Crossing the Lines

by Jacob Ganani

  “Father, shall I get you something to drink? What would you like?”

  “It’s Saturday... everything’s closed...” He was lucid, even at the end.

  “I know, but I’ll find you something, don’t worry! You love Cola… I’ll get you a Coke. Give me a second.”

  “Come here, son.”

  “What is it, Father?”

  “Take care of your brother… you’re all he has left in the world…”

  “Sure I will, Father, sure. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back. Rest for a bit.’

  He went out and looked for an open minimart or coffee shop, anything. He walked for a mile or two, but everything was shut. He cursed the Sabbath and this country that had succumbed to religious fundamentalism, he cursed the unbearable heat and his feeling of helplessness, and then gave up and headed back. Thirty minutes had passed as he entered the hospice again and looked for a water cooler. A nurse in blue scrubs pointed toward the end of the hall and he filled a plastic cup and hurried up to the second floor. As he turned into the corridor, he could see two white-clad nurses and an orderly standing outside his father’s room. He was unaware of what had happened until a tall nurse with a long, horse-like face, stopped him at the door.

  “Are you Isaiah Sexta’s son?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Please come and sit down here for a minute.” She led him to a bench down the hall. He sat down and she sat beside him and comprehension began to seep in. He had not been able to fulfill his father’s last request.

  “Your father has passed away. I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Passed? But I just spoke with him a half hour ago!” He refused to admit what he already knew.

  “I’m sorry... but at least he’s no longer suffering. He was in so much pain these past few days. You know that. Shall I bring you some water?’ She didn’t notice the plastic cup in his hand.

  “No. It’s fine.” He pulled himself together. “Can I see him?”

  “Are you sure you want to?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “All right, just a few more minutes - when the doctor steps out.”

  And now Isaac. Tragedy after tragedy.

  Ezra drained the glass of whiskey. His head was filled with a not unpleasant buzzing. Little brother, I’m alive and you’re dead and Father asked me to... He raised the empty glass in another toast and then turned unsteadily to his desk. He sank into his luxurious chair and covered his face with his hands.

  Ezra Sexta wept.

  CHAPTER 35

  Cantor asked the dispatcher to connect him with the surveillance van stationed outside The Palace.

  “Hey, Cantor. This is Eddie.”

  “Hey, Eddie. Do you have caller ID or just a very perceptive ear?”

  “Every caller’s identified here, Cantor. That’s what makes us great.”

  “Okay. Are you on Sexta’s office?”

  “Yes, right on his desk. Until a minute ago, he was still crying over his brother.”

  “So he already knows. Is he alone there?”

  “Affirmative. The Greek was there, but he left. Sexta’s alone now.”

  “Good, I’m calling his land line; make sure it’s being recorded, would you?”

  “Everything here’s taped and recorded Cantor. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks, Eddie.”

  Cantor called Sexta’s office and was answered on the fifth ring. “Superintendent Cantor speaking. Am I speaking with Ezra Sexta?”

  “I thought I already explained I don’t talk to cops.” Ezra Sexta’s voice remained quietly composed, but seemed to have lost its strength, as if part of his confidence had gone. He sounded to Cantor as if the wind had been knocked from his sails.

  “Yes, so you said.” Cantor agreed. “I’m sorry about your brother. My condolences for your loss.”

  “Thank you. So you’ve obtained a warrant, then?”

  “I haven’t. Nor did I try to get one. I’m not asking you to come in for questioning, either.”

  “So you just called to console me?”

  “Yes, but I also wanted to talk to you off the record.”

  “And why would I be interested?”

  “Because I need you and you need me. I know it’s bad timing, but we’re running out of time. We need to talk. Believe me, it’s crucial for us both. Just a short conversation, and then everything goes back to how it used to be.”

  For a moment, there was silence on the line and then Sexta said, “Last time you called I think you mentioned something about me taking out a contract? Or am I remembering it wrong?”

  “No, you’re not wrong. There’s still that, but there’s something more important. I’m sure you need my help.”

  “I need your help? How exactly?”

  “It’s about your brother’s murder. We both want to catch whoever did it, each for our own reasons.”

  “I know what my reasons are. What are yours?”

  “It’s not something I can discuss over the phone. We need to meet.”

  Ezra ignored the request and instead asked, “Aren’t you Haddad’s partner?”

  “Yes, I’m his partner.”

  “And partners, as they say, are like brothers - they have no secrets from each other?”

  “Right.”

  “So you know what your partner thinks of me, don’t you?”

  Cantor wondered where all this was leading, but the conversation was serving its purpose. As long as people agreed to speak to one another, there was a chance they’d continue talking. He decided to answer candidly.

  “What I know is that his nephew died of an overdose he scored from your dealer. That’s what I know. A fourteen-year-old boy. The entire family was devastated. What he has against you is personal, and you understand the meaning of personal -”

  “Okay.” Ezra’s voice suddenly sharpened. “When I have an answer for you, how do I reach you?”

  “On this number, the one on your screen.”

  “Fine.” He hung up.

