Crossing the Lines

by Jacob Ganani

  Cantor stroked his forehead. “He didn’t deny it when I handed him the message. Maybe he didn’t see it coming and wanted to buy some time to think of an explanation. But why do I get the feeling that whoever we’re dealing with knows all our phone PINs?”

  “Because you’re paranoid,” Haddad replied. “In any case, in the meantime, let’s treat Farhi as an open end.”

  Paranoid like I was in Vietnam? Cantor wondered to himself. “Okay, so we’ll get back to base and go over our notes?”

  “Do we have a choice? It’s Friday. Tell Daphne to wait with the candles.”

  You’re that eager to find out if I’m on to something? Cantor thought. To Haddad, he said, “As far as I’m concerned, we can light some candles at the department. I think it’s more important you clear it with Dolly.”

  Haddad laughed. “What can I say Cantor - when you’re right, you’re right!”

  CHAPTER 32

  Cantor had just managed to sit down at his desk when his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with an unidentified police number.

  “Cantor here.”

  “It’s Eddie, from Surveillance. Prosper said I should report directly to you if there’s anything new about Sexta.” Prosper headed up the Surveillance Unit.

  “Hi, Eddie. What’s going on?”

  “Remember the tall guy from the boat during White Night?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I’m on his tail right now -”

  “Eddie, what’s all that noise?”

  “The music, you mean? I’m at a wedding at The Palace. I put on a jacket and followed him in...”

  “A wedding - at noon? Are you kidding?”

  “It’s Friday, remember? That’s why I’m calling you directly. He walked in, but headed straight to the elevator. I spoke with our unit and got confirmation that they caught him on camera entering Sexta’s office.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is!”

  “Thanks, Eddie. You’ve made me very happy.”

  “My pleasure.” Eddie ended the call.

  Cantor sat back, smiling, in his chair. Saul, a young detective passing by his desk, looked at him in bewilderment. “Why so happy, Oded? You won the lottery?”

  Cantor spread his arms wide. “Say, Saul, isn’t this a wonderful world?”

  “No. It’s a shit world! Sure you’re all right?”

  “Why so negative Saul? I’m doing great!”

  Saul’s expression indicated that he wasn’t so sure of this at all.

  So, Haddad was right. Here was proof that White Night was related to the Sexta brothers. If there was a traitor, then he was working for them. Maybe some things were beginning to clear up. And anyway, Saul had no idea what he was talking about. When you’re in your twenties, you still don’t understand much about life, Cantor reflected. It was definitely a wonderful world.

  CHAPTER 33

  Haddad arrived back at the department at 2:45pm. He placed a box of Japanese takeaway and two cans of Coke on Cantor’s desk.

  “There’s nothing like sushi for a good brainstorming session. They say seaweed’s good for the concentration,” he mused. “Hope you haven’t eaten yet, Cantor.”

  “And what if I did? There’s always room for sushi, right? Not that this seaweed will make us any smarter. I hope you brought me a fork.”

  “You don’t get it at all! It’s better with chopsticks.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not Japanese. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Cantor opened his notebook and waited in silence as Haddad arranged the pieces of sushi and opened the packets of soy sauce.

  “Before we begin,” said Haddad, “have you sat down with Azar yet?”

  “Yes, yesterday, but it was really quick. I told him the whole story of Pinchas Levy.”

  “And?”

  “He just listened. Didn’t comment. Apologized that he’s very busy and told me to keep up with the investigation.”

  “He didn’t want to dive deeper into the details?”

  “Yeah, I thought he’d be more interested, but, no.” That was what you got when you had no new information.

  “Okay,” said Haddad, “let’s get back to business.”

  “There’s a possibility we’ve made a breakthrough,” Cantor began.

  Haddad gave him a questioning look.

  “Prosper’s guy, Eddie, called me today, direct from a wedding at The Palace. He managed to identify the tall one from the marina, and connect him with Ezra Sexta.”

