Fire in a Haystack: A Thrilling Novel (Legal Mystery Book Book 1) by Erez Aharoni Page A
Authors: Erez Aharoni
Ads: Link
bit of news even before the announcer.
He might have been under extreme pressure, but he was still in control. He recalled that the smells he’d had to endure during boot camp in his military service days weren’t much better. He took a deep breath and tried to look at the bright side. Tomorrow morning, I’ll get out and tell all my friends what the Abu Kabir Prison looks like from the inside , he said to himself.
But he wasn’t able to continue his preoccupation with sweat stains and inventing stories to tell his friends for long.
An overgrown man, dressed in short pants and an undershirt, screamed ceaselessly in a Georgian accent, “Ijou will feed the son of a bitch with shit. Then Ijou will slit his own wrists.”
He shouted the same sentence over and over, louder and louder, while pacing across the cell and next to the bars. His flip flops banged on the floor with each step as though they were applauding his own curses.
Ofer counted at least seven people in the crowded cell, including Ijou. Officer Dadon delivered on his promise , he thought. Some lay on the beds while others sat on them. All of them without exception completely ignored the Georgian’s threats. It didn’t seem as if they cared what he was going to do with his own wrists or who he was about to feed shit.
Ijou continued to walk back and forth close to the bars, not ceasing his shouting even for a moment. Ofer hunched in the corner. Abruptly, Ijou stopped pacing and approached him. Ofer tried to curl up into himself to reduce his existence and dimensions to a bare minimum.
The Georgian held a large plastic plate that was filled with an unidentifiable, thick cooked food. In his other hand, he held an opaque salt shaker, filled with a red spice, which he sprinkled on his food to flavor it. He towered above Ofer and gave him a long stare.
“You last to come, so you first to taste,” he said.
Ijou was about the size of a grizzly bear. A mountain of muscles bulged from his threadbare undershirt, and from it emerged orangutan-like arms. One of them had a tattoo the size of a real anchor.
There was nothing Ofer could do. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have a lot of experience in handling such situations. In the neighborhood where he grew up he was one of the kids who were always beaten up. He could remember one time when he was the one to do the beating, but it was Zehava Gilboa he beat, a smaller girl who had borrowed his bicycle without permission. Not exactly an experience he could call upon in such a situation.
Even so, Ofer refused, knowing that once Ijou gave him the first spoonful, he wouldn’t stop feeding him and maybe not only through the mouth. Who knew, there was a chance the others would join the party as well.
Ijou was not used to being refused. He was insulted by Ofer’s reaction. Ofer should have recognized that Ijou was not the kind of man you should insult. The Georgian placed the plate and the salt shaker on a metal cabinet next to the wall, grabbed Ofer’s neck, lifted him from the bed with ease and began to shake his head wildly.
Ofer tried to resist and his resistance only served to upset Ijou even further. He pounded Ofer’s chest and abdomen with his fists. Left, right, left. As if the four of them, Ofer, Ijou and Ijou’s fists, were marching together in a military parade.
Ofer raised his hands instinctively to protect his face and to try and thwart the grizzly bear’s plan to feed him the brown concoction. His body ached all over. His chest was about to burst. He couldn’t feel his shoulders, and eating from the thick mixture in the dish now seemed beyond his capabilities. He tried to defend himself with his hands and elbows but could not prevent the barrage of fists that gradually intensified. He retreated until he felt the metal cabinet against his back then he stretched back his hand, held the salt shaker, opened it with a swift deliberate motion and threw the red spice into his assailant’s eyes.
The
He might have been under extreme pressure, but he was still in control. He recalled that the smells he’d had to endure during boot camp in his military service days weren’t much better. He took a deep breath and tried to look at the bright side. Tomorrow morning, I’ll get out and tell all my friends what the Abu Kabir Prison looks like from the inside , he said to himself.
But he wasn’t able to continue his preoccupation with sweat stains and inventing stories to tell his friends for long.
An overgrown man, dressed in short pants and an undershirt, screamed ceaselessly in a Georgian accent, “Ijou will feed the son of a bitch with shit. Then Ijou will slit his own wrists.”
He shouted the same sentence over and over, louder and louder, while pacing across the cell and next to the bars. His flip flops banged on the floor with each step as though they were applauding his own curses.
Ofer counted at least seven people in the crowded cell, including Ijou. Officer Dadon delivered on his promise , he thought. Some lay on the beds while others sat on them. All of them without exception completely ignored the Georgian’s threats. It didn’t seem as if they cared what he was going to do with his own wrists or who he was about to feed shit.
Ijou continued to walk back and forth close to the bars, not ceasing his shouting even for a moment. Ofer hunched in the corner. Abruptly, Ijou stopped pacing and approached him. Ofer tried to curl up into himself to reduce his existence and dimensions to a bare minimum.
The Georgian held a large plastic plate that was filled with an unidentifiable, thick cooked food. In his other hand, he held an opaque salt shaker, filled with a red spice, which he sprinkled on his food to flavor it. He towered above Ofer and gave him a long stare.
“You last to come, so you first to taste,” he said.
Ijou was about the size of a grizzly bear. A mountain of muscles bulged from his threadbare undershirt, and from it emerged orangutan-like arms. One of them had a tattoo the size of a real anchor.
There was nothing Ofer could do. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have a lot of experience in handling such situations. In the neighborhood where he grew up he was one of the kids who were always beaten up. He could remember one time when he was the one to do the beating, but it was Zehava Gilboa he beat, a smaller girl who had borrowed his bicycle without permission. Not exactly an experience he could call upon in such a situation.
Even so, Ofer refused, knowing that once Ijou gave him the first spoonful, he wouldn’t stop feeding him and maybe not only through the mouth. Who knew, there was a chance the others would join the party as well.
Ijou was not used to being refused. He was insulted by Ofer’s reaction. Ofer should have recognized that Ijou was not the kind of man you should insult. The Georgian placed the plate and the salt shaker on a metal cabinet next to the wall, grabbed Ofer’s neck, lifted him from the bed with ease and began to shake his head wildly.
Ofer tried to resist and his resistance only served to upset Ijou even further. He pounded Ofer’s chest and abdomen with his fists. Left, right, left. As if the four of them, Ofer, Ijou and Ijou’s fists, were marching together in a military parade.
Ofer raised his hands instinctively to protect his face and to try and thwart the grizzly bear’s plan to feed him the brown concoction. His body ached all over. His chest was about to burst. He couldn’t feel his shoulders, and eating from the thick mixture in the dish now seemed beyond his capabilities. He tried to defend himself with his hands and elbows but could not prevent the barrage of fists that gradually intensified. He retreated until he felt the metal cabinet against his back then he stretched back his hand, held the salt shaker, opened it with a swift deliberate motion and threw the red spice into his assailant’s eyes.
The
Similar Books
