Jack's travels (Chapter 3)

Jack arrives in Tel Aviv, and discovers the true nature of the city and its inhabitants.

Chapter 3

            The plane touched down in Tel Aviv at around six in the morning there, which was eleven in eastern standard time. The minute they touched down the other members of first class had piled into the elevator, and immediately ran to nearest restrooms. Apparently, the food contained salmonella, and was improperly cooked. Jack praised David for buying him a sausage in a bun before takeoff, and thanked himself for rejecting the in-flight meal in exchange for two bags of peanuts and a glass of red wine in spite of being quite peckish.

            David took his pills once again as they landed, it had been a thirteen-hour flight, and he needed to take his medication. He neglected to tell Jack what they were for, and Jack, respecting his privacy, decided not to ask. The security guards in Israel were less invasive on a physical level than the Canadian security, and far less touchy than the American TSA. However, Jack did see them tackle a man who was giving a guard an unusual look. He saw them strip off his jacket, and lo and behold, he was indeed smuggling a small parcel that looked like a tube.

            Jack asked David about this, and David told him that the officers here are far more well-trained than the TSA, and are paid well, but the requirements for employment include education on micro-expressions. This education, he explained, was created by Paul Ekman, a man who believed that people leaked emotions. “This,” he said, “Was how they could detect when a man was about to commit a violent crime, or even if he was smuggling drugs under the radar. No violation of privacy of ball fondling necessary.”

            Jack was impressed, admittedly a little perplexed. He would have to look into taking some of these micro-expression courses. The man who greeted them in Israel stood with his back to the entrance. He was wearing green cargo pants similar in nature to Jack’s, but his green shirt labelled him military, or at least former military. His expression was cheerful, but monitored, it was obvious from his appearance and stance that he had some training, and if you looked at his eyes, it was clear that he was not a man you would mess with. Most of the men that Jack had seen here had that expression, and he couldn’t help but wonder why.

            “Hello Doctor,” the man shouted in their direction. Apparently, he had seen photos of the good doctor. “And what should I call you?” He directed his gaze at Jack.

            “Jack McEnroe, and you?” Jack replied. He tried to sound friendly, but it came out sharper than he would have liked. Jet lag was getting to him, and he was irritable. He also noted that he may be suffering from a mild hangover.

            “Whoa, no need to be so harsh. We may all be military here, but we’re nice enough,” said the man. “My name is Ori. I have just finished my service in the military here. All men and women must do it after finishing secondary school, unless they are going to immediately go to university. I did not have the money for university, and so I finished my service, and I am doing it now. Criminology, a first year, as I assume you are.”

            “Sorry, Ori,” said Jack, “The flight has left me a little strung out. Is there coffee anywhere?”

            “Some of the finest in the world, come, let me show you the city, and offer you a place to stay before we head out to the prison tomorrow. A tired mind is far less effective than an awake mind. I know a place with some good baklava and coffee.”

            “That would be most acceptable,” said David, “I could also use a place to take a shower. Maybe a shave.”

            “All of these things have been arranged, but first, please, come with me.” Ori led them to a hummer, the original version waiting outside of the door. The engine roared constantly, and the vehicle was showing its age. Ori saw them looking at it, and smiled, laughing uproariously.

            “She may be old, but she will get you where you need to go, and the doors and windows are bullet proof. And that’s not even mentioning the bomb-proof plating on the bottom. Everyone who ventures out of the city has something like this. One of my neighbors drives a Canadian Grizzly, that thing is a tank, literally.”

            They boarded the vehicle, pleased to see that in the back seats there was a small fridge with a few beers, Hebrew writing on the cans. But recognizably it was beer. Ori sat down in the passenger seat, next to the driver. The driver was noticeably the same age as Ori, and had the same look in his eyes. When Ori closed the door, Jack and David were jolted in their seats as the hummer accelerated rapidly, moving into the center of the city. Traffic lights seemed like more of a suggestion than a rule as the hummer skidded through intersections between cars and the driver didn’t even blink. If he had blinked, there was a good chance they would have been hit.

            Ori spoke the entire ride, until they reached a high point overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, where a row of shops glinted in the sun. There was the smell of coffee and baked goods in the air, of honey and fresh roasted beans. Ori opened the door, and climbed out, motioning for the others to follow. When they exited, the driver remained in the vehicle, and sped away and around the corner. Jack assumed that he was going to find parking, when in fact Ori’s family paid a driver to carry him around. In Israel, you did not need to be fantastically wealthy to afford a driver. If you could not afford a driver, you were considered lower class.

            Ori walked into a bakery on the road, and they followed, enjoying the steam that lingered in the air smelling sweet and soft like honey on hot bread. There was a small pot on the gas range, and a heavy head of brown foam was exploding over the top in a column without spilling. The man behind the counter had a heavy beard, and moved quickly for his size. The phrase would be like a bull in a china shop, but somehow his bulk moved around the plates and cooking utensils on the counter. He moved the pot from the stove, but just long enough for the head to settle, and then placed it back on the element. He did this twice more, while with his other hand opening the oven and pulling out what appeared to be a filo pastry pie. Jack noted that he wasn’t wearing gloves, and yet the heat didn’t seem to bother him.

            “Mohammed!” yelled Ori, walking behind the counter. The man grinned, large white teeth contrasting his dark caramel skin.

            “Ori, you are right on time! Business is slow right now, you’re lucky you’re here before the breakfast rush,” said Mohammed, his voice gravelly and struggling to pronounce the right words in English. Are these the researchers you have been telling me about? The crime… criminal…. Cri-min-ol-ogists.”

            “Absolutely,” said David, reaching out his right hand towards Mohammed. “A pleasure to meet you.”

            “Likewise,” said Mohammed. “It would appear as though I am, in fact, what you study. A criminal, but a reformed one.” David shook his hand, and smiled broader than a man should when he meets a criminal. This was, after all, David’s field, and it was not a common thing to meet someone who had so obviously gotten their life back on track. David took the backpack off of his shoulder, and removed a small notebook and pencil.

            “Would you be able to answer a few quick questions for me?” David asked, brimming with joy.

            Mohammed replied by handing him a cup of coffee about the size of an espresso shot, black and so viscous that even though the cup shook it clung to the sides of the glass. “Of course,” he said, “I would be happy to.” David grinned, and passed the notebook to Jack along with the pen. Jack opened the book, and wrote out the standard questions that Dr. Martin asked his interviewees.

            “What charges did they convict you on?” asked David.

            “A number of things,” replied Mohammed, “Firstly, they imprisoned me because I was a Palestinian conspirator. Secondly, they got me on a charge of assault on an officer. And thirdly, they found out that I had a small quantity of marijuana. Unfortunately, and I am ashamed to say this, they were correct on all three counts.

            “Ah.” Said David, “and that answers my second question as to whether you actually did it.”

            “Indeed, I did. I had family in Palestine, and believed with all my heart in Hamas, and the tenants of Jihad. What Americans would call Manifest Destiny, except we wanted to run the Middle East. They still want to run it. When they came to arrest me for communicating with my family, and writing about the military situation here, I resisted arrest. I hit the officer. Somewhat hypocritically, I actually did have marijuana in my apartment when they raided it, which is against Islam,” he took the shot of coffee in one gulp.

            “So how long were you in prison,” asked David.

            “Ten years. It was important, talking about the affairs of state with Palestinians. In those days, I was in government, and knew some secrets. Nothing serious, though, so only ten years. During that time, I read the news, foreign and national, it was the only thing I had access to in the prison you are about to visit. It opened in 2002, and I was one of the first prisoners sent there, as a political prisoner. I was released in 2012. In that time, I had converted to Judaism, renounced Hamas, and fully was fully… rehab…. Rehabil… rehabilitated. But they don’t often do early release here.

            “Ah, I see. And I think that answers questions three and four, how you were rehabilitated, and what place are you in now. And we appear to be in the place you are now, as well. Excellent coffee by the way. I think I feel my heart leaping out of my chest.”

            “So, you like it the Turkish way, good! Does a man good. Puts hair on your chest. The boy you are with, he could use a shot or two.” Jack grimaced and then laughed as Mohammed stood up, and returned with some baklava and Turkish coffee for Jack and Ori. Jack loved the smooth, strong, and sweet taste of the incredibly stiff drink, and felt himself restored, and asked Mohammed how he made it.

            “You start with powdered coffee, fine like the sugar on donuts,” explained Mohammed, “Then you put it in this pot, we call it a Cezve, and boil it with equal parts sugar until you get a lot of foam, cut off the foam, and do it twice more. Pour it into small glass, like one you are holding, and bam,” he clapped his hands, “coffee.”

            “Awesome, I’ll have to try that at home,” said Jack, and he took out his own notebook, and wrote down the recipe. “Is there anything you can tell us about Ktzi ‘Ot prison then that we should know?”

