18:15 / 6:15 P.M. CST
The Italian Jew ducked and looked around the bar.
“Calm down. It’s a joke. So did Uncle Omer tell you anything else?”
“He said if it happened, it would be the best day of my life or the worst. Or both.”
Nir tilted his gaze back toward the TV. “Sounds like Uncle Omer was pretty smart.”
“He was smart, all right. Not lucky,” he said, putting up three fingers. “But smart. So is this my best or my worst?”
“That depends one hundred percent on you, achi.” Turning toward the man, he said, “Here’s what I have to offer you. First, you are currently a little over $63,000 in arrears in child support.”
Cohen’s mood instantly changed. Now he was angry rather than scared. “How do you know that?”
“How do I know that? Really? Come on, Tommy boy. Channel your inner Uncle Omer. So that $63,000 debt goes away, as does the case family court is building against you right now.” Cohen’s mouth dropped open. “Yeah, you didn’t know that part, did you?”
The man looked down at the bar and shook his head. “When you say goes away, does that mean the debt disappears or that my ex gets the money? Maria is a good woman and could really use it. It’s not her fault she got caught up with a deadbeat.”
“Good question. Shows you’ve still got a heart. You’re right, it’s not her fault. Maria will get every last penny. Plus a little extra for having to deal with a mefager like you.”
“No need to get nasty.” Cohen signaled for another beer.
When the bartender reached for a bottle, Nir called, “He’s switching to Coke.” She popped the cap from the bottle anyway, but when she saw the look on Nir’s face, she set the beer in front of him. Then scooping some ice into a glass, she shot some Coke into it and set it in front of Cohen.
“Second, achi, your credit rating of 582 gets bumped up to 810.”
“You can do that? Wait, dumb question. Don’t answer that.”
Nir smiled. “You’re learning. Third, 50K gets dropped into your bank account. Now, does that sound like the best day of your life or the worst?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t heard what you want from me in return.”
“Two things. First, I need access to one of the warehouses you guard two nights from now for six hours. If you ask me, one man alone in a shack at the entrance gate with no one patrolling the rest of the complex is beyond poor security, but that makes this whole thing easier for us both.”
Cohen looked crestfallen. “But I’m not working Saturday. I can’t get you in.”
“Are you telling me you can’t figure out a way? Come on. What would Uncle Omer do?” Nir held up three fingers.
The security guard swirled the ice around in his Coke as he thought. “I guess I could trade with another guard. But what happens when whatever you’re stealing is discovered missing? Switching shifts will look totally suspicious.” He pulled back. “Are you going to blow something up?”
“We’re not stealing or blowing up anything, and we’re not going to hurt anyone. If all goes well and you do your part, no one will ever know we were even there.”
Cohen thought a moment more, staring down at the bartop. “I suppose I could get you in and out. I know how to shut down the lot cameras too. Those things malfunction all the time. I could tell my boss they just fritzed out.” He looked up. “You said two things. What else do you want me to do?”
“I want you to go into an alcohol treatment center. Forty-five-day residential. We’ll pay for it.”
Nir had no authorization to offer that, but he’d find a way to make it happen even if he had to pay for it himself. During his mandatory service in the Israel Defense Forces, it was stressed to him and all the other soldiers that Israel leaves no one behind. Using Cohen, then abandoning him in his alcoholic state, felt like he would be deserting a Jewish brother.
Cohen was immediately defensive. “Listen, I don’t need any treatment. I just like to drink. I do it because I want to, not because I have to.”
“Sorry, but that’s the deal, Tommy. You can’t see it. I can. And if I hear you checked yourself out before the 45 days were up, the credit rating drops to where it was, and the cash goes away. Understood?”
Cohen kept swirling his Coke, but then he took a deep breath and turned full on toward Nir. “Listen, you may think money is all I care about. Sure, it’s a problem, and I’m ready to take the offer. But I’m adding one more stipulation, and it isn’t up for debate. You say yes or the deal is off. Got it?”
Nir didn’t answer.
“I love one thing more than money, my ex-wife, the Houston Texans—heck, anything else. That’s my daughter, Lily. That girl is my life.”
“If she’s your life, then why are you drunk in a dive bar on the last night of Hannukah instead of with her?”
Cohen’s temper flared. “Don’t you judge me.” Then just as quickly, his anger was gone, replaced by an obvious regret. “You’re right. I should be with her. I’m not because of my own bad choices. Because maybe I do drink too much. Anyway, I love Lily more than anything, but she’s caught up with this guy. Arturo something, but he goes by Banger. He’s bad news. She’s only seventeen, and he’s, like, twenty-five or thereabouts. He’s done time for auto theft and drugs. He’s going to mess her up, but she won’t listen.”
Tears were in his eyes now. “And that’s my fault. If I’d been around, she wouldn’t have gone looking for love other places.”
Nir wasn’t totally following. “So what do you want us to do? Are you asking me to kill somebody? Who exactly do you think I am, some hired assassin?”
Cohen looked all around, as if trying to spot eavesdroppers. In a whisper, he said, “No! I don’t want anyone…made not alive. I just want it made clear to Arturo that he needs to stay away from Lily.”
Nir shook his head. “I’m afraid you have me confused with somebody else.”
Cohen reached past Nir and took the bottle of beer. “I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else too.”
Nir grabbed the man’s arm and squeezed until Cohen let go of the bottle. Nir released him, and he pulled his arm back.
“I’ll trade with one of the other guys,” Cohen said, “and then I’ll be on a 12-hour shift Saturday, 5:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. What warehouse do you need to get into?”
“Alicia Marcos’s workshop.”
Cohen looked surprised. “Not at all what I expected. That crew’s always been so nice…” He closed his eyes and sighed, then looked Nir directly in his. “Okay, when you come, I’ll shut down the cameras and let you through the gate and into the workshop. But if you haven’t visited Arturo before you come, don’t bother. Instead of opening the gate, I’ll be dialing nine-one-one.”
He grabbed a pen from on top of a signed check next to him, then reached over the bar and lifted a napkin off a stack. He scribbled something on it, then slid it to Nir. “Here’s Arturo’s number. I got it from Lily’s phone. I figure you can find him with that.”
“You know we only have one night for this.”
Cohen slid off the barstool. “Then you better get busy.”
The man walked out the door, and a minute later, Imri sat in the vacated seat, bottle in hand. Nir filled him in.
“We going to do it?”
“We have to.” Nir started laughing. “This reminds me of something my grandfather used to say.”
“What’s that?”
“We Jews will find a deal in anything.”
“Fair enough,” Imri said, then finished his beer.
They stood, and the bartender walked over to settle the tab. But before she had a chance to ring them up, Nir pointed to her and said, “You, my dear, have beautiful eyes.”
Immediately, all the harshness left her face, replaced with a wide smile. Nir pulled a hundred-dollar bill from a stack and set it on the bar. The two men walked out.