Xanatos' Curse

Chapter 2: Cat's Out of the Box

Osama rummaged through his backpack hastily. The knocking at his hotel room door continued.

"Mr. Almasari, we would like to speak to you please." a male voice said urgently from out in the hallway.

"It's Al Masari! See if I stay here again." he scoffed (to himself). "Yeah, one second! Just looking for something." he yelled back

He finally found what he was looking for. A tiny black box with a strange looking ring in it. He had seen plenty of movies to know how this would play out. They concierge and security would come into the room. See his luxurious sweet then look at him and realize he was out of place. Then they'd search the room, find the priceless family heirloom conveniently lying on his bed and he would be framed for theft. There was probably a briefcase of money somewhere in the giant suite too, just in case. He knew he should've searched the place more thoroughly.

He almost slapped himself for not realizing what would happen the minute he got to his hotel room, the one he wasn't supposed to have been staying in. 

"So stupid!" Osama ridiculed himself.

"Mr. Almasari, if you would just let us in, we can explain the interruption.

"Oh right! How stupid do you think I am." He mumbled under his breath. 

He grasped the box into his hand. 

"They can have the stupid thing! The framed guy always gets chased because they always run. Well not this guy! I'm way too brown to try to run away from any kind of authority." he said

He walked over to the door and threw it open. The ring box held directly in front of him.

"Here! Take the stupid thing! I've never seen it before. I just want you to know, I've put everything on my Insta story! So...everyone knows I didn't do it! My followers are probably freaking out as we speak." he yelled

Two large men in monkey suits stood on either side of a beautiful red headed woman with lightning green eyes. She too wore a pants suit, but where her two escorts' were black and matted, hers was grey and silky. Even with his somewhat reserved fashion sense, he could tell it was expensive. 

She had a very strong brow and surprisingly broad shoulders for someone as slender as she was. She hid a smirk behind an ivory hand. On the wrist of her shown hand was a thick bracelet made of volcanic glass. His eyes jumped to the polished accessory.

 In the center of the bracelet was a round emerald stone, almost identical to the stone set in the ring inside the box Osama was currently holding. Only the one in his box held a ruby. The emerald was more electric than the woman's eyes (if that was even possible). Osama wasn't typically known for being keen of eye (even with his prescription glasses) but he noticed the bracelet had empty spaces next to the green stone, as if it was missing other stones. 

"You must excuse my...colleagues, Mr. Al Masari." The woman suddenly said. "They can be a bit forceful sometimes. I'd tell them to change their tactics, but you can't argue with the results." 

She spread both her hands out in front of her as if the predicament they were all in at this very moment was a page in a book. A book that this woman could open whenever and however she wanted. Osama suddenly got the impression she wasn't as kind as her dazzling white smile was alluring to. 

"Ya...sure." Osama said, deliberately eye balling the two large men. "My colleagues always stand in front of me like the Two Towers too. Clearly all equals here." 

The woman chuckled politely. But her eyes remained locked on him and were not smiling. Osama tried not to squirm under her stare.

Why does she keep looking at me like I'm a bucket of Trish's Mini Donuts?  I can practically see her licking her lips. 

As if she could read his mind, her grin widened. She stepped through the human barrier that was her entourage coming uncomfortably close to Osama. 

"Oh, I assure you Mr. Al Masari. We aren't. May I join you?" she said

Osama swallowed hard. This woman was something he wasn't prepared to handle. She was also extremely beautiful. He hated beautiful women!

"Sure. Sorry they uh, gave my caviar to another room. I'm sure the champagne will be here any minute though. Wait staff these days, am I right?"

She didn't say anything. She walked passed him through the room's grand entrance way. Then instead of walking off to the left where the sitting room and viewing room were, she transitioned through the opened French glass doors on the right that lead to the bedroom. Osama couldn't help but watch her infatuated, until he heart the distinct sound of his hotel door being shut behind him. He shot around and saw he was now alone with the woman. He swallowed hard again.

"Care to join me Mr. Al Masari?" the seductive voice echoed from his bedroom.

"Sure, you dream about it your whole teenage life and the one-in-a-million chance it happens, you end up on the news as the latest victim in a string of unsolved mysteries." he said to himself

He walked slowly through the French doors. The woman was sitting cross-legged on one of the leather sofa's pouring herself a drink from a clear bottle she pulled from the bedrooms mini bar (the place was ridiculous).

"Would you like some?" she asked, without looking up at him.

Right, like all 17 year old's drink from the mini bar. Oh...wait, do rich people not get carded? 

Osama cleared his mind of the wayward thought.

"No thanks, I'll wait for that champagne." he said

The woman smiled politely. She took a sip of the crystal glass. Osama was surprised there wasn't a lipstick mark left on it's edge.

I'm on a goner for sure. She's got professional written all over her

The woman leaned back in her chair, clearly not perturbed by this encounter in any way. 

"Relax Mr. Al Masari. I won't bite, I promise." she said smiling.

Again her smile said one thing, but her eyes said another. 

"Oh too bad." he said before he could stop himself. 

He had a bad habit of flirting when he was nervous.

Stupid!

The woman smiled, this time her eyes agreed somewhat with her. Osama wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. 

"Tell me Mr. Al Masari..." 

"Could you not call me that anymore. I'm pretty much as wierded out by this whole scene as I can be, Mr. Masari is crossing the line too much." he said. 

He took several steps into the bedroom. 

"You can call me Osama." he said, suddenly trying to sound far older than what he knew he could fool her into.

He nearly forgot about the little black box clenched in his hand. Until the woman indicated to it. 

"Tell me then, Osama. What do you know about that little treasure of yours? And what do you know about Gargoyles?" she asked.