Cut Throat Dog (28 page)

Shakespeare! Yadanuga tries to stop the gush of words.

Leave him be! Talitha puts her hand on Yadanuga’s hand, it’s fascinating!

But what fascinates Shakespeare at that moment is the sensual touch of the surgeon’s daughter’s fingers on the back of the hairy joints of the fingers of his friend the hangman, and when he sees the dialog of the fingers continuing longer than necessary, he notes to himself that the hangman of hearts is performing his role faithfully—

His reflections are interrupted by the cell phone which is fluttering in his palm again like a butterfly, and Timberlake says to him in a voice trembling with terror:

Bill? Tony left me a terrible message on my voice mail.

What did he say to you? asks Shakespeare.

I can’t repeat it, she sobs in a broken voice.

Calm down and tell me exactly what he said to you.

He said he would cut out my tongue with a box cutter, and he would sit next to me and watch the color draining from my face, and he promised me that while it was
happening he would sing to me in his lyrical tenor, and I know that he means everything he says.

He can’t do it, Shakespeare tries to calm her down, he doesn’t know where you are.

I’m afraid that he does know, her voice trembles over the phone. I guess the deaf-mute must have seen me.

Where? asks Bill.

In front of the house, she says.

Did you go to the old apartment?

No, it happened next to the new apartment.

What happened exactly?

I got out of a taxi, and before I went into the building I suddenly saw someone in a car photographing me with a little video camera. When he saw me looking at him, he drove off. Bill, she pleads, this is a real body crying and shaking with fear over here, this is a real person calling for help, and not a ghost, Bill! I have no one in the world to protect me. Come and rescue me, Bill, before all that’s left is my voice in your memory.

Listen carefully to what I’m telling you, Shakespeare calms the sobs shaking his cell phone. Dress like a man, go down to the street, don’t stop the first cab that comes. If it stops, don’t get in. Let a few cabs go past, and only then stop one. After changing cabs at least twice on the way, take a room in my hotel in the name on the document I gave you. Don’t open the door to anyone. I’m getting on a plane in four hours’ time, and at six a.m. I’ll be landing at Kennedy. I’ll arrive at the hotel between half past seven and eight. Should I go over that again?

No need, she says, I remember it all.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Have a nice flight, she says and hangs up.

Shakespeare clicks a number.

Hello, Tony? He says in a businesslike tone, if you want to see Winnie, and if you’ve got the balls, go to Shakespeare, New Mexico, and wait for my call. I’ll contact you within twenty four hours and give you exact instructions where to go.

Son of a bitch, spits Tony’s voice, I’ll finish you.

I love listening to your voice, says Shakespeare. You have a lyrical tenor as soft as velvet. By the way, I’ll be coming to meet you alone, and unarmed. I want to talk to you face to face. If you have the guts to come to the meeting empty-handed, you won’t be sorry, he concludes the conversation and hangs up.

Have you got a plane ticket? asks Yadanuga.

I hope so, replies Shakespeare and dials the computerized ticket service, and clicks the number of the flight. He is asked to give his credit card number and expiry date, receives confirmation, and sighs: That’s it, now I have—

Two more hours to kill, his legs tell him, waiting impatiently to go into action while his eyes see the black Hummer, wide as a toad, driving slowly down the slope on the other side of the canyon and approaching the deep ravine, whose steep walls are impassable by vehicular traffic. The Hummer stops on the verge of the escarpment, exactly where Hanina indicated, between the many-armed yucca plant and the pine tree, the bittersweet taste of whose nuts fills the mouth of the country lad from the hills of Jerusalem.

The man who gets out of the Hummer is wearing fashionable khaki pants, an imitation of army trousers with four side pockets and two back pockets, and a matching safari
jacket. At the distance of one thousand, three hundred and thirty-two steps separating them at this moment it’s hard to tell if he is indeed the man in the black cashmere suit from the Irish pub who had brought him on this journey, which would reach its end in one and a half or two hours. The voice that had answered him on the cell phone that morning, after Hanina had warned him that if he showed up with anyone else, the meeting would not take place, and he would never see Winnie again, was without a doubt the lyrical tenor that had been seared into his memory years before, when he had listened to it for hours in recorded conversations.

