Jet

by Russell Blake

  Chapter 21

  “Goodnight.”

  Eli Cohen waved to the two guards at the back entrance of the unmarked building as he walked to the parking lot, tired after another long day of infighting and bickering. He carried his briefcase like it held nuclear launch codes instead of the remnants of his lunch and a few odds and ends – a nervous habit, one of many he’d developed over the years.

  His twelve-year-old Renault coughed blue smoke before it sputtered to life, the engine sounding ominously like a cement mixer with rocks clattering around in it. He’d been meaning to have the oil changed for weeks. Months, actually, but he had been busy. He was a man with obligations, and each day seemed to be just a little too hectic for him to get it into the shop.

  The last car he’d owned was a Citroen. It had lasted him eighteen years, which had convinced him that only the French knew how to build a decent car. Yet another one of his oddities, given what he knew about their reliability. But he was too old to change now, at sixty-two.

  He carefully fastened his seatbelt and shook out a cigarette from the ever-present package he carried. His lungs felt like they were half-filled with molten lead much of the time, but it was another habit he had no interest in breaking. Sometimes the very things that destroyed a man were also those he would miss most when the grim reaper came. The damage had already been done. No point in quitting now.

  Eli lit the filterless tobacco tube and blew a noxious cloud of smoke out his window, then shifted into reverse, backing the car out of its stall.

  Another long day.

  A shit day. In a shit year.

  The sun was setting, the sky a kaleidoscope of color as he pulled onto the artery that led to his modest community. Elijah lived in a simple home with few creature comforts. His wife, God rest her soul, had died a decade before from a heart attack that had killed her before the pan she’d been holding hit the ground, and since then, he’d seen no reason to waste money on frivolities like new furniture or any decorations more recent than 1980s era. In a way, his Spartan life gave him a greater sense of control.

  It wouldn’t be long now. Another year and he’d retire, and then lie on the beach somewhere while scantily clad young things brought him cocktails. Far from Israel. Maybe the Black Sea. He’d heard good things about the Black Sea. Varna. Odessa. It was a big world, where even an old man could indulge his appetites if he had the right kind of money.

  It was dark by the time he made it through the dense evening traffic and neared his neighborhood. As he turned onto his street, a tire popped and the misshapen rubber began thumping against the wheel arch.

  “Damn it,” he muttered as he pulled the shimmying car to a halt by the curb.

  Eli stubbed out the cigarette and put the transmission in park, and then opened his door to inspect the damage. He had a spare, but wasn’t looking forward to having to change it at night in his business suit. If he didn’t ruin his clothes, he would probably hurt his back or cut his hand, knowing his luck.

  Even in the dim light, he could see that the tire was history, flat as a board, its sidewalls mangled.

  He would call the towing company. He had their number in his briefcase. There was no reason for him to get into roadside maintenance at this late stage of the game. Eli had never been good with mechanical things. That wasn’t going to turn around now.

  A car rolled up behind him as he was surveying the damage. Turning to face it, he shielded his eyes against the bright glare as it eased to a stop.

  The door opened and a female voice called out.

  “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”

  “No…I got a flat. Probably all the construction around here. The damned workers drop nails and screws everywhere off the backs of their trucks, and then people like me pay the price.”

  “A flat? Do you need me to help you with it?” the beautiful young woman asked as she approached. The night wasn’t looking so bad after all, he thought as he studied the way her jeans formed to her hips. He realized he was staring and lowered his eyes, trying not to be too obvious.

  “I could never–”

  A blow he never saw coming struck his spine, sending a jolt of pain through his lower back with a shock. He gasped, fighting to stay upright. An arm wrapped around his neck, and a stinking rag clamped tightly over his nose and mouth.

  Eli tried to struggle, but within a few seconds everything got blurry, his knees buckled, and he was out.