Disclaimer/Author's Note: Well, what can I say? I was listening to a certain Neil Diamond song, which reminded me of a certain Tarantino movie, and I was going through a little bit of writer's block… and then this piece of nonsense happened. If you recognize it, I don't own it. Including the little bit that I borrowed from Pulp Fiction.

Also, it's been about a hundred years since I wrote anything new with these characters, so the overall characterization/setting/etc. might be slightly off. The ending's also a little weak, but oh well.

Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon

"Please, you must call me Jackie. Everyone does. Only Uncle Al is prudish enough to use Jacqueline. You should see him sometimes, when he's got his little monocle fixed in place, studying you like you're some strange bug that crawled out of a tomb. He tells me, Jacqueline Victoria Chamberlain, I will not tolerate such unseemly behavior under this roof! Sounding stiff as a board, too. You should see him! At least I can always shorten it to Jackie Vicky—doesn't that sound just like a song? But what about you? Do you just go by plain old Ben for short? Or do people call you Benny?"

She hadn't shut up since he walked into the room in his stupid bellhop uniform. Burgundy jacket with gold trim and a little round cap to match. The nametag on his breast said Benjamin.

"That is none of your business," Beni grumbled at the girl. He had told Izzy he wanted to switch the nametag.

He had also told Izzy this was a stupid plan.

"Well I'm going to call you Ben," the girl decided, practically bouncing in her seat as he poured the champagne. "Doesn't it sound awfully babyish when you doll up a man with the wrong nickname? I'd rather call a fellow Joe instead of Joey—wouldn't you? Say, Ben, would you like to have a drink? Surely nobody will mind if you have one little drink on the sly. It really is good of you to check on me since Sophie's in the infirmary. I've never seen anybody get sick so fast! One moment she was scolding me, trying to tell me my dress was an inch too short—the next moment I swear she's dying!"

"Here," said Beni. He thrust a flute of champagne at her, splashing a couple of drops onto the carpet.

The girl—Jackie, she insisted he call her—giggled at him and accepted the glass. "Thanks, Ben. Is your name really Benjamin? Or did they change it when you came here? I suppose it's really something more like Vladimir, isn't it?"

"Why would my name be Vladimir?"

"You're Russian, of course—aren't you?"

"Actually, I—" But Beni caught himself in time. The less she knew, the better. "Yes. My memories of Russia are not happy ones, I'm afraid. Better to be here, in the warmth. With nice, pretty girls like yourself."

Jackie giggled again, sitting with one slender leg crossed over the other. She was very petite, very blonde—and if Izzy's stupid plan didn't fall apart—very capable of making him rich. She raised the champagne to her lips and took a hearty swig, then gasped a little, pressing a hand between her eyes. "Ohh! I always forget how that first sips feels—like I got water up my nose!"

"How old are you, anyway?" Beni asked.

"Old enough."

"You're not any older than sixteen—and that is being very generous."

"I'm an experienced drinker, I'll have you know," she declared, tossing her yellow head. "My uncle—not Uncle Al, of course—my other uncle, on my mother's side—runs his very own bar. My mother says he's a very bad influence on me. That's why she sent me all the way out here, to see Uncle Al." She took another, slower, sip of champagne, shivering as it worked its way down—though Beni couldn't tell if it was delight or revulsion. "Of course, Uncle Al doesn't want me around either. That's why he packed me off to this crummy old hotel. I'd be having a very dull time right now if Sophie hadn't taken ill. She's almost as bad as my uncle—she really is! I swear, Mother could have picked one of a dozen chaperones who are much more jolly, but she picks the one and only Frenchwomen who's as prudish as she is!"

Jackie breathed out a sigh, as if all the world's sorrows had come to rest on her childish head, and sipped some more champagne.

"I hate drinking alone," she moaned, turning a pair of thickly-lashed eyes upon Beni. "Won't you have some, Ben? I know you only brought one glass—but see over there? Next to the bed you'll find the water pitcher and two little cups. It might not be quite as nice as a real champagne flute, but I suppose you're used to making do with second-best, aren't you?"

Beni glanced down at his uniform, hating the little brass nametag on his chest. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well most people from Russia are awfully poor, aren't they? I bet you had to flee the Revolution, didn't you?"

"I bet you weren't even born yet when the Revolution began."

"I was too! What do you think I am, a baby?"

