I fought the numbing the only way I knew. I crawled in deeper, insisting to myself there was a job left to do. A case that was still unfinished. I silently urged myself to press on. But for the next few minutes there was only me to prod. Reb Yonah stood and clutched his son. Yakov returned the embrace with equal fervor. The two held each other speaking singsong Yiddish in soft murmurs. Simon stared at the floor and I stared past Simon.

When Yakov and Reb Yonah finished their private conversation, Yonah sat back down and faced us. Yakov remained standing, hand on his father’s shoulder. I tried to be happy for the kid, failed, so turned my attention back to Reb Yonah’s story. “Rabbi, you said Kelly was still waving his gun just before you fired. Are you certain?”

The Rabbi spoke with a husky voice. “Yes, I am certain. In that moment everything had slowed down. It was as if the darkness disappeared and he stood apart from everyone else in his own circle of evil.”

“Did you actually see him shoot the gun?”

“I saw him waving it over his head. There were people between us when I first ran toward him. I heard the explosion then looked back to the Rebbe.”

“Could you see Kelly’s face after that?”

“Yes. I saw his face just before I shot my weapon. I will go to my grave seeing his face.”

“What did it look like right before you fired? Was he happy, worried, what?”

Reb Yonah answered after a painful silence. “His mouth hung open but I no longer heard his curses. He looked surprised, frightened, as if he hadn’t expected to do what he had done.”

“Did he try to run away?”

“He just stood there.”

“Did he appear frightened of you, of your reaction?”

“I don’t think he even saw me.”

“Did you see anyone else near him? Anyone who might have been there with him?”

“No. I saw only Kelly. The people around him were our own people. Everyone was confused, running in all directions.”

“What are you driving at, Matt?” Simon asked.

“I don’t know, Simon. The Rabbi didn’t see Kelly shoot.” So far I hadn’t found anyone who had. “I don’t want to leave without making sure I’ve got everything, that’s all.”

“There were people in Reb Yonah’s way, Matt,” Simon explained.

“I believe him.” I turned back to Yonah and abruptly changed the subject. “So now the Never Agains have you in their pocket?”

“In their pocket?”

“That’s right. You recruit, send them money, do whatever they want. You’re boxed in worse than you were before Simchas Torah.”

He shook his head. “Why would they want to trap me?”

“You’re their guarantee. Their assurance.”

“Assurance for what?”

“Reb Yonah, as long as they own you, they can do what they damn well please up here. That’s what their scheming was all about. The Never Agains want another launching pad from which to fight their holy war.”

I expected another rip at my character but Reb Yonah had nothing left but dogma. “My friends have no need to trap anyone. They protect us, help us maintain our lives against the threat of another holocaust.”

“Reb Yonah, Never Again is involved with more than the protection of helpless Jews. I’m no expert, but Simon can tell you all about your so-called friends. This was no defense against anti- Semites. What happened on Simchas Torah was directed against your Rabbi. My guess is the Never Agains were flat out partners with the White Avengers.”

Although the shattered dogma left him with nothing, Reb Yonah didn’t protest. The blush had long been chiseled from the rose, but until tonight the Rabbi had been unwilling to notice. “Then I too was a partner with the Avengers. I was a partner with Kelly.”

“A manipulated partner, Rabbi. You were jerked around. Used. Vigilante groups turn fear into hate, then find enemies to aim it on. Like all vigilantes, like the White Avengers, the Never Agains feed on the fears of its members. And they had a dinner party with yours.”

I rushed on, embarrassed by my own passion. “Look what the Never Agains did to you. They turned you, Reb Dov, even Kelly, into victims. They created a moment in time which you had spent your life running from. And they manipulated you into helping them do it. Do you really feel any safer now?”

Reb Yonah turned and pulled Yakov closer to his side. “It is difficult to accept that all this suffering, all this death, was in vain.”

I started to respond but Yakov surreptitiously waved me silent. “Papa, what Mr. Jacob says is true. The Never Agains pushed you into something that became much worse than any possible Avenger attack upon the Yeshiva. These aren’t friends.”

The Rabbi looked at his son and shrugged despondently. “Even if Jacob is correct, there is nothing to be done. The people in New York are very insistent about starting their organization right now. I have no means to stop them, especially if what he says is true.”

Simon’s one hand slapped at the table, the other ran through his hair. “I’m not so sure of that, Rabbi.”

