by Rose Fox
“It has the numbers you need. All you need to do is call them and make the arrangements.”
Shimon turned the palm of his hand upwards, as if asking, ‘How?’ Clearly, she knew there was no way of transferring objects between them.
Just then, a small riot broke out. The woman in front of him got up from her chair, shaking her fists, raised the little girl in front of the transparent wall and shouted something in Arabic. He thought she was calling his name but it was hard to hear sounds from the other side of the Perspex wall that separated them. The woman kicked the chair, waved the little girl again and then fell to the floor with her arms stretched out on either side.
The fainting scene and the fight drew everyone’s attention to them. A guard rushed from one direction as did the guard on the other side. Startled, the visitors rose to their feet and stared at the woman lying on the floor and at her little girl, who burst out crying. They were all convinced they had witnessed a family quarrel and clicked their tongues in sympathy with the angry wife, who was waving the child in front of the prisoner.
In the bedlam that ensued, Shimon signaled the guard to let him pass to go to the aid of the woman, who had fainted and it was only natural that he would help him open the transparent door and allow the perturbed Shimon to run to her. He kneeled beside her, embraced her and tried to encourage her. He caressed her arms and her face and as he did so he touched her sleeve and pulled the cell phone into his own clothing.
When the woman arose, the bell signifying the end of the visit rang. The guard approached with the utmost sensitivity and helped him up and escorted him back to the other side.
The woman picked up her daughter in her arms, wiped her tears with her scarf and shook her head to refuse the assistance of the guard. She walked out upright and stood in the line that waited at the exit.
Shimon was happy now and it didn’t occur to him how hot the small instrument he held really was, with its minute listening device. Now he was under very close scrutiny and surveillance.
He walked briskly with energetic strides to the lavatories. He sat on a toilet seat, having dropped his pants in the event that someone would check up on him or peep under the door. He dialed Ashraf’s number excitedly and spoke into the new telephone in a quiet voice, covering his mouth with his hand as he did so.
“A’halan, Ashraf, listen. It’s unbelievable! She came straight here, to the jail.”
“Who’s talking? Who came?”
Ashraf sounded angry and Shimon sensed this and tried to calm him.
“Do you remember how I got rid of the old merchandise I brought from the East? That woman you weren’t pleased with.”
“Almighty God, I don’t believe it!" Ashraf screamed, "Are you talking about that on the telephone?"
“Don’t worry, there’s no chance anyone will know about that because I got rid of the mustached driver, who might have seen me killing her.”
There was no response and Shimon went on talking in an ingratiating tone. “I have more news for you. Naim is dead. He died about two weeks ago.”
Heavy breathing was heard on the line and Shimon was surprised.
“Hello, Ashraf, did you hear me?”
“How did Naim die?”
“I think it was a heart attack, praise be to Allah, right?"
Again, there was silence and Shimon decided to get straight to the point of his phone call.
“Well, you asked me to find out what happened to the Bedouin woman, who disappeared more than twenty years ago, right?
“So…”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. That Bedouin woman, herself, came to my prison an hour ago. Listen, she is really gorgeous, really deluxe merchandise. Say, did you know she has a little girl?”
“Why did she come to you?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to tell you that she gave me this cell phone that I’m speaking on, right now. She gave me your number as well as Omar’s.”
“What?! Shimon, you’re an idiot, a complete moron!” And he hung up.
Shimon stared at the phone and shrugged. He thought a little and decided to call Omar, the big boss who was the power behind the whole network of traders. After the phone rang twice he heard a voice and hurried to speak.
“Hello, Omar, how are you? I found the Bedouin woman you’ve been looking for all these years and Naim died two weeks ago.”
“Hello, who is this?”
Now Shimon was surprised that both these people weren’t overjoyed.
“It’s me, Shimon. Listen, Ashraf called me and asked me…”
“Yes, yes, I heard. Where was that Bedouin woman hiding all these years?”
“What do you mean? She wasn’t hiding anywhere. Even now, she’s living in the Negev, where she was born.”
“How do you know that?”
“What does it matter, we have her now.”
He spoke triumphantly, as if he had succeeded in capturing her and was trying to deliver her to them. He even got down to further business. “Tell me, Omar, what about some more consignments? If Naim is no longer here, I can take over now and bring you fine girls, just as good as he did. What do you think? Hah, what do you say?”
He heard a long buzzing sound and understood that Omar had hung up and he didn’t understand what was happening. Shimon was so sure that he had come into his own and would now be rewarded and honored by them.
Again he shrugged and slipped the cellphone under his shirt. He thought again, pulled the phone out of his shirt, slipped it into his underpants and came out of the bathroom. He whistled as he walked down the corridor with measured steps, his hands in his pockets and eyes staring at the floor.
Suddenly he bumped into a pair of legs standing transfixed to the spot, in front of him. When he raised his gaze he found himself looking at Big Shimi, the jailer. Shimi stuck out his hand to him without a word and waited.
Shimon tried to sidestep him and ignore his extended hand.
