Authors: Elmore Leonard
Then, no, it was weeks later I saw him at Mandy'
s Drugstore having dinner. He came over by us an d asked me if I would work for him."
"To do what?"
"Be his secretary."
"You sleep with him?"
"No, I don't sleep with him." Irritated. "Why d
o you ask if I sleep with somebody? I sleep with wh o I want to."
"That's good," Mel said. "That's exactly th
e way it's supposed to be. You want to go to bed?"
"No, I don't want to go to bed."
"Don't you like to fuck?"
She said, "I enjoy to make love, but I do not lik
e to simply, what you said, fuck. What is that? I t should be a natural thing."
"What's the difference?" Mel said. "You're wit
h somebody who doesn't turn you on all the way , close your eyes, pretend it's somebody else. Yo u ever do that?" When she didn't answer he said , "Listen, I'm not talking about anything kinky. I d on't mind it straight once in a while."
"I'm here to do work," Tali said. "Differen
t things, if you want me to call on the telephone o r write letters, or show you places in Tel Aviv. Mat i or I would be very happy to drive you." She wante d to be honest without offending him. "But what i s personal to me is not part of the work."
"Let's give it a little time," Mel said.
She didn't know what that meant. She wanted t
o tell him the man who came here yesterday wa s right. Mr. Bandy was like white dog shit. What di d he say. A pile of it. If white dog shit could be selfis h and never consider the feelings of others.
She wanted to be away from him and the soun
d of the air-conditioning and the room-service tray s of dirty dishes sitting in the hall. She remained because of Mr. Rosen. In case he needed her. Or to learn something Mr. Rosen would want to know.
She would do anything for Mr. Rosen.
"Well," Mel said. He got up and started acros
s the room. "What's the Marine's name?"
"David."
"David. When David comes back tell him t
o wait."
"He's coming back here?"
"I may go downstairs for a while." He went int
o 823, unwrapping the towel.
The BMW looked like it had come over the borde
r from Lebanon without stopping: bullet puncture s all over the body, lights shot out front and rear.
Only the glass had not been hit. In Valenzuela'
s mind, that made it the Marine who had been doin g the shooting. Ross would have broken window s trying to hit somebody. But why the Marine?
They were somewhere in the Tel Aviv area--
Ramat Gan, Rashad said--the BMW parke
d within the shell of a new building under construction, in semi-darkness, hidden from the street.
Teddy Cass had gone to the railway station, abou
t half a mile west--they had passed it--to see abou t renting a car. Rashad was in the back seat of th e BMW with the Arab-looking kid, talking to him.
Valenzuela was out of the car looking at the cemen
t forms and footings, like a building codes inspector.
When Teddy came with the car, they'd switch th
e guns and explosives from the trunk of the BMW t o the new one. It would be a temporary car, something to drive until they could pick up another car without numbers or a rental license plate. The ma n in the Hatikva Quarter who sold guns had said h e could get them a good car. Maybe even an American model. He had looked at the BMW early this morning when they'd gone to pick up the Uzis an d handguns and the C4. He had run his hand over th e front-end dents and red paint on the grille--befor e the bullet holes were added--and said, "But i t would cost you seven thousand lira a week." A g rand. Deal, Rashad had said.
They'd leave the BMW here. Rashad might cal
l the man he'd gotten it from and was paying fiv e hundred a week to and tell him where to pick it up.
Or he might not.
Rashad, talking to the Arab-looking kid now
, said, "For true? They called the Black Panthers?"
Mati nodded solemnly. "They not the same thin
g as your Black Panthers are, but they called tha t name. There was a place, on King George Street i n Jerusalem, we used to meet, go there and drin k something and talk. Everyone knew it was th e place of the Black Panthers."
"You ain't shitting me now, are you?" Rasha
d said.
"No, I'm not shitting you. We call ourselves that
, the Sephardim, the dark-skin ones."
"Things the same all over," Rashad said.
"Giving you the shit," Mati said. "Throwin
g you in jail."
"Come on," Rashad said, "you done time?"
"Yes, in Jerusalem it was demonstrating. Las
t May."
"Just trying to make yourself heard, huh? Explain your beef?"
"We were in front of the Knesset to speak t
o Sapir, the minister of finance. The police come an d beat us with clubs. In jail they treat us like animals , don't give us to eat any good food. Also Haifa, I w ent there before. They arrest me for robbing a rich tourist, stealing his camera and watch. Nin e months, man, I was in Haifa."
Rashad said, "Hey, it's a kick, you know it?
Meet somebody waaay over here deep in the sam
e shit. Same everywhere you go, have to take th e man's shit, huh? How about the man you work for?
Keep pushing your head in it?"
"Mr. Rosen?" Mati shrugged. "He don't give m
e trouble."
"I was thinking of the one at the hotel," Rasha
d said. "Don't you work for him?"
"That one, he's a fat pig. He sits on your face."
"Yeah--I wonder why this Mr. Rosen woul
d work for a man like that."
"No, the other way," Mati said. "The fat on
e work for Mr. Rosen."
"Unh-unh." Rashad shook his head. "The fa
t one was paying this Rosen some money, wasn'
t he?"
"Yes."
"So this Rosen works for the fat one. We can'
t understand it. See that gentleman out there? H
e was a friend of Mr. Rosen in the States, see. Hasn'
t seen him in a while. He wants to talk to Mr. Rosen , but the fat one don't want him to. You understan d what I'm saying?"
"He wants to kill Mr. Rosen," Mati said.
"No. Who told you that? No, the fat one is con trol ling Mr. Rosen. Got him by the nuts, as we say.