  Cantor was aware that he’d shown little sympathy for a man who had just lost his brother. He had also more than just hinted that he was a child-killer. But what kind of man was Ezra Sexta really? No doubt he was strong, collected and tough, the sort of person Cantor preferred, because there was always a chance you could achieve a breakthrough and cut a deal with strong-minded people.

  Haddad sat beside Cantor, listening to the entire conversation through his earphone. Throughout the call, he sat motionless, a frozen expression on his face, even when Cantor mentioned the death of his nephew. He now pulled the earpiece out of his ear, threw it on the table, and said in a shrill voice, “So what do you think of that son of a bitch? Is there a chance?”

  Cantor’s voice was subdued as he chose his words carefully. “I can’t really say. He’s mourning the person closest to him, but still manages to remain perfectly composed. Anyway, I intend to keep trying until he agrees. If he gives us a name, it’ll be a game changer.”

  “Well, we’ll wait and see. We’re dealing with an asshole here. I’m not as optimistic as you. With his twisted brain, go figure what name he’ll give us, if he ever does.”

  “Well, I may be an optimist, but I’m not naïve, Albert,” Cantor grinned.

  “Here’s hoping. Well, I’ve got a meeting. What about you?”

  “I’m staying here, lots to do.”

  “Anything new?”

  “Still nothing. Say Albert, about Zweig - did anything come up?”

  “No, we’re off his case. He’s not a problem.”

  “Remind me why you suspected him in the first place?”

  “How can I remind you if I’ve never actually told you?” Haddad said with a smile, “Remember I asked you to give him the message that I’m still working on the matter he requested.”

  “I remember. And what did he ask for? If that’s not a secret?”

  “Did I ever tell you about my cousin, Ari? He’s a senior manager at an investment house, remember?”r />
  “Yeah. You said he’s a pro at finances.”

  “Exactly, so Ami asked me to introduce them. Wanted to consult with him. Did you know Ami plays the market?”

  “Ami Zweig bets on the stock market? He only told me about his other hobby -”

  “Well, the stock exchange isn’t really his hobby. He was trading in Forex and binary options... high risk investments for the foolish or the suicidal… robbed him completely blind. He lost almost his entire life savings, fell really hard. So he asked me to put in a good word with my cousin so he could help him figure out what to do. In short, wherever you look, you see shit...”

  Cantor, surprised by this information, leaned back in his chair. “Okay, now I understand why you had your suspicions.”

  “Yes, allegedly he has a motive. But there’s nothing else to this. By the way, how’s Daphne?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask right now, just when I need to stay strong.”

  “What - did I ask you something?” Haddad backtracked quickly.

  “Thank you, Albert.”

  Haddad made his way out and Cantor called the dispatcher and asked to be connected to the surveillance vehicle again.

  “Eddie, did you get everything?” he asked.

  “Affirmative, voice and video.”

  “Can you send it to me now?”

  “What is this, Cantor? You want instant video feeds? Why not just arrange a YouTube party? Okay, I get it, sending it right over, bro.”

  “Thanks, Eddie. I owe you.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Cantor opened his desk drawer and pulled out a thick envelope that contained photographs of the scene of Isaac Sexta’s murder. The department was quiet, with most of the detectives out in the field, and Matilda at her desk, busy with her work. All he could hear was the buzzing of air conditioners and the low hum of fluorescent lights. Although he was trained to concentrate even when surrounded by a commotion, he preferred silence for the meticulous examination he was about to perform. He poured the contents of the envelope onto the table and then rummaged in his desk drawer for a magnifying glass. He had no idea what he was searching for, or even if there was anything to find. He adjusted his desk lamp to add a beam of bright, white light to illuminate his desktop, a beam of light that would be the focus of his world for the next few hours.

  He spent about seven minutes examining each photograph before ruling it out, pausing to rest his eyes and sip his coffee as he moved from one photograph to the next. He arranged the images into two stacks. In the first, the larger one, he placed all the photographs he determined were devoid of any material content. In the second pile, only two photographs were saved for further study. Scrutinizing each image with a magnifying glass was a challenging process as his eyes began to falsely perceive images and his brain imagined things that weren’t really there. He found it necessary to pause and examine each one again, like an artist waiting for his oil paint to dry before adding additional details. Time gave his assessment an additional element of quality.

  At 1:55pm, as he was looking at the twenty-second photo, he found it! He rechecked three times just to make sure, and then sat back in his chair. As he stretched his arms over his head and massaged his stiff neck, he felt as if the cold, formal room had suddenly become warm and friendly. His luck had finally turned. At last he had something worthwhile to use in his negotiation with Ezra Sexta - goods that Ezra would definitely agree to bargain for.

  He knew now that there would be a deal.

  And then, now that he knew exactly what he was looking for, everything became much easier. His discovery appeared again and again in five other different images. Thank God for Perry’s thorough photography. He began a third pile of photos and placed all six important images in it. There were more photos to examine, but his eyes were losing their sharpness. He’d got some good results and there was no need to be greedy. He had what he needed for a meeting with Sexta. He felt he deserved a small bonus.

  He inserted the six photos into the envelope and placed it in the inside pocket of his windbreaker. He then collected the rest of the photos and locked them in the drawer.

