The Final Kill by Doron Meiri

Author:Doron Meiri [Meiri, Doron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

49

Smadar Franko suggested they meet at a café in the Florentine neighborhood of Tel Aviv, but Idan Altman insisted on a glass of wine at a restaurant-bar opposite Banana Beach.

Acting on the advice of his attorney Efi Saltz, Idan insisted that this first meeting between them be for exploratory purposes only, without a film crew. Smadar would present Idan with the issues and questions she wanted to raise in the interview, and then the questions would be forwarded for review and approval by Saltz. The prosecutor did not hide his desire to join them on this occasion, but both Smadar and Idan apparently had good reason to persuade him to drop the matter.

Smadar Franko was not the kind of woman who needed to make a special effort to look good, but she did it this time anyway — wearing a short denim skirt that revealed her shapely legs and a tight floral blouse with enough buttons open to show off her impressive chest.

She had a clear agenda: for work meetings she always arrived with the precision of a Swiss watch, while for romantic rendezvous she would be tardy. This time she was late, by a full twenty minutes, even though it was supposed to be a work meeting.

Idan Altman stood up for her with a chivalrous flourish, placed his palms on both her shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks.

“As always, you look amazing,” he complimented her.

“As always? We’ve only met once. At the entrance to the courthouse.”

“True, but I’ve been following you all the time on TV, ever since my army days. Can I tell you something? A lot of nights I watched the news just for you.”

She felt embarrassed. “Enough, you probably say that to everyone you meet. And besides, let’s not forget that we’re here for work, not a date.”

He needled her a bit. “Oh, yeah? Do you come to every work meeting dressed like that?” With a smile, he asked: “What would you like to drink?”

“What you suggested over the phone: white wine.”

Blues music could be heard in the background. The sun began to set towards the sea, and the beach was bustling with visitors. There were local families with children, as well as tourists, trying to soak up the last rays and get home with as deep a tan as possible. Altman raised his hand, and a server approached the table and wrote down their orders.

After the third glass of wine, Idan Altman was in high spirits, his head swimming a bit. So much so that he even stopped noticing the gun hidden in his pants, pressing against his hip.

The roar of the motorcycle approaching the scene would probably have jolted him out of his seat under other circumstances, but now that he was intoxicated with both alcohol and the beauty of Smadar Franko, he paid no special attention to the noise. His mind was fully occupied by thoughts of how to get her into his bed that night.

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