And that gentleman, he wants to talk to Mr. Rose
n and tell him hey, nobody's mad at you, man. Com e on home. See, the fat one's been giving Mr. Rose n some shit, messing up his head. This gentleman , Mr. Valenzuela, just wants to get it straightene d out. But shit, now Mr. Rosen's got some craz y motherfucker wants to shoot and kill us."
"That Marine," Mati said.
"Yeah, you see any of us shoot back? No, w
e don't want to shoot Mr. Rosen. We want to talk t o the man. But we don't know where he is."
He watched the Arab-looking kid chew on hi
s lip, the kid sitting there covered with snow.
Valenzuela came over to the car, looking out toward the street.
"Here comes Teddy. Get Ali Baba out, we'll hav
e a talk with him."
"We already talked," Rashad said. "Mati here'
s my buddy."
A CHIMNEY MADE OF OIL DRUMS extended from th
e top floor of the Park Hotel to the ground: a chut e for debris as they cleared out the gutted structure.
Davis had read about the fire and forgotten it. H
e looked at the place now--it was strange--with a personal interest. He knew someone who had bee n in the hotel that night. A friend of his.
At six-fifteen Davis called the King David from
a cafe on the square. They said they were sorry, ther e was no Mr. Rosen registered at the hotel. Davis sai d how about if he left his name and a phone number , in case Mr. Rosen checked in?
He sat at a sidewalk table with a Maccabee
, watching the people who came out into the evenin g dusk, beginning to relax as he drank the beer, debriefing himself. The waiter came over and said there was a telephone call that must be for him.
"Hello."
"I couldn't believe it," Rosen said. "Jesus, ho
w many shots did you fire?"
"Twenty-eight," Davis said. "Four clips. Yo
u made it all right, huh?"
"Looking back all the way," Rosen said. "Jesus
, you don't fool around, do you? Where are you?"
"Netanya. I thought I'd stay here tonight an
d head north in the morning. What're you going t o do now?"
"I just got here a few minutes ago. I'm gonna cal
l Mel first and get a few things straightened out."
"I could go back to Tel Aviv, if you want," Davi
s said. "Pick up the money for you."
"No, I appreciate it, I really do--everythin
g you've done," Rosen said. "But I'll work something out. It's my problem, something I've been living with. I appreciate it, though."
"I was wondering, driving here," Davis said.
"You think your lawyer--you said he was waitin
g to see if you stay alive before he delivers the money.
You think he could be helping them in any way? S
o he wouldn't have to pay you?"
"Well, it's not like he's paying," Rosen said. "It'
s my money, out of my company."
"Except it's cash, it doesn't have your name o
n it," Davis said. "I was wondering, what if he's trying to keep it for himself?"
"He's got to account to people in the company,"
Rosen said. "He can't just walk off with it. No, I
d on't think so."
"But what if it looks like he delivered it to yo
u and you were killed after?" Davis said. "Nobod y knows what happened to the money. Your lawye r says, 'I don't know, I paid him,' or, 'I sent it to him.'
Only he still has it."
There was a silence.
"I can't see him sticking his neck out," Rose
n said. "I don't think he's got the balls to pull something like that. What does he do with it? He'd have to get it out of the country. . . ."
"You've been getting it in," Davis said.
A silence again.
"No, I don't think so."
"Well, you know him better than I do," Davi
s said. "It was just something entered my mind."
That was about all he had to say. He waited a moment. Rosen didn't say anything. "Well, let me wish you luck. I hope you make it okay." He listened to Rosen again telling him how much he sincerely appreciated everything, and that was it.
Davis got several copies of the Courier-Journa
l out of the car and brought them to the table. He'
d have another beer, check the Kentucky high-schoo l basketball tournament scores--"Tourney Trail"-look at the menu and decide if he wanted to ea t here. Before too long he'd have to see about a hote l room.
Shelby County 74, Apollo 68
Paducah Tilghman 75, McCreary County 60
Edmonson County 77, Betsy Layne 72
Henry Clay 77, Ballard 74
Blue Devils over the Ballard Bruins, last year'
s state champions . . .
Harrison County 75, Green County 54
If they were on Rosen's ass and he was scare
d they were going to take him out, why didn't he run?
Christian County 67, Ashland 63
Shawnee 85, Clay County 57
What would you do if you were Rosen?
He sat for several minutes staring at the car
s moving past in the dusk, circling the parkway, before he got up from the table, dug out a couple of ten-pound notes for the waiter, and walked away.
He'd get something to eat in Jerusalem.
The deskman at the King David came back and sai
d he was sorry, but there was no Mr. Rosen registered.
Davis gave the deskman his name and said, "I'l
l be right over there. See those chairs by the window?"
Fifteen minutes passed. Rosen walked up to hi
m in the dimly lighted corner of the lobby, Davis sitting low in the easy chair, his legs stretched out, hi s white cap low on his eyes. Rosen pulled a chair i n closer and sat down, looking out the window toward the illuminated walls of Jerusalem's Old City.
"I thought I was just talking to you on th
e phone."
"The last time I was in this hotel," Davis said
, "Kissinger was here to visit Rabin. Some of us wer e brought over to help with security."
"It was in August," Rosen said. "I remember
, they had this place, the whole block, roped off--yo u couldn't even use the pool in case his wife wante d to take a swim. They moved everybody out of th e top two floors, I mean people with reservations--
k icked them out. The manager says to me, 'I'
m sorry for this inconvenience, Mr. Rosen. We'v e arranged for you to move to a room on the thir d floor.' I said, 'Mr. Fink, come on. Are you serious?