Марко Коскас - Goodbye Paris, Shalom Tel Aviv

Traffic’s easy on Shabbat, and they get there in five minutes. Diabolo greets them with a big smile on the terrace, as if all this drama were perfectly ordinary. “Don’t worry, Elias, we’ll get the kid out of there,” he says ingratiatingly as he pours coffee. Lovely Dina comes up to say hello and then goes to walk her dog on the beach, and now they’re just guys in the sun.

“She still living with you?” Manu asks.

“We’re living together,” Diabolo claims. “In fact, I’ll give you the scoop on the announcement: we’re getting married in Rome at the beginning of June.”

“Mazel tov,” says Manu, “even if it’s a load of crap.”

But friendship with Diabolo demands that you go along with all his fabrications, or else you hurt him too much. It’s a very subtle attitude, but at the same time it’s just something to get used to. You must be indulgent. Diabolo has a boundless need for recognition, and all you have to do is go along with the idea that all women are mad about him in order to put up with him. Except that hardly has Dina left the terrace than they hear another woman calling from his bedroom: “Da-a-r-ling! My coffee, please!”

It catches Diabolo off guard, and it bothers him. He gets up immediately to quiet the importunate lady and then returns as if nothing had happened.

“My lawyer will be here soon,” he announces. “It’s really nice to see you again, Elias.”

“And how about me, what am I, chopped liver?” Manu complains, to relax the atmosphere.

The three of them seeing each other again makes them slightly nostalgic for their trio before all this nonsense, when all they did was party and live it up.

Had it really been only two months ago? Things had been good. Princely evenings, karaoke evenings, with lots of liquor and girls. But Elias notices the box of Havanas has shrunk an awful lot since then, and he gets worried.

“Business OK, Diabo?”

“Brilliant, blessed be He,” the fat man answers, not at all disconcerted. “We already have a million clicks a day on IBN , can you imagine?” And then changing the subject completely, “Hey, Manu, any news of Romy?”

“She’s not doing so great.”

“Tell us.”

“Well, she had to have a back operation. She was in incredible pain.”

“That’s why she became so nasty, maybe,” Diabolo jokes. “Like in the comic strip, you know. What’s its name already?”

“Tiboudou or something like that, right?” Manu says. “Or Caribou?”

“Kirikou,” Elias tells them.

“She have health insurance in Israel?”

“Yes, yes, she’s got Maccabi, but there you are, for that operation doctors’ fees went three thousand shekels over…”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who paid!”

“Well…” says Manu, fatalistically.

A big blonde in curlers and a flowery peignoir comes out of Diabolo’s bedroom and sinks onto his lap, all lovey-dovey.

“This is my friend Louisa, from Neufchâtel,” he says, extremely embarrassed, while the dull blonde cuddles up against him, siphoning kisses on his neck, and not just little friendly pecks, right! No, hickeys rich in little moans and groans. “Please, darling, we’re working now,” Diabolo grumbles, pushing her away, first nicely and then brusquely so that she rolls up to the stairs. “I gave her my room,” he claims in a low voice when she’s left the terrace. Manu nods his head in understanding, as one does with Diabolo when he gets tangled up in his webs. Elias’s phone rings at this moment. Danielle informs him that Kirzenbaum was in fact contacted by the Mitzpe Ramon police, but he denied having given any money to Olga. He just admitted he’d bought the photos he published for twenty thousand shekels.

“Did you tell him it was a photomontage?” Elias asks.

“No, I wanted to talk to you first. Do you want me to call him back and tell him?”

“Absolutely not! I’m the one who’ll contact him; thanks, Danielle, you’re a love.”

“You’re welcome, Eli. Keep me in the loop, I’m either home or at Banana Beach all day.”

“Can you believe it, guys?” Elias says. “She got twenty thousand bucks for that montage? She’s not brilliant, that chick? Answer me, OK?”

“Olga’s the best,” Manu recognizes.

“Crème de la crème,” says Diabo, raising the ante. “But what montage are you talking about?” And Elias shows him.

“You see the red-faced blond guy in flashy Bermuda shorts? Well, that’s you, Diabo!”

“She violated my right to privacy!” Diabolo jokes. “What is all this bullshit?”

Elias explains the maneuver to him and begins telling everything to Jérémie Azencot, Diabolo’s lawyer, who’s arrived in the meantime, with his fine face of a sleepy partygoer in a bad mood.

“Here, legal procedure is different from France,” Jérémie says. “They work the American way. If Olga is charged, she must plead guilty, and then the defense negotiates a plea bargain with the judge.”

“But she’s guilty of nothing,” Elias replies. “I’m the guilty party!”

“And me, too, to some extent,” Diabolo adds.

“We’ll see about that afterward. Don’t mix things up, guys. Here she’s been apprehended with a large sum of money of doubtful origin. Right?” Jérémie says, and the three others nod. “OK, so if we stick to that—and thanks for giving me a coffee before we go any further. Wow, Diabolo, your terrace is supercool!” he observes in the same breath, to break with his rather lawyerlike tone.

“Oh no, Jérémie. Does that mean she won’t be released tonight?” Elias asks.

“She may be, or she may not be.”

“Oh no! No, no, no,” Elias howls. “I’ll go off my rocker!”

“He’s very much in love,” Diabolo whispers into the lawyer’s ear as he brings him an espresso.

“Got a spoon, or should I stir this with my dick?” says Jérémie, in a foul mood.

“It’s coming, Counselor!” Diabolo answers attentively, handing him a spoon.

“So, OK, what do we do?” Elias asks. The lawyer’s attitude is grating on his nerves.

“I’m calling the cops,” Mr. Azencot announces, after finishing his coffee in one gulp. “Can I have another, Diabo? Thanks.”

He takes out his phone, goes to his file of police stations, finds the number of the Mitzpe Ramon police in two seconds, and clicks on it. The conversation starts up in Hebrew. Jérémie introduces himself as Olga’s and Juliette’s lawyer and hears them confirm what he already knows. Manu, Diabo, and Elias are hanging on his every word, although Elias is the only one who understands all of what Jérémie is saying.

“To demonstrate that the provenance of the money is fraudulent, you must confront my clients with Mr. Kirzenbaum, who gave them the money. Now, you have simply questioned the main suspect in the affair on the telephone and taken him at his word, whereas you are keeping my clients in custody. I contest the equity of your investigation, and I am asking you to release both my clients immediately.” Jérémie slaps his case down like cards in a poker game 150 miles away.

“You’ll contest it before the judge,” is all the policeman says, and Jérémie finally hangs up.

“Racing results: the file will be presented to the judge tomorrow morning asking to charge Olga or prolong her detention, and Juliette will be released before tonight. I asked that the hearing not be held before noon, so I have the time to get there tomorrow.”

“I’m going crazy! Crazy!” Elias yelps.

“Let’s calm down and turn our attention to Kirzenbaum instead,” Diabolo suggests. “Got his number, Elias?”

“What are you going to do with it?” Jérémie asks, concerned.

“Send him my picture,” Diabolo replies lightly.