If so, this Tony is none other than Tino the Syrian, in other words, Adonis. Hanina endeavors to convince himself and get rid of any lingering doubt in his heart, but the heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing, in the words of the philosopher who according to rumor cut his reflections up with scissors and mixed them up in a box, in order to avoid imposing a forced order on them, so that they would sit in the box in the same muddle as that which exists in our brain, where our thoughts are not arranged in any kind of order either, but rise up from the darkness and disappear back into it, and if you allow your brain to operate in its own way, you never know what thought will surface in the next second. For instance, that very possibly this man, who has just stepped out of the Hummer, has nothing at all to do with the Adonis who murdered Jonas, and if so, are you about to confront someone you didn’t know from a bar of soap before your paths crossed on Christmas Eve in New York?

Hanina raises the miniature digital telescope he wears on a strap on his right wrist to his eyes.

The guy, who in the meantime has taken a few steps away from his vehicle, is holding an assault rifle, which
looks from a distance like an AKS-74, equipped with telescopic sights and an unusually long barrel. Hanina notes that this rifle, when it has a regular barrel sixteen and a half inches long, can kill at a range of 1350 meters, one and a half times the distance separating them now. He trains the miniature telescope on the lower half of the man’s body, and discovers that in addition to the assault rifle, he is also carrying a large revolver, in a holster attached to his right thigh. Strapped to his right calf, below the holster, a little above his pseudo military boots, is a black sheath, from which the handle of a hunting knife peeks out. The latest model field glasses hang round his neck. The man armed to the teeth from top to toe goes up to the edge of the canyon to see if he can drive down to the bed of the creek in his car. Hanina presses 9 for speed dial. The guy reaches for the pouch attached to his belt and takes out his cell phone. He puts it to his ear.

Welcome, says Hanina, but we said unarmed.

Climb out of your hole, the guy growls. Show yourself unarmed if you’ve got the balls.

Hanina emerges from his hiding place behind the yucca plant growing tall as a man on the south bank of the canyon, beneath which winds the dry river bed. He raises his empty hands and waves them, to show the guy he is unarmed.

Tony returns the cell phone to its pouch, and without waiting starts climbing down the steep canyon wall. From time to time he stops to inspect his opponent through his field glasses, as if trying to discover where he is hiding his weapons. Hanina reads his intentions and waves at him with his empty hands. When Tony reaches the bottom of the canyon, Hanina begins moving towards the open ground of the level plain stretching out on the south side of the canyon, in order to keep a distance of eight hundred meters from his opponent and his automatic weapon with its sniper’s sight.

Now that Hanina is on open ground, without even a fold in the earth to hide behind, Tony can see beyond the shadow of a doubt that his opponent isn’t carrying a long-barreled rifle or even a submachine gun. He hesitates, as if trying to figure out what kind of trap has been set for him here, but after a minute of hesitation, he appears to make up his mind. In order to forestall any possible surprises Tony holds his rifle at the ready and begins to quickly cross the dry river bed, to close the distance from his unarmed opponent, who at most is carrying a revolver. Hanina too quickens his pace, with the aim of keeping a safe distance of eight hundred meters between them.

From time to time he turns his head to make sure that his opponent isn’t stopping to take up a sniper’s position. He knows that a skilled sniper equipped with a long-barreled AKS-74 is capable of killing his target at a distance of a thousand meters. But Tony-Adonis is in no hurry to shoot, and he has no reason to be. His eccentric opponent, who had chosen the codename Shylock, and entered the open territory, which constituted an ideal killing ground, empty-handed, now seemed an easy prey. Twelve minutes of fast walking and easy running brings him to the southern edge of the canyon. For a moment he disappears from Hanina’s sight, giving him the opportunity to lengthen the distance between them by another two hundred meters, and then Tony’s head comes into view.

He appears to be aware of the danger, jumps up quickly and starts running in rapid zigzags until he is at a distance of about a hundred paces from the edge of the canyon, and then drops to the ground and rolls behind a bush overlooking the yucca plant behind which Shylock had first appeared. He inspects the yucca plant through his field glasses, and after making sure that nobody is lying in wait for him there, he turns the glasses onto Shylock, who goes on receding
towards the flat horizon, a solitary figure against the background of the white sky.

