If you’re so good looking, how is it that I’m not paying any attention to you? It’s odd, isn’t it? Then that carries on in a continual loop in your head. Why isn’t she looking at me? What’s wrong with me? Then you spin it to the guy who supposedly doesn’t pay attention to that bombshell… she already starts thinking that she somehow managed to gain half a pound since sitting down then that same loop starts as the guy’s. It’s called fear of failure. And I’ve already told you that men are idiots. They should fear success, not failing.
Men have this centrifugal stupidity that throws them out of the loop that is simply not based on free will, but on the laws of physics that, to their never ending luck, they have still not managed to destroy… though they’re arguably on the right track for that, too. This whole theory is centered on the fact that I won’t pay any attention to the Australian prime minister. And I really didn’t give a shit about her.
I had to be careful of the bag. The cameras in the buckles and zippers were delicate. Eran went on and on about that.
I had to separate the radish from the carrot-tops. Carrots give me gas. They looked straight, and most likely were, though, that too was hard to tell nowadays. That meant one-hundred percent malfunction for someone like me.
I was feeling feminine. I was planning to connect to my inner woman. And what was wrong with that? Were only you allowed? Me too!
Everything was taped here. I did not fancy rotting in Australia until my dying days.
What was I doing? Was she gulping? Was she in on this conspiracy with Eran? Perhaps she was hungry?
She probably came here after a long day that would have worn out the boys who came before her. There were girls around here, too. Not only boys.
You should beware of nice girls, old lady. I will also look like her one day. So what, though? Each wrinkle will be a testament to more and more experience—and I’ll always be beautiful. No matter my age. Everything was relative, anyway.
The bar here was rather expensive, but I decided to treat myself to a soda. I was sorry I couldn’t bring my mineral water I carried everywhere with me. These days, you weren’t allowed to walk around with water bottles, in case someone’s bladder will decide to spontaneously explode. God forbid.
Right. At least it wasn’t half as bad as what Trumpeldor went through, and I was in no danger of dying. I also had need of both my hands, you know. For Eran’s sake. Besides which, my mother is Iraqi, not Russian.
***
The taxi stopped about two-hundred meters away from the safe house. It wasn’t far from where Bill Bradly worked at the Sunset Corporations.
Bill Bradly was the primary owner.
The shiksa we hired will, I hope, give Noa the behind-the-scenes help needed, though, honestly, Noa hardly needs too much support with things like this, being as she’s Noa.
The Dutch woman will aim to help scare this Bill into compliance, since if he runs a negative campaign for the prime minister, he will find himself losing all his money while being tied up in horrendous family law courts and bitter divorce.
And all this is nothing more than a backup plan for a backup plan, being as no dead man worries about paying the bills.
That isn’t an issue, either. He will understand, if necessary, that for him it will be an issue. And finding solutions to problems is always possible, and the solution for him would be to find another business. Hopefully, he won’t decide to buy a company in the Netherlands.
I knocked two fast, sharp knocks, as we’d previously agreed on, at the apartment door.
The door opened and I heard, “Thought we’d never see each other again, huh?”
“Sagi, what’s up?” I smiled. “Are there no more options for renovation in all of Australia?” That Timothy was such a bastard.
“Fuck renovations, let’s hurry this deal up with the Dutch woman, she’s already dressed… well, if you can really call it that…”
“What are you complaining about?” I scolded as if I were many years his senior. I really was many years his senior. “How old are you, Sagi?” I asked.
“Thirty-six,” the friendly man answered.
“Thirty-six… and you’ve nothing better to do other than lead me to a room with a Dutch woman lying in wait?” I paused at the door to her room. “Well, well. What’s this?”
“It’s the Dutch woman,” Sagi replied.
“I believe it’s she—not it, Sagi.”
“Some Dutch I found you guys,” he commented.
“She looks different from when I last saw her,” I added.
“Yeah, the flight over here left her completely done. She pulled herself together since, I’d say.”
“You pull yourself together…” Pulled herself together, he says.
“Get me someone like that, and I definitely will.”
He seemed to be seconds away from jumping the woman and causing a diplomatic incident he’d somehow have to fish himself out of. Surprisingly enough, he chose to actually pull himself together, this time.
“I’m tired of pulling myself together on my own, though,” he said and shot me a quick, sly grin.
“She wouldn’t do anything with you, man. Someone like that would only pick men who are well off. You barely have a leg to stand on.” I added, “But I promise to put in a good word.” I winked.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“What, are you a model agent?” I teased.
“You’ll end up releasing her to me from the ministry of foreign affairs, again?”
“What’s wrong with that, you whiner?”
“More like remember who you really did release from there.”
“I do remember,” I replied. “She’d eat this woman for breakfast.”
“Noa is like a chocolate ice-cream to this vanilla one,” Sagi commented.
“You’re wrong. Noa is chocolate-banana flavor.” I’d said it as if I were a child, licking his lips while
