the Hunted (1977) (17 page)

She looked cute frowning, pouting a little. Fortysomething years old, but she could put on a cut e pose and get away with it. She was tanner than before, very tan with the white sheet pulled up around her.

"I told you," Rosen said, "somebody I don'
t want to do business with's been pestering me . . .
a n insurance salesman." That was it. "You kno w the type I mean? Won't take no?"

Rosen was in his light blue nylon Jockeys thi
s morning. He hadn't eaten lunch or dinner yesterday and he felt very thin, with no need to hold himself in. He had jumped up at the sound of th e first knock on the door, calmed himself, gone int o the bathroom, and brushed his teeth. Now he go t back in bed, and, very gently, pushed Edie dow n next to him. She looked good first thing in th e morning.

"You ever wear curlers in your hair?"

"Not when it's short like this. When it's longer I
h ave it done."

"I like it. My wife used to wear pink curlers an
d a hairnet."

"You're mar ried?" She started to sit up and h
e had to hold her down.

"No, when we were married she wore th
e curlers. She got a divorce right after I came here.

No-fault, no argument, cash settlement. Sh
e wouldn't have lasted here a week."

"I love it here," Edie said. "I feel so . . . different.

I'm in your bed and I didn't even know if you wer
e married or single."

"Swinging singles, that's us. So . . . we'll get t
o know each other. Let it all hang out."

"After you finish your business." With just
a slight edge to her tone.

"I'm sincerely, really sorry," Rosen said. "If I
c ould put it off, I would. But I've got to spend som e time with this guy. He's gone out of his way, doin g me a considerable favor. I can't very well tell hi m hey, wait till I get back from a trip I want to take.

You understand?"

"No, I don't understand. You haven't told m
e anything," Edie said, with the little-girl pout again.

It was cute now and he wondered if it would always be cute. Like things his wife had used to do.

Dumb little things that finally began to irritate him.

The way she used to sit perched on a chair with he
r back arched and her legs tucked under her, tryin g to look cute. Or the way she used to put on a littl e scatterbrained act being cute and saying oh well , she guessed she was just a little kooky. She wasn'
t kooky. She was purebred suburban Detroit an d didn't know what kooky was. After a while h e couldn't stand any overweight woman who tried t o act like a little girl. Edie was thin and firm. Ther e was no reason now, at her age, she would ever pu t on weight. She was nice; she was just trying a fe w things on him, a few leftover poses. Maybe the y were all still little girls in there. How old was he?

Shit, about nineteen.

"If I'd wanted to avoid you," Rosen said
, "would I have called the hotels, the embassy, you r home . . . talked to your daughter?"

"You just wanted your passport."

"That reminds me. . . ."

"It's at the hotel. God, what time is it?"

"A little after seven. You've got plenty of time."

"They said to be ready by nine. The bus leave
s promptly at nine-fifteen for the airport."

"Don't worry, I'll get you to the hotel," Rose
n said. "I promise." Softly then, "Edie? Let's not tal k for a while." He began to nibble at her shoulder.

She turned, moving her body against his. Sh
e said, "You only wanted your passport," but it wa s a nice tone now, subdued.

"If that was all I wanted," Rosen said, "when I
c alled the Dan I would've left a message, leave it a t the desk, I'll pick it up. No, I asked that you cal l me, didn't I?"

"I never wanted to see you again," Edie said. "I
r ushed back to Netanya, took a cab. . . ."

"I know, I should've left word," soothing her. "I
t hought I'd be right back, but . . . things developed." They had been all through this. Rosen was patient, though; he wasn't going anywhere in th e next hour and a half.

"You don't know how I looked forward to it,"

Edie said, "traveling together, seeing Israel wit
h you."

"I know," Rosen said. "So did I. And we will, I
p romise."

Last night, after the Marine had left, Rosen ha
d gone into the bar for a nightcap with Silva, turne d on the stool to leave, and there she was--sittin g right beyond the electric keyboard with thre e women--staring at him.

The first part wasn't easy, even with his enthusiasm, being glad to see her, rushing over and kissing her, smiling as he was introduced to the "Hadassa h Holiday" ladies, then practically forcing her, wit h her clenched expression, to go with him to the garden . . . to talk, to get a few things straightened out.

It was hard work. Women could be stubborn an
d have to be persuaded nicely to do things they wante d to do. Usually it was a pain in the ass, but last nigh t it had been worth the effort. His passport was in he r room at the Hilton. He had her with him and kne w he'd get his passport. Then showing her his suite, hi s home away from home, and ordering the champagne and two packs of Winstons. He liked very much making love to her. He was himself and it wa s a lot of fun. He told her that and she said she felt th e same thing; she felt free and, for some reason, not a t all self-conscious or inhibited. See? Rosen said. The y were meant for each other and nothing was going t o keep them apart. Except for the few days he'd hav e to spend on business. Her tour was flying south t o Eilat, to visit Solomon's Pillars and the Red Sea.

Okay, he'd meet her there at the Laromme. If for an
y reason he couldn't make it, he'd call. But they woul d definitely meet somewhere before the end of her tou r and make plans from there.

"The ladies in the group," Edie said, "they're going to give me funny looks when I show up."

"Tell them you're in love," Rosen said.

"I'll tell them I spent the night with you becaus
e it was God's will," Edie said. "How have you an d God been getting along?"

"My God," Rosen said. "Tell you the truth, I
h aven't been thinking about it lately."

