All right, how did you get through to somebody like that? Rosen smoked cigarettes and though t about it quietly, trying to keep fear out of it. Ho w did you go about stopping somebody like that?
You didn't; you stayed out of his way. There were no alternatives. Get the money and the passport and run.
LEAVING THE BLACK MUSLIM ASLEEP at Norman's hadn't been a bad thing to do. He was a big boy, an d if he wanted to drink that much it was up to him.
Waking up with the hangover and the Israeli girl who snored wasn't so bad either. Hangovers wer e made to be cured with cold beer and hot lamb an d peppers stuffed inside pita bread. The girl woul d still be sleeping when he left. At times, though, h e wished he could wake up and remember everythin g from start to finish. The details came gradually an d sometimes, long after, unexpectedly.
He had gone to the Singing Bamboo with Raymond Garcia to meet Raymond's girlfriend Rivka, who was the receptionist at the Australian Embassy. Rivka was depressed. She had fixed up her good friend Sadrin with a date, an American, an d the sonofabitch had stood her up. Like it wa s Davis' or Raymond's fault because the guy wa s American. Poor Sadrin was sitting home, dressed , alone, playing her piano. Davis said why didn't sh e go to bed; it was eleven o'clock. Rivka made pouting sounds in Hebrew and Davis said okay, call her.
He went to pick the girl up in Raymond's Z-28, which he'd have for the next two weeks, rumblin g along the dark street, feeling the car under him: '72
Z-28 Camaro, the hot setup from here to Jerusalem, a screamer with its 302 V-8, Pirelli radials on American racing mags, lime green with a white stripe that came up over the hood and dow n the trunk lid to the spoiler.
The next part was weird.
The Israeli girl, Sadrin, wore a yellow dress and pearls and played Chopin on the piano softly. He remembered that. He remembered drinking brand y with lemon and soda. She drank more than he ha d ever seen an Israeli girl drink as they talked, and sh e started to laugh at things Davis said. They finishe d the brandy and got into a bottle of white wine tha t was starting to turn, the girl laughing and tellin g him how funny he was. He felt good, he felt attractive to her. She said to him, "You give pleasure to my eyes." She put him in the mood with her cris p yellow dress and pearls--that was one of th e strange parts--and her round full lips that he tol d her looked like a basket of fruit. He didn't kno w where he'd gotten that, but she liked it and laughe d some more and when they started kissing it felt lik e she was sucking his mouth, trying to get him all in.
It was good, but it was hard work and she wore him out in bed, working away, her mouth clampe d to his, Davis thinking she was never going to come , thinking what the fuck am I doing here? But he sa w her in her yellow dress and pearls sitting alone. He remembered how glad she had been to see him, t o see somebody, anybody, and he let her work at it a s long as she wanted, finally getting his mouth fre e and telling her she was pretty--she wasn't bad--a nd that he loved her mouth and her eyes and he r body--much bigger and heavier out of the yello w dress--telling her nice things as he held on and sh e bucked against him. She went into the bathroo m after and got sick in the washbasin. She moane d and told him she didn't feel good and wanted to di e and didn't have an aspirin. She went to sleep, tha t big girl, calling for her mother in Hebrew.
Out at the Marine House--he didn't see anyone around--Davis got cleaned up: put on a shirt an d jeans and a white snap-peak civilian cap he like d that was broken in, well shaped. He liked to wear i t low over his eyes when he was hung over . . . taking time now to eat a couple of egg-and-onion sandwiches with two ice-cold Maccabees. Jesus, h e was reborn.
He threw extra clothes into a valpac and gathered up a pile of Louisville Courier-Journal s his aunt had sent him. What else? Stop by Norman's apartment in Ramat Aviv for the shotgun. Wha t else? See Tali and pick up his travel bag full of dirt y clothes. Something else. Shit yes, first he was supposed to meet her friend, Mati Harari. At eleven o'clock.
It was twenty to eleven when he drove away from the Marine House and passed gungy Willard Mim s jogging back from Afeka in his flak jacket and combat boots. A beer with Norman, in his underwear, took a few minutes. Still, it was only eleven-fiftee n when he pulled up in front of the M&A Club o n Hayarkon, half a block from the Pal.