  “I won’t say I told you so,” Haddad responded without a smile.

  “Don’t say it. So this could tie the traitor to the Sexta brothers.”

  “What do you mean, ‘could’? Doesn’t it confirm it?”

  “Alright,” conceded Cantor, “it’s highly probable. And we have the late Pinchas Levy. Is there a connection to Sexta, or is this a totally separate case?”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Let’s start with the fact that your name was on that contract. Why would the Sexta brothers take out a contract on you? Give me one really good reason.”

  “No idea. I’d understand why they’d want to get you, since you’re on their case on a daily basis, but I had nothing on them.”

  Haddad skillfully picked up a roll of sushi with his chopsticks and dipped it in soy sauce. “Maybe you’re wrong,” he said. “Let’s think about it from a different angle: you’re an investigator looking for a traitor. Suppose the traitor’s working for Sexta. So maybe he thinks you’re getting too close and maybe he asks Sexta for protection. It’s important for Sexta to protect his source and eliminations come easy to him. What do you say?”

  “I say there are lots of maybes in that theory. But seriously, the only problem with this theory is that my investigation’s completely stuck. No one was really feeling threatened, surely?”

  “Not exactly. You’ve been making waves, ruffling feathers, even when trying not to. You’ve tripled surveillance on Sexta, gathered data nobody really paid any attention to before, you showed up at crime scenes, you exposed Pinchas Levy... oh, and I almost forgot: you foiled an attempt on your life. In short, you’re drawing a lot of attention in various circles. Remember I told you there are no secrets around here?”

  “And you thought about all this right now?”

  “What did I tell you about seaweed?”

  “Ah yes, the fucking seaweed... it’s clearly making a genius out of you.”

  “You haven’t heard anything yet. Here’s another angle to consider: the traitor’s the one who took out the contract. Let’s suppose it had nothing to do with Sexta. Maybe this was even his second attempt, after Vietnam. Maybe it was Pini Levy out there on the Kawasaki in Hanoi… But then he fails a second time… so the traitor, who’s already pissed at him, decides to finish him, and at the same time rid himself of a witness who may, one day, incriminate him.”

  “That’s a completely different angle,” Cantor said, “and besides, the time frame doesn’t add up. If someone did try to kill me in Hanoi, it was long before White Night.”

  “Right. So maybe he had another reason to want you dead.”

  “What reason?”

  “No idea.”

  For a moment they ate in silence, and then Haddad said, “Okay, let’s discuss Isaac Sexta’s murder. The traitor gives Ezra an ultimatum. A mistake on his part. So Ezra sends his brother over to teach him some manners. But instead, Isaac ends up as a corpse in Netanya, so Ezra thinks the murderer works for Vedinaya and Peer. What do you say? Can you connect all the dots?”

  “That’s your genius theory?”

  “It hurts to admit it, huh?”

  “It does hurt, I must admit. So let’s leave me out of the equation for a second and continue with the connection we’ve established between Sexta and the traitor.”

  “Better. Look, this theory’s better than a wet dream. It’s really way out of the box. Of course, all this is worth something only if Pini Levy is actually the one who rigged you
r car, and so far we only have the van, which isn’t enough evidence to convince his royal highness Attorney Gilboa.”

  “But -”

  “Shut up for a second and listen. There’s more to my theory. Let’s agree that we’re dealing with a professional who leaves no trace and makes no mistakes. The most beautiful part of all this is that Ezra Sexta can provide us with some very important answers. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Because… he has a motivation to find out who killed his brother? Maybe he’d agree to hand over his cop friend so we can check the connection? But even if he gives us a name, there’s a problem. It’s a mobster’s word against that of a cop… and with no forensics to back him up.”

  Haddad picked up the empty containers and napkins and tossed them, together with the drink cans, into the wastebasket.

  “That’s all true enough, but talking with Sexta is still the shortest route we can take, if we follow this direction at all. And you’re the one who should talk to him, because he doesn’t care too much for me.”

