I nodded. Looking around, it seemed no one had heard him call my name or cared if they did. "Indeed I do. In fact, just the other day, I was talking about you with Baruch Gafni."
That sobered him up quick. He was dressed in a dark blue coat that must have cost what some men make in two months. His trousers and shoes looked expensive too, as did his hat. He really was handsome. And about two decades older than the bored-looking brunette.
"Why were you talking about me?" He sounded wary and on edge.
"Because of Moria," I said, and saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped.
He worked up a smile and said to the brunette, "Go to the hotel. I'll join you in a little while."
She began to protest, but he cut her off brusquely. "Go, I tell you. I have business with this man."
She pouted; she had the lips for it. It made her look even younger, innocent and vulnerable. Harpaz caressed her cheek and softened his voice.
"I don't want you to stand out here in the cold. I promise you it won't take long. Now run along, sweetheart. I'll be there before you even miss me."
The brunette flicked me an accusatory look and sashayed away. Harpaz watched her go, then turned back to me.
"Your wife?" I asked, though I guessed the answer.
His smile was a perfect blend of the boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar and the Casanova who enjoys nothing more than to see other men envy him his conquests.
"You can say she's a close friend of mine. My wife is in Tel Aviv, no doubt turned in for the night."
"She's very young, your friend."
"Twenty-one last month. But intriguing despite her age. You're intriguing as well," he said to me. "From the moment we first met in Baruch's factory, you interested me."
"You didn't," I said. "Not at the time."
He smiled. Perhaps he truly didn't mind the dig.
We were on Jaffa Street, people still milling about us, heading home from cinemas and late suppers.
"Let's find someplace more private to talk," I suggested.
He nodded. "There's a café down the street. It stays open late and has a back room. I know the owner."
"Lead the way."
The café was narrow and dingy and hosted just a solitary customer bent over his drink. The owner, a burly guy with a bushy beard, greeted Harpaz by name. He nodded when Harpaz asked him if the back room was vacant.
"What will you have?" Harpaz asked me.
"I'm not thirsty."
"It's on me."
"That makes no difference." I didn't want to drink with him. I didn't like him, and I wanted him to know it.
Harpaz shrugged, but I could see that my rejection had unnerved him. He recovered quickly and faced the barkeep. "Give me a good bottle of red and two glasses." To me he added, "Maybe you'll change your mind."
With the bottle and glasses in hand, Harpaz led the way to the back room and switched on the light. The room was small and held the residual smell of sweat, cigarettes, and wet shoes and clothes. Next to the rear wall was a round table bearing a couple of half-full bottle crates. Five chairs stood against one wall, striving for innocence like suspects in a lineup.
"You like to gamble?" I asked.
Harpaz gave me a surprised look.
"Those two crates are nice camouflage," I said, "but they don't look too heavy. Remove them, drag the table to the middle, right about here"—I stood directly under the overhead light fixture—"pull some chairs around, and you're all set for a nice game."
Harpaz clapped his hands. "Bravo, detective. I'm impressed." His grin returned. "I told you I found you interesting. I asked around a bit. Learned you work as a private detective."
"Why waste the time? Or is it really Baruch Gafni you want to know more about?"
He laid a hand across his heart. "Guilty as charged." He uncorked the bottle, poured himself half a glass, held out the bottle to me, and shrugged when I declined. He took a long drink.
"I also heard you used to be a cop. I hope this little set-up here"—he gestured with his hand at the room—"doesn't bother you."
"I'm not a cop anymore. It's none of my business if people want to throw their money away."
Harpaz said, "My God. How rare. An honest man. And here I thought you were angling for a little baksheesh."
"Maybe I'm just planning to squeeze you for a lot more later on."
He smiled. This was his expertise, wheeling and dealing, and now he thought I might after all be susceptible to his charm and money.
"Why are you so keen to learn more about Baruch Gafni?" I asked.
He took another sip of wine. "I want him to invest in a business venture. A big one. The more I know about a potential investor, the better."