I had seen the livid look on my friend’s face before. He was enraged by what he had been hearing and clearly knew whom he was angry at. “I can do something about the Never Agains. I will do something.” He leaned forward glaring at Reb Yonah. “But you will stop your recruiting. You will give up on this hate group.” Simon lowered his voice. “And you’ll give me the namesof these people you are still calling your friends.”

I saw Yonah stiffen but Yakov intervened. “Father, to allow the Never Agains to continue their work is to honor those who forced you to turn against the Rebbe.”

“I’m not oblivious to your worries about anti-Semitism,” Simon added. “But that organization is not going to stamp it out. They just invite more. If I help with this situation, you will have to find better ways to deal with your fears.”

I didn’t catch Reb Yonah’s answer. In fact, I was starting to tune out. Simon was Simon and the Never Agains would never be. At least up here. Yakov was home and Reb Yonah was glad to have him there. Simon wasn’t even pissed that I had put him through this wringer. Me? I just wanted out.

“Simon,” I interrupted, “do you need me for the rest of this? I’m absolutely beat. I want to go home.”

Simon shot a quick look at Yakov, then back to me. I saw a troubled expression cross his face. “You ought to be thanked before you go anywhere,” he said.

I got up and smiled wearily in his direction. “No need, boss.” I waited for a moment hoping, I think, for Yakov to say something. I didn’t expect him to thank me, but it would be nice to hear a goodbye. When all I heard was silence, I glanced across the table and saw him staring at the floor.

I walked over to Simon. “Are you going to have any trouble with this, with the rest of it?”

His eyes were gleaming. “Are you kidding? When I’m finished the Never Again will be sorry they ever heard of Reb Yonah. Hell, they’re going to be sorry they exist.”

“Then I’m history.”

Simon accompanied me to the front door. “Listen,” he said in a quiet voice. “You were right to make this happen. Right to make me do it with you. Sooner or later the boy will realize what you meant to him and Reb Yonah. When he does he’ll thank you. Right now, the only thing he sees is his old man. Maybe for the first time. And believe me, I’ll get everything else straightened out.”

“I believe you, Boss. Thanks.” I started to leave, remembered something I’d forgotten to ask, and walked back to the dining room doorway. “I have one last question, Rabbi. In all the time you’ve been associated with the Never Agains, have you ever met a woman member?”

He looked at me as if I were from another planet. “A woman?”

“Have you ever even heard a woman mentioned?”

Reb Yonah shook his head. “There are no women in the Never Agains.”

I shrugged my thanks, nodded to Simon, and found my way to the car.

 

I thought I went home to sleep, but deep, delicious, dopeless sleep was something from a past life. The best I could do was get tangled in the bedcovers. The more I twisted, the closer I came to eating some V. But images from the night kept whipping through my head and I was reluctant to chance drugged out dreams. I didn’t need to find myself locked into something I couldn’t escape. I finally gave up, gathered my cigarettes and grass, and retreated to the couch. If a depression was coming I wanted to be in position.

The depression never came. Instead, I found myself fiddling with the night’s revelations. At first it felt like helplessly picking at an open wound. A pyro playing with fire. But as I picked, my ruptured relationship with Yakov imperceptibly drifted into the background and I found myself trying to weave Clifford and Reb Yonah’s stories into one. The more I tried, the more frustrated I became. And with the frustration came a deeper fatigue. Eventually, the exhaustion, a well-made joint, and the familiarity of my living room couch caught me.

I awoke the next day angry. Positive that Clifford wanted me to bring down Deirdre Ryan. That’s what he’d been trying to signal. That’s what he meant when he’d invited me to dig. What he’d meant when he told me he couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t, but I could. Clifford had used me as a Trojan horse right from the beginning and wanted to keep on using me until the very end.

And I didn’t care; I wanted to bring her down. Deirdre was the only card left in the deck. If Clifford couldn’t finish the hand, I would.

I pulled the telephone off the hook and spent the day at my desk pushing paper like a government bureaucrat on speed. I hammered the case from every angle and perspective. I looked at the events through the eyes of each player, searching for objectives, hunting for means. I took Washington Clifford’s advice and ran all the numbers. I added, subtracted, and added some more. I smoked, paced my rooms, and smoked some more.

By the time the apartment needed its lamps, I was ready to leave. I strapped the holster and gun across my shoulder, threw on my leather, and walked into the alley for Manuel’s car. It wasn’t gonna be a carnival, but I had tickets for one more ride.