It had been a long time since I’d used the basketball court. Even longer since I’d gotten any pleasure from my body. The remaining soreness from the Avengers’ beating and Clifford’s love taps had worked itself out during the scrimmage with Yakov. Thankfully, very little returned after my shower.

In a moment of lightheaded spontaneity, I dialed Boots’s number only to be met with a taped message announcing the date of her return. I hadn’t known she was away. I waited for the line to die before I hung the phone back up. I don’t know why I had expected a personal postscript. Or even hoped for one.

Still, I felt too good to let it get to me. The time till Thursday created a delicious hiatus in the midst of hectic. A chance to think things through and read the Sporting News. A chance to sleep without dreams.

It surprised me that Simon didn’t call until early Thursday morning.

“What the hell did you pull at the Yeshiva?” he asked exasperatedly.

“I didn’t pull anything. I did what I said I was going to do. Interviews. And got what you wanted. Didn’t you read my report?”

“The report was fine.” Simon hesitated then said abruptly, “The Hasidim don’t want you working on the case anymore.”

I felt my body stiffen. “Which Hasids and why?”

“Reb Yonah. I’m still not entirely sure why.”

A shot of anger ripped through my morning drowsy. “Well, fuck him. It was Cheryl’s hands that were broken, my ass that was kicked. Reb Yonah wouldn’t even bother to talk to me.”

“Look, Matt”—Simon dropped his belligerence—”he’s the client. If it’s any consolation, you’ve given me everything I need. Just let the rest go. I’m not sure how much more there is to get, anyway. You did good. I told that to Reb Yonah, but he wouldn’t listen. He called you a disruptive force to the Yeshiva students.”

“Disruptive? People there were falling all over themselves to tell me about the goobers.” I had a hunch about what Reb Yonah really thought disruptive. And that was bullshit too. “What other crap did he sell you?”

“He wasn’t selling, Matt. He was too angry. He said that as long as the courts left him alone, he didn’t care about the legalities. He told me he was hopeful of having the Yeshiva protected very shortly. I don’t know what he meant by that.”

“He meant muscle.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Never Agains.”

“How would you know that?”

“Reb Yonah’s kid, Yakov, told me.”

“He told you his father wanted to use muscle?”

“Not in so many words. He was explaining the conflict in the Yeshiva about the Never Agains…”

“Why were you talking to his kid about them? Why were you talking to the kid at all?”

Simon’s interruption slowed me down. After a second I replied, “I ran into him the first time I went to the Yeshiva. He’s been my unofficial guide. He’s a good kid. Was the Big Guy’s handpicked student.”

Simon heard the pride in my voice. “No wonder Reb Yonah wants you off the case. That’s why the boy called the other day looking for your number. Did he get in touch with you?”

“He came by. We played a little basketball.”

“Jesus, Matt. Hasidim don’t like people fucking with their children. The boy went to your house to play ball? That’s a long way to travel to tickle the twine, babe. Come on, Matt, what’s going on?”

“He came over to apologize for his old man’s rude behavior.”

“I know those Yeshiva kids. They don’t just drop in on somebody like you.”

“‘Somebody like me’?”

“Don’t be a schmuck. An atheist Jew. Christ, they won’t even drink a glass of water unless they’re absolutely certain the house is kosher.”

“Tell me. You don’t sound so gung-ho Jewish this morning.”

“I’ve never been big on the Middle Ages. Rabbi Sheinfeld’s temple is Reformed, for Christ sake.”

I felt a little of my anger subside. “Reb Yonah gave you a hard time, didn’t he?”

“I don’t take kindly to being treated like a dog. Por favor, what’s really happening between you and the kid?”

“The boy is lonely. His mother is dead and Reb Yonah funnels all his energy into the Yeshiva. Near as I can tell, when the Big Guy died, Yakov lost the closest thing he had to a parent.”

“How old is this kid?”

“I’m not sure, maybe fifteen, sixteen.” His question stretched my nerves.

“And you’re going to take Reb Dov’s place?” Simon asked softly, without sarcasm.

A week ago his question would have hit the core of my depression. Today, I just felt angry and guarded. “No, Simon. But I like him. You’d like him.”

Simon grunted. He had long since given up hope of children. Something I’d always associated with Fran’s lack of desire.

“I’m sorry, Matt, I still have to pull you off.”

“Why? Your client isn’t footing the bill.”

“It’s not just Reb Yonah. I’m catching it from all sides. Hey, I don’t like this situation any more than you. Probably less. It took me a couple of days to even call about it. But I’ve got to try and settle this in a way that keeps everyone calm.”

It was senseless to continue. I had planned to tell Simon about Clifford and my uneasy feeling about Deirdre, but now I was just too angry. I was sick of people questioning or complaining about every step I took. Anyhow, Simon was under too much pressure from too many directions to concern himself with something that wasn’t in the middle of his plate. Something that might not be on the menu.

And maybe he was right. Maybe there wasn’t anything left to do, but I wasn’t going to let Reb Yonah leash me to a tree.

“You understand why I have to do this?” he asked.

“I don’t like it, but I understand. I’ll send you the bill for my time.”

“No, don’t. I’m keeping you on the meter until everything is completely squared away.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. They’re going to pay for the privilege of telling me how to run my office.”

Good old Simon. Runs with the herd until the herd steps on his foot. Sometimes it just took a while for him to notice.

“Sounds like an early Christmas. Let me know how everything works out, okay?”

“Sure.” He paused. “Matt, you aren’t thinking of flying solo on any of this, are you?”

“What’s left?”

“I’m talking about you and the kid.” He took a deep breath. “I’m thinking that your rapport with Yonah’s son has something to do with Becky.”

“Maybe it does, Simon, but not to worry. I won’t get between Reb Yonah and Yakov.”

“Good,” he said with an air of finality.

Why not? As far as he was concerned, it was finished.

“Keep in touch,” I said.

“Sure,” he said, his mind already on his next task.

I hung up the phone more determined than ever to discover what had Washington Clifford by the nose. Yonah’s attitude about me, about the Never Agains, had piggybacked onto my suspicions of Deirdre. I had trouble when something supposedly finished left me with more questions than when I began.

Hell, if I was careful enough, I’d even get paid.

Only, how careful was careful? I wanted more information about Kelly and his organization. Unless I found Blue—and by now I had a hunch he was nowhere to be found—there weren’t too many places to look for answers.

Except, perhaps at the Yeshiva. Or, if Father Collins meant what he said, back in the neighborhood.

Terrific. Now I had both Clifford and Simon to dodge. I sat in the office reviewing my notes, trying to spur my thinking. All it spurred was a couple of joints. As much as I tried to spin open ended scenarios, I couldn’t see a connection between the Deirdre-Kelly relationship and Reb Dov’s shooting. I had nothing to grasp but uneasy feelings and doobies. Not exactly foundation stones on which to build an investigation.

I retired to the couch, frustrated and fatigued by my useless endeavor. I kept smoking, added a little bourbon to the mix, and tried to relieve the anger I’d felt since I was fired. Unfortunately, I fell asleep before I discovered whether it worked.