  “I’ve already tried, remember?” said Cantor.

  “Then try again, and again. If there was ever a chance he’d listen, it’s now. Besides, I know you’re dying to visit his lair.”

  “I am? Why?”

  “Because it’s dangerous, maybe? Because you’re addicted to action? I told you this once before, didn’t I? Also, your time with Azar’s running out. So, do you have any other choice?”

  “So now what?” Cantor asked.

  “Now, while you’re cutting corners, I’m going home for Friday night dinner… and tomorrow evening I’ll talk to Zweig, review all the names who had access to this op. There’s something we’re missing.”

  “Where did we miss something? In Intelligence?”

  “Yes. From now on, everyone’s a suspect. That’s the idea. By the way, what do you think about Ami Zweig? Suspicious?”

  “No, definitely not. Why would he be? I’d bet anything it’s not him. Not that I’ve anything to bet,” Cantor replied.

  “It’s harder to bet when you have so little,” Haddad philosophized. “Only there’s a catch.”

  “What catch?”

  “Never mind now. I’ll check something out first.”

  “As you wish,” Cantor said. Apparently, Haddad was constantly expanding the circle of suspects and was now hinting that Zweig may be one. There was no doubt that Zweig had access to information he could sell, and the ability to fabricate a credible alibi, but did he have a motive?

  “What else can we say?” concluded Haddad. “It’s going to get much worse before it gets any better.”

  Cantor glanced at him carefully out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, he suspected that Haddad was leading him by the nose. He feared his gaze would betray his thoughts and looked away.

  CHAPTER 34

  Bad news travels fast, Sexta thought as he was given the first hint of what was to come. The phone call came in at 9:10am. When the phone rang, Ezra was sitting behind his desk, having hardly shifted position over the past few hours. His elbow was propped against the table and his hand supported his chin. To his right was an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Ezra Sexta had quit smoking more than ten years ago. Up until last night. He’d smoked a total of ten cigarettes in the past decade, all of them in the last hour. Smoke curled up from a burning cigarette and burned his tired, red eyes. His stance seemed frozen, as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, but his appearance was deceptive. He was fully aware of what was happening in the room around him. He tensed when Rice’s phone rang. He immediately noticed that Rice paid close attention to this particular call, listening more intently than he had to previous calls. It even seemed as if Rice’s strong shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of what he had just heard was too heavy to bear.

  One of his soldiers maintained a “mutually beneficial relationship” with a police dispatcher, and she disclosed a fresh report about a body near the Netanya boardwalk. The particular location caught his attention and he asked her to update him as soon as more details came in. He remembered the order to immediately report any information that may seem relevant to Johnny Rice. After some hesitation, he decided that he couldn’t rule out the possibility that this might be related to their missing person, and pressed the speed dial.

  Rice listened without commenting and asked to be updated immediately with any further information. As Rice placed the phone back down on the table, Ezra crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and turned to Rice: “What?”

  “That was Little David. There’s a report of a body found near Vedinaya’s bar. We’ll wait for an ID. I hope it’s nothing.”

  Wait for an ID... Ezra thought that Johnny Rice was not the kind to lead him on, not because he wasn’t aware of the bitter fate reserved for the bearers of bad news, but because his integrity was stronger than any need for manipulation or self-gain.

  Ezra reached for another cigarette. Rice waited in silence as he lit it and inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs.

  “I suppose I must have really missed smoking…” he said as a bitter smile twisted the corners of his lips, only to fade quickly away. He straightened up in his chair and looked at the computer screen, which displayed the camera feed from the deserted main gaming room. The silence was broken by the sudden click of the coffee machine.

  They didn’t have to wait too long.