He remembered something else he hadn't thought of in the past twelve hours or more and i t gave him a sinking feeling. Twenty-six days to g o and he'd be on his own.
The M&A--Miguel and Ali's, where Argentina met the Middle East--was a place with a courtyar d in front, hidden from the street; it had white stucc o walls with dark beams, and impressionist paintings. Not a drinking bar like Norman's, a conversation bar where young Israelis who were making it came in to talk and play backgammon and sip coffee or one glass of wine for an hour. Each time Davis came to the M&A he liked it, the atmosphere, and promised himself to come back and learn how to play backgammon. But he usuall y ended up at Norman's.
He asked Mati if he wanted something to drink.
Mati shook his head. There was no one in the place except Mati Harari, Tali's friend, and Miguel's wife, Orah, behind the small bar. Davis got himsel f an ice-cold Gold Star from her before he sat dow n with Mati and saw his Marine travel bag on th e bench.
"You brought it. Good."
"Man, she's anxious to see you. But you got to not go in through the front."
"I've got to not go in through the front, uh?"
"I'm suppose to show you a way, how you take the lift from the lower level."
"What're you nervous for?"
"You talking about? I'm not nervous. Listen, they watching them, man. Tali don't know what's going on."
"I don't either," Davis said. "I don't even know what you're telling me."
"I'm not going to tell you nothing, so don't ask me." Like, try and make me. The street kid, th e dark Sephardim with his bandit mustache and hi s bushy Israeli 'fro. He could look mean, all right , and Tali had said he'd served time in Haifa. Davi s accepted that. The guy was still about a Grade C h otshot. He'd last about two minutes on the line.
"I don't think we're getting anywhere," Davis said. "Is there anything else?"
"Follow me," Mati said. "That's all you got to do."
Rashad was across the street from the Pal at Kopel "Drive Your Self" Ltd., seeing the man about getting a Mercedes before he dumped the BMW.
Rashad wasn't watching for anything. He had moved away from the counter and was standing i n the open doorway while the Kopel agent shuffle d through his papers. Rashad was in the right plac e to see them coming along Hayarkon, walking i n the street. When the Kopel man said, "Here it is," a nd began to quote rates, Rashad turned to hi m and said, "Hold it, my man. Before we get int o that, let me use your phone. Got to call my father."
Valenzuela answered. Rashad said, "He's back, coming down the street this way . . . the Marine , man. I'm across the street at the car rental. The Marine's with the Arab kid again. Same one as last night . . . Wait a minute. No, they're going dow n the side street next to the hotel. The Marine's go t his overnight bag again . . . going down there lik e they heading for the beach. . . . I don't know , maybe he's got something going with the cute Ara b kid." Rashad listened, nodding--"Yeah, al l right"--and he hung up.
He said to the Kopel agent, "Sorry. My father say I got to come right home."
Through a gray basement hallway and up a service elevator to eight. Tali was waiting for them, th e door to 824 open.
"You're very good to come, David. I hope this isn't bothering your trip."
"No bother," Davis said. Entering, he picked up his travel bag from the bed. "I thought you jus t wanted to give me my dirty laundry."
"Mr. Bandy would like to speak to you," Tali said. "Sit down, please."
The room was like a living room now. Davis glanced around as he walked over to the windows.
Now wait for the important lawyer. He looked out at Tel Aviv, at the scattering of highrises that ros e out of the tan five-story skyline, the e
aster n Mediterranean going to glass walls. Somebody ha d said to him, "Tel Aviv used to be an ugly town.
Now they're building all these Hiltons and Sheratons to hide the view of the sea and it's uglier than it was before." Davis liked Tel Aviv. He wasn't sur e why. He liked the people, the younger ones. He'd like to get to know some of their troopers, talk t o them. He wouldn't have minded having some o f them along in Vietnam. Shit yes, pros; hard fuckers.
"There he is. How you doing, Sergeant? What can I get you?"
Davis turned to see Mel Bandy coming through the connecting doors. He looked different, his fac e pink, flushed--the guy coming all the way over t o shake hands this time, trying to give Davis a goo d firm one with his fat hand, smelling good of something, all slicked up in a light blue outfit--light blue print shirt with a movie-star collar, light blu e slacks, white belt, white loafers with little gol d chains on them.
