Read Online Casablanca Blues (2013) by Tahir Shah - Free Book Online

each one.
    As they sat in silence, wondering what could be so important as to change the running order, Omary entered. He was composed, calm, and was followed by Patricia Ross.
    Pulling off his jacket, he rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie.
    ‘Has security been in here yet?’ he asked.
    ‘It’s all clean,’ said Ross.
    ‘Good.’
    Omary slipped down onto the chairman’s seat at the head of the table. Wringing his hands together, he took a deep breath.
    ‘My friends, there’s a terrible threat hanging over us all,’ he said. ‘It’s invisible and more deadly than anything we have encountered before. It is far more treacherous than our most scheming competitor and, if gone unchecked, it will bring this great company and many more like it crashing into the ground!’
    The policy team listened attentively.
    ‘Yet this opponent,’ Omary went on, ‘is regarded by most of us as a harmless irritation, something we endure in all our daily lives. In actual fact it’s a killer, an exterminator of justice and of truth! And so I have decided that I shall wage a war against it, and direct every resource I have at my disposal to destroy it.’
    The chairman got up from the table, and smoothed a hand down over the side of his face.
    ‘I can hear you asking what is it – this enemy?’ he said. ‘And so I shall tell you. It is CORRUPTION!’
    An uneasy wave of whispering rippled through the room.
    Seated at the far end of the table, Hamza Harass spoke up:
    ‘With respect Mr. Chairman,’ he said, ‘how do you propose to destroy something that is so endemic in society? It would be like trying to wipe out the common cold.’
    Hicham Omary cleared his throat.
    ‘From this moment we shall no longer pay bribes of any kind,’ he said. ‘Whether it be five dirhams to a parking guardian on a street corner, or fifty to a cop for an invented traffic violation... or bribes to judges, politicians, or anyone else. No longer shall we live in fear. And, gradually, if we survive, others will regard us as pioneers and they will follow our example.’
    Omary paused. He took a sip of water, and stared down the conference table.
    ‘I shall give an interview for the evening news,’ he said, ‘a rallying cry for the new order. But before that, I am sending out a memo, to all personnel at Globalcom. From now on, anyone found paying bribes or being involved in corruption of any kind, shall be immediately dismissed.’

Thirty-three
    A string of street vendors were touting used clothing and junk on the western side of Boulevard Mohammed V.
    Most were dressed in heavy woollen jelabas, the kind that keep out the Atlantic winter cold. A few were crouched down, rearranging their wares, calling out to anyone who might listen.
    One was eager to draw attention to a cluster of dirty wooden spoons, a pile of German paperbacks, and an ashtray stolen from the Hotel Negresco in Nice. Another had a bundle of coat hangers laid out on a mat, half a dozen screwdrivers, and what looked like the back end of a vintage vacuum cleaner.
    Rather out of place between them was an open Louis Vuitton portmanteau, overflowing with designer garments and accessories.
    Standing beside it, a little awkward and a little cold, was Ghita.
    From time to time burly women would sidle up, root through the clothes, and wander away.
    One of them lingered longer than the rest.
    ‘
Bonjour Madame
,’ Ghita said politely. ‘What about this, it’s Dior, and has never been worn? Or how about this belt – it’s Lagerfeld, this summer’s collection?’
    The large meaty woman picked out a crimson cocktail dress and held it to her chest. Ghita exhaled in a sigh.
    ‘It’s Valentino,’ she said. ‘A limited edition, one of only six.’
    ‘I’ll give you twenty dirhams.’
    ‘You must be out of your mind! It cost twelve hundred euros!’
    The woman held out a banknote so worn that it felt like cloth. Gritting her teeth, Ghita snatched it and stuffed it in her bag. She was