by Geoff Wolak
She studied the inside of her mug. ‘I was involved with a man in the Mossad, but that didn’t work, both too busy, then a chef in a restaurant, but I had no respect for him. One day a customer hits him, and I punch out the customer.’
‘My kind of girl,’ I said with a sigh, getting a look.
‘He was a pacifist, left wing.’ She shrugged a shoulder.
‘Doctor Abrahams is a writer, and she’ll write a story about a woman kidnapped in the African jungles being rescued by … me.’
‘So she fantasises about you. She is fat, no wonder.’
‘Not fat, just a great big pair of boobs.’
‘Ha, men always like big boobs.’
‘The Americans liked your boobs on patrol, so don’t knock it.’
‘I am average to small.’
‘Trust me, when you’re a soldier in the jungle … any kind of boobs are good boobs.’
She giggled. ‘In Mossad training, we could volunteer for sex training, they don’t force you. In the class, the instructor was an idiot, so I pinned him down and put vibrator up his arse as the class laughed at him.’
‘You are indeed a model student and soldier,’ I quipped. ‘What does your personnel file look like, lots of red ink?’
She smiled. ‘Some, yes. My old boss told me off in front of many people, then his car goes missing, found in the ocean. There was no evidence against me, but I told him I did it.’
‘Coming back to the model soldier bit…’
‘Ha, you break the rules all the time.’
‘True, yes. My file in the RAF was very, very thick.’
‘What happened at this enquiry in London?’
I gave her the story.
‘The man was an amateur, set-up to get killed after he shot the judge. We use this technique also.’
‘Was it your lot?’ I teased.
‘No, at least I don’t think so, they’d not put in a team for a job in London.’
My phone trilled. ‘Sorry.’ I lifted it. ‘Wilco.’
‘Duty Officer. Got some bad news I’m afraid, your father.’
‘Oh, gawd. He’s sick, what has he done?’
‘He was shot dead outside his home, two men on a motorbike.’ My face flushed hot with anger. ‘But the bike was hit by a drunk driver, and they were arrested. Their IDs are Irish.’
‘Irish? Well … they took their own time in getting around to me. Investigate, call me … call me tomorrow please.’ I cut the call.
‘What’s wrong?’ Salome asked as I studied the phone.
‘Two men just shot dead my father.’
‘My god…’
I turned to her. ‘They did him a favour, he was suicidal, cancer. Not long to live. At least now my mother gets a pay-out.’ I stood. ‘Got a car?’
She stood. ‘Yes.’
‘Then you can drive me, it’s not far.’
