The Hunted

by Elmore Leonard

  "It's an idea," Mel said.

  "Deliver it in Detroit to Mr. Rosen's company?"

  "Since he's not with the company anymore,"

  Mel said, "you'd deliver it to my office."

  "That's what I thought," Davis said.

  "If there was about ten grand in it for you," Mel said, "what difference would it make where yo u delivered it?"

  "Why don't I take it now?"

  "Why don't you think about it," Mel said, "and let me know. I'll be here. I'll be very interested t o see how it works out."

  As he spoke, Tali appeared in the connecting doorway sticking her shirttail in her jeans, zippin g up. Davis glanced at her.

  "Ready?"

  She nodded and Mel said, "What is this? Where you going?"

  "If you're only gonna sit around and wait to see who wins," Davis said, "you don't need Tali, d o you?"

  They came out of the hotel from the lighted entrance to early-morning darkness and walked along the aisles of parked cars looking for the gray Mercedes. She was worried about Mati again.

  He had returned about eight o'clock and had acted strange, Tali said, keeping inside himself an d saying very little about his trip to Jaffa with th e package. Yes, they had followed him. Yes, it ha d gone all right. Well, where have you been? Oh, wit h friends. She couldn't stand that air of indifference.

  Then she had forgotten about Mati because Mr.

  Rosen had called again, from Jerusalem, and spoken to Mr. Bandy for at least half an hour.

  "He told you he was in Jerusalem?" Davis said.

  "No, he didn't tell Mr. Bandy that," Tali said. "I a ssume it. What he told Mr. Bandy was that he ha d lost his passport and that you were coming to pic k up the money. Then Mr. Bandy spoke for a lon g time."

  "Why did he tell him about his passport?"

  "I don't know," Tali said. "It was only one of the things. I could hear Mr. Rosen's voice speakin g loud at Mr. Bandy and Mr. Bandy would spea k loud back at him. Then, after that, Mr. Band y asked me questions about Mr. Rosen, about wher e he lived and spent his time. Then I look for Mat i and he was gone."

  Mati was gone and so was the gray Mercedes.

  She was tense, asking him about Mr. Rosen as they drove in Raymond Garcia's Camaro to he r apartment on Hamedina Square--to pack a fe w clothes--and didn't begin to relax until they ha d fixed coffee and were talking quietly on the terrace , Davis telling her Mr. Rosen was fine, giving her details about his meeting with Rosen and what had happened, where he was now, but not telling he r what they planned to do. Davis wasn't sure himsel f about that part. He had the beginning of an idea.

  He could picture a controlled situation, a showdown, and could hope to steer them toward it. But he wasn't sure yet of Rosen, to what extent h e could count on him. It was strange, getting excite d about another man's problem as if it were his own.

  He was aware of the darkness beyond the fifthfloor terrace, the dark sky and the dark shapes of buildings. The only lights were the streetlights, below, outlining Hamedina Square. He was aware of the girl also, and of another strange feeling--wanting to hold her and touch her face. He wasn't sure the feeling was sympathy.

  "You and Mr. Rosen seem to get along pretty well."

  "Yes, I like very much working for him," Tali said. "He's not here, I feel short. Is that what yo u say? I miss him. He's a very nice person."

  "Like a father?"

  "Yes, in a way. But the relation is different. He's more fun than a father is."

  "Fun in what way?" He felt as if he were prying now.

  "Fun because he says funny things. He doesn't laugh, but you know he's being funny. Do you understand?"

  He understood. He had caught glimpses of it, but hadn't met the all-out funny Rosen yet. Mayb e he never would.

  Davis made a swing north out of Tel Aviv, through the empty, early-morning streets, to the Marin e House. Tali waited in the Camaro, engine rumbling, while he ran inside and up to his room. Davis didn't bother with lights. He reached into a drawe r and dug out the shoulder holster with the strap s wrapped around it and the Colt .38 automati c wedged snugly inside. Also a box of ammo. He then crept across the hall to the room of Willar d Mims, the 1st Force Recon Marine--over to th e footlocker in the walk-in closet--and was almos t out again when Willard opened his eyes and caugh t him at the door.

  "Who's that?"

  "It's just me, Willard. I didn't want to wake you up."

  "What've you got there?"

  "I just want to borrow a couple of your claymores. I'll pay you back."

  "You'll pay me back--how? I brought them all the way from Da Nang."

  "Willard, you don't happen to have any grenades, do you?"

  "Jesus Christ--" Willard yanked at the sheet to throw it aside.

  "Hey, never mind. Trust me, buddy. Okay?"

  He was down the stairs, out of there, taking off in the Camaro before Willard got his feet on th e floor.

  Tali looked to see what he had thrown on the back seat: the holstered gun and the dull, heavylooking metal objects that were about an inch thick and the size and shape of curved license plates. Sh e thought she recognized them, but wasn't sure.

  "Are those explosives?" Surprised.

  "Claymore mines. All wired and ready to go."

