Decoy

"Any number of men here would like to give you a lift, Jamila," Bourek said. And then he laughed. "Although they no doubt would be very disappointed to find that you aren't equipped as they wish. And, no, you may not go yet. You have been paid for two days. From your perspective, it doesn't matter whether it's Khoury or me."

"You? You aren't the same as the Arab?"

"Not in any way. It's been very difficult for me to keep my hands, let alone my eyes, off you. When we go back to the hotel, Khoury will no doubt fuck the black guy again—but you, you, Jamila, you'll be all mine."

"I don't think so."

The way Jamila had said that made Bourek look up. The first thing he saw, over her shoulder, were two hulking men in black suits approaching the table. And then he saw the sparkle of light, reflecting off the metal badge Jamila was holding up for him to see, and he moaned.

"You're a Fed?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, FBI. I wasn't just your decoy," Jamila said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "Floris Bourek, I'm arresting you on a charge of attempted illegal arms dealing."

Two burly men were hauling Bourek out of his chair. "The Syrian. Are you going to—?" Bourek blurted out.

"We'll just leave him to have his fun," Jamila said. "Unfortunately, it's not against our laws for a foreigner to buy arms, just for someone to sell them on American soil."

In the other room, oblivious to having lost their ride to the hotel, Khoury and Jared fucked on.