“I’ll pay you back-”

“Please.” She leaned over to the driver. “Where’s the nearest hospit-”

Donatti yanked her back in the seat, then gave the cabbie his home address. Rina was about to protest, but his eyes, reptilian and venomous, warned her off. Instead, she took out a red T-shirt and dabbed his wet forehead. He took the cloth from her and wiped his entire face. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, keeping his breathing as rhythmic and smooth as possible.

The ride seemed interminably long. Traffic was heavy and not a word was uttered between them. As they rode through the city, she noticed that he was inching farther and farther away from her until his head was plastered against the window. His bleeding seemed to have slowed. Or maybe he was just bleeding into the blob of clothing pressed against the wound.

Rina closed her own eyes.

Inevitably this too would end.

All things end.

But nowadays, the endings hadn’t been too good.

The coming of Mashiach? Better to have faith than to lose it.

Forty minutes later, the cab slowed as it pulled curbside. She opened her eyes, then reached into her purse. Donatti placed his hand over hers. With effort, he slipped his hand into his jacket, parting it just enough for Rina to see the gun. He pulled out his wallet, extracting from it two one-hundred-dollar bills. He leaned forward and snapped them in the driver’s face. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as a bullet.

“You take her to whatever address she gives you.”

“But-”

Donatti slapped a bloody hand over Rina’s mouth, then slowly brought it back to his side. “You take her to whatever address she gives you; then you forget you ever saw us. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir.” The man’s voice was a tremor of terror.

“You know who I am?”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“Who?”

“That man with that older man, the one with the trial… with the fancy lawyer…” His head was bobbing like a buoy. “I know, I know.”

“It’s good you know who I am,” Donatti said. “Because now I know who you are. You’re Faroom Narzerian. I bet you have a family, right?”

The head bouncing up and down as if on a spring.

“That’s good. It’s nice to have family.” Donatti picked up the cabbie’s hand and crushed the bills in his palm. “Now if you really forget who I am, then I will really forget who you are. But if you don’t forget, I have a very… long… memory. Know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced at Rina, his eyes rolling in their sockets. He reached out to open the door. His hand was painted with blood. “Take care.”

Again she started to speak. Again Donatti smacked a hand over her lips. Hard. Her lip was already sore from where she had bitten into it. It hurt. She hurt. He spoke in low, deliberate tones. “Remember what you said about what would happen to me if I laid a finger on you?”

She removed his hand from her mouth and wiped her lips with the tips of her fingers. “Yes.”

“Take it back.”

“I take it back.”

“You can do that, right?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

He stared at her.

“It’s okay.” She nodded. “I understand what you did and why you did it. It didn’t count.”

“You’re right. None of that counted.” In a flash, he was on her, his mouth kissing her hard on her swollen lower lip, sucking up her blood. “Now that one… that did count.” He managed a devil’s smile. “Get out of the city. Go home. Take care of yourself. I mean that. I like you.”

He opened the door and limped out. She watched him unlock a glass door and slip inside a foyer. Within moments, he was out of sight.

24

Jonathan had gone beyond pale, his complexion having turned chalky-dry and gray. After finishing with mounds of paperwork, Decker took his brother’s arm-an act of physical as well as emotional support-and the two of them trudged outside to the parking lot to retrieve the van. Seeing Jon’s shaking hands, Decker offered to drive. Jonathan told him no, then opened the car doors, taking the driver’s seat. They sat for several minutes in silence, staring out the windshield.

Jonathan’s eyes were moist and red. He whispered, “What kind of monster does things like that?”

Decker didn’t have an answer. Guilt was still pouring into his conscience. He should have taken Shayndie forcibly, brought a gun and shot Donatti. If he had planned it more carefully, had trusted his own instincts instead of that bastard-

“What kind of God creates such monsters?” Jonathan said.

“I’ll drive,” Decker offered once again.

“I’m all right,” Jonathan answered. “Thanks for coming.”

“I just wish…” Decker started to pound the dashboard but wound up tapping it instead. “I’m sorry I failed you. I failed the whole family.”

“You didn’t fail, Akiva. That’s ridiculous.”

“You don’t know.”

Jonathan turned to him, waiting for an explanation.

“I could have done better.” Decker was abashed. “I should have done better.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. If anyone failed, it was God. We’re nothing but His pawns-little pieces He moves around His board called the universe.” His lip trembled. “It’s not that I doubt His wisdom. That’s why we say Baruch Dayan Emes. I believe every word theoretically. But I am human… fallible… emotional. Right now, I’m very angry at Him.”

Tears marked paths down his cheek.

“You and me both, buddy.” Decker slumped in the seat. “You and me both.”

More seconds passed, then a minute. Finally, Jonathan started the van and put it into reverse. “Where to?”

“While you were signing papers, I got hold of Micky Novack. I’m supposed to meet him at a restaurant at…” Decker looked at the paper. “Broadway between One hundred fourteenth and One hundred fifteenth… or maybe One fifteenth and One sixteenth.” He gave him the exact address. “It shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Then I was supposed to meet Rina and Hannah at your apartment and take them to the airport.”

“When’s the flight?”

“Nine… something. It’s a commuter flight. It leaves out of La Guardia.” Decker ’s watch read six. “Am I cutting it close?”

“Say you’re done at seven. At least forty-five minutes to get to La Guardia if traffic isn’t heavy.” A sigh. “Yes, you are cutting it close.”

“Give me a half hour with the guy.”

“Tell you what,” Jonathan said. “I’ll drop you off, run down to my shul, pick up my messages and mail, then come back and fetch you. That should eat up the thirty minutes.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Yes, things always sound perfect in the abstract.”

Novack stood up when Decker walked into the deli. The place was as small as a kiosk, crammed with a half-dozen linoleum-topped tables and chairs with cracked Naugahyde cushions. There was also a counter and stools, the seats filled to capacity. It was after work hours, so the detective had donned a flannel shirt and jeans instead of a suit. His fingers were greasy from the homemade French fries that he was munching. A half-eaten corned-beef sandwich was on the plate, as were two pickles. Decker sat opposite him, squeezing his body into nonexistent space. A wash of warmth swept through him and he began to sweat. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt.

Novack continued to stare, even after he sat down. “You’re sweatin’. You feeling okay?”

“I think my blood sugar’s low.” He eyed Novack’s remaining half sandwich. “This isn’t a kosher place, is it?”

“Kosher style. That don’t count, I know. They got some vegetarian stuff. I think the mushroom barley soup is vegetarian.”

“That’ll do.”

“Coffee?”

“Great.”

Novack hailed a waitress-a geriatric, bony woman whose name was Alma. Five minutes later, a steaming bowl of thick soup was placed in front of his nose. Even with his swollen membranes, the mixture smelled good. It tasted even better. Served with fresh rye bread surrounded by a thick seed crust, Decker was in heaven, though he had to eat slowly.