  "You have them at your house?"

  "Not officially," Davis said. "This one boy, Willard, keeps some in his closet. I think he's a littl e crazy." They were silent and he didn't add unti l some moments later, "But I'm glad he's on ou r side."

  THEY CAME TO JERUSALEM in Rosen's gray Mercedes:

  Rashad in front with his buddy Mati, who was driving; Valenzuela and Teddy Cass in the bac k seat; Valenzuela with his map open; the Uzis , Berettas, and plastic C4 explosives in the trunk.

  Rashad's idea: what'd they need to spend a grand a week on a car for when Mati had the man's? Brin g Mati into the club along with the Mercedes. The y all had to smile at the idea of using Rosen's own car.

  They hoped Rosen would have time to realize it.

  At seven a. M. they topped the rise, coming up ou t of the switchbacks of the mountain road, an d coasted down into the city, the street narrowing an d curving, buildings of tan-rose Jerusalem ston e rising on both sides, through an old section of th e city, catching glimpses of modern high-rises in th e distance--clean in morning sunlight--Valenzuel a looking from the blue street signs on buildings to hi s map; then taking a curve off Yafo, the Jaffa Road , past the Hebrew Union College to the King David.

  "There," Mati said, slowing down, creeping past the plain, stone, squared-off structure that rose si x stories and was topped off by two additional , newer floors.

  "That's it, huh?" Valenzuela said. "It looks like a YMCA."

  "The YMCA is across the street," Mati said, a little surprised.

  "The YMCA looks like what the King David should look like," Rashad said. "Where they kee p the cars?"

  Mati pointed. "There."

  "Turn in."

  The Mercedes turned left into a side street and left again through the open gate of a chain-lin k fence, past a booth where the parking attendan t sat. There were no more than a dozen cars in th e lot, in two irregular rows, most of them at the fenc e toward the front, facing the street.

  "You see his car?" Rashad said.

  "That one," Mati said.

  "Yeah, I remember it now," Rashad said. "It was out in front of the apartment. Pull in next to it."

  When they came to a stop parallel with the black Mercedes, he said, "Who's going in?"

  "I am," Valenzuela said. "And you and your friend. Teddy'll wait here."

  Mati said, "It would be good, I go talk to him first."

  "It would be bad," Valenzuela said. "Teddy, open the trunk."

  From the porte cochere of the main entrance they passed single file through the revolving door an d went past rows of tour-group luggage being assembled opposite the registration desk, Valenzuela carrying a black vinyl briefcase, followed by Mat i and Rashad.<
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  "What way?"

  "To, that way," Mati pointed.

  They turned right, went past the desk to the elevator.

  On the seventh floor they turned right again and walked down the hall to 732. Next to it, on th e floor, was a tray on which sat two glasses, an empt y champagne bottle, and an ashtray heaped with cigarette butts. Valenzuela nodded. Mati approached the door, cleared his throat, and knocked lightly , twice.

  "Hit it harder," Valenzuela said.

  Mati knocked again, rapping quickly with his knuckles. They waited.

  "Once more," Valenzuela said.

  Mati knocked several more times. Cautiously, Rashad leaned in, pressing his head against the door.

  He came away, looked at Valenzuela, and shrugged.

  "Okay," Valenzuela said. Moving away, he looked down at the tray. "He was always neat, I remember that. Couple of times we visited him at his office, he was always getting up and emptying th e ashtrays."

  In the elevator, Rashad said, "What do you think?"

  "I think somebody's in there with him," Valenzuela said. "I don't want to do it that way if I can avoid it. If I can't, if it's a broad, somebody like tha t who's gonna be with him, then it's too bad, ther e isn't anything I can do about it."

  "Maybe it's the Marine," Rashad said.

  "I hope so," Valenzuela said.

  "Didn't you hear it?" Edie said.

  "It's the maid," Rosen said. He opened the door to the sitting room and listened a moment. "The y like to come in and make the bed while you're stil l in it."

  "You're sure it's the maid?"

  "Well, it isn't the guy I'm meeting, the one I mentioned to you. We've got a signal."

  "Something's going on," Edie said. "I don't understand at all. Who are you trying to avoid?"

  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 this 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 and a hairnet."

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

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

  No-fault, no argument, cash settlement. She 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 were married or single."

  "Swinging singles, that's us. So . . . we'll get to 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 me 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 her 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 leaves promptly at nine-fifteen for the airport."

  "Don't worry, I'll get you to the hotel," Rosen 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. She 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 with you."

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

  Last night, after the Marine had left, Rosen had 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 and 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 any 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 because 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 his Will of God theory since the night of the hotel fire.

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

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

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

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

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

  "No, I told him, as you said, you hire me to drive 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 long will it take you?"

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

  "We'll jack this one up." Valenzuela put his 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 tire 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 of 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. "So 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 of 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," Mati said.

  "He never done nothing to me either," Rashad 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 why 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.' "