As a matter of fact, he hadn't thought about hi
s Will of God theory since the night of the hotel fire.

It went through his mind: What would God think o
f him shooting Gene Valenzuela if he got the chance?

The answer was there immediately: He'd probably love it.

Mati came away from the hotel parking attendan
t to the spot where they were standing behind th e gray Mercedes.

"He said Mr. Rosen always come and get his ca
r himself."

Valenzuela said, "Did he ask you anything? Wh
y you wanted to know?"

"No, I told him, as you said, you hire me to driv
e you, to see Mr. Rosen. You want to know is his ca r here or did he call to have it brought."

Valenzuela looked at Teddy Cass. "How lon
g will it take you?"

"Few minutes, that's all. But it should look lik
e we're doing something."

"We'll jack this one up." Valenzuela put hi
s hand on the trunk lid of the gray Mercedes. "Loo k like we're changing the right rear. Mati can do tha t for us."

Mati didn't understand. "You want the tir
e change?"

"Jack it up, we'll do the rest," Valenzuela said.

He turned to Rashad. "Then you and Mati go get
a cup of coffee, have a talk. Right?" He pulled th e map out of his coat pocket, unfolded it, looked a t arrows and circles drawn in ink, and said, "We'l l meet you around on Agron Street. Corner of Agro n and . . . Ben Shimon."

Mati didn't say anything until they came out o
f the parking lot and started up the street past th e hotel.

"They going to blow him up."

Rashad said, "They do that in Jerusalem, man
, not in the civilized world of business."

"Yes, they do it in Jerusalem," Mati said. "S
o another bomb, they think, oh, the terrorists again , trying to kill Jews. They look for Arabs, they don'
t look for Americans."

"We're gonna have another talk over a cup o
f sweet Turkish," Rashad said. "Man, I think I ge t through to you, explain how the situation is, yo u still worrying."

"Mr. Rosen never done nothing to me," Mat
i said.

"He never done nothing to me either," Rasha
d said, "but he done things to other people--with hi s money, sending people to jail. With his money , frightening an old man till he had a heart attac k and almost died. Man, come on, you see a pile o f shit, you don't have to be sitting in it to know it'
s shit, do you?"

Mati was shaking his head. "I don't know. . . ."

"I know you don't," Rashad said, "that's wh
y I'm explaining it to you. You want to chang e things, clean up the shit put there by people wh o like to stick you in it. It's the same thing, man, wha t we're doing. You got to scare them a little, don'
t you? Get their attention? Sure, he sees his fine automobile blow up, he says, 'Hey, maybe I better have a talk with them. They serious.' "

"You not going to kill him?"

"Noooo, man, I been telling you, we gonna tal
k to him, get his reactions. What we want you to d o is go back to Tel Aviv and keep an eye on the fatty.

You think you can get a bus or something?"

"I have Mr. Rosen's car."

"No, we're gonna use it, buddy. Case we have t
o be some place in a hurry. What you do, tell Mr.

Bandy you gave Mr. Rosen back his car, he wante
d it for something. Then you try and stay close to Mr.

Bandy if you can. See, Mr. Rosen may not be here.

We don't know for sure. And he may call Mr. Band
y and let him know where he is. You understand?"

"Yes." Mati nodded.

"Mr. Rosen wants his money, don't he?"

Mati nodded again. "And his passport."

"Say what?" Rashad said.

"I hear Tali talk to Mr. Bandy about the mone
y and about he lost his passport. When I went bac k last night."

"You don't mean to tell me," Rashad said. "Yo
u keeping that a secret?"

"I didn't think of it before."

"Okay. So you stay with Mr. Bandy," Rasha
d said. "Tell him you'll rent a car for him if he want s to go some place. See, then if we want to get i n touch with you, find out anything, we call the hotel. So you got to stay close, like in the lobby."

"What if he don't need me? The fat one," Mat
i said.

"No, my man, we the ones need you," Rasha
d said, putting an arm around Mati's thin shoulder s as they walked along David Ha-Melekh Street pas t the hotel. "You on the team now."

IN THE CAMARO, in the hills west of Jerusalem, Tal
i said, "Do you miss war? Is that it? You miss th e screechy, the excitement?"

Davis kept his eyes on the road. "No, I don'
t miss war."

"Then what are you doing this for? You don'
t want to protect him. You want to have war wit h them."

"I don't think he has a choice," Davis said. "I
f you look at it."

"He can wait for them to go. Hide some plac
e they never find him."

"He's tired of hiding," Davis said. "He's bee
n hiding for three years. He thinks he wants to g o home, but he's afraid to stick his head out. He'
s tired of looking over his shoulder and now he sees a chance to end it."

"Why are you helping him?"

"Because he doesn't know how to do it himself."

"That's the only reason? Not for yourself?"

"What do you mean, for money?"

"No, it's why I ask you," Tali said, "do you mis
s war? Why else do you want to kill someone?"

"Why do you fight wars? Your country," Davi
s said.

"Because they attack us."

"It's the same thing."

"No, it isn't," Tali said.

Following the switchbacks, in morning shade, h
e tried to think of things to say and told her about a n Israeli friend of his named Zohar who lived nea r the Marine House and would see them "makin g gymnastics in the morning"--jogging. Zohar ha d lived in Eilat for six years, and when he'd move d north with his family, coming from the Sinai desert , he'd said, "We had starvation in our eyes for th e green." So they'd bought a house in the trees nea r Herzliya Pituah.