"We're set up, finally," Mel said. "What would you like?"
"Beer'd be fine," Davis said.
"Shit. You name the one thing--Tali, call room service. Get the sergeant some beer."
"No, I don't care. Anything'll be fine."
Mel went to the bar that was set up on the desk and began fooling with bottles, bending over , showing his big can as he got ice and mix from th e refrigerator wedged into the desk opening.
"Where you from, Sergeant? I detect an accent."
Davis said, well, he'd been born in Harlan County, Kentucky, but had moved from there whe n he was six years old. His dad had been killed in a coal-mine accident. They'd moved--he and hi s mom and sister--they'd gone to live with his aunt , who had a farm in Shelby County. That was abou t halfway between Lexington and Louisville--Tal i and the street kid, Mati, watching him, not havin g any idea what he was talking about. He'd gone t o school one year in Cincinnati, but it was i n Louisville that he'd enlisted in the Marines. Boring , Christ, hearing himself. He felt like a straight ma n when Mel came over and handed him a frost y drink.
"Hundred-proof pure Kentucky bourbon. How about that."
Like it was a treat and all Davis drank was some kind of piss-poor shine. The guy wanted to d o more than talk. He wanted something. The drin k was all right, something like a bourbon collins. Th e guy didn't offer Tali or the street kid a drink. He made a Scotch for himself and sank down on th e couch with one short leg stretched out. He wor e light blue socks, too. Davis sat in a chair by th e windows. He wasn't in a hurry, but if the guy farte d around too long he'd tell him he was. Eleven-thirt y Friday morning sitting around having a two-ma n party. Tali sat quietly, a little expectantly; the stree t kid hunched over in a straight chair, his darkskinned left hand holding his right fist.
Davis looked over at Mati. He said, "Don't you want something to drink?"
"No . . . nothing." Straightening awkwardly, shaking his head.
Okay, he had tried. Davis looked at the light blue lawyer. "Are we waiting for something?"
"As a matter of fact, we're waiting for a phone call," Mel said. "But I want to take a little time, fil l you in first."
The guy was ahead of him, assuming things.
"I'm on leave," Davis said.
"So you got time. Good."
It wasn't what he'd meant. "My car's packed.
I'm ready to go." Shit, it still didn't sound right. "I m ean I've made plans," Davis said. "I'm taking a trip."
"I understand that," Mel said. "All I want you to do is drop something off for me."
"Where?"
"That's what we're waiting to find out. How's your drink?"
"I'll have another one."
Mel pushed himself up and went over to the bar with their glasses.
"You recall the package, the money. You give it to Tali, right? She's the one set it up, she delivers it.
That's the way it's been. This time I want you to deliver it. You saw it yesterday? Two hundred grand?
That money." Mixing drinks, Mel spoke with his back to Davis. "We get a phone call from an individual, a client of mine. He tells us where to make the delivery. You go there and give him the money.
He calls again, tells me he's got it. That's all you have to do."
Mel opened the desk drawer and took out a packet of bills. He walked over to Davis an d dropped the packet in his lap as he handed him a fresh frosty bourbon.
"A thousand U. S. bucks. That look about right?"
Davis picked it up, fingering the packet of crisp hundred-dollar bills. He watched Mel get hi s Scotch and shuffle back to the couch, the big dealer.
"If it's such a pissy little job, how come a thousand?" Davis said.
"Looking for the catch, uh?" Mel grinned at him. "Well, I'm not gonna lie to you. There coul d be--there's a very slight chance of a complication.
But not if we do it right. Okay, you want the whole story?"
"I wouldn't mind knowing a little bit more,"
Davis said.
"I'm not gonna give you details, it's a long story," Mel said, "but. There's a man by the nam e of Al Rosen living here who used to live in Detroit.
Three years ago he testified for the Justice Department before a federal grand jury. The Justice Department wanted to indict two individuals for murder and they persuaded my client, Mr. Rosen , against my advisement, to testify as a key witness.
Okay, the two individuals were never brought to trial and my client was left standing there in his underwear. You follow me?"
"You say his name's Al Rosen?" Davis said.
