The rabbi did as told. Decker noticed that his brother was moving his lips, but no sounds were coming out-silent prayer. He hoped Jon was saying one for him, too. “I see something. Hold on, baby… C’mon, you mother…”

The shape-presumably a human and most probably a male-was nearing the van, walking with a bowlegged gait as if he were about to draw a gun in an old-fashioned Western. Then Decker realized that the legs were straddling a seat. The motorcycle was a small one. Looked to be a Honda… something nimble. He was approaching them from the driver’s side, most likely because the van’s passenger wheels were stuck in a rut of mud right next to the woods.

“C’mon, c’mon…,” Decker urged.

Inching closer.

“Just a little more, baby…”

“Oh God!” Jonathan moaned.

“Hold on.” Decker swallowed hard. “He’s almost here.”

The seconds ticked by.

One… two… three.

He peeked out again. “C’mon, motherfucker. Move a little closer to the door…”

Four… five… six.

The Honda was at the front bumper on the driver’s side. A figure looking through the window… to the dash. Even though Decker couldn’t see out that well, he knew there was no way that the biker could see in.

“Keep going…”

The figure was moving toward the driver’s window.

“A little closer…”

Springing into action, Decker hurled the door, clipping the front wheel of the motorcycle, spinning the entire ensemble off balance. Then he aimed the light’s beam on the driver’s face, features hidden behind a ski mask. “Freeze!”

Abruptly, something sped past Decker’s head.

“Shit!” He dropped the flashlight and ducked behind the safety of the metal door. Vaulting out a second time, he shot from the hip, discharging a bullet at the bike, but a volley of flying metal forced him to retreat another time. The biker’s bullets hit the front of the van, sending a deafening clatter throughout its interior, some of the ammo ricocheting off, spitting fire into the wet, raven night. Decker covered his head as hot lead flew past him.

“Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck, fuck!”

He leaped out, returning fire: two rapid shots that took off a section of the cycle’s back fender. Still, the biker had kicked the motor into gear and sped away, screeching tires that burned rubber even though the asphalt was wet. Decker decided not to waste his last bullet on a fleeing target.

Panting heavily, he would have felt the wetness of sweat throughout his entire body except that he was soaked from the rain. He picked up the flashlight, which had survived the battle without injury, then dragged his body into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay, Jon?”

“I think so…,” the rabbi whispered. “Other than uncontrollable shaking, I think I’m fine.”

Decker lowered his head on the wheel, fatigue covering him as oppressively as a sodden blanket. “I’m shaking, too.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m whole, and that’s all that counts right now.” Decker was trying to steady his heartbeat. He lifted his head up and turned the key in the ignition. The motor coughed lazily, then decided to fire up. “Well, that’s a good start.”

Jonathan uncoiled from the fetal position and slithered into the passenger’s seat. He belted himself in.

“Here goes nothing.” Decker strapped on the seat belt, then put the van into drive and coaxed it out of the embankment. Once he got it onto the asphalt, he depressed the gas pedal slowly. The car bucked, then limped noisily for about twenty feet before Decker applied the brakes.

“We’ve got a flat,” Decker said. “Hopefully, only a flat… as in one tire. Do you have a spare?”

“I have a spare,” Jonathan said. “I’ve never changed a tire, but I’m assuming that you have.”

“You assume correctly.” Again Decker pulled the vehicle to the side of the road. He went out and inspected the damage-a Swiss-cheese hood and one flat tire. Decker didn’t bother looking under the hood. At this point, it was probably best if he didn’t know. Jonathan had gotten out, staring at his newly ventilated van.

“I’ll change the tire,” Decker told his brother. “No sense in both of us getting wet.”

“Nonsense. At the very least, I can hold the flashlight.” Jonathan paused. “Although I’m still trembling. Think of it as a strobe.”

Decker laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. He was as rigid as a stone post. “You’re holding up great.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Decker. “Who do you think it was?”

“Don’t know.”

“Donatti?”

“Maybe.”

“Merrin?”

“Quite possibly.” He exhaled. “I also borrowed… well, more like swiped the gun from an obnoxious taxicab driver. It could have been him, too.” He brushed rainwater from his eyes. “I would even say maybe it was Chaim, but I think your brother-in-law has other things on his mind right now.”

Together they pulled out the spare tire and the kit. An hour later, on four inflated tires, they made their way into the Bainberry Mall parking lot. They settled upon the first store that looked promising, a unit that specialized in athletic gear that was GOING OUT OF BUSINESS. They rooted through the deeply discounted items, stocking up on sweats, T-shirts, lightweight waterproof jackets, socks, sneakers, and an umbrella. By seven in the evening, they were back on the highway in dry clothes, wolfing down bagels and sipping hot coffee from paper cups. Warmth on the skin, warmth in the belly: Heaven had many forms and shapes.

Jonathan was driving. “Where to?”

Decker thought a moment. “With the van in such poor shape, it makes sense for us to go back to Quinton. Maybe I can squeeze something from the Feds.”

Jonathan blew out air. “So JFK is out?”

“I doubt if Hershfield’s still there,” Decker told him.

“True, true.” Jonathan tapped the steering wheel. “If we go back to Quinton, we’ll be stuck there for hours.”

“I know.”

“Also, you said this could be Merrin’s doing.”

“Possibly.”

“So maybe it’s not too safe for us to be there now.”

“Jonathan, if Chaim’s house is crawling with Feds, I think we’re okay for a while.”

His brother was silent. Decker said, “What’s on your mind, Jon? You have a look on your face.”

“The Liebers have a warehouse. It’s in the middle of nowhere-an old converted barn-about twenty miles north of Quinton. So maybe around fifteen miles from where we are. You wouldn’t know how to get there unless you’ve been there before.”

“And you’ve been there before.”

“Raisie and I get our TVs, VCRs, computers, cameras, et cetera, et cetera from the overstock-last year’s models. Sometimes it’s cheaper to get rid of items than to ship them back. We’ve always gone down after hours.”

“You have a plan.”

“Well, I have a location.” Jonathan finished his bagel. “I also know where the back door is. I’m sure it’s locked and alarmed if no one’s there. But if Chaim is there, we can talk to him through the intercom.”

“And what are we supposed to say to him?” Decker asked.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan answered. “Convince him to give himself up.”

Decker laughed. “A man who set up his brother-and possibly his daughter-”

“Nonsense.”

“Fine. Be delusional. But I will tell you this. Chaim’s scared, wanted, and probably irrational. I don’t see him just… giving up.”

“Well, then, maybe we can convince him that we’re a better bet than the police.”

Decker sipped coffee as thoughts tumbled in his brain. “I suppose we can check it out. Think the van can make it?”

“You’re the mechanical one,” Jonathan answered. “I’m a rabbi.”

“Who said rabbis couldn’t be mechanical?”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Fifteen miles one way,” Decker said. “Then, if we don’t find anything, we’ve got to make it back to Quinton. That’s forty miles in a van with a shot-out hood and driving on a spare in the rain.”

No one spoke.

Jonathan said, “I’m willing to try it.”