            “It will not be the worst prison you will see during your trip. It is a camp, with guard towers in the center, but few guards. There are many prisoners, a few rats, and bad food. And since the prison cannot afford uniforms, people just wear their own clothing. But older, torn, and dirty. You will have to pass a small drug test to get in. Other than that, it is like an American prison in many ways, worse in some, better in others. You will see when you arrive.”

            David coughed. “And with that,” he said, “Would we be able to see our rooms?”

            “Of course,” Ori said, “I just figured you would want to meet a success story before meeting a significant number of people who are quite the opposite. I’ll take you to your room.”

            “You mean rooms, right?” asked David.

            “No,” said Ori, “I’m afraid the society could only afford one residence. Admittedly, they are larger than a lot of the rooms Canada, suites here typically have a living room, good beds. I’ll show you what I mean when we get there.”

            Jack sighed, knowing that he may have to share a bed. It wasn’t something he hadn’t done before. It’s not even something he hadn’t done with a homosexual before, albeit in a completely non-sexual manner. That had been a long time ago, when he was only fourteen. Still, he had good memories of that trip, and some confusing memories too. Such is the way it always is with vacations. Jack was still good friends with one other guy from the trip. Or at least he had been, until earlier than year.

            Ori placed a call on his phone, and they sat in relative silence in the bakery listening to the sound of sitars on the radio interspersed with Queen and U2. The music was ironic to Jack, they were in a foreign land, and the majority of songs were American and European. The culture here was definitely influenced in some ways by the United States, but the food and drink was definitely of Middle Eastern origin. He noted that Mohammed’s crimes were partially unique to the area, like the Palestinian sedition, but others like punching a police officer and smoking dope were also common in Canada. He wondered just what Mohammed had leaked to the enemy, or if he had just spoken out against the Israeli government in an email to family; or maybe just talked to his family in Palestine.

            There was a honk outside the door to the café, and Ori led them back out to the hummer. It was a comfortable enough vehicle given the circumstances, and Ori’s beer was cold and kept them feeling hydrated after the hot drinks and salty baklava. The ride through Tel Aviv took longer now, as at around eight thirty in the morning, rush hour was one. This country was obviously still progressing through the stages of being in the second world. There were still many scooters and motorcycles on the road, the majority of which were American military models used for message couriers over the many decides of warfare in the region. A few cars acted like wedges, passing through the bikes touting hood ornaments like Lady Victory and the Mercedes-Benz bullseye.

            There were a lot of dignitaries in this city, Jack saw, but for every dignitary, there were a dozen people carrying dishes on their heads of kebabs on skewers, fruit, and bottles of water.

            “If you’re hungry, you can buy anything you could possibly want to eat in this city, sitting in traffic,” said Ori. He stuck a twenty shekel note (about five dollars) out the window, and a man handed him ten sticks of meat. The man neglected to mention was type of meat if even was, but Ori dug in without a care in the world. Jack did the same, and a woman handed him an entire fish on a paper plate. David stuck his note out the window, and wasn’t looking as it was taken from his grasp. He looked annoyed when nothing was passed in to him.

            “What happened?” he asked Ori.

            “It appears,” he said, “that you were not watching who took your money.” He laughed, and David shrugged. After all, if someone was stealing five dollars, they likely needed it more than he did. Jack ate the fish and sipped his beer in the back seat.

            “How often does this happen?” asked David, “out of curiosity?”

            “I would say about once a month this happens to a citizen, if they aren’t careful. And about half of tourists. It’s a serious problem, but also it isn’t. They never steal very much, and this is a cheap city for a person staying here if they know where to eat. With twitter, that’s not really difficult at all.” The corners of Ori’s mouth briefly lifted, but then fell. “It’s not our city’s proudest moment, but it’s not like it’s an uncommon problem in New York.”

            Jack nodded, knowing he was right. His fish was excellent, simply prepared, but excellent. The traffic cleared up on the outskirts of the city, and they found themselves in front of a small house, long and thin. There was a porch on the front, fully shielded in glass. It looked modern, with straight lines and grey steel. Where it was painted, it was painted a steel blue. Jack looked at David, and David looked at Jack, both concerned. They had been expecting a hotel. Still, couldn’t complain, it was exceptionally rude to complain to your hosts.

            Ori reached far into the pocket on his right leg, and pulled out a set of new keys to match the newly built house. He jingled them a few times like a toddler, and handed them to Jack. Jack took them, and pocketed them.

            “It’s not quite a hotel,” said Ori, “But there is a menu you can order from and someone will come by the house. There’s a hot tub out back, and there should be a bottle of wine on the counter if you want to enjoy. AC and heating. The works. (he said this like a new Yorker, pronouncing it “woiks”).” Ori smiled, and handed David a slip of paper. “That’s my number, call me if you have any problems. I’ll be by around four to bring you to the criminal areas of the city, there should be a good number of people there you can talk to. You may only get a glimpse of this city’s underbelly, but I assure you the prison will be far more informative.”

            Jack and David left the car, waving as it drove off and around the corner.

            “The fish was pretty good, eh?” said Jack. David grunted.

            “I wouldn’t know,” said David. He took the keys from Jack, and opened the door to sheer opulence. The place was chilled to near-arctic conditions, and the furniture was new leather. Popping off their shoes, Jack and David felt the Persian carpets under their feet, and flopped down in dual reclining chairs. The coffee table next to David’s chair was covered in menus, and next to them sat a phone. He dialed immediately, and ordered a pizza.

            “You may have a taste for local food, but I want to find out how different their pizza is from the Canadian stuff,” said David, laughing. “You know, I’m not really a healthy eater, I never put on weight. But my partner tried to keep me on a diet. Unfortunately, I’m a carb addict.”

            “I understand completely,” replied Jack. He stood and, and walked towards the rear of the open-concept house, into the kitchen area. There wasn’t a bottle of wine on the counter, but there was one in the fridge, a French champagne. Jack raided the cabinets, but couldn’t find a corkscrew anywhere.

            “There’s a bottle of wine in the kitchen, but nothing to open it with!” Yelled Jack, his voice raised so David could hear him.

            “Is there a big knife?!” Inquired David. His voice was raised an octave, like a man about to do something he’s always wanted to do. Jack opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a large kitchen knife, about thirteen inches long counting the handle, and weighty. He felt like a samurai removing his katana from the scabbard pulling it out of the drawer.

            “I’d say, yeah!” yelled back Jack, before turning around to find David staring at him with a wild grin on his face, looking at the knife, his eyebrows raised as high as they could go. His blond hair had brown and grey streaks. This was the first time that Jack had noticed this, and he suddenly found himself wondering how David had looked when he was a young man of nineteen. David walked over, and grabbed the knife and bottle from Jack’s hands, using the knife to motion him towards the back door of the house. There was a small deck, and a gorgeous view of the ocean. Briefly he asked himself how much money the Society had. Probably too much.

            “Now watch,” said David, and he put his thumb in the dip at the bottom of the bottle (this is called the punt, by the way), and held the bottle away from him at a 45-degree angle. He pointed out that the seam of the bottle was pointing up, and he put the back of the knife on the seam at a 31-degree angle.

            “Oops, nearly forgot.” He removed the foil and the metal cage over the cork. The he lined himself up as before, pulled the knife back, and caught it on the lip of the bottle. As he followed though, the cork and the rim of the bottle launched themselves over the railing and into the ocean. The champagne spilled a little, but he righted the bottle and yelled for Jack to get some glasses. Fortunately, there were some glasses in the fridge, right next to where the champagne bottle had been. As David poured, he wrote down the method that he had used to open the bottle. David called it Sabering, it had been done since the days of the English conquering Napoleon, possibly prior.

            “Shall we toast?” asked Jack.

            “Of course, right. To a fruitful research trip!” They tapped glasses, and sat down in front of the gas fireplace. It crackled lightly, combating the AC. For the life of him, David had not been able to find a way to turn down the arctic temperatures, but then again, he hadn’t really tried. The gas fireplace made him think of his apartment back in Canada, in Ottawa, where Matthew would be waiting for him when he got home.

He and Matthew had been together since Matthew had taken his masters criminology class. On the last day, following the exam, Matthew had given him his number. He had languished at his inability to contact the student until his marks were posted. But when he did, he was happy to discover that his he was a bright young man, more intelligent than his marks suggested. They discovered they had a mutual love of all things beverage, a love of fireplaces, and liked dogs. They had moved in together a few months later, and married the following year. They adopted a dog, made sure they had a real wood fireplace, and kept things secret by switching Matthew into a field he was far better in, and enjoyed far more.

Matthew was a little chubby, Polynesian in origin, and smiled more than he did. But he appreciated David’s slightly higher tolerance for eccentricity, and David liked that a younger man, quite possibly far more intelligent and definitely more attractive than him was interesting in being with him. It wasn’t a far cry to see why they worked so well together, but they hadn’t told anyone. Matthew’s parents were Catholics and David’s mother and father in law were Catholics. All of this meant that so far, the only person who knew what was going on was Jack. Him and their dog, anyway.