“Here!” Shimi said in his deep bass voice and pointed to his extended hand with the other one. Shimon slanted his head as if asking a question and opened his eyes wide in surprise.
“I said, here!” Shimi repeated and inmates began gathering around.
There isn’t very much action in prison to break the routine and arouse interest. They realized that this was ‘action’ and that kind of audience was important to Shimi because an event like this established his authority.
Shimon stuck his arms up and said, “Come, frisk me and take whatever you find.”
“Turn out your pockets!” Shimi yelled.
Moving quietly, as he tried to maintain his self-control, Shimon pulled out his pockets and they dangled, empty, at his sides.
Shimi continued standing on the spot till, suddenly, he lost his patience, which was pretty short, anyway, and attacked Shimon. He grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him up in the air like a toy and screamed in his ear, “you piece of trash, where did you put it? Where did you get it? Who gave it to you?” Then he loosened his grip on his shirt and Shimon slid down to the floor but quickly straightened up, fearing Big Shimi would kick him.
Big Shimi did not give up. He understood how important it was to take control in situations like this. He grabbed Shimon’s shirt and dragged him back in the direction he had come from.
“Did you leave it there, you dirty son of a bitch? You will pull it out of the latrine even if you have to put your hands in the water you pissed in and if necessary dig up the sewer you threw it in” he yelled as he dragged Shimon roughly to the bathroom.
At that moment, Shimon raised his hand in surrender, hinting that he had something to say. Big Shimi loosened his hold on him, letting him fall like a sack of potatoes on the floor.
He got up, fidgeted in his underpants, pulled out the silvery cell phone and placed it in the jailer’s rough hand. Shimi closed his fat fingers round the instrument and slapped him in the face with his other hand, sent Shimon flying in the air and then landing on the
floor. He slid along the floor until he hit the wall and this time, he didn’t get up.
The other inmates looked at him indifferently and dispersed to take care of their own business. From their point of view, the affair had ended and they were no longer interested.
Shimi brought the phone to the office of the Commander of the prison, Arik Shiller. The Commander smiled and stood up specially to pat Shimi on his broad shoulder.
He blurted out, “Well done, man!”
* * *
The Clerk called and all present in the small courtroom rose to their feet. His Honor, Justice Tal Galon, entered through the door to his chambers and opened the proceedings in the case of Police Officer, Deri Shimon.
“The court is aware that the defendant will be late today. Let’s hear the preamble to the proceedings. Yes, gentlemen, who will begin?” The Judge asked.
Advocate Moishik Zaken rose and said,
“Your Honor, the defense requests confidentiality regarding matters being brought before the court. The facts in the case of the defendant have relevance to state security and to police and military activity and it would be improper to elaborate on them publicly."
The Prosecutor, Aaron Bialy rose.
“The Prosecution seeks public review of what is heard here and that can only be made available through exposure in the press. The public has the right to know how the security of the state was compromised by one of its most treacherous public servants.”
As was his habit, Prosecutor Aaron stood when he spoke, and pulled the lapels of his black cloak together as he rocked on his heels. The Judge’s answer was given without hesitation.
“The Court believes that there is credence to the statement of the defense and finds that the security of the state precedes the public’s right to knowledge. Therefore, the case will be heard behind closed doors.”
Aaron’s face was red with rage when he said, “I wish to put on record that the prosecution regrets the fact that there is no death penalty in the enlightened State of Israel for people like the defendant…”
The clank of leg chains informed of the imminent arrival of the defendant, Shimon Deri. His appearance, smartly dressed in clean clothes, was sharply contrasted by the cuffs on his hands and the chains on his legs.
A man holding a camera appeared on the other side of the aisle. He was a correspondent called Rocky Nella, who had a longstanding conflict with this police defendant. He had attempted to interview him a few weeks earlier, but Shimon had punched him so hard that he had fallen on the floor and lost consciousness. This time, he stood at a clear distance and his camera was flashing. Shimon got up angrily to go after him, but was restrained by his chains. To an observer, he seemed like a tethered bulldog trying to attack his prey, but is held off by his leash.
That same day a picture of Shimon appeared on the TV evening news with his hand tautly restrained by a chain and his face contorted with rage. The news anchor announced that the case would be heard behind closed doors, without spectators or newspaper coverage.
Smiling sweetly, she said, “because of the secrecy, we will not broadcast the details of the proceedings, but we will review reports that appear in the British “London Post” in the matter of the accused policeman.”
She spoke about Interpol, the American FBI and the Russian KGB and suddenly stopped her flow of words, and raised her finger to her left ear, as if she was hearing something, then added with an apologetic smile, “and now, to the next news item.”
The break in the news report actually increased the public’s interest in the case.
The newspaper Latest News posted the headline:
"The policeman's closed trial is viewed as a reward for
a man - who abducted women, murdered them -
And eliminated witnesses to his actions"
The article noted for the first time that the destination of these unfortunate women was Saudi Arabia.
Abigail read this and smiled. She knew that everything was going forward and closing in on the outlaw policeman.
Shimon’s trial created waves all over the world, reaching Omar’s palatial home. Omar and Ashraf’s names were on everyone’s lips and things began to get out of hand, even in their country.
