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Challah ‘N More was Jake’s go-to bakery, but he never knew who owned it.
He drove to the Dempster location after leaving Pinky’s to pick up his order.
He entered the bakery, and stopped for a moment to savor the aroma of fresh-baked goods.
He stood behind a line of clamoring customers when he spotted a sliced rye on the counter with the plastic bag open letting it cool off. Assuming it was his order he held up the bag, spun it, then grabbed a white twist tie from a cup holder to seal it. He grabbed a long, narrow, brown paper bag from a stack next to the ties, and slid the sealed rye in it.
He went to toss it in the Nova before speaking with the owner, when he heard a woman ask for directions to an address in Northbrook. He turned back, and saw the short elderly woman trying to get the attention of a policeman standing in line. Nobody seemed to be helping her so Jake said, “I can look that up for you.”
He put the bagged rye on the glass counter to free up his hand, and punch the details into Google Maps.
The app froze.
He closed and reopened it several times, but each time it froze.
He turned, and stepped toward the outside window thinking he might need a stronger signal.
When that didn’t help, he embarrassingly returned to the counter, and informed the woman he had to restart his phone.
Jake slid the phone in his pants pocket, and waited for it to restart. He looked up at the counter where he’d left the rye to see an empty space.
“Hey!” Jake blurted out. “Who took my rye?”
He turned toward the woman and the officer. “Did either of you see who took it?” he asked.
They both shook their heads.
He reached for his phone to see if it rebooted only to find his pocket empty.
Thinking he absentmindedly slipped it into his other pocket with his wallet and keys he reached in there only to find that it too was completely empty.
After recovering from the shock, Jake realized someone must have grabbed his rye to distract him, then pickpocketed both of his pockets.
He was stunned. “Someone stole my rye and pickpocketed me! Who would do that?” he asked aloud.
Before anyone responded Jake heard a familiar snickering from behind him.
“Looking for these?” Pinky asked, holding up the loot.
Jake spun around. “You? What the hell—?”
“When I knew you were coming here, I raced to get here before you, and hid in the back,” Pinky explained. “I figured it was a great opportunity to practice my new skills.”
“Very funny,” Jake said. “What new skills?”
“I’ve been watching YouTube videos learning how to pickpocket—just for fun, “Pinky replied. “This was my big chance to try it out. Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”
While Jake retrieved his things from the prankster Pinky nodded toward the rear of the bakery, “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Tuvia Weiss. He’s in the back office.”
Jake followed Pinky behind the counter into the back. They passed hot ovens, and intoxicating aromas of fresh baked goods.
Pinky pushed open a door at the back revealing an elderly thin man with gray hair and a mustache to match.
“I got him good,” Pinky announced. “Tuvia, this is my good buddy Jake I’ve been telling you about. He’s got some questions about the Torah you donated.”
Jake recounted how he found the loose handle, and discovered the hollow section in the roller. “Do you know what was hidden there?” he asked.
Tuvia’s eyes widened, and his brows raised, answering Jake’s question even before he said, “None! Didn’t even know that was there.”
“How did you get that Torah,” Jake asked.
“My grandfather brought it on the ship from Europe to America,” Tuvia said. “My dad told me his father said America would be exciting, and not to worry because he saved up plenty of money for them to live on. But he died in his sleep during the trip. When they arrived, and unpacked his things they didn’t find any money. The only thing he brought was that Torah.”
“What did your grandfather do for a living?” Pinky asked.
“He was a diamond trader,” Tuvia responded.
“That’s it!” Jake shouted. “That explains the hollow section.”
“I’m not following,” Tuvia said.
“Your grandfather said he had money, yet none was found,” Jake said. “The only thing he brought was the Torah with the empty hollow section. What if he converted his savings into diamonds, and hid them in the Torah. That would have kept it hidden from thieves on-board, and could be easily converted to cash when you arrived.
“That handle was really loose when I got it back. I’ll bet someone discovered the cavity, maybe even Muttle. After they unscrewed it, and took the diamonds it probably didn’t fit as snugly as it did before.”
“Don’t diamonds have serial numbers we can use to trace them?” Pinky asked.
“Ya, I think you’re right,” Jake replied. “When I was a teenager, I worked for my cousin in the diamond trade one summer in Manhattan on 47th street. I bet he’ll know how we can find those diamonds.
“If there even were any,” Tuvia said.
Jake looked at Pinky while he tapped his pocket, then slipped out his phone. “Good thing it’s still there! I’ll try calling my cousin now.”
“Hi Marty!”, Jake said.
“Hey! How’s my favorite cousin?” Marty replied.
Jake explained the situation, then asked, “Are there serial numbers we can use to find those diamonds?”
“Not a chance,” Marty said. “Serial numbers weren’t a thing until the 1970’s. When Tuvia’s grandfather woulda been on that ship there was no such thing.”
“Any idea how we could find them?” Jake asked.
“Well, your best bet is to ask local dealers,” Marty suggested. “I know a guy in Chicago—a Sopoynik Chassid—Reuven Grossman. You could start with him.”