A stupid little girl—that was what she was. Thinking she was sophisticated for ordering champagne the moment her chaperone went to the infirmary. Beni stalked over to the other end of the room, where the water pitcher waited, and fetched one of the cups. Of all the rich girls in this lousy hotel, Izzy just had to stick him with this one. They would have had better luck with some bored married woman who was tired of her husband. Much better luck, Beni decided, casting an annoyed look in Jackie's direction.

The girl was chattering again—some more nonsense about her snooty Uncle Al—but Beni wasn't listening. He returned to the table where he left the champagne and poured himself a cup, thinking of the little pistol stashed under his uniform. The cold metal tucked into his waistband, invisible to those who weren't looking too closely. Just frighten her a bit, mate, Izzy had told him. Let the little chit know you mean business! But don't hurt the poor lamb. She'll probably faint the moment you pull it out, anyway.

Beni held back a snort as he raised the cup to his lips. He didn't know what the hell lambs had to do with anything, but Izzy clearly did not know his target very well. Beni doubted this girl could stop talking long enough to faint, even if he did stick a gun in her face.

He eyed the bottle of champagne, still three-quarters full. The girl was a lightweight; he knew just by looking at her. A little thing like her could get drunk very quickly—and then she would wish she had never opened her mouth.

"What's so funny over there, Ben?"

Jackie was still seated with her leg crossed over the other, watching him over her champagne flute. Beni twitched and tried to look innocent. "Nothing. I am here to serve."

"Bull. You were smirking about something—I saw it! You know it isn't polite to keep a joke to yourself."

"Unfortunately, I would not know. We have so few joys in my homeland and so many, many sorrows."

"I'm sure glad I'm not from Russia."

After finishing her first glass, she was more giggly than ever and thrust her champagne flute at Beni, her eyes bright.

"Fill it up for me again, will you, Ben? This is good stuff—it really is. Even better than what's served by my uncle who owns the bar. I know it's wicked of me to feel glad that Sophie's in the infirmary, but you have no idea what it's like to have somebody breathing down your neck all the time. Sophie never lets me have champagne! And she's French. So I'm awfully glad—even if it's wicked—that you've been such a gentleman, Ben, fetching me the bottle and promising not to tell. You know, you're almost not-so-ugly when I squint my eyes a little."

Beni nodded absently at this stream of chatter and glanced at the clock. Nearly eight in the evening. His eyes darted over to the window, where the shutters were closed against the darkening sky. Izzy was lurking down below, waiting just outside the hotel for Beni to give the signal. Open the shutters and stick his head out the window, he was told, then wave his hat in the air a couple times. Izzy would throw up a rope ladder and they'd take off with the girl.

He thought of the pistol again. Normally he enjoyed the thought of pulling a gun on a well-bred girl. Seeing the fear in her eyes as the walls of her safe, perfect world crumbled around her. But this girl—she was so stupid, she would probably take the fun out of it.

But Izzy was waiting. He had stalled long enough.

"—but you know what would really be swell, Ben?" Jackie was saying, practically bouncing in her seat again. "Ice cream! How about running down and getting me some? Ice cream would be really swell with this champagne!"

Beni suppressed a groan, his fingers twitching toward the gun. "They're probably not serving it so late."

"Of course they're serving it, silly. Any hour is a good time for ice cream! It is your job, you know, to fetch me whatever I want. And as long as Sophie's out sick, I really have to make the most of it. I know you would do the same if you were in my place—just a poor little girl, trying to have a good time in a foreign land. I know you would—Oh my!"

Champagne went flying as Jackie waved her glass around. All of it landed right on Beni's jacket, staining it a darker burgundy.

"I'm sorry, Ben. I really am! I was just so happy, you see, and forgot there was still champagne in my glass! You do look funny, though—"

Beni tried to shove her voice away, swearing in Hungarian at the mess on his clothes. He removed his jacket and tried to shake it dry, no longer caring if she saw the pistol, and hoped that Izzy was worrying himself sick outside. The bastard deserved it, sticking him in this room with this childish, obnoxious, American—

"Say, what's this?" asked Jackie. She hopped off her chair and picked up a little drawstring bag from the floor. Beni froze, watching in dread as she undid the drawstring and peeked inside. A grin spread across her little pink face. "Are you planning to bake a cake, Ben? Now that would be a swell thing to have with the ice cream—and the champagne, of course. Is tonight a special occasion?"

"Oh, yes," said Beni, thinking fast. "I was planning to bake a cake after my duties are complete. It is two years ago that I came here to Egypt—a land of so many opportunities. I have had so few things to celebrate, you see. Now if you would give me back my, uh—my flour, I would greatly appreciate—"

"Not so fast, Ben," said Jackie, shaking her head at him. She pulled the drawstring on the pouch, sealing up the powder within, and dropped it down the front of her dress.