Jack meanwhile, was wondering how to broach the subject of this with his professor. He had had a couple of glasses of bubbly, and was beginning to be curious in spite of himself about the nature of David’s affair. He had been a younger man, but how much younger? He knew it really wasn’t his business, but if he was going to be on a trip with David for a few weeks, he really ought to know a little more about his personal life. Still… it would be awkward if he didn’t wait a little longer before asking. He’s leave it for later.

            When the pizza arrived, it was around ten, they split a large before heading off to their respective rooms, there were two bedrooms off of the main living room. They were quite surprised to find that each room contained a gun locker. Curious about this, David called Ori, who explained that the location in which they were staying was an officer barracks part of the year, and because of this, it required gun lockers. Besides that, Israel had a high rate of gun ownership, and as such it made sense to provide the gun owners with a place to protect their valuable assault rifles. “After all,” he said, “The generosity of the United States is limited.”

            Still, the beds were soft, and the lockers were empty. The slept until around two, when both had set their alarms to go off so they could make use of the hot tub on the back porch. The whirlpool function worked out the last kinks in their muscles that the stress and the flight had wrought. Here they had an opportunity to discuss what they’d seen so far.

            “Do you think Mohammed was guilty?” Asked Jack. He had noted that Mohammed seemed regretful both of his crime, and for leaving behind his previous life. He had probably been forced to leave his family in Palestine behind entirely to convince the state of his allegiances.

            “May have been,” said David, “he seemed to believe that he was guilty, but that could mean a lot of things.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Often a person will have not committed a crime, resist arrest, and then eventually come to believe that they had committed the crime they were accused of. A man named Saul Kassin did some studies and found that people often come to confess to a crime by believing that they actually did it. Even if he only had marijuana in his house, they may have convinced him that he did the other stuff too.”

            “So, he did part of it then, and was prosecuted for the entire crime!”

            “I don’t presume to know his actual actions and motivations, but likely. And he probably had to give up talking to his family entirely, even if it was unrelated to his crime. Even now, as a baker, Ori may be more than just a researcher, he could be there to keep an eye on him like a probation officer,” explained David. He took a sip from the can of Diet coke sitting beside the tub, swished it, and swallowed.

            “That’s bad for your teeth, you know,” quipped Jack. He had a few fillings and one veneer as a result of acid eating away at his teeth. He’s rather his professor didn’t have to stop for emergency dentistry.

            “I am full well aware of that, I’ve been trying to cut down, Matthew…” he stopped himself, then continued. “A couple of people have told me I should stop drinking so many carbonated drinks. But while I’m in countries with questionable drinking water, I think I’ll stick with anything in cans and bottles for a while longer.”

            “Understandable.”

            “You know you’re something of a Yes man, Jack. It makes you a fantastic research assistant. But you’ll have to grow out of that one day, start fighting to be who you want, and go what you want to do.”

            “I know. Listen, David, thanks for being straight with me, but I’m already struggling just to stop myself from having daily panic attacks and abandoning higher education. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve considered going out west and starting a carrot farm. Had a friend who did that, and he ended up happy.”

            “But I’m going to assume you don’t want to grow carrots…”

            “No, not really. Sorry, my point is more than I can’t really see myself being able to manage academia for the rest of my life. Trips like this are the only reason I am able to stay on top of my stress for long periods of time.”

            “I’m gonna level with you kid, I know exactly how you feel. I hid who I was, academically, for a good two decades before finally telling my bosses what I really wanted to do with my f*****g life. They started sending me places within a month, first psych and crim conferences, then prison consulting, American trips to advise on causes of criminality. This isn’t really my first rodeo either, I took a pleasure cruise around the world a bit back with stops at some of the larger historical prisons. I’ve seen concentration camps.”

            “But why did you wait?”

            “Lack of ambition, lack of funds, depression that made me tired every day. Bone tired.” He smiled a bit, melancholia taking hold. “Now I just have a lot of regret that I didn’t get around to everything a little earlier. Like you. When I was your age, I was home playing f*****g Pac-man. Wish I had been there then where you are now, here.” Jack could tell he wasn’t just talking about his experience in academia. It wasn’t difficult to see that parallels could be drawn between his life and his recent love life.

            “Some people, uhm…” he continued, “will never get it, but thankfully there are enough people in power that understand what can be gained in exploration. New insights. Or at very least, maybe a good book. We are the Columbus’s of our day, the Champlain’s of human society, crime, and the brain. There are many new areas in science that we could go into, like exploring the stars or the oceans, but only one form of exploration now doesn’t require specialized equipment, and that is exploring human nature. That can be done with plane tickets, interviews, and charts.” He thrust his hands into the air, splashing Jack a little.

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Jack, chuckling. The bubbly was quickly wearing off. It was only an hour before Ori would be coming to pick them up, and show them the criminal scene of Tel Aviv. Jack wondered what a man like Ori could know about the criminal world, he was ex-military and a student after all. He wondered this aloud to David, who simply asked Jack if he had even purchased marijuana.

            “Really though Jack, everyone has. I’m kind of hoping they have Amsterdam on this trip,” his teeth shone as he mimed bringing a joint to his lips and passing it to Jack. Jack accepted it, and took an imaginary puff.

            “I may have a little experience involving Cannabis. Tried getting a medical license, but most Doctors in Ontario won’t prescribe it, and getting into a good psychiatrist is a problem.”

            “Remind me when we’re home,” said David, “I know a doctor with liberal policies. But you see, Ori may well know the criminal world of Tel Aviv better than you think.”

            “I see what you mean.” Jack stood and climbed out of the tub, and headed to the shower. He needed a cold shower to shake off the effects of the heat, alcohol, and high carb pizza. Jack made a note in his notebook to remember to ask Dr. Martin, David about the doctor who was willing to prescribe marijuana. In truth, he had understated his experiences with marijuana to David. He had used it a fair bit in his final year of high school, and even dabbled with magic mushrooms during his year off. It wasn’t a bad thing though, and in fact he secretly credited it with saving his life. When he smoked, even rarely, his mood stabilized on the side of happy, rather than on the side of depressed.

            The water was frosty and refreshing as the thin tendrils flowed down his back, and dripped off his ‘spare tire’. He felt his pores tighten, and suddenly realized he had forgotten soap. Still, this was enough. He stepped out of the shower, and put a towel on around his waist, looking in the mirror. His razor was sitting on the counter, an old-fashioned safety razor with a double-edged blade. Ironically, very easy to get onto a plane in carry-on, contrary to the issues David had with his modern, vibrating electric model. He shaved, nicking himself once, on the jawline. It wasn’t that subtle, and he staunched the flow with a tissue.

            When he exited the bathroom, he smelled of spices and antiseptic. David was standing there, in the living room, staring at the fire, lost in thought. Jack walked around behind him, and tapped him gently on the shoulder. It was quickly approaching four, and Ori would be there within half an hour to pick them up.

            “David,” said Jack, “the bathroom is free. Should be a lot of hot water left.” David stirred, almost a jerking shudder.

            “Oh.” He said. “Thank you.” And he went to wash up. Jack pulled a polo shirt out of his bag and slipped it on, pulling on jeans and making sure his wallet was hidden in a pouch around his stomach, as well as his passport. He had been more bothered by the professor’s money being stolen that morning than David had. Then again, he had far less money than David, and didn’t know the next time he would be able to take shekels out of the bank. However, he wasn’t carrying very much cash. It was necessary to only keep a limited supply, as Israel was the only country in the world to use the Israeli shekel, and he didn’t want to have much left over when they moved on. After all, they were only here for a few days.

            David was wearing a dress shirt, and a pair of sharp slacks, folds still visible. Matthew had done David’s ironing before he left. Ironing was a dying art, and Matthew did, indeed have a gift. He had many gifts, most of which were either in academics or the boudoir. But now he was smartly dressed thousands of miles away from his partner, purple custom tailored shirt fitting him well, an undershirt preventing any potential staining. He smiled at the thought of home, but then broader remembering that tonight, he was going to do something he had never done; become as the likes of Sudhir Venkatesh or Ibn Khaldun, and submerge himself in criminality.

            He didn’t know where Ori would be bringing them, but he would soon find out, as a car horn honked, and Jack ran to the car carrying his notebook in a large pocket, and some pens in his shirt pocket. He looked a little geeky, but at the same time, he looked like himself, as though the clothing on his back was just grown from his nature. David opened the door for the young man, who was wearing a crisp white t-shirt and blue jeans, Levi’s.

            “I trust you have been enjoying your accommodations, my friends!” asked Ori excitedly, “I would kill for a hot tub on the colder winter days, maybe I should get this place for myself when I’m done school.”

