“What? Wait a minute—”
“No waiting, come to the car, quickly, Noa.”
“What’s going on?”
“The prime minister is a hundred meters from you, that’s what. Come on, you pain.”
“He hit my head like you wouldn’t believe, the bastard.”
“You deserve two. How did they sneak up on you like that? What are you, a child?”
She didn’t answer.
“Meet Byron, the nicest man on this whole continent.”
Have you ever seen an Australian swallow roughly and stop breathing all together, looking severely stunned as thoughts of white picket fenced houses, Labradors, and three kids rushed through his mind? No? Well, you weren’t with us there, standing with Noa outside the Canberra Australian Foreign Affairs building.
Chapter Seventeen
“Byron, we’re going to the side for a quick smoke, all right?”
I gestured to Noa to go to the left and she walked beside me until we were far enough away from the white vehicle and the tanned fellow.
“Are you okay, Noa? I was so worried. It took us a while until we figured out what happened. Timothy and everything… you know…”
“I didn’t get it at first either. I woke up on a metal bed, handcuffed and with zip ties on my ankles, stuck in some godforsaken hole. Then they blindfolded me and drove around for hours, moving me from one car to the other. I thought it was going to be an execution, Eran. I was scared to death. They didn’t even talk amongst themselves, which made me even more nervous. I couldn’t figure out a language, let alone an accent… I couldn’t see anything and had a gag in my mouth. God, I was so helpless. I honestly thought I was going to my death, and it was a seriously long drive. And my neck is killing me from the butt of the gun,” she added.
I’d have chocked the life out of him.
“You’ll recover,” I told her. I wanted to hug her and tell her how worried I’d been, but I had to wait and do it later. Now I had the big Australian fish to think of.
“Listen, Noa, they didn’t figure anything out, you got that, right?” I made sure. You couldn’t be too sure with these women. Any assumption could end up being well off. If we, the men, have one subconscious, they have seven. They themselves aren’t fully aware of which one they’re inhabiting at any given moment. Now, try and hit the right subconscious when they’re busy multitasking and in constant flux. That’s any woman for you—even if she’s only a housewife.
It sounded like Russian roulette to me. Either way, the odds were one to seven, and the result was always the same in the case you were actually right.
“The moment they asked about 2009, I knew they had nothing.”
“Great,” I said. “Now, listen. Madam Prime Minister is here. I need us to wait out here in the parking lot for as long as we need until she shows up to the armored cars on the other side over there—see them?”
“Where?”
“There, next to the tall trees in the corner.”
“Where?”
“In front of you, thirty-five degrees to the right.”
“Where?”
“What the hell is up with you? Can’t you see the Australian wrestlers in suits standing next to their cars? They really did a number on that head of yours, didn’t they?”
“You’ve got any Acamol or something?” she asked.
“No,” I replied. “Do your meditations,” I scolded. Spoiled brat. “Noa, I want her to give you a quick, chance of a glance. Don’t forget you’ll be two meters from her in only a couple of days when we go to the opera house so you can stare at men in tights. Make a good, sexy first impression. You know—you don’t get a second chance at a first impression.”
“Why? You did.” She winked.
“Actually, your first impression was fine… it’s what came later that was problematic.
“Give that to me a moment,” I asked.
“Give you what?”
“The nail filer you took from Byron’s car.”
“What for?”
“Just hand it over. Don’t move.”
I ripped a huge gash down her jeans.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Letting that Shiksa get an eyeful of your legs. What’s the problem? Let her enjoy herself a little. Now, get ready for a few hours of waiting. And don’t stink up on cigarettes.”
“You got any American Spirit?” she asked.
“No, only filet mignon on a bed of caramelized sweet potatoes. I forgot all about the American Spirit… honestly, I’m so sorry. We can’t even smoke at our place. I’ll give you a fine.”
“First give me those fifteen million shekels so I can pay off all those fines you’re planning to give me. With the way things are going, I’m pretty sure Shaked will end up being the richest kid in Yavne.”
“Or her mom will become a lesbian and relocate to Australia.” I smiled at her.
“Maybe neither,” she dismissed.
“Then that’s for the best,” I replied. “You’ll have to forgive me—I finished all your caramelized onions.”
“What?”
“From the restaurant in Sydney.”
“You idiot.”
“I had the best teachers.”
“Absolute retard.”
“That’s illegal to say,”
“We’re in Australia. They don’t have those stupid rules here,” she said and took a sexy inhale of the cigarette. She was such a movie star.
“You’re out of the lines of your jurisdiction area.”
“I’ve got international jurisdiction rights,” I said.
“Not when it comes to me.”
“Especially when it concerns you, Noa.” I paused. “I’ve got to ask you something.” I looked at her with a dead-serious expression. “Remember when we were in your bedroom and you were wearing that blue Smurf costume thing? Back when you were keeping me so dried up I could barely walk? Remember?”
“Don’t start with that now.”
“You started it. Anyway, I was sitting on the bed and you were on the computer, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I was horny as fuck.”
“Yeah, yeah. So?”
“You were barefoot. It was winter. Weren’t your feet cold?”
“So, what?”
“What what? That’s the question. Weren’t your feet cold?”
“You doing all right, Eran? I’m starting to worry about you.”
“Were you not
