“Well, we have rain slickers now…” Decker ran his fingers through his damp hair. “All right. Let’s give it a whirl.” They drove several miles without speaking. “And what do we do, Jon, if he resists? What do we do when he starts shooting at us?”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know psychos.” Reaching into the glove compartment, Decker took out the snub-nose. “I have one bullet left. If it’s him or me, I go for the kill. Can you accept that?”

“Better he be shot by you than by the police. At least, that way I’ll know that the shooting was justified.”

“Maybe better for you, Jon.” Decker felt his jaw tighten. “Not necessarily better for me.”

34

Everything was stacked against them. The van was straining at thirty, bouncing on a compromised set of tires, each bump and grind sending shock waves up their spines. On top of that, the road was oil slicked, and it was as dark as sin outside. So Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was the right way. He summed up the situation perfectly.

“This was a terrible idea.” The van landed with a thud as it took a jump over a pothole. The engine stalled for a moment, then continued to chug along. “I just want to reach Chaim before the police. Maybe less chance of his getting hurt.”

“If he doesn’t hurt us first.”

“Akiva, I asked you no less than a dozen times if you wanted to turn back-”

“I know you have. I’m conflicted.”

“So am I.” Jonathan gripped the wheel. “I want to help Chaim. He’s my wife’s brother. The family has been through hell. I’ve been through hell. But I don’t want to get killed.”

“Succinctly put.” Decker tightened his coat around his body.

“Do you want to go back?” Jonathan asked him. “Your call.”

“Now there’s a switch. The rabbi daring the cop.”

“Not strange at all. Haven’t you read the Kemelman series?”

Decker smiled. The rain had abated to sprinkles, leaving the asphalt as shiny as polished onyx. Because one of the biker’s bullets had knocked out the heating fan, the windows were kept open to prevent the windshield from fogging up. Arctic cold, but at least Jonathan could see. Since the windows were rolled down, Decker could hear the strong whoosh of water roiling downstream as it cut deep ruts into the roadside mud.

To Decker, New York had always been synonymous with Manhattan. But the state was big and wide and full of open space. Long stretches of glens and valleys sided rolling mountains and dense forest. Because it was dark, the terrain showed only shapes and shadows, but occasionally he could make out a New England clapboard house lit from the inside, or even a small brick structure that sat on the edge of the highway. Once he saw a barn illuminated by several exterior lights, in front of it a hand-painted sign boasting antiques as well as fresh farm products. He could see the mist falling in the light’s beam, the sign streaked with water. In the background, he caught glimpses of fields, but nothing appeared to be growing.

Jonathan caught his brother staring out the window. “It’s New York’s Corn Belt.”

“I didn’t realize it was so rural.”

“Very rural. You should feel right at home.”

Decker laid on the accent. “Yeah, that there city is too durn big for my blood.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m teasing. Mellow out.”

“I’m edgy.” Jonathan clutched the steering wheel with his gloved hands, shivering as he drove. “I’ve never been shot at.”

“No one’s shooting at us now.”

“Baruch Hashem,” Jonathan intoned as he thanked God.

“Good thing, too, with only one bullet.” Decker held the snub-nose. “That’s all right. Guns can give you a false sense of security. Lack of ammo will make us think.”

“Any new theories?”

“No, I’m not holding back. Want me to drive for a little, Jon?”

“No, I’ll do it because at least I have some idea of where I’m going.”

Decker tried the cell again. Whereas before he got a momentary dial tone, this time he got nothing.

“The farther upstate, the less likely we are to get a connection,” Jonathan said.

“How far away are we in terms of time?”

“I’d say maybe twenty minutes.”

“How’s the gas gauge?”

“Steady. He didn’t hit the tank. And I filled up right when I got into Quinton. Gas isn’t the problem. We finished those bagels pretty quickly. Are you still hungry?”

Decker was stunned. “You have food?”

“Raisie packed me Danish before I left shiva. She figured that maybe I could use a nosh.”

“She figured right.”

“It’s all the way in the back.”

Decker unbuckled his belt. “Don’t get into an accident.”

“As long as no one snipes at us, that won’t be a problem.”

Climbing over the backseat, Decker went headfirst into the back of the van and extracted a large paper grocery bag. Sitting in the backseat, he pulled out an aluminum-wrapped bundle. Inside were a dozen assorted Danish. There were also several cans of Diet Coke, as if the sugar lacking in the soda compensated for the pounds of sugar in the baked goods. Using contortion and great skill, he wedged himself back into the front passenger’s seat. “I’ve got cheese, apple, chocolate, cherry… what is this?” He smelled it. “I think it’s mun-”

“Cheese.”

Decker handed him a pastry. He chose an apple turnover and downed it in three bites. “Should I pop the top on this soda can for you? This vehicle certainly has enough cup holders.”

“Please.”

He opened two cans of Diet Coke. “Your wife is very smart.”

“All Jewish women are smart when it comes to food.”

“Yeah, I can see Rina doing something like that.”

“Did you talk to her today?”

“Just in the morning. She’s probably worried about me. Turns out for good reason.”

They rode in contemplative quiet, Decker trying to figure out Chaim’s role in what appeared to be a sophisticated ecstasy ring. Mastermind? Unwitting abettor? Dupe?

“There it is,” Jonathan told him.

“I don’t see anything.”

“The turnoff. We’re about ten minutes away.”

As they drove, Decker felt a prickling on the back of his neck. Over the years, he had learned not to ignore intuitive pulses.

“Almost there,” Jonathan told him.

Jittery, Decker swept his eyes across the terrain. First he studied what was directly in front of him, then to the right, glancing at the side mirror. He turned around and scanned over his shoulder, along with a check in the rearview mirror, then left for the side mirror.

“We should be right on top of it,” Jonathan announced.

Off the roadway, Decker spotted several glints of chrome, but there were no lights up ahead. “Jon, pull over and stop.”

“What? Why?” But Jonathan followed instructions, rolling the van over a mud-coated field. “What’s wrong now?”

“Does Chaim’s warehouse have a parking lot?”

“Of course.”

“So why are these vehicles parked here, in a muddy field?” Decker pointed to a Jeep Cherokee and a Mitsubishi Montero.

“Maybe the lot was flooded.”

“Why don’t I think that’s the case?” Decker reached into the middle section of the van and dragged over the bags of clothing resting on the seats. There was a rain slicker for him and one for his brother. Then came the gloves. Lastly, he placed plastic bags around his shoes and tied them over his ankles, instructing Jonathan to do the same. When they were finished, he took the flashlight and opened the door. Not anxious to fall, he took his time getting over to the Cherokee. He tried the door, but it was locked. He shone the light through the side windows, his eyes meticulously observing what was inside.

Jonathan had caught up with him. “Anything interesting?”

“Young person’s car… at least the taste in music is young-my son’s age. I can tell by the CD covers on the floor.” Another pass of the beam through the interior. “Pills on the seat. See how they’re stamped-the hearts, that one with a ’toon on it? It’s ecstasy. Trash on the floor-beer bottles, cigarette butts…” He looked at his brother. “A couple of Quinton kids got arrested for bad behavior with ecstasy down in Miami-Philip Caldwell and Ryan Anderson. Betcha this baby belongs to one of them.”