"What the—"

"I want my ice cream first," she said sweetly. "Then you can have your flour and bake all the cakes you want."

"But you can't do that!"

"Sure I can, sweetie." Giggling, she poured some more champagne and flounced back into her seat. The pouch was still down her dress, pressed between her tiny breasts. "That ice cream won't serve itself!"

"You—you—" Beni let loose another stream of Hungarian cursing and snatched up his jacket. It was still stained and smelled like champagne, but he sulkily threw it on and thought of what he would do once he got Chamberlain's money. Pay some street thugs to throw Izzy to the crocodiles, first of all.

He had told and told Izzy this was a stupid, stupid plan.

He slammed the door on his way out the room, then cursed his way down the stairs, hating the sticky-wet feel of his stained jacket. The whole uniform was awful. Izzy was screwing one of the laundresses; some half-breed girl who cleaned the hotel uniforms and didn't have enough sense to find a decent nametag. Benjamin was much too close to Beni—he had told Izzy that. But there was no use telling anything to Izzy.

"Psst!"

Son of a bitch.

"You! Bellhop! Over here!"

The moment Beni reached the bottom of the stairs, he was accosted by a man disguised as a chauffeur. He dragged Beni to a dark corner of the hotel, where nobody could overhear, and shook him by the shoulders until he nearly lost his hat.

"Here you are, you weaselly little scallawag! I've been waiting all this time for you to give the bloody signal—and where do I find you? Off sneaking around, like the slippery little snake you are!"

"Izzy, come on," said Beni, rubbing at his sore shoulder. "It is not as easy as it sounds."

"It's exactly as easy as it sounds!" said Izzy. "I've told you in the simplest English—"

"Oh, please. We both know I speak better English than you."

"If that's the case, then how the bloody hell could you misunderstand my instructions? You were supposed to capture the girl. Not leave her behind in—wherever she may be! And you were supposed to give me the signal before taking off! Don't tell me you've forgotten the signal, Beni! It's so bloody easy, a monkey could do it!"

"If a monkey could do it, then why didn't you volunteer to capture the girl?"

"You know why, Beni. It's risky enough as it is, me being in here. How would it look if I made off with a white girl, hmm? Now you've got one minute—just one minute, Beni!—to explain yourself and tell me what on earth you think you're doing down here!"

Beni breathed out a tired sigh. "It is that stupid girl. She made me go down to get her some ice cream."

"Correct me if I'm wrong here, Beni, but I didn't realize we were dealing with a princess. Did she threaten to have you beheaded if you didn't jump to her beck and call?"

"No. She is holding my powder hostage. I can't get it back until I bring her the ice cream!"

Izzy's dark eyes grew wide. "And what powder would this be?"

"Nothing. It is only some flour that I was planning to trade for some cigarettes—"

"Don't give me that load of hogwash! You've been holding out on me!"

"Izzy, I swear, I forgot I even had it until tonight. I would have shared it with you, I swear!"

Izzy grabbed him by the shoulders again, shaking him hard. "First of all, Beni, enough of the bollocks. Second of all, how the bloody fuck did it end up in the hands of that girl?"

"I don't know—she spilled champagne all over my jacket and I tried to shake it dry. It must have fallen out and she picked it up! But she's an idiot, Izzy. She's only a little girl! She really thought it was flour when she asked me about it. She thinks I'm baking a cake later on!"

"Beni, I swear, if you're lying about that, too—"

"Why would a God-fearing Catholic like myself lie to you, Izzy?"

"Oh, you're Catholic now, are you? Last week you were Jewish."

Beni let out a little gasp. "How can you say that? My faith is constant—all of my faiths."

"Your being a pain in my ass is constant. Now get back upstairs—forget the bloody ice cream—and I swear if I don't see that signal in the next ten minutes, I will cut out your miserable black heart and feed it to the desert!"

And Izzy showed Beni the end of his pistol, for good measure. Beni slunk back up the stairs, grumbling to himself as he went, and swore that as soon as that money fell into his hands, he would buy a large cage and a hundred scorpions, and watch Izzy try and fight his way out of that.

Smirking to himself, he cracked open Jackie's door. He pulled out his own pistol, ready to show her who was really in charge. Keeping the gun hidden behind his back, he slipped inside and softly shut the door behind him, bracing himself for an onslaught of girlish chatter.

Silence.