            “Everything was fantastic,” said Jack, bobbing his head. Ori was back, but it was not a hummer parked outside, just visible past the balcony, but a town car. It looked to be an older-model Mercedes.

            “Ah, I see you have noticed the new ride! I elected to abandon something military for the night, and borrowed my parent’s car. It’s a little old, but it runs like a dream. We will be walking a good length tonight, though, so I hope you’re comfortable. There are some places in the city where we cannot drive. Someone may attack us. We will be visiting the ghetto. Many drugs, lots of poverty. And people stay in abandoned buildings, which is against the law.”

            “I imagine we shall see. Shall I assume I am overdressed?” asked David, disgruntled. He would not blend in within a ghetto community; worse, they may assume he was government.

            “I’m afraid so. Your assistant also. Go get on some t-shirts, and if you have anything ripped a little, it will look better. They will trust you more. I’ll give you a minute or two.” Ori crossed his arms, and turned around to sit in a chair on the front porch as the car idled in the background. David and Jack returned to their rooms, and donner garments more suited towards an impoverished community. They returned looking sloppily dressed, still carrying their necessities. David had his notebook under his arm, and Jack was carrying his own supplies in a small bag.

            “You may have to leave the bag in the car,” said Ori, as he led them out to the car, and held open the door, “the people here are prone to distrust regarding bags over shoulders. They sometimes carry bombs.” His expression was stony as he said that, fully aware that his city was not a place where people could walk safely. They boarded the vehicle, and Ori reverted back to his usual nature, smiling but quite observant. The vehicle started off, much smoother than the hummer, though equally loud. The engine was old, and hadn’t been maintained very well. Jack found it ironic that they were driving a German car in a city founded as a result of the holocaust. Ori began to explain where they were going.

            “The ghettos here are not much different from those in Toronto or New York, they are comprised of immigrants, day laborers, and refugees. We have not taken many refugees, and immigration is difficult, so the ghetto is small. But it is violent. Most of the people there are African and Black, or Arabs. Technically, it is not even in the city, it is a separate village called Lod, but those who live here know it is really just a ghetto.”

            “What do you mean by violent,” asked Jack, tensing up. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the thought. He thought most of the criminals he would meet would be behind bars.

            “Shootings, robbing, drugs. The usual. We will be meeting a man who runs drugs, a man who operates ATM’s in Mahata.”

            “ATM’s?” inquired David. It didn’t sound to him like something illegal, until Ori explained.

            “There are older buildings in here with small holes in the walls. If you know where to stick your hand, and you have a bit of money in it, they will give you drugs through the holes in the walls. This man, his name is Aahil, or at least this is what they call him. It means prince in Arabic, one of the holy names most Muslims have.”

            “Is he safe?”

            “So many questions,” said Ori, “you will see when you get there. He is far from the most dangerous man, providing you do not insult him. He is not a mad man, he is a businessman, but do not provoke him.”

            “I see,” said David.

They drove out of the city, to the outskirts, into Lod. The buildings steadily went from new skyscrapers, to old but well-kempt colonial houses, into buildings that would be unlikely to pass most Canadian safety inspections. The best term for these buildings was ramshackle, and there were many holes in some of them. Jack imagined that these were the ATM’s that Ori had mentioned. When they got to the edge of the Lod district, Ori had his driver pull the car into an abandoned lot. He told the driver to leave and head back for the city, and to return to the area by seven. They would only be there a few hours, much to Jack’s relief. His relief was quickly abated as Ori opened the trunk, and pulled out a gun in a holster, attached to a harness that went around his shoulder. He removed his jacket, and put on the harness, then replaced his jacket, hiding the weapon.

“Better safe than sorry, as you say,” said Ori. He popped the snap on the holster, and removed the weapon in one smooth movement, point it out to the side. “Like James Bond, yes!” It was indeed a Walther PPK, and with Ori’s thin stature, stern eyes, and military appearance, he did look something like Daniel Craig, though a fair bit younger. Jack looked longer than he should have. Ori was certainly an attractive man, and when Jack glanced at David, he saw him, too staring. Jack wondered for a brief moment why he had been staring. Ori put the gun away, and turned back to them.

“This is not a big weapon, so be careful, it’s quite like that Aahil will have guards with far larger weapons. Be polite, give him respect. It’s my job to keep you out of trouble, so please don’t start any. Dr. Woodrow would never forgive me.” Ori grimaced sheepishly, a gesture out of place on the confident young man. Jack nodded, and David opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He thumped Ori on the shoulder.

“Don’t think twice on it, I’ve met my fair share of criminals. Jack, follow my lead when we’re in there. Odd to say it, but this isn’t the first gang boss I’ve met,” said David. “Back when Juliana was in charge in New York, I did a little research there, met some people. It wasn’t near the research that Venkatesh did, but you do meet some people in higher places in the underground.”

They crossed an unseen border and were suddenly in Lod. The buildings were slightly shabbier than the other poor districts. Ori suddenly pushed them against the side of a building, looking around the corner.

“Jack, David, take a look at this,” he whispered, putting a finger to his lips. He motioned for them to come closer. Peeking around the corner, halfway down the alley, they saw a man arm deep in a hole in the wall. He was sitting there, furtively glancing around. His eyes and appearance made him out to be an addict, ragged clothing drooping around shaky limbs. Jack pulled out his phone, and making sure the sounds were off, took a quick photograph. The addict had looked up, just as he did, and saw Jack’s phone peeking around the corner. He pulled his arm out right away, a small bag of powder in his hand, and ran away from them, over a low fence at the end of the laneway.

“ATM?” asked Jack, knowing the answer. Ori nodded, and they continued down the road. Ori kept them quiet, and walked purposefully onward, as though he was looking for something or someone in particular. The silence was broken only by the roar of motorcycle engines in the distance, that sounded like they were getting closer. 

“Who are you looking for?” asked David, voice low.

“They said they would send someone to meet us, and it hasn’t happened. I’m worried they’ve forgotten, but it’s probably just a power play, intimidation,” he said. As he spoke, two motorcycles came around the corner, engines buzzing louder than a firefight (at least as Jack imagined). They pulled up alongside them, and cut their engines. The riders had no helmets, and were wearing bandanas to keep the sweat hair out of their eyes. Sunglasses protected their eyes from the dust, and upon a brief inspection, Jack noticed they were designer glasses, Ray-Bans, which were typically very expensive. There was one male, tall and lanky, with unusually pale skin for this region, and a female, with the same color of skin, and bleacher blonde hair.  

“And that would appear to be Aahil’s welcome committee,” said Ori. He waved, and the bikers dismounted, throwing up two fingers in the air. The male walked over to David.

“Ori, right? How you doin’ my brudda? Hey, Tony, take a look at these guys, these are the researchers. Look like f*****s, don’t they,” he said, removing his glasses. He was eyeing the professor with an exaggerated accusatory look.

“You’re right Wayne, he does look like a f****t, boy here too. You bring us f*****s Ori?” Tony said, her hair blowing as the wind swept down the twisted alleyway behind them. Ori placed his hand on his hip near where he was keeping the guy. Wayne saw him do this, and laughed, loudly.

“You’re taking us to serious brah. Relax muthafuckas, we’re just playing with you. F**k du de, you should have seen your face, maybe you are a f*g,” said Wayne, looking at David’s face. He had gone white as a sheet, and when the color returned, it was an off shade of green. Wayne turned to Ori, and told him to hop on the back of his bike.

“You two, what are your names?” asked Tony, her voice high pitched. Her eyes were a startling shade of blue when she removed her glasses.

“He’s Jack, I’m David,” replied David, tension easing in his back as she spoke to them in a relatively friendly manner.

“You a doctor, like some of the researchers who come through here doing documentaries?” She asked pointedly.

“I’m a doctor, but I don’t do medicine. And I’m not a journalist. Unlike them, I try not to have an opinion.”

“Well, doc, I’m not sure what you’re gonna think about us when you meet Aahil, but I’m gonna tell you something, there are good people here too, you know. People just trying to live.”

“Are you one of them?” asked the professor.

“F**K NO, I’m the evilest f*****g b***h in this city, maybe the whole planet,” she laughed at herself, and climbed onto the bike, motioning for Jack and then David to get on. “I like you, Jack. Hope you’re not a homo, ha-ha.”

She took off at a quick clip, accelerating down the alleyway that had twisted off behind them. Jack gripped the seat under his buttocks as they raced town the twisting corridors. If either of them had fallen off, it would have been instant death. Tony rode the pathway like it was second nature; after all, she had done it a thousand times. When they exploded out of the darkness into relative light of the small larger roads, lined on either side with garages and convenience stores. It wasn’t pretty, but they didn’t go far before she topped beside a place that looked like a mechanic’s, but had blacked out windows.