  ***

  Rice went over to the coffee machine in the corner of the room and began to meticulously prepare two cups of coffee, the first for Ezra, strong with a double shot of espresso, and, for himself, a cappuccino with warm milk. As he whipped the milk in a small silver jug, he placed his hand on the steam nozzle and felt the vibrations of the machine tickling his palm and moving up his arm. The pleasant sensation allowed him a moment to disengage from the present and drift into a stream of consciousness. Here was an espresso machine, a device most people would not consider to be a marvel, yet he thought otherwise. It was no less than a masterpiece, a machine whose innovative creation and genius construction brought benefit and pleasure to so many every day. It all conveyed the quintessential wonder of human existence.

  And so, with the hum of the bubbling machine in the background, his imagination flowed with thoughts that had nothing to do with the current time and place. The ringing of the phone tore him away and brought him back to reality. With the alacrity of a dancer, he turned, went over to the desk, and gently placed Ezra’s coffee cup near his elbow. The phone was in his hand before the third ring.

  “Rice.”

  Ezra watched as Rice listened to what was said. His attention drifted to the small wrinkles at the corners of Johnny’s eyes, the place where a smile or a frown always began. Only now, the wrinkles remained frozen, and Ezra’s lips tightened until they became a thin line. Ezra’s eyelids half closed as he felt the tension quickly forming in the muscles of his face. Rice put the phone down and turned toward him, meeting his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Ezra.”

  Unequivocal and crystal clear.

  “Isaac?” Ezra asked.

  Rice nodded slowly.

  The news that turned his brother from missing to dead struck Ezra Sexta like a sledgehammer with one destructive blow. Rice, still frozen in position, felt that he must tend to all the technicalities as quickly as possible. Only then would they be able to contemplate the meaning of what had happened. Only then could they begin to mourn.

  “The police dispatcher notified Little David a moment ago. They concluded the identification process. It’s confirmed.”

  “Any details?” Ezra’s voice seemed to emanate from deep underground.

  “Only preliminary. He was shot several times. They found him in an empty lot near the boardwalk, between some apartment buildings.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “In a quiet street, a residential neighborhood behind the boardwalk. Whoever did this was looking for a quiet place. And there was something else.”

  Ezra waited.

&nbs
p; “There was an object next to him. They think it belonged to him.” Rice stopped and pursed his lips as if he found it hard to speak.

  “A baseball bat.” Ezra finished the sentence for him.

  “Yes.”

  “Johnny, I think I want a little time to myself. Do you mind?”

  Johnny nodded in complete understanding and empathy. “Of course, Ezra. I’m so sorry. I’m sending someone over to the Forensics Lab, but if you need anything... anything at all…”

  Rice collected the maps from the table and left the room, leaving Ezra to mourn privately.

  Ezra rose from his chair. His legs trembled and, for a moment, he was sure he was about to collapse. Slowly, supported by the wall, he turned to the small liquor cabinet in the corner. With trembling fingers, he turned a key in the glass door and brought out a glass from the top shelf. For a moment he studied it, changed his mind, and replaced it with a larger glass. The situation called for a large glass. From the bottom shelf, he took a bottle of whiskey and filled the glass to the brim. His hand trembled uncontrollably and the golden liquid spilled on the expensive furnishings. Ignoring the liquid dripping to the floor, he turned and walked unsteadily to the family photo on the wall.

  He raised his glass in salute to his little brother’s image, marking this as his own privately-held funeral. His memory flooded with images of his final conversation with his father as he lay on his deathbed before the cancer ultimately consumed him. Of the three people in the photo, only one remained to drink to them. He raised the glass to his lips, closed his eyes, and took a long sip. The liquid glided down his throat, burning a path of fire as it passed through his body and spread into a boiling pool in his gut. Ezra shuddered uncontrollably as a large tear welled up in his eye and rolled down his right cheek. The image of his father lying in that terrible hospice again flashed before his eyes. He had become a shadow of himself as the disease gnawed and devoured his flesh, until reaching a terrible and unimaginably painful end - a pain so extreme and so cruel that no amount of morphine could suppress it. It was the last time he had seen him alive. “I’m burning inside...” cried out the man who, in a former life, was tougher than ten men.