That was when he saw her, slumped on the floor in front of her armchair. Her eyes were glassy and still—like a dead fish—and white foam dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Her nostrils and upper lip were smeared with blood.

And there on the table, next to an empty champagne glass, was Beni's drawstring pouch. Sitting wide open, a copious amount of powder gathered on the tabletop.

"Oh, God," Beni cried, his voice shrill. "Oh, God. Oh, shit. Izzy, you son of a bitch!"

He began praying rapidly, offering his shaky voice to every deity he could think of. Jackie continued to lie there, staring at him at with her dead eyes—her horrible eyes—blaming him, accusing him—

"Izzy!" Beni cried out, bolting for the stairs. He stashed the gun back under his clothes and ran out into the night, not caring who saw him. "Izzy, come quick!"

The chill of the Egyptian night closed around him, making him shiver from more than just fear. Izzy sprang into view in his chauffeur uniform, a lit cigarette in his hand.

"Goddamn it, Beni, the signal! What did I tell you about the bloody signal? Where's the girl?"

"Fuck your stupid signal." Beni's voice was shriller than ever, his eyes wide. "You've got to come back with me! She acted like it was flour! I thought she didn't know any better. She's a stupid girl, Izzy—how could I have known—she acted so innocent, making me go down for the ice cream!"

"What the hell are you blathering about, Beni?"

"The girl—she is dying!"

"What?"

The click of a pistol sounded in the night. Izzy aimed the barrel inches from Beni's face, his eyes fixed on him while he ground out his cigarette.

"Start talking, Beni. Start fucking talking if you want to make it out of here on your own two legs."

"It was the powder, Izzy. She took the powder while I was downstairs! She must have had too much! Would you put that fucking gun down?"

"Shit," Izzy swore. "Of all the buggering, bollocking, bloody things to happen, Beni! It was a simple job, man! Now you've gotten us killed for sure!"

"Nobody is getting killed if the girl doesn't make it," said Beni. "She looks very bad. We can cover our tracks and make a run for it!"

"Of course she has to make it! We can't get our ransom money if she doesn't make it!"

"Forget the ransom. She practically knows my name, Izzy. She calls me Ben! It would be better for us both if we leave her there and skip town."

"Better for you, you mean. We can't just leave a young girl to die, Beni! She's barely had a taste of life—and thanks to you, her life has gone to shit! What if that was your own daughter in there, dying alone? Not that it's likely that you could ever have a daughter, but still, your measly little heart can't be all shriveled and black!"

"What do you mean?" demanded Beni. "Of course I could have children. I probably have many children."

"Ha! When have you ever shagged a woman without paying her first?"

"Plenty of times. Just ask your mother."

"Normally I would smack that silly mustache right off your face, but we've got a dying girl to take care of. Now let's move!"

Still feeling shaky, Beni tried to appear calm as he led Izzy through the back entrance and up the stairs. Nobody stopped them, though he kept expecting to feel a hand around his wrist, ready to drag him off to prison.

"This was supposed to be simple," Izzy grumbled on their way up the stairs. "So bloody simple! All you had to do was drug the chaperone's food and nab little Miss Chamberlain—"

"Jackie," Beni corrected. "She insists you call her Jackie."

"Well we won't be calling her anything if we don't save the poor thing."

There was her room; the door half-open from Beni's hasty exit. Everything was exactly as he had left it. The empty champagne glass, the powder on the table. Jackie on the floor, foaming and bleeding while her life ticked away. Izzy stepped into the room and let out a whistle.

"Well, you weren't lying," he said. "Jackie has gone wacky. And you'd better hope to Allah—or Buddha—or whoever the hell you're worshipping—that Allen Chamberlain doesn't catch wind of this shit!"

"What do we do?" whimpered Beni. His eyes darted about the room, landing on anything—anything—but the girl on the floor. "She could be dead already."

Izzy knelt on the floor and inspected the girl, turning her over. "She's still alive. We'll take her to O'Connell's place. O'Connell's got that woman he's living with—that former army nurse. She'll get the poor girl fixed up."

"I don't want any help from O'Connell."

"If you don't shut your mouth and help me, I'll tell your good friend Gad he can expect a new houseguest!"

"And I'll tell Gad you helped me kill this poor, innocent little white girl. You will hang for sure."

"She's not as innocent as you think, Beni. Take a look on the table. What do you think this is?" Izzy snatched up an object that had been lying next to the powder: a rolled-up dollar bill. "The little chit knew exactly what she was doing! Flour, my ass."

