I walked back to the bed, parted the sheer netting, placed my roll of bills in a pile on the bed and counted it. After paying Henry, Leo at the Ohio Hotel, buying the methanol and new clothes, I had 3,817 dollars out of the original 5,000. Stacked up, it was about an inch high. Funny, it would have seemed a large amount of money two weeks ago. I began to see what Samas meant by frame of reference.

I assumed, upon confirmation, that I would have room and board at the St. Germain as long as I liked, but that was only a temporary solution. Eventually, after this small stack of money ran out, I'd have to either find some kind of income in Zurich or go back to my old world in L.A., which was as nefarious as Samas' proposition. In all honesty, criminality was not a major concern. He was probably aware of that as well. Perhaps that's why he made the offer in the first place. I knew the life I'd known before would welcome me back, waiting with open, atrophied arms.

I folded the stack of bills and put them back in my pocket. The faint lazy notes of a cello crept into my room as I turned off the lights, drew the netting closed and tried to quiet my racing mind until sleep came.

The morning air in the house was thick with simmering spices. I awoke from dreams of Samas' offer. The colors of the guest room seemed duller than those of my dream world.

I found the source of the smell in the kitchen. Zohra stood on tip-toes peering into a large pot on the stove. "What are you cooking?" I asked.

"I prepare couscous three times a week and offer it to the poor at the Hassan Mosque in Rabat. I made some pastries early this morning. They're on the table if you're hungry. Samas was awake a few minutes ago, he should be down shortly."

I took a pastry and walked around the living room, looking at the charcoal sketches on the walls. I stopped in front of a small sketch in a plain black frame. It's yellowing cracked edges betrayed its age. In it, a semi-clothed young black man lay asleep in a wooden bunk. I studied it at length, looking for some seed of the person I knew. But try as I might, I couldn't put the two together.

"Hard to believe it's the same person," Samas said behind me.

"Yes, you're right."

"I liked her much better back then." He walked into the kitchen. "How long will you be gone?" he asked Zohra.

"Until late afternoon, but I left a rack of lamb in the oven for your lunch. Will you boys be okay this afternoon?"

"I think we'll manage," he said, peeking into the oven. "We have a few things to discuss."

"Good. I'm leaving. I'll see you later."