There he is. Young, looking around casually when I glance back in his direction. Rounding the corner of a house, I step into a recessed doorway on a quiet street and when he passes me, I disable him with a swift punch to the solar plexus and grab his neck, slamming his head hard against the crumbling stucco on the house.
“eudhra! eudhra!Sorry!” The boy yelps.“la darar!No harm!”
Growling, I look him over. Too young. A standard pickpocket, and based on his skinny body and ragged clothes, not a good one.
“yajib ealayk 'an takun 'akthar hdhraan bishanman tastahdifuhu, 'ayuha al'ahmaq alsaghira.You should be more careful about who you target, you little fool.”
His eyes widen and he nods furiously. With a sigh, I hand him a fistful of dirham.
“Tzzi!”
The lad may be a terrible pickpocket, but he’s no fool, racing down the street the instant I let go of his throat, money clenched in his fist.
“How did ye do?” Cat’s right where I put her, stepping out from the cover of a palm tree and putting the safety back on the pistol.
Handing her the cloth bag I picked up in the market, I say, “It’s no Gucci, but it’s comfortable.”
“I’d pick comfortable over Gucci any day,” she snorts. Holding up the bra and underwear, she flushes and stuffs them back in the bag. “Ye got the size right.”
“Ye dinnae think I’d remember?” Ach, that comes out more husky and intent than I’d planned. Cat narrows her jade eyes at me and steps behind the tree again to change.
I nod in approval when she comes back, hijab securely in place, with comfortable linen pants and a demure blouse. “One last thing,” I say, handing her a simple silver ring.
“Really?” she eyes it, “Is this necessary?”
“You’re either my sister or my wife if we dinnae want to stand out, now that we’re around people again.” With a sigh, she takes it, sliding it on her ring finger as I put one on mine.
One day soon, I’ll be putting a proper wedding ring on her finger.
The call for Dhuhr, the noon prayer is sounding as we walk through the village. “We’re safe to hire a taxi here,” I murmur, sidestepping an older man hauling a cage of angry-looking chickens. “Then, by the next town we can call the Chieftain.”
“Do ye think we can get a place for tonight?” she asks longingly. “I’d kill for a shower.”
“Aye,” I chuckle.
Hailing down an ancient, dusty Mercedes, I nod to the driver.“kam taklifat alrihlat 'iilaa wadi 'uwrika?How much to take us to the Ourika Valley?”
His weathered face lights up, this is going to be a profitable day for him. He names a price. I’d gladly double it but bartering is to be expected. Within minutes we’re on our way and Cat leans back against the cracked seat, taking a deep breath.
“I’m almost afraid to relax,” she whispers. “Itfeels like ill vage tae us, bad luck.”
My hand finds hers and I squeeze it gently. “Almost there, lass.”
She’s asleep on my shoulder within minutes and the driver eyes us in the rearview mirror with some amusement. I know he’s checked our wedding bands already.
“siah?Tourists?” he asks.
“fi shahr aleasal,we’re on our honeymoon.”
“aha, hubi alshababi, ah, young love,” he says approvingly.“'iinah wadih fi eaynayka,I see it in your eyes.”
I know it’s clear in mine. I just have to hope he’s right about seeing love in Cat’s gaze.
***
Tzzi! - Moroccan slang for go away, or scram.
Ill vage tae us - Scottish slang for “bad luck to us.”
