might have been a part of a chain now, but the marks of its past opulence were all around me. Even this had been a palace once. It was still full of liveried staff, still spoke swank, and in my dusty, pale street suit, I felt somewhat out of place. Still, Cairo's pretty forgiving if you've got the money. So, I sat there in one corner of Harry's Pub, listening to the voices, Arabic, German, French, trying to pick who it was I was here to meet. I needn't really have bothered.
The woman walked into the place and owned it with her presence. She wore a pale green-blue tailored suit that shimmered as she moved. Dark hair framed a pale, high-cheekboned face, sharp and soft at the same time. There was no hesitation. She scanned the room, spied me sitting at my solitary table, and headed straight for me. As she stood across the table from me, looking down with an assessing gaze, I looked back, knowing right away that this woman was really someone.
"Mr Jacques?" she said. Her voice was deep and rich, a slight accent tingeing those couple of words, but nothing I could pick right off. Something exotic.
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