"Right, Albert Rosen," Mel said. "One of the individuals he testified against had a stroke. He's still alive but he's fucked up, paralyzed on one side , doesn't talk right. The other one served nine month s in Lewisburg on a separate, minor indictment--c onspiring to defraud. One day my client's ca r blows up, killing a gas station attendant who ha d come on a service call. It was a cold morning, th e car wouldn't start. Otherwise it would've been m y client. You understand? So my client, with th e help--if you want to call it help--of the Justice Department, which got him into this, changed his identity and came here to live."
"Who sends the money?" Davis said.
"That's another story. Well, let's just say the company he used to be with," Mel said. "In th e mortgage loan business. The company's been carrying him the past three years and we're the only ones who know where he is. Everything's fine . . . relatively. So what happens? Rosen gets his picture in the paper."
"Here?"
"No, it wasn't even in the papers here. The story was about the hotel that burned down last week i n Netanya. No, Rosen shows up in the Detroit papers and some others, picture of him standing out in front of the hotel."
Davis was nodding.
"You got it now?" Mel said. "Three days later, not wasting any time, somebody makes an attemp t on his life. Yesterday two guys came to see me.
They want to know where he is. If I'm here in Tel Aviv then it must be to see Rosen. So they're watching me. They're watching Tali. They're watchin g the kid here, maybe. Rosen wants to get the hell ou t and hide someplace else. Change his identity again.
But he has to pick up his money first, and we can't deliver it because these guys are watching. The y know who we are."
"Okay," Davis said.
"Just like that?" Mel seemed a little surprised.
"Great."
"You haven't told him," Tali said. "They also know who David is."
"No, they don't know him," Mel said. "Maybe they saw him talking to you in the lobby."
"It's the same thing," Tali said.
Mel was staring at her, giving her a look. "They don't know his name or what he does, where h e lives. That's quite a difference." He turned to loo k at Davis. "Of course it's up to you, Sergeant. I f you'd just as soon pass up a quick thou."
"I'll do it," Davis said. "Where's the money?"
Mel gave him his grin. "You're not getting any ideas, are you, Sergeant?"
Davis didn't say anything. He grinned back.
He listened to the plan Me
l described. There wasn't much to it.
They had the metal box that the money had been mailed in wrapped up again with paper and string.
When Rosen called, Mati Harari would take the package, walk through the lobby, get in the Mercedes, and drive off.
A few minutes later, Davis, with the money in Mel's briefcase and the briefcase in Davis' trave l bag, would leave by the service entrance. He'd cu t through the beach parking area next to the hote l and come out on Hayarkon, where his car wa s parked in front of the M&A Club. Some plan.
If anyone tried to stop him--well, Davis was not expected to resist. "Unless you want to," Mel said , and then asked him if he'd been in Vietnam. Davi s nodded. Mel said, "Well, as I say, it's up to you , considering the remote possibility anything happens. But I can't imagine a Marine taking any shit from anybody."
Davis said, "It's about all a Marine takes."
They sat around waiting. Mel would go into the adjoining room for a while and come out lookin g at his watch, showing Davis he was as anxious a s anybody. He'd walk around with his hands in hi s pockets, his shoulders hunched. Once he went ove r to the window and looked down at Independenc e Park, where the brides had their pictures taken an d people walked their dogs, and said he bet fags hun g out down there, it looked like a fag park. He didn't offer any more frosty drinks.
At about one-thirty Mel decided it was time to eat and asked Davis what he wanted. Davis said, I g uess shwarma. Mel said, What the fuck's shwarma?
And Davis told him--lamb and stuff inside pita.
Mel told Tali he'd have a cheese and mushroom omelette and fries. He didn't ask Mati what h e wanted. Tali did, and then got on the phone t o room service and began speaking Hebrew.
After a few moments she placed her hand over the speaker and said to Mel, "They can't put th e dairy and meat dishes on the same table."
"What dairy dishes?"
"The omelette."
"Tell them eggs are from chickens, for Christ sake."
"The cheese in it," Tali said.
"Jesus Christ," Mel said to Davis. "You believe it? Then tell them to put it on two tables," he said t o Tali. "I don't give a shit how many tables they use."