Free Asylum City by Liad Shoham

privately. He was impressed by the way Boaz handled his account, he claimed, and he didn’t want to lose him just because he had left his previous place of employment.
    Thrilled, Boaz thanked his lucky stars and accepted the offer immediately. At first, everything was great. Itzik gave him a lot of work, referred clients to him, and his new business was off to a running start. Before he knew it, he was making ten times his former salary. It took him several months to realize that Itzik was just a front, that he actually worked for Shimon Faro, the notorious syndicate boss. He still cursed himself every day for not pulling out as soon as he learned the truth. His greed had gotten the better of him. He didn’t want to give up his fancy office, the nice house in the prestigious suburb of Ramat Hasharon, his new status. And he had another incentive to toe the line as well: Itzik had made it very clear that his financial debts would be the least of his worries if he ever decided to walk away or pull one of the tricks he’d played in his previous job. The syndicate knew all along why he had left the firm.
    Instead of washing his hands of Faro’s business, he’d gotten in even deeper and been given more and more responsibilities. He didn’t have a record, so for all intents and purposes he was squeaky clean. Why not use him?
    Faro set up a private banking system for Africans without papers who couldn’t use regular banks. In addition to handling the books for the boss’s other businesses, Boaz now served as a traveling “teller” for this so-called bank. Once a week, sometimes twice, he had to do the rounds at the old bus station, collecting deposits and doling out cash. His contact was a man Faro called the “General.” It was the worst day of the week for Boaz. He tried not to think about the other things Faro was involved in, and he knew better than to ask. It was obvious to him that he was just a small cog in a much larger machine.
    When the government started talking about sending the Africans back where they came from, Boaz felt a glimmer of hope. He drank in MK Regev’s impassioned speeches and wished him luck. No clients, no bank, he thought. He and Faro could part company as friends. But it didn’t take him long to realize it wasn’t going to happen. There would always be a bank because there would always be Africans. And if it wasn’t Africans, it would be someone else. Why? Because money made the world go round. All those people left their homes because they needed money, and they found work here because it was good for the economy. Israel needed migrants to wash dishes in its restaurants, to clean the streets, to pick strawberries—all the dirty work no Israeli was willing to do. Developed economies needed slave laborers, and there were plenty on offer in Third World countries. So Boaz was stuck with Faro. There would always be illegal aliens in the country, and as long as there were, there would be a bank like Faro’s.
    Sagie had fallen asleep on Boaz’s shoulder. He gazed at his son dolefully. He was so beautiful, so pure, so innocent.
    The woman’s face was showing on the screen again. Boaz felt her eyes staring at him accusingly. Did the abrupt end she put to his rounds that day cost her her life? Was that the price she had to pay? Was that the price he would have to pay?

Chapter 13
    ITAI stared into the darkness. He’d been lying in bed for the past three hours, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
    After finally listening to Michal’s message, he tried over and over again to reach her at home, but all he got was a busy signal. As soon as he got back to Tel Aviv, he went straight to her apartment, but by the time he arrived it was too late. The building was surrounded by patrol cars and TV crews. There was no doubt in his mind what had happened or who was responsible.
    In spite, or maybe because of, his emotional state, he