The smell of marijuana wafted out the door as they walked in. Aahil was not going to be available immediately, or so it seemed as Tony dragged Jack to a booth that had been place in the corner. It looked like a biker-gang hangout, and there was even a bar. David and Ori went off with Wayne, who brought them into the back room.

“Where’re they going?” asked Jack. He was worried, Ori had the gun, and David knew far more about this than he ever would.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Tony. She motioned to the man behind the bar with her thumb and her index finger. He brought over a couple of beers, and Tony popped them open with the bottle opener attached to the wall. Jack relaxed a bit as she started drinking. He wasn’t really that good with women, and usually the women he spoke to weren’t members of underground gangs. “So, I noticed you were looking at me and Wayne back there for a while. See anything you like?”

Jack laugher awkwardly, then said, “I just haven’t seen many white people since we got here, no one who’s so pale.” He realized that he maybe shouldn’t have used the word pale, but was relieved when she burst out laughing, though her laughing did sound somewhat malevolent.

“That Jack, is because we are not from here. We are from South Africa, but the scene there dried up, and so we’re here now. Aahil knows how to show a couple a good time.”

“Ah, I see. How was South Africa?”

“Started good, gangs were dangerous, you know, cool s**t, fun s**t, but dangerous. But it needed to be dangerous. When the cops stopped investigating crimes in Cape town, we had two choices: 1, start murdering people for fun, or 2, move somewhere a little more dangerous. So, we ended up here. Met Aahil through a friend, and we’ve been working for him ever since.”

“What kind of work?”

“Mostly public relations. In this area, Aahil controls most of the money, someone needs a loan, they go to him, they have a problem, they go to him. He got sick of setting up meetings and seeing people himself, so he hired us. We tell him what’s worth investigating, and occasionally just do favors for people. Hell, week back there was this kid at the school who had a kid picking on him, you know, beating him up. We found the kid, took his money and his bike. Served the a*****e right.”

“Maybe a little extreme…” said Jack, but then he remembered his own past, and being bullied in school. “Then again, the kid probably deserved it.”

“Yeah brah, you see what I mean, man! This is a community, we stick together. Someone gets out of line, they gotta be shoved back in. Maybe what we do is illegal, but in this area, illegal is all we have. And the cops are making some changes thanks to Netanyahu, or at least, they think they are. They’re trying. But they aren’t really making any progress.” She put her beer to her lips again, and chugged it. Jack didn’t even hear gulping, it was more like it just disappeared down her gullet.

            David was in a back room with Ori, and was about to meet who could only be Aahil. There were angel wings on a poster on the wall, and a few black leather chairs. This could easily be a religious counsellor’s office, but instead, he knew, it was the place where a drug dealer conducted his business. Wayne had shown them to a couple of chairs in the room, his gold teeth shining and his pearly whites far from pearly white. It was clear that at some point Wayne had been an addict like Aahil’s customers, but judging from the lack of track marks on his arms, visible past his t-shirt, he had been clean for a while. Wayne said he was going to go get Aahil, but that had been ten minutes’ past. David knew that drug dealers liked to control their territory, and that this could just be a way of emphasizing control.

            Ori sat in the chair, looking like he had been there before more than once. He looked calm, almost at home, and David found himself wondering what Ori had done in his teenage years. Mostly, though, he was worrying about where they had brought Jack, and if he was alright. He had met Jack’s father, and the man could be imposing when he wanted to be. Fortunately, Wayne reentered the room, interrupting his train of thought, with a short, thin, man who possessed caramel skin in tow. Well, not so much in tow, as being protected by Wayne, who knew that Ori had a gun, and would not have his employer shot.

            “Ori, nice to see you again,” said the man, who could only be Aahil. “It’s been a couple of years now, what do you think of our little operation?” His mouth was thin, and a short-trimmed beard made him look like a person who shouldn’t be messed with.

            “It’s expanded, I see,” said Ori, “very different from the little group I used to run with. When did you start needing body guards?”

            “A rival tried to have my knocked off last year. He wasn’t fond of how I had grabbed his territory when he showed weakness. Got caught f*****g a guy. It may be legal here, but in these communities, being a f*g means you’re weak.”

            “What did you do to him?”

            “Gave him a few options, but basically it was leave or die. He chose to leave. You may run into him if you intend to visit Nigeria, I heard he set up shop somewhere in there. Not a big country, but bigger than this one,” explained Aahil. He pulled what appeared to be a cigarette out of his pocket, but upon smelling the air in the room, David realized it was marijuana. Aahil pulled out two more, and offered one to Ori, who decided not to partake with a wave of his hand. Aahil shrugged, and offered David one. David nodded, and accepted the offer. He wasn’t a stranger to marijuana, and it helped to put his subjects at ease.

            “Ori has told me you are a researcher,” said Aahil. “What kind of research do you do?” Aahil extended a zippo lighter, still burning. Blue smoke filled the small, windowless room as they both lit up. “Is that not the best smell in the world, Doctor.”

            “Couldn’t agree more,” replied David. He rapidly relaxed as the joint burned in his hand. He coughed as the smoke entered his lungs, but blew it up and out like an expert. “My field is criminals, same as my colleague in the other room. Any chance you could have him brought in here, he’s my notetaker. Also, I think I forgot my phone at the hotel, so he has the only one.”

            “Wayne, bring him in, no problem. He won’t mind the smoke, right?” Queried Aahil. David waved his hand, motioning ‘no problem.’ Aahil waved to Wayne, who left. “If you’re looking to talk to criminals, you may have problems here. I’m just a businessman, like anyone on wall street. My product is a little different, that’s all. Not even that different.”

            “Aahil, I have heard that more times than I can count,” said David, leaning forward.

            “Have you heard this? I make sure that the children in this section of the city eat when their parents can’t afford food. We don’t charge protection, but we protect the people here from rival gangs, robberies. You think the murder rate in this section of town is bad now? When we weren’t here, it was twice as high. Children couldn’t sleep because of the gunshots.” Jack entered the room in front of Wayne, who stood against the wall sipping a beer from the bottle. Jack sat down in another one of the comfortable leather chairs. Aahil offered him the joint that Ori had rejected, and Jack looked to David, who nodded slightly. Jack accepted, and was soon smoking along with the rest of them.

            “Before we continue,” David mentioned, “I hope you don’t mind if we record this. Your privacy is my main concern, no names will be given, and you can’t be held accountable for any crimes you talk about.” Aahil nodded, and Jack took out his phone, and began recording.

            “So,” asked David, “Could not the situation here be remedied if, as you said, there was no gang rivalry? Maybe going as far as to say maybe there should be no gangs at all.”

            “Professor, you must have more sense of reality than that. Gangs will not just go away overnight here, not while there is money to be made, people who want drugs. Even if we got rid of the gangs, junkies would find a way to get more heroine, more crack. I don’t even have any new customers. Mine are all from the previous leader, except a couple.”

            “So, is that where most of your business comes from?”

            “Yes, most of my business is in drugs, drug related stuff. I help to operate a few prostitution circles in this area, and in the higher inner city. But mostly, they just pay me to run themselves, women don’t listen to men, surely you know this,” he said, looking at Jack. Jack couldn’t help but chuckle a little, he was aware that women, at least the ones he knew, did not listen to men. Not even to him. He realized suddenly that he had never really seen women as more than friends. He couldn’t picture himself in a relationship with any of them, especially since he had listened to them talk about their boyfriends behind their backs.

            “Are the rings you closer to escort services?”

            “Like I said, I don’t really operate rings, I just let them run themselves and reap the reward. But they are higher-class, and generally cater to the growing business class, yes. My main work is still in crack cocaine, and heroine. And protection, which I offer for free as long as the community doesn’t snitch on me.”

            “They tolerate your presence then?”

            “Tolerate? They ask us for our presence. After seven, this place is packed full of guys, sales, security, others. During the day, they stand outside of schools, bars, clinics. Even the hospitals ask for our help sometimes. I provide a service, Doctor, for free, just for them letting me sell product in the area.”

            “I see,” said David. He looked at Jack and they exchanged glances.

            “Ori, tell Jack and David what it was like before I got here.”

            Ori sighed, and looked at Jack. “He’s right, before he got into power here, all that you could ever hear in the streets was gunshots. You know why it was quiet outside? That’s why.”

            “Are they just afraid?” Asked Jack.

            “The criminals are afraid; the killers are afraid. The citizens are safe, and inside, able to operate businesses without crowding the streets. And when they can’t find traditional work, I can always offer them a job. It’s not difficult to understand the system. In the main city, there is unemployment and crime. Here, there is no unemployment, and very little crime.”

            “But aren’t you a criminal?” Asked David. Aahil squirmed a little, and brought out a notebook, and made a small note before ripping off the page and sticking it into his pocket.

