'That's what we want to talk to you about,' said Sharavi. 'Your work.' He waved the Herald Tribune.
Wilbur felt the anger return. More than anger-rage-at what the bastards had put him through.
'This stinks,' he said. 'Kidnapping me like some-'
'Shut your fucking mouth,' said Dry Voice, tightening the hold on his elbow. Heavier accent than Sharavi, but no mistaking the words or the tone.
Sharavi glanced at Dry Voice, smiled apologetically, as if excusing an errant brother. So this was going to be one of those good-cop-bad-cop routines
'Have a seat,' said Sharavi, motioning to a plywood board suspended on cinder blocks.
'I'll stand.'
Dry Voice led him to the board and sat him down. Hard.
'Stay.'
Wilbur stared up at him. Asshole looked like an accountant. IRS auditor delivering bad news.
Wilbur kept eye contact. 'These are Gestapo tactics,' he said.
Dry Voice knelt in front of him, gave a very ugly smile. 'You're an expert on Gestapo?'
When Wilbur didn't answer, the asshole stood, kicked the dirt, and said, 'Shmuck.'
Sharavi said something to him in Hebrew and the guy moved back, folded his arms over his chest like the others.
Sharavi lifted a cinder block, brought it close to Wilbur, and sat on it, facing him.
'Your article today was very interesting,' he said.
'Get to the point.'
'You used a biblical scholar to locate the precise references of the passages.'
Wilbur said nothing.
'May I ask which scholar?'
'My sources are confidential. Your government assures the right-'
Sharavi smiled.
'Mutti Abramowitz isn't much of a scholar. In fact, his father told me his grades in Bible Studies have always been very poor.'
Little guy put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, as if expecting an answer.
'What's your point?' said Wilbur.
Sharavi ignored the question, opened his attache case, and rummaged in it. Head concealed by the lid, he asked, 'Where were you three Thursdays ago?'
'Now, how am I supposed to remember that?'
'The day before Juliet Haddad's body was found.'
'I don't know where I was, probably following some? Whoa, wait a minute. I don't have to do this.' Wilbur stood. 'I want a lawyer.'
'Why do you think you need one?' Sharavi asked, mildly.
'Because you people are trampling on my rights. My strong advice to you is quit right now and minimize the damage, because I'm going to raise a stink the likes of which-'
'Sit down, Mr. Wilbur,' said Sharavi.
Dry Voice took a step forward, hand in his jacket. Sit, shmuck.'
Wilbur sat, head swimming with booze and bad vibes.
'What were you doing three Thursdays ago?' Sharavi repeated.
'I have no idea. I'd just gotten back from Greece, but you guys probably know that, don't you?'
'Tell me everything you know about the murders of Fatma Rashmawi and Juliet Haddad.'
'My articles speak for themselves.'
Dry Voice said, 'Your articles are shit.'
'Tell me about the wounds on Juliet Haddad's body,' said Sharavi, almost whispering.
'How the hell would I know anything about that?'
Sharavi unfolded the Herald Tribune, searched for a place with his finger, found it, and read out loud: ''? rumors of sacrificial mutilation have persisted.' Where did you hear those rumors, Mr. Wilbur?'
Wilbur didn't reply. Sharavi turned to the others and asked, 'Have you heard such rumors?'
Three head shakes.
'We haven't heard any such rumors, Mr. Wilbur. Where did you hear them?'
'My sources are confidential.'