  He called Daphne. “Can I interest you in a modest lunch?”

  “Are you kidding, Cantor? What happened? Did they fire you?”

  “No one fires slaves. And, anyway, it’s Friday afternoon.”

  “Almost evening, actually. The weekend’s about to begin. So what happened? Did they begin to think you’re taking advantage of them, eating and sleeping at the department and all that?”

  “I love you, too, Daphne. How about we go to the Mandarin? I can I pick you up in twenty minutes.”

  “I can’t even remember what one wears on such occasions… are sweat pants okay?”

  “If that’s what it takes to save us.”

  “Oh, wow, you really are desperate. You know what? Give me at least thirty minutes. I’ve completely forgotten how to apply makeup. It’ll take time.”

  “Very funny. To me, you’re beautiful with or without it.”

  “Cantor, I’d forgotten what a charmer you can be.”

  “Me? Surely not. I’m on my way.”

  Cantor stood up, put on his jacket and went to the door. Matilda raised her head from her computer keyboard and glanced at him. “Nice. Leaving early for Friday night dinner? And smiling, too. What happened? Had some good news?”

  “Maybe,” he said. Undoubtedly, these had been two lucky days. It started with Ezra Sexta not slamming the phone in his face, continued with this very important discovery, and reached a final chord with Daphne, who was still willing to put on makeup for him.

  “I’m having a romantic Friday night dinner, Mattie, and then heading home.”

  “Romantic like falafel and fries?” she laughed. “I’m jealous already. Have a good time!”

  CHAPTER 37

  Ezra Sexta was slumped gloomily in his chair. He felt the tightness in his stomach hardening into a knot of stress, and shuddered with waves of despair that rose and beat at him mercilessly. Isaac’s face drifted before his eyes until he banged his fist against the table. He ignored the pain in his knuckles as the skin around them began to tear. In an attempt to escape the depression taking hold of him, he replayed his last conversation with Cantor. The detective didn’t mention the unsuccessful ambush at the marina. Was this an indication that the police failed to understand what had happened there? This would have been considered good news on ordinary days.

  Only these were not ordinary days. He pressed the intercom on his desk.

  “Yes, Ezra?” Rice’s voice sounded eager to help.

  “Can you come to my office, Johnny?”

  “Give me one second.”

  Rice entered the room. He immediately noticed that Ezra’s face was covered in dark, unshaven stubble. It was a stark contrast to his usual, well-groomed appearance. Lack of sleep was clearly evident in the dark bags under his eyes. The eyes themselves were narrowed into thin slits, but Rice could still see the bloodshot veins. So he couldn’t stop drinking, Rice thought as he spotted the liquor cabinet’s wide-open door and the large whiskey glass on the table. Sexta’s black hair, of which he always boasted and kept meticulously styled, was now disheveled and grimy - not surprising, given the many hours he had held his head in his hands.

  “Johnny, make yourself a cup of coffee. I want to discuss something with you.”

  Johnny Rice had also gone without sleep for more than twenty hours, but, in contrast to Ezra’s ragged appearance, he remained fresh and tidy. He seemed alert as he waved away the offer of coffee.

  “I’m swamped. One more cup and I think I’ll be sick. Do you want some?”

  “No, thanks.” Ezra pointed to the glass of whiskey. “I find this more effective. Come, sit down.”

  Rice sat across from him, looked into his eyes and waited.

  “Haddad’s partner, Cantor, called again. He’s insisting on a meeting, brief and off the record, he says.”

  Rice remained
silent and only nodded to indicate that he was following every word.

  “Have you heard of him, this Cantor?”

  Again a nod of confirmation.

  “He’s saying finding Isaac’s killer is their top priority, and he’s certain we can track him down more easily if we work together.”

  “But we know it’s not necessarily their top priority. Does he have anything that can help us?”

  “He says he does. If we help them.”

  “So you told him you’d consider his offer?”

  “I wanted to leave my options open. Not good?”

  “You did what you had to do. Isaac should come first.”

  Ezra stroked his forehead as the drums inside his head continued beating. “So what should I do, Johnny?”

  “Maybe we should agree to one meeting. Let him show us what he’s got, first. If it’s worthless, then we’re out. No deal.”

  Ezra was lost in thought for a moment, but then caught Johnny's gaze locked for a moment too long on his torn knuckles.

  “Not very pretty, is it, Johnny?” he muttered in a weak, melancholy voice.

  “No, Ezra. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Do you need anything else?”

  “No, Johnny, you’ve done so much already. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Nonsense, Ezra. I know where I’d have been without you. If it wasn’t for you, they’d have made me a walking target in that prison, for sure.”

  As Rice stood up to leave, Ezra picked up the phone.

  CHAPTER 38

  Cantor’s phone flashed and he swiped his finger across the screen.

  “Cantor? It’s Eddie.”

  “Go ahead, Eddie.”

  “I think you’re about to receive a call from Mr. Sexta. He just consulted with his deputy and they’ve decided to meet with you -”

  “Really? That’s great! Eddie, are you working the weekend shift?”

  “What can I say? With our skimpy salary, I really need the overtime.”