The Rainy Day Man: Contemporary Romance (Suspense and Political Mystery Book 1) by Amnon Jackont Read Free Book Online Page A

was empty, and from there into the doctor's surgery.  A tall glass cabinet with rows of jars stood next to the bookcase.  Scheckler glanced over them rapidly.  I lingered.  I read the labels one by one.  In my imagination I saw the iodine solution turn into crystals and the phosphorus in the germicidal cream melted down together with the sulpha into a fast-acting incendiary material.  The woman stood behind me and waited, her reflection in the glass of the door; her mouth was taut with exertion, her face contorted in the grimace of someone who thinks he is not being observed.  She tried to straighten her posture by throwing out her hand, and then I noticed that one of her legs was lame.
                  Outside, on the way to the second building, I walked slowly, to make it easier for her.  She did not show any gratitude.  On the contrary, at the entrance to the house I could feel her disapproval burning the back of my neck.  I peeped in through the window at a room that was untidy but full of warmth.  The table was set for three.  Something was cooking, giving out a delicious aroma, quite unlike the stewed fat smell of soup at the Athenaeum.  Scheckler pulled at the door-handle with the joy of a child at the entrance to a toy shop.  I dragged him away from there to the third building, with the yellow car.  It was an old Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible.  Cracked layers of black lacquer shone beneath the amateurish yellow paint.  The teenager was waiting for us, leaning over the open engine.  He surveyed us with an angry expression, tossing his head to shake his blonde forelock off his forehead.
                  This was the end of the tour.  I called the three soldiers guarding the front to come inside.  I could see the soldiers at the back through the garage window.  The woman and the boy leaned against the Rolls.  Scheckler went out to call the driver, who had parked the command car behind the sycamore.  When he came back he stood inside the doorway.
    "What now?" he asked.
                  "We wait," I said.
                  One has to know how to wait.  I relaxed my muscles, half-closed my eyes and breathed rhythmically.  The air in the garage was hot and mingled with the smell of petrol.  The soldiers stood along the walls then crouched down.  The woman's face glistened. 
                  "When will he come?" I asked again.
                  "I told you, I don't know."  Her voice indicated otherwise.  "What do you want of him?" she asked.
                  I did not answer.  There was no point.  Our appearance was enough to remove the true, innocent meaning from the simplest words.  Scheckler smiled and glanced at his watch.  The woman gave him a pained look. 
                  "You're wasting your time," she said. 
                  Scheckler asked, "What's she saying?"  The driver translated.  Scheckler added, "I think she's right.  Who knows how much longer we'll roast here."
                  "He'll be here soon," I said calmly.             
                  "What makes you say that?"
                  "Experience..."
                  He looked at me doubtfully.
                  "...and the three plates on the table."
                  His mouth widened into an admiring smile.
                  Then, with a timing which made my heart turn sour at the paucity of the audience witnessing my achievement, the sound of an engine could be heard from the road.  The soldiers stood up.  The youngster's body stiffened.  His long, muscular arms were frozen dangerously near the toolbox.
                  The green Morris, the one we had met on the way, stopped at the edge of the sandy square.  The man who climbed out was known to the dogs, judging by the noisy, adulatory welcome they gave him.