I stammered for a second though when he looked me in my eyes, and I could've sworn he looked me up and down, but it happened so fast while I blinked, ...hat I thought nothing of it."No problem, let's go inside then, follow me," he said as he led the way.We walked down the short hallway, and there were a couple of open rooms and when I peeked inside, there wasn't anyone in any of them. "Slow day?" I asked."Well, usually no one shows up here until after work, or they're here early morning. You came. There was no Rick’s Bar and certainly no eponymous black piano player. He met more possible Ricks in the dives of Tangiers than in the bustling run-down streets of the newly independent kingdom’s commercial capital. But in one way his holiday was no disappointment at all. The whores he sampled were amongst the very best he’d ever enjoyed and he was able to relish all the more sophisticated pleasures of the flesh that greater exposure to imported, under-the-counter, Soho pornography had. He couldn't find Ashley at first and that annoyed him. He had brought the letter with him and he realized he hadn't taken the time to read it. He stood in the garage and read the letter and then he heard some movement from the corner and realized Ashley was hiding between some old cans. He tucked the letter in his pocket, walked over, and squatted down in front of her. "What's going on?" He asked sternly.Ashley still had long scraggly hair and it fell in front of her eyes. She had been bawling. "Jenny–" I began."Allan," she was crying, "I'm so sorry, I should have phoned you. Please come home. I need to talk with you." OK," I said.I arrived in the flat. She was in her underwear. It was sexy underwear: half-cup lacy bra, lacy boy-shorts, black thigh-highs, and over all a sheer negligee. She was smiling shyly. I was not smiling. Her expression changed to worry."What's the matter, darling?" she asked."Where've you been?" I asked coldly.She blushed, saying nothing. I could tell she was.
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