A week later, a message came to them from the King of Saudi Arabia, the Emir, Faisal the Great and Omar was filled with shame. He began to fear for his life and called Ashraf, his servant, to him.
Ashraf came running at his call and stood, panting, before him. Omar stood with his legs apart and all the fat on his body shook with anger. He raised his arm and slapped Ashraf in the face. The latter covered his burning cheek and prostrated himself on the floor. He crawled like a lizard to Omar and kissed the soles of his fuming master’s feet and then licked them. He groveled and wrestled in the dust around where Omar stood and cried out loud as he beat his head with his hands.
“Get up you beast, you son of a bitch!” Omar roared and moved his feet away from him.
“I heard you ordered women from Korea behind my back. Why? Who needed women like that here? What was wrong with the girls Naim brought us?"
He kicked Ashraf in the head as Ashraf sobbed out loud and writhed in the dirt. He pulled at his clothes and tore them with dramatic theatricality. Ashraf was aware of how he had compromised his master and understood his situation very well. He wanted to live, especially now, that he had begun to enjoy the prestige he had acquired from importing women for the Far East.
Omar raged, “I don’t understand. How did the story get out?” Who talked about our consignments? What’s happening here?”
Now it occurred to Ashraf how lucky they were that Shimon made a practice of killing the witnesses of the last consignments. He was grateful to Allah that not one driver or other witness remained to tell the tale.
Omar rested his foot on him in contempt and with the superiority of the master.
“What do you have to say now? That idiot policeman of yours called us on the telephone he was given by that same Bedouin woman. How? How could a person be so stupid? See what has happened. Everyone is talking about Omar and Ashraf; they know our address and even have our phone number. We’ll probably get a call soon from Shimon’s wife or an invitation from his daughter to her birthday party.”
Ashraf rolled to the side from under Omar’s fat leg, crouched on the ground and facing down, lowered his gaze to the dirt, and said, “It isn’t Shimon, oh Master, it’s that Bedouin woman who is taking revenge on all of us."
Now he dared to look at Omar, "I’m telling you, Master of Masters and King of Kings, she really was excellent merchandise, the crème-de-la-crème, a delicacy, the very best!”
He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and kissed it to express his appreciation for an object of great value, and Omar was compelled to admit the fact and nodded in agreement.
“Without question, Bedouin blood flows in her veins,” he said appreciatively.
“Right, but now she is celebrating and slowly drinking our blood through a straw,” Ashraf added.
Indeed, the news did cause a sensation.
That same day, Thursday, the signature opening beeps to the news on the two major TV channels were accompanied by a headline flashed on the screen.
Breaking News
The veteran news anchor, Yacov Ha’elion, announced a special Israel Knesset session and immediately after that the Prime Minister was seen addressing the assembly from the podium in a loud and clear voice.
“I have faith in the Israel Police Force and, needless to say, I firmly place my trust in Israeli morality.” After this opening remark, he added:
“This morning we received news I wish to share with all Israelis wherever they may be.”
The King of Saudi Arabia, Emir Feisal, himself, appeared on the screen, wearing traditional dress. A little behind him, stood an extremely obese man who looked courageously at the camera. It was Omar.
The King’s statement was translated into three languages: Russian, English
and Hebrew. He opened with a prayer and expressed gratitude to Allah and continued with a description of a vile plot that threatened to demoralize the world because of the stupidity of one person.
“Everywhere, in every country, in every family, there is a person, who will take pleasure in wallowing in dirt.” He raised his voice and continued speaking. “Saudi Arabia wishes to correct the mistaken impression that this country seeks to import women from abroad,” he ridiculed and added, “a Saudi Arabian man knows how to appreciate what he has and does not look for other women. There are stories of the murder and disappearance of people, unknown to our government. I, the King of Saudi Arabia denounce and condemn this activity and expect the Zionists to understand that this is a fabrication in the sick mind of a Zionist lunatic.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Here we execute people for lesser crimes than the ones this man is guilty of.” He nodded and the obese man took a step forward and stood beside his king. The King introduced him:
“This is Omar, a respected Saudi Arabian citizen, who, in spite of the things being said about him, does not hide away. He also refuses to acknowledge guilt for the accusations being made by that corrupt Zionist Police Officer, Shimon Deri.”
* * *
Visitors’ day at the prison is an emotional day. Once again, as occurred every week, the names of the prisoners receiving visitors were called. Shimon really didn’t care. He no longer expected visitors and even if one did come, he had decided not to meet with them.
His famous trial was dragging out and he was being detained by order of the court till the end of his trial. He had plenty of time, and more, to think over what he had done. It was clear to him that he might be a victim of revenge in prison, and he understood that some of the prisoners there had an open account of grievances against him. He also realized that his behavior had been unacceptable but he was powerless to change that.
During his years of work as a policeman, for example, when he was sent to conduct a search in an apartment, he would never put off cuffing the hands of the suspect in public and never considered the feelings of neighbors or even friends who stood near the citizen he had come to investigate.