            “Under their law. But in Saudi Arabia, it is illegal to be a homosexual,” he looked at Jack, staring him in the eye, “And in Canada, it is illegal to speak ill of Muslims, even if they need to be spoken ill of. Criminal is relative, and in this community, I am a leader, not a criminal.” Jack felt the sudden urge to explain that he wasn’t a homosexual, but didn’t open his mouth. Defending himself would not go over well in this environment, in fact it may implicate him in something he had never done. Jack checked the time on his phone, still recording. It was six. If they wanted to get back to the car for seven, they would have to leave soon.

            He tapped David’s shoulder, who told Ori that the time was running short. Ori had seen this coming, and rose from his seat. He held out his hand to Aahil, who shook it heartily. Aahil took David’s hand, then Jacks, shaking them both. He delayed his handshake a little longer with Jack. Jack felt him leave a paper in his grip, which he rolled up and placed into his pocket surreptitiously when he saw Aahil wink slightly at him. Wayne and Tony guided them back to the bikes, waiting outside of the hidden club.

            Tony looked at Jack, scanning him. “Hey kid, wanna drive? It’s not illegal. Or at least, no one is going to get you on it.”

            “You sure?” asked Jack.

            “Why the f**k not? Live a little, love a little,” she smiled as she spoke, trusting him. He climbed on, and on impulse kicked the starter. It roared into life, and he found himself naturally twisting the handle, and managing the gear shift like another limb. The bike roared, and he smiled as Tony climbed on, and put her hands on his arms. David climbed onto the back, his knuckles visibly white. Normally he would have protested, it was certainly illegal for him to drive the bike in this country. Even if Jack had his license to drive a bike in Canada, there wasn’t always an international allowance. But this was vacation, and how much trouble could he cause.

            Wayne roared away, with Ori clutching on behind. Jack followed him, somehow managing to keep up in spite of his lack of experience. The alleyways were tight, but he felt under control, and Tony’s hands steadied his steering as he rode. It was nice to feel this way, he thought, this must be what freedom feels like. He resolved to get a bike once he was back in Canada, something he had considered before, but never made a firm decision on. They pulled up to the edge of Lod, and David all but leaped off of the bike, landing hard on the ground in a crouched position. He had not been a fan of Jack’s driving.

            Tony climbed off too, evidently to make sure a car was waiting for them. The Mercedes was sitting in the abandoned lot to the left, engine running. She reached up, and hugged Jack, bringing her mouth close to his ear.

            “What he put in your pocket, you don’t mention to anyone. Say no if you want, but if word gets around what he wrote on it, I will slit your throat and make a scarf out of your intestines,” she said, then giggled menacingly. Wayne looked Jack in the eyes, and nodded before climbing back on the bike, closely followed by Tony.

            “What was that?” asked David, concerned about the apparent affection Tony was showing Jack. He knew they would be moving on to another country in less than two days now, and was concerned about Jack becoming too close with the locals.

            “I have no idea,” replied Jack. He felt the paper in his pocket, but didn’t take it out. He had no idea what was going on, except that Aahil had been far too warm with him. It had been awkward, but mostly because Jack was socially awkward naturally, and not because Aahil had been holding onto his hand for too long.

            “Best not to dwell on it,” said Ori, “These gangsters are meshuggah, crazy.” He put his fist to the side of his head and rotated it. “Screwy. Too many drugs, not enough sun.” He boarded the vehicle, slipping into the passenger seat. Jack and David sat side by side in the back.

            “Where to now?” inquired Jack.

            “Back to the house for two hours, you need to shower again, get on your nicest clothing. Where we’re going next is frequented by only the most upper-class people in Israel. Tel Aviv has this club called the Dream Exhibition. Very nice place, not suit and tie, but definitely business casual. Lucky the Society is paying for your drinks.”

            “Sounds good,” said David, relaxing into the slightly cracked leather. He had actually heard of this place, a refuge for younger businessmen in an up and coming city of international business. They poured good scotch, and the music wasn’t too loud. Jack shifted in his seat, briefly wondering what he was going to wear. Again, he was not looking forward to rooting through his trunk for a nice shirt and pants, maybe a jacket. The box, he admitted to himself, was far too big for a trip of this nature.

            The car brought them back to the house, where David revealed that he had been holding out on Jack. He climbed back into the lilac shirt and black pants that he had been wearing earlier in the day, this time with a black tie covered in small purple dots. He was holding a couple of cigars in his hand, and a low profile wooden case was in his shirt pocket, smelling of cedar and high grade tobacco. Jack had found his own wardrobe for the night, a black jacket and blood-red shirt, black pants with pleats, and a watch securely fastened with a chain on the inside of his jacket. In his lapel, there was a red flower made of folded burlap, and in his pocket, was a bright red square, neatly folded so two points stuck out of the top of the pocket.

            “Overdressed?” asked Jack, seeing David standing casually without a jacket.

            “No,” said David, suddenly self-conscious, “but I think I may be underdressed.” He left the room, and returned wearing a jacket, pinstriped and mismatched with his pants, but somehow still quite fashionable. He extended a cigar to Jack. “Ever smoked a Cuban?”

            “Afraid not,” said Jack, but he accepted it anyway. He watched David cut off the very tip of the cigar, and stuck it in his mouth, without lighting it. He handed jack the spring-loaded guillotine cutter, and Jack cut off the tip, just as David had. David pulled the box out of his pocket, and popped open a small compartment on the side. He removed what appeared to be a wooden popsicle stick. Jack eyed him quizzically, and David noticed.

            “Wooden splints, made of cedar. Prevent the cigar from taking on any chemical flavors,” explained David. He pulled a zippo from his lighter, one of the few items he had packed in his small checked bag, and lit the tip of the splint until it glowed. He lit his cigar, and walked towards the back of the house, holding his breath until he was on the back deck, then breathed out the first puff of smoke he had been holding in his mouth. Jack followed him, and once they were both outside, David handed Jack the splint and the lighter, and Jack followed his lead.

            Jack inhaled, taking a few puffs. He hacked, and gagged a little. David laughed, saying, “Jack, don’t inhale. Just draw it into your mouth, hold the smoke there, and roll it around. Like scotch or wine. These things pack a punch.” Jack did as he said, and was soon enjoying leaning against the back railing looking out at the sea, an occasional small boat floating past in the distance. He could definitely get used to international travel. There was a stone ashtray built into a slot in the railing, and he occasionally leaned his cigar over the edge of it. David had told him not to tap the tip like a cigarette or a joint, but rather to let the ash fall off. He had also told him not to suck on the cigar, but rather to hold it in his hand between puffs lasting a few seconds each.

            He was carrying his notebook in his pocket, and pulled it out, writing down everything that David was telling him. It was not difficult for him to imagine himself an aficionado, he was greatly enjoying the excess he was experiencing, something he would never have been able to do living with his parents in Canada. David was far more supportive of the finer things in life, in spite of the possible negative issues associated with smoking and alcohol. David was himself enjoying this. He had never really wanted children, but Jack was making him realize he could enjoy at least part of the experience of being a father. Jack was still just young enough to believe that he was more likely to be right about luxuries and research.

            David laughed internally, his eyes twinkling. He briefly remembered his first time out of the country for research. He had been in New Orleans following Katrina, investigating the rise of the drug trade there following the natural disaster. FEMA hadn’t been helping nearly enough, and people were in debt just trying to survive. Many had turned to selling one of the few stable commodities on the market, methamphetamine, or crystal meth to Breaking Bad fans. He had talked to a few people, one gang leader who was inexperienced and cocky, and relayed this information to those who would be able to make changes to prevent this from occurring. He hadn’t told the FBI, but they subpoenaed his research. It blackballed him in gang research until he built up a rapport with the female leader of a prostitution ring in Montreal who had never heard of him.

            Jack, he realized, was having many of the same experiences that he had in his early days of field research, although Jack was having these experiences much earlier than he had. The smell of rich, dank tobacco was supplemented by the smell of barbeque from down the road, and brine from the salty sea. Jack was crinkling a paper in his pocket, and David had noticed.

            “What have you got there,” he asked, suddenly curious.

            “I haven’t bothered to check yet. Tony told me that if word got around, she would find out, and kill me. Well, it was a little more garish than that…” He trailed off.

            “Jack, you should know by now, you can trust me,” said David. He feigned looking hurt, then chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. No pressure.”

            “Aha… okay.” Jack unfolded the paper. It read, very simply, call me if you’re in town for a while ~ The Prince �". There was a phone number, as well as an international connection code, +972 for Israel. Jack frowned.

            “Well, it looks like you’ve got an admirer,” said David. His eyebrow was raised. “And he’s a bottom. Oh my…” He extended the my until it sounded like George Takei. Jack was confused, not really sure how to feel about the preposition. He wasn’t even sure what Aahil would see in him. This was followed quickly by the realization that he didn’t find the thought unappealing on a physical level.

