Free The Rainy Day Man: Contemporary Romance (Suspense and Political Mystery Book 1) by Amnon Jackont Page B

useless - old and squashed.
                  I lingered there for quite a while, this time thinking glumly about the man who had lain on the straw mattress smoking cheap cigarettes right down to the end.  Then I went out and hobbled down the path to Dura.  On the outskirts of the village the water truck picked me up.  I asked the driver for a cigarette.  He glanced at my bandaged knee and torn shirt, but asked no questions.
     
    ***
     
                  Actually, Scheckler reported by phone to HQ in Nabatiya - nothing of any great significance had happened.  A few kids had made some holes in a petrol barrel, set it on fire with a rag and let it roll down from the petrol station at the top of the road until it burst through the gate of the Athenaeum.  Everything was back to normal.  The owner of the petrol station had been warned and the burned-down guard hut was being replaced and would be lined with sandbags.  A detailed list of the damage would be sent forthwith.
                  We were up in the office. In the courtyard below soldiers were still standing around strips of twisted iron lying in a puddle of water, according it the attention that my explosion was supposed to arouse.  A strip of melted soot ran along the asphalt of the road.
                  "What damage are you talking about?" I asked.
                  Scheckler put the receiver down.  "You could also use some extra cash on top of your little salary..."
                  I opened the desk drawer.  My salary slip was folded inside the brown envelope, as I had left it.
                  "I came across it by accident," he explained placidly.  "I was looking for something else."
                  "What the hell were you looking for in my drawer?"
                  He grinned.  "The doctor's letter."
                  "I delivered it."
                  "I know.  You were seen."
                  "So why were you looking?"
                  "I wanted to be sure."
                  I studied my salary slip.  Without the expenses and special allowances for living abroad  it really was meager.  For a moment I felt sorry for Hannah and Jonathan.  I slammed the drawer shut.
                  "What did the letter say?"  Scheckler asked.
                  I said nothing.
                  "You make such a fuss about secrets," he said dismissively, "as if they were important..."  The way he spoke hinted at an additional meaning beyond what was being said.  I waited patiently for him to continue.
                  He swallowed.  "I've been thinking about it the last few days.  Usually, when someone new comes, they send cables, check in advance if we have a bed, an office, a vehicle.  All you brought with you were your military papers.  It's as if... as if they just dumped you here..."
                  I examined his face carefully.  He spoke without spite.  His perpetual smirk had vanished.  His eyes were open and sincere beneath his rust-colored hair, which was stuck to his scalp with a generous portion of hair oil.  "But you needn't think it's so bad here," he added consolingly.  "Till I got here I tried all kinds of things too, I got to all kinds of places, but it was just in this hole that I got lucky..."
                  He got up, went over to the row of locked cupboards and found the right key in his bunch.  Behind a front of cardboard files marked "Secret" in red ink was a world of shiny nickel and plastic.  Suddenly he was holding a small transistor radio, which he put on my desk. 
                  "That's from me," he said nasally, "and if you need anything else..."
                  My lack of response embarrassed us both.  Silently he shuffled a few papers on his desk and went out into the dark