Hanina’s cell phone starts playing Jingle Bells. Hanina accepts the call, and the voice of Tony-Tino-Adonis rises from the instrument:

Hello Shylock. Have you got a cigarette? he asks.

Sorry, says Hanina, I don’t smoke.

Pity, says Tony-Adonis. I forgot mine in the car. Maybe you’ve got some gum?

I don’t have any gum, says Hanina, but I do have some candy.

What poison are they dipped in? inquires Tony.

Actually I have the kind that you like, says Hanina, anisette-cinnamon flavor.

Great, says Tony. I see the whore told you what I like. I’m coming to get them.

The moment Tony starts walking quickly towards him, Hanina breaks into an easy run, taking care to keep a fixed distance between himself and the Syrian.

Hey, Shylock, why are you running away? Tony asks over the phone. You said you wanted to talk to me.

Put down the rifle, the revolver and the knife, and come empty-handed, says Hanina, and I’ll stop running.

It’s a little dangerous round here without a weapon, says Tony.

Really? Are there wild boars here?

What? the Syrian lets out a strangled cry, as if he has been gored in the stomach.

I thought that after your accident you’d never go hunting again, says Hanina.

What accident? Tino-Adonis’s voice tenses over the phone.

In the Beqaa Valley of Lebanon, says Hanina. Wasn’t that enough for you?

I’ll rip you to pieces, whispers the voice on the cell phone, I’ll cut open your belly and eat your liver.

Come and do it to me, Tino-Tino-Tino, whispers Hanina in a sexy voice, come and eat my liver. Come and eat my spleen and heart and kidneys. Come and suck me, Tino. I like love that hurts.

The conversation is abruptly cut off. Tino raises his rifle, and Hanina breaks into a zigzagging run. He knows that at any minute he could be hit by a well-aimed shot from the superior firearm. His mind, heart and guts tell him that this is the minute to throw himself to the ground, but his legs have a logic of their own, and they refuse to listen to the chorus of these voices. They break into a joyful run, zigzagging here and there without any order or method. And when the shots don’t come, he turns his head back and sees that his foe has overcome the urge to shoot from so great a distance, and instead is pursuing him in order to narrow the range. Presumably he considers a range of five hundred or four hundred meters more effective.

Excellent, whispers Hanina to the wind, run, boy, run!

He starts to run a little faster, but at the same time he is careful not to get too far ahead, so as not to cause the man pursuing him to despair. From time to time he even slows down to a walk, puts his hand on his stomach and bends down a little, to give his pursuer the impression that he losing his strength, which causes Tino to run faster, and when Hanina estimates that the distance between them is shortening dangerously, he resumes running and increases the distance again.

The chase lasts twenty to twenty-five minutes, and then another yucca plant looms up in front of Hanina, standing on the edge of a shallow dip in the ground. This is the moment to slow down to a walk, he says to himself. To tempt Tino into opening fire, in order to test his
marksmanship after the exhausting pursuit. He casts a glance behind him. It’s happening, he exults. He stretches his hand out in front of him, raising a finger to measure Tino’s height. A little over eight hundred meters separate them. Tino drops to his knee and raises the rifle to his shoulder. Give him a second to aim, and another second for the bullet to arrive—he counts 21, 22, and throws himself to the ground behind the yucca, and a burst of seven or eight bullets flies over him and tears the desert silence to shreds. He crawls quickly away from the plant, and rolls down into the little dip in the ground that hides him from his enemy. The right thing at the right time, Shakespeare congratulates himself as a long burst of fire wreaks havoc with the yucca plant. Excellent. The guy is sure that he is still hiding behind the plant.

Go on wasting ammunition, my friend, he whispers to the desert air.

A second and a third burst explore different corners of the plant, tearing through the tongues of the long leaves and digging into the sides of a little hillock three hundred meters away. After three more long bursts silence descends. Hanina cautiously raises his head. Tino is changing the magazine. Before he has time to think, his legs pick him up and start running into the desert. He relies on them to do the right thing, widening the distance between him and the man out to kill him, making his fire ineffective. The bullets whistle past his left ear and he throws himself to the ground.