            “I can see why he wouldn’t want this getting around. He probably hired Tony, maybe even Wayne to keep his secret private,” noted David, “It also wouldn’t surprise me if he was the guy the last leader slept with.” He put his left hand on his chin, cigar smoking in the other, roughly halfway gone. “Well, what are you going to do?”

            “I’ll text him, tell him politely I’m not interested,” said Jack. “It’s not that I’m… it’s just that… He’s a gang leader for f**k’s sake, even if he thinks he’s doing the community a favor he’s selling coke and heroine.”

            “Well, that’s perfectly fine reasoning. Do what you want Jack, nothing stopping you here.” David smiled a bit. He was crossing his arms, trying to hide his body language, attempting to hide what Jack already knew. David didn’t know what he was hoping Jack would do, all he knew what that he wanted Jack to reach his full potential; his truest self. Though it would be nice to have another gay guy on the trip, it wasn’t really important to him, providing Jack was happy with his own decisions.

            Jack meanwhile didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he pulled out his phone, and created a new contact. He simply put “The Prince” as the contact name, ensuring Aahil’s privacy. In an unusual twist, Aahil always went by his real name, rather than The Prince, his nickname, quite the opposite of what was common in most of the west. He input the number, and opened the draft of a new message.

            [Hey, Aahil. I’m flattered, but I’m sorry, I’m not interested] -Rob

            Jack went to hit send, but faltered. He wasn’t actually sure if he wanted to say no, at least, not by text. He wasn’t sure if that was polite here, in Canada it was still occasionally considered a faux pas. What he was not aware of was the rejection without a reason was actually quite common in the gay dating pool. David noticed that he was going to text him, and turned away to allow Jack privacy. Jack hit the send button, and the message drained into the digital tubes. The delay had been disproportionately long, with both of them standing in silence smoking and looking, with Jack wondering if it was the right thing to do.

            In the end, he took the safe route, but even then, it wasn’t as safe as he thought. But Jack didn’t know that yet. So, he had sent the text, and was waiting for a reply, which is sometimes far worse than just getting an immediate angry response from someone face to face. It wasn’t just that though, Jack was nervous about how Aahil, a dangerous man would take a rejection from a foreigner he had just taken a shine to. It was too late though, and what could he have done? Played along? No, not when he was only in this country for a couple of days.

            Jack’s cigar was a stub, and he put it out in the ashtray. The smoldering remains glowed slightly, and they realized together that the sun was setting. It was nearing eight-thirty, and all that remained was a small red crescent descending on the horizon across the sea. The stars here, at the edge of civilization were not yet disturbed by the light pollution that made even the country sky in Canada glow, miles away from Ottawa. Jack was tired, but it wasn’t nearly the end of the night. He wondered how long Ori would be as David yawned himself.

            David went into the kitchen area of the apartment, and searched the cupboards until he found a drip coffee maker, and a bag of beans apparently left behind by the previous owner. It wasn’t a good coffee maker, and it wasn’t good coffee, but the carafe was big enough that neither of those things mattered. It would keep both of them awake, at least for long enough that they could enjoy the rest of the night, and be awake and alive enough to take notes. He shoveled the pre-ground coffee into a paper filter, and filled the pot to the brim. There was a stack of mugs behind one of the doors on the upper shelf, and he looked around for sugar and cream. Neither was anywhere to be found.

            There was a knock at the door, and Ori just walked in, apparently confident in his knowledge of their level of dress. He looked at David in the kitchen, just putting on coffee. Ori was wearing a white pressed shirt, which when closely investigated had a design of small line of blue fish. He was wearing a black jacket, and had decided to skip the tie, and opted for blue suede shoes, old fashioned but always classy. On his wrist, there was a blue band with a small gold anchor.

            “All good,” said Ori, “There aren’t any set times for meetings at this place anyway. It’s all about, what do you call it? Networking. Got an extra cup for me? I’ve been finding myself dog tired,” he laughed, and the pot percolated through the filter into the carafe.

            “Sure,” replied David. He pulled out the pot, and gave the first mug to Ori, who blew on the top. “Sorry man, we don’t have any milk or sugar, hope you like it black.”

            “Is there any other way to drink bad coffee?” They laughed, and Jack came in off the balcony, beckoned by the smell of coffee and the sound of friendly voices. He waved, and poured himself a glass of coffee as the machine dripped quickly. A drop or two sizzled on the heating pad, and a caustic, burnt smell briefly passed into the air before dispersing. He sipped, and watched as the others talked.

            “Well, who will we be seeing tonight?” asked David, glancing at Jack, but speaking to Ori. Ori shrugged non-commitedly, and rolled his head briefly from side to side.

            “I can’t say for sure,” Ori replied. “The club has a strict don’t ask don’t tell policy if you see people there doing drugs, or trying to pick up a prostitute. But you will probably see a few dignitaries, some businessmen, maybe an artist on the up and up. We will see!” David nodded, and smiled slightly, hoping to see a few faces he knew snorting powder. This was part of the reason he liked research in foreign nations; if he had gone into journalism, he never would have been allowed into places like this, centers where bigshots committed minor crimes. This, he thought, this is why he went into research even though it was less glamorous.

            “So, could there be stars?” Asked Jack.

            “Gal Gadot you mean, few stars you would know in this country, most are very pro-Palestine. No, probably not, mostly b-list Israeli actors, but you never know. Still, don’t get your hopes up Jack. Besides, not like you could tell anyone, strictly don’t ask don’t tell, no photos, no reporters. I only got you two in after a lengthy discussion about concealed identities and the nature of the research.”

            “Damn,” said Jack, smiling. He laughed heartily, and smiled at Dave, who grinned back. He had experienced some of the same thoughts in the path of gaining his current position, and had in New York briefly entertained the concept of meeting a movie star or major CEO, being given a big break, and becoming a movie star. Doesn’t everyone have those thoughts from time to time. He sipped his coffee, and Ori stood to bring his finished coffee to the kitchen. Jack and David were nearly done, so they refilled their mugs from the carafe, chugged the now-chilled coffee, and turned to Ori.

            “So, are you ready for a night on the town?” asked Ori, “or are we going to stay home all night drinking bad coffee and talking?” He walked out the door, and David followed. Jack felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, and ‘The Prince’ was displayed on the screen, the message hidden intentionally by his finger across the screen. He would message him back later, for now Jack needed to get out the door. He ran out of the house, sure to lock the door behind him. He left a lamp on �" conspicuous consumption did not seem to bother the citizens of Tel Aviv where power or gas were concerned.

            Ori’s Mercedes was outside, and shining. He had evidently decided to have it cleaned and waxed, and it reflected the light inside the house like a mirror. Jack briefly checked his teeth on the window before noticing that David was staring at him through it, and giggling softly. Jack walked to the far side of the vehicle, and climbed in. The light was on in the back, and Ori was apparently well stocked with low-alcohol coolers. He was a pre-drinker when it came to parties, apparently, and David had already pulled out a bottle and cracked the lid.

            “Always blend in with the locals, Jack,” he said, and downed the neck of the bottle. Ori laughed, popped his own, and did the same before handing Jack a pre-opened bottle. He followed suit, and they set off, drinking. The driver was silent, as always, and Jack asked himself how little the man must be being paid for Ori to afford this, and how important this job must be to him that he would remain silent for fear of losing it. Jack didn’t even remember his name. In fact, he didn’t even remember if he had asked.

            “Driver, what’s your name,” asked Jack suddenly, cutting off Jack and David’s conversation. The driver started suddenly, and coughed.

            “Me?” he asked, incredulously. It seemed to Jack that the driver must usually only be told what to do, not asked any questions. “My name is Bracha. Means blessing.”

            “Have you worked for Ori’s family for very long?”

            “About a year now,” said Ori. Jack put up his finger, trying not to be rude, but indicating that he would prefer to talk to the driver directly. Ori shrugged, not perturbed, but slightly irritated. He sunk into his seat and sat straight ahead sipping his drink.

            “Yes, about a year. Ori was in my unit, we trained together. My family is not well off, and I told him. When we finished, he hired me as a driver. There is no special training needed here, and I knew the city well.”

            “Is the wealth of citizens controlled by class?” Asked Jack.

            “Not very much by class, but by the area of the city. I knew how to get to Lod because I used to live there. I was called up to service, and like everyone physically able, I was trained and fought. But now, I drive a car, and when I’m not, I act as valet, what you may call a butler. It’s a good job.” He looked at Ori, and Ori nodded. “It’s work. And Ori is good to me.”

            Jack nodded, then realized that Bracha was likely staring at the road ahead, and so he simply said, “I understand.” And that was it, there was no more talk of it. Bracha went back to being the driver, and Ori, Jack, and David went back to being of a different class. This was the fact of class divide that Jack would eventually realize was universally pervasive; that this was just the way it was, and a conversation here and there, would not change that. Jack felt guilty for some reason he couldn’t quite pin down, but he drank, and he smiled when David joked with Ori, but he remained quiet for most of the drive.