"Izzy, you should have heard her," said Beni. "She really sounded like she didn't know any better!"

"And you'll sound like a man with his legs broken if we don't move quickly! We've got to get the girl out of here without getting caught!"

"How? On one of your magic carpet rides?"

"That's it!" cried Izzy. "A carpet! We'll roll her up in this rug and carry her out to the car."

"That will look even more suspicious."

"It bloody will not. We're just a bellhop and a chauffeur helping a guest carry her belongings."

"What kind of guest brings a rug to a nice hotel, Izzy? They will think we're stealing it!"

"Shut up, Beni! Just shut—up—for one goddamn minute and consider somebody's life besides your own for a change! I know damn well you don't give a rat's ass about this girl, but I'm a bloody human being and don't want her to die! So you're going to grab that rug and gently roll her up and help me get her to the car!"

Somehow they managed it.

Beni had broken out into a sweat as he helped Izzy carry the rug outside, which did nothing to improve the state of his uniform. The hotel guests who were up and about must have been half-asleep, or half-drunk, since nobody asked why a rug was being transported out of the building at eight o'clock at night. Beni was still sweating, though, when they unrolled the rug and placed Jackie's limp form in the backseat of Izzy's car. Izzy had wiped her face a bit, but she still looked bad, and Beni was almost certain the trip inside the rug had killed her.

"Still alive!" Izzy declared triumphantly, after inspecting her again. "You sit in the back with her, Beni. Don't let her get jostled around too much!"

Whether or not Jackie got jostled around was the least of Beni's worries. He sulkily sat down in the back, hating the thought of touching her, and bitterly fingered the dollar crumpled in his pocket. Izzy had snatched up his drawstring pouch, along with the powder sprinkled on the table. Beni could have the dollar.

Beni didn't want the dollar. If he was going to transport a dying girl to O'Connell's place with nobody but Izzy for company, he sure as hell didn't want to be sober.

Izzy hopped into the driver's seat and they sped off into the night.

"If the girl lives," Beni said over the roar of the engine, "what are we going to do with her? She is damaged goods."

"As long as we clean her up and dispose of the evidence, I don't see why we can't still ransom her," Izzy argued. "By the time this is all over, the poor girl will be so glad to get home, she won't even think about accusing us. And besides, she'd have to admit to taking the powder, and I'm sure there's no way in hell she'll let that slip. Her uncle's a real terror, from what I've heard."

"Her uncle does not even like her—she told me so."

"The man's a respected Egyptologist. He'll pay up to avoid a scandal—just you wait and see! Now there's O'Connell's place just around the corner. You run on up there and knock on the door—"

"You can't just knock on O'Connell's door. He will come out with a gun and ask questions after you've been shot. You can go up to the door and I will stay here and make sure this poor, helpless young girl does not leave this cruel world before her time."

"We'll both go up there," Izzy decided, halting the car. "The night is still early. O'Connell's lady friend will be there, we'll get the girl fixed up, and then we'll have Dr. Chamberlain cough up that ransom money."

But Beni was tired of the whole scheme. He was tired of Izzy and tired of Jackie and tired of wearing his stupid uniform. He ripped the nametag off his breast and tossed the little brass Benjamin into the street, only feeling half-satisfied at the little clink it made when it landed.

"I've got a better idea," he told Izzy. "We will drop the girl off on O'Connell's doorstep, then knock on the door and run. He will find her and take her into his home, and the girl will live. But she will be confused when she wakes up. She won't know how she got there—and she doesn't need to know that we were ever involved."

Izzy was turned around in the driver's seat, watching him. "What are you saying, Beni?"

"I'm saying that we will clear our names. It will look awfully suspicious if Dr. Chamberlain's niece disappears from her hotel room and reappears in the apartment of a former Legionnaire. Recovering from an overdose, no less. And I think it will look very interesting to the police."

"You're saying we hightail it out of here? And give the coppers an anonymous tip?"

"Along with an anonymous letter to Dr. Chamberlain, threatening to sell this story to the papers if he does not buy our silence. And the girl will never know she was with us here tonight."

Izzy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a guilty grin pulling at the edges of his mouth. "It's wicked, Beni. It's bloody wicked. You know that, don't you?"

"You tell me every day that my heart is black, my friend."

"And it is! It most certainly is—but I like this plan. It's a bloody sneaky way to make a buck, but O'Connell's a tough fellow. He'll be sure to pull through! What will we tell the cops?"

Beni smirked in the dark, glancing over at the unconscious girl beside him. "Maybe he was just looking for a good time."