Buzz: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte Read Free Book Online Page B

aren’t Muslim.”
    The man grinned and paused long enough for the laughter to die down.
    “And if you’d like to freshen up, the bathrooms are over there.”
    He gestured toward a barracklike building at the edge of the camp, then gave HP a pointed look.
    “The belly-dancing show starts at ten o’clock. I look forward to seeing you again and I hope you enjoy your stay with us!”
    Even though HP just felt like slumping down on the cushions with a pipe of weed, he reluctantly decided to heed the man’s advice and clean himself up.
    As luck would have it, the toilet happened to have a hose with a showerhead attached, and, after plenty of acrobatic maneuvering and a great deal of hand wash, he managed to tidy himself up fairly reasonably.
    He ditched his shirt in the nearest trash can. It may have been tailor-made from Thai silk, but he was happy to sacrifice it if it meant he could regain a few crumbs of self-respect. In the souvenir shop he picked up a pink tourist T-shirt with a psychedelic Arabic pattern on it, then abdicated all responsibility and allowed the salesman to complete the look by winding a towel around his head.
    When all this was done he went and sat on the cushions by one of the low tables, ordered a beer, and waited for the others to finish playing outside in the sandbox.
    Vincent and Anna didn’t return until it was getting dark. They were walking close together, their bodies bumping and nudging together as they chatted confidentially in French.
    He really shouldn’t care. It wasn’t like he was in love with her or anything—definitely not. But there were still some rules. Anna was his companion; he was the one who’d brought her along.
    He could hardly avoid the looks of the others in the group. But his options were strictly limited. He was stuck out here in the desert, and, even if the stinging feeling of humiliation was turning more and more into a white-hot fury, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Vincent was roughly the same height as him, but he was considerably more sinewy, and he definitely looked like he could take care of himself if he had to. Besides, the Frenchman had backup from his entire posse, so inviting him to take part in a bit of Fight Club wasn’t really a good idea.
    Anyway, he himself was much more of a lover than a fighter . . .
    No, all that remained was to pretend that he didn’t care, try to get stoned and/or drunk as quickly as possible, and then get a ride on the first camel caravan out of here.
    He decided to devote all his energy to these tasks.
    ♦  ♦  ♦
    The belly-dancing show did little to improve his evening. Once the scantily clad dancer had snaked about for a while, she invited the audience to join in, and soon the dance floor was filled with close to seventy tourists. He would rather have stayed in the corner with Miss Mary Jane, but instead he was dragged up by one of the French girls who was far too attractive to turn down.
    Even though he was drunk, he felt unbelievably stupid. With a towel on his head, a tourist T-shirt, and a fake smile, dancing the white man’s overbite in a fake camp in a fake country.He probably looked even more ridiculous than he felt, if that was actually possible.
    Anna and Vincent were dry-humping each other a couple of meters away. His thigh was stuck between hers, and she had her hands twined around the back of his neck as their hips rolled in time to the Arabic pop music.
    The attractive French girl—whom he was obviously too drunk, too high, and too ridiculous-looking to stand any chance with—danced off with her friends, so he made up his mind to weave back to the table and lubricate his self-pity with yet another beer.
    The table was empty, they all seemed to be up on the dance floor, but in among the glasses and plates he caught sight of something gold.
    Vincent’s blingy cigarette lighter.
    Sweet!
    He looked around, pretended to reach for a can of beer, then quickly snapped up the treasure. It felt