            David noticed, and said nothing to Jack about it. Culture shock was a powerful thing, but for now, he wouldn’t mention it. Maybe he would talk to Jack about it later that night, in the comfort of the hot tub. They were heading out to the prison tomorrow, but later in the day, afternoon. The thought crossed his mind that there was little chance that they would get home the same day, but it didn’t stick. The society would have sorted that out, after all. He sipped his cooler, and briefly questioned if he should cut back. His medications could cause problems with alcohol, but usually these cancelled out when he had enough coffee.

            They arrived at Dream Exhibition, the club so named for allowing unusual artists to grace their stage, showcasing musical tastes that weren’t commonly found in the modern day, from rock and indie to jazz. People got to try out their dream job for the night, or at very least, they got a taste of the dreams of others. The man who had founded the establishment was known to the regulars as Morpheus, because when het let your band play, he controlled your dreams, your direction. But he hadn’t been seen in a while.

            “Wait,” said Jack, before they left the car. He turned to the driver, and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Thank you Bracha.” Bracha nodded, and smiled. He had a wide smile, like a crocodile’s, but honest and pure. A poor man smiles wider. Jack pulled out his notebook, and made a note of that at once before piling out of the car, leaving Bracha to drive back to the house. Jack smirked a little, noticing how monumentally stupid that sounded, and how arrogant it would sound if anyone read his notebook but him.

            The bouncer let them in without much fuss, as their names were on the list. Jack and David were told to take out their cellphones, and a small red dot was placed over the camera lens. There was no reason they could not take it off, providing they were never seen pointing their camera at someone else, but there was an honor system in place that dissuaded most guests from doing so. Sometimes this resulted, very simply, in social isolation, other times, it resulted in expulsion if you were caught deviating too far from the norm. Panopticon, thought Jack, recalling the name Bentham had given for self-surveilling prisons in the late eighteenth century.

            This concept was so well thought out most sociologists and criminologists agreed with its ideologies. The concept, essentially, was this; that a prison with a guard tower in the center means that at any point a guard may see you breaking the rules of the prison, and punish you. Eventually, after enough people are caught, and punished, the prison relaxes this policy. But the teachings stick, and so people monitor their own behavior, and teach others to manage their own, enforcing the laws they were taught to follow. This fades over time, but in the meantime people followed the laws that they were informed of, on pain of death, while no one was watching. This could, of course by applied to basically any form of society with government.

            David knew what was going on here too, after all he was far more well versed in this kind of environment than Jack, and quite likely more so than Ori. This was not Jack’s world, nor Ori’s, nor was it, in truth, David’s but David liked to think himself a man of the world, and thus he pretended that he knew exactly what was going on. As for the panopticon, he was very much aware of the implications of the concept, especially in private clubs, but he said nothing, smiled, and nodded at the bouncer before heading in.

            There was a ring of rather beautiful wooden counters in two tiers with bar stools carved of the same. They looked regal, but the stage at the center of the room still made this look like a place of performance rather than a gentlemen’s club. Still, thought David, it was a great deal more impressive than anything Ottawa had to offer. There were patrons sitting there, and the sheer volume made the room seem small. Beer flowed freely, but there was wine in crystal glasses, and many mixed drinks floated around the room carried by waitresses in black garments that blended into the shade that was produced because of the stage lighting. Drink glasses reflected the lighting, making it look as though they were floating.

            The band on the stage was indie, twanging guitars and light percussion combined with a voice that balanced rough, almost whining highs with occasional softer lows. It was something about walking to a drug store late in the night, with warm asphalt underfoot. Jack liked the sound, muffled though it was by the chattering voices in the room, drinking, eating, and laughing.

            “Ah, they have the Mountain Goats in tonight,” said Ori, “They had them last year too, once. Put on a good show. Not the normal sound we have here. It’s a shame we’re not staying in the performance room.”

            “We’re not?” Asked Jack. David nudged him, smiling.

            “The real party is in the back rooms, smaller tables that no one ever sees. Usually drugs, illegal gambling, women. Be prepared for things to get a little awkward,” said David. Then he lowered his voice and asked, “Did the prince get back to you?”

            Jack nodded, and shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about it, not right then anyway. Ori pulled them around the edge of the stage, and through a wooden door set into the wall. If you hadn’t been looking for it, the handle would have blended into the wainscoting, leaving you wondering where the people you just saw go around the corner had gone. This was by design, of course, to protect the privacy of the patrons who used this establishment. The only sign of the door existing was a barely discernable trail of herbal smoke that leaked from the bottom left hand corner, where there appeared to be a small gap in the wall. In the commotion of the club, no one would even think to look.

            This was the next best thing to a speak-easy from the twenties, except that the prohibited drug of choice appeared to be marijuana. If you looked closely however, you could see that small bags of white powder were being distributed around the room, from one person to another. The small, silver spooks that hung around the customer’s necks were, to Jack, a reminder of Pink Floyd’s Nobody Home. A waitress occasionally popped in and dropped off beer at the tables, leaving just as quickly. The people here appreciated their privacy.

            “Don’t stare,” said Ori, as he noticed Jack scanning the room, “and don’t make eye contact.” Jack stopped looking around, and moved as one with David to a table in the corner of the room, somehow both the most private place in the room, and yet unoccupied by the masses. Jack assumed that this was because sitting there would be a blatant sign that a person was up to something. He wasn’t really sure why that would be a concern in here, but then he realized how quiet it was here. Hushed conversations, only a subtle whisper of the loud music in the main hall, and a peace interrupted only by the sound of people sniffing, and the crackle of marijuana cigarettes.

            Jack and David places their books quietly on the table, and David took a few quick notes. Jack scanned the room again, subtly this time, and noticed that this behavior was not unusual. Some tables had ledgers open, others had betting sheets. Jack realized that the coffee and coolers hadn’t done him any good overall, and stood up. “Bathroom,” he whispered to David, who nodded politely and waved his hand slightly, in a warm but dismissive motion.

            Jack saw a small sign indicating the men’s washroom in the corner, and went to it, ducking into a small, well-kempt and somewhat ornate washroom. There were two armchairs in the corner, and the actual urinals and toilets were in a separate room protected by a full-length door. A gas fireplace blazed, contrasting the low, energy-efficient lighting of the room. There was no one else there. Jack did his business, but then sat in one of the chairs. His social anxiety was acting up, but he they would be expecting him. He couldn’t be long.

            He pulled out his phone, and opened the message from Aahil.

            [Oh, I see. I didn’t mean to offend you, but I couldn’t resist. You were charming]- The Prince.

            Jack responded quickly, knowing that Aahil was likely not a patient man, though his messages conflicted with his outward personality.

            [Didn’t offend me at all, I’m quite forward thinking. Going to be honest, I wasn’t sure if saying no was the best option, but then I realized I was only here for a couple of days.]- Jack.

            He held the phone, suddenly willing to wait for an answer. Strangely there was no flow into and out of the restroom, save for one older man who opened the door, nodded at Jack, and quickly used the facilities and left. Jack’s phone vibrated, and a message popped up from Aahil.

            [Ah, so you are gay then?]- The Prince.

            Jack’s heart caught in his throat. He had never thought of it like that, not really. He enjoyed the male form, but had always thought he preferred women. In that moment, however, he realized that he hadn’t really looked at traditional hetero pornography for nearly a year. He had been aware that many of his friends where homosexual males, but now he realized that this may not have been a coincidence. It crashed down on him, silent waves of realization that did not change his countenance. To any outside observer, he would have just been phasing out, looking a thousand yards away. He realized quickly that he was doing this, and came to a hasty conclusion.

            [I think I’m bisexual, I’d just honestly never considered it before.]-Jack.

            He sighed, and the phone buzzed again.

            [Well, why not, you’re only in town for one night, and I could make it a good one ;)] -The Prince.

            [Sorry man, even if I wasn’t busy, I don’t do hookups.]- Jack.

            [I understand. Sorry to hear that, I will admit. Give me a call if you’re ever in Israel again. I don’t forget a face. I trust you can keep my privacy?]-The Prince

            [Wouldn’t dream of telling anyone. If you could do me a favor and not tell anyone either, I’m basically still in the closet.]-Jack

            [Your privacy is as important as mine. I know I was even in the closet to myself for a while when I was first discovering who I am. Stay safe brother.]- The Prince.

            Jack sensed that unless he texted Aahil again, he wouldn’t be hearing from him for a while. He stood up, and washed his hands in the sink, the smell of luxury lavender soap briefly making his head swim. He was more tired than he should be, but the events of the day had been exhausting, and there were still a good few hours left before they would be heading home. He opened the door, and went back to the table where Ori and David were waiting with a gentleman who appeared to be in his early sixties. His hair was gray but stylish, and his outfit reminded Jack of Miami Vice... 

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems, working copy.