It all sounded very familiar. I remembered that Avihu had said something very similar to Kate. This damned professionalism made me sick. People don't become robots if they don't want to. It's very easy to hide behind the excuse of professionalism to justify all the despicable things you do.
"We're better than any other intelligence agency - American, Israeli or Arab," Gadi went on. "That's why we'll always survive, and that's why I wanted you to come in with us when I saw you last year. But you're still too selfish, or spoiled, or stupid to understand how important it is."
I was startled by the ear-splitting scream of a jet taking off from LaGuardia, drowning out the monotonous hum of the boat's engines. It must have been rush hour at the airport, because at least ten other planes followed the first into the air, all fighting gravity as they headed upward and westward with a deafening roar.
Some black kids on shore waved at us cheerily. The tour boat slowed to cross the shallow part of the river near the Coast Guard station. A few stranded boats lay on their side in the water near a deserted power station, poignant reminders of the caution needed to navigate these waters. Gadi was quiet for a long time, peering around suspiciously. We picked up speed again, passing a large railroad yard. There were more than a hundred train cars there, waiting to be repaired, repainted, and returned to service. All originally silver, blue, or mustard yellow, a few were still covered in gaudy graffiti.
"What's the price, Gadi?" I asked.
"Price?" He didn't seem to understand. "It's all profit."
"You protected Benjamin to ensure Israel's survival, regardless of the price," I reminded him. Someone was going to pay.
"It could have been much worse. We could have ended up with a disaster for the whole Jewish community here. But this time it's much cheaper. Kate is the price."
My heart sank.
"We're going to use Benjamin for two more weeks until we pull him out. The poor bastard's so eager to prove how much we need him, and so delighted to be playing the great James Bond who saved the State of Israel, that he became a real headache. We're attracting too much attention. The FBI’s been on his tail for some time now. We had to give them something, and Kate would cause the least damage and not make a lot of waves. In fact, you're the only wave she's made. You see, we're not allowed to use a place like hers for more than six months anyway. She doesn't know anything that's really of major importance, so she's a convenient bone to throw the feds, and then we can just claim she's a nutcase. They don't have any proof, and even if she sings, no judge could treat what she says as reliable evidence."
"What will happen to her when it's all over?"
"Frankly, I don't know and I don't terribly care. I wouldn't get very far if I started agonizing over every mixed-up kid."
My hands clenched in rage. I felt like grabbing this pompous ass and shaking him, and then throwing him over the side. I really could, but I didn't. With Gadi there and Kate somewhere far away, I was again paralyzed by despair.
The open waters leading to the upper Hudson River and the green slopes of Palisades Park looked blue, calm, and comforting, but I felt was hopeless and trapped. He was a tough, heartless prick. I didn't think I could get anything out of him. No clue, no hope. If I could have, I would have picked up and left.
The boat veered to the south. I forced myself to stay calm and looked around. The Hispanic couple was gone. I hoped they'd found some better, more private, spot in some corner of the boat. An elderly German couple was there now, patiently considering different routes for their trip, comparing maps and itineraries. In Riverside Park the dogs were taking their owners for a walk. Health nuts jogged past along the pier. As soon as the sun came out from behind the clouds, I could see them quickly take off their shirts and turn their faces skyward like devout sun-worshippers.
A white cruise ship, Jamaica Queen, was getting ready to sail for the Caribbean that afternoon, flags flying on all masts. We slowed as we neared the pier. We hadn't spoken in a while.
"You know," I finally broke the silence, "you're a real shithead. Nothing matters to you as long as you maintain your reputation as a `pro.' You treat people like stones to step on your way up, like flies you can crush - and not for any good reason, just to cover your mistakes."
The patronizing smile on his face irked me more than anything else when he spat his "And who do you think decides what's a `good reason'?"
"Those politicians you sneer at," I answered. "I don't like them any better than you do, but they're there to prevent people like you from becoming demi-gods who decide who to crush. As for Kate, the feds’ll keep her locked up for a long time, and eventually she'll crack up, if she hasn't already. Can you live with that?"
Gadi gazed silently at the trees covering the slopes of New Jersey. Then he looked back at me with an expression of disgust and pity on his face.
"Dudi," he said, "you have to grow up some day. One day you will. It won't do you any good to cry about it. You have to learn to fight back."
There was something very distasteful in his tone. Then it suddenly occurred to me - he wouldn't hesitate to waste me either.
"Why did you tell me all this? What do you want from me?"
"I want you to disappear," he said. "You don't know what you're doing. We've woven a very delicate fabric, a lot of people are involved. A loose cannon like you could set off too many landmines. I'm hoping that once you understand, you'll be smart enough to get out of the way."
The boat was tied up to the dock. "I'll try not to tear your delicate fabric," I said. "But I'm going to get her back." We might have been out in the open, but I was suffocating, in urgent need of fresh air to fill my lungs. I elbowed my way through the crowd waiting in line to disembark. Gadi remained seated where I'd left him. I knew he would stay there until the last passenger had gotten off. A professional's caution.
CHAPTER TEN
First thing in the morning, two days later, someone I hadn't seen before strode into Motti Pizza. Dark complexioned, with a bushy black beard and piercing eyes, he looked tough. As he came in, he halted and stared at me in amazement. I couldn't figure out why. We had never met. His doppelganger followed a minute later and quietly took a seat in the corner, watching us warily. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the double vision. They were identical twins. It took me another second to figure it out.
Nissim was the first to react. "Two large onion pizzas and two coffees!" he shouted into the kitchen. Sharon was carrying a large tray of drinks when she stopped short and turned toward the door, sending the bottles and glasses flying off the tray onto a table, and from there one after the other, shattering on the floor. She didn't make any attempt to catch them. Didn't even look in their direction. She dropped the tray on the floor.
"Charlie!" she shrieked, running into the open arms of the one who was standing, showering him with kisses and tears.
So these were the Safran twins who had vanished three months ago.
"I knew you'd come back!" Sharon sobbed. "Why didn't you write? I almost died of worry, and solitude."
Charlie pushed her away gently. "Sit down, baby," he said.
"We came to get you," whistled Steve, his twin, whose real name was Moshe. "We're gonna rest up for a few days and then we're going home. Right, Charlie?"
His double didn't bother to answer, surrendering to Sharon's caresses. When he lifted his head again, looking at me with very weary eyes, he began speaking slowly. His voice was heavy with exhaustion as he drew the words out like a boxer who'd been hit in the head too many times. "That shirt looks familiar." He looked back curiously at Sharon. I shifted my weight uncomfortably, but didn't answer.
"Where did he come from?" he threw at Sharon.
"He had a thing with Kate," she replied quickly. "Remember her? She disappeared on him and he came here looking for her and meanwhile he's been helping out here. He's okay."
Steve, the other twin, examined me for a long time with piercing eyes.
"And how is he in bed?"
he asked finally.
"What bed?" Sharon answered, waving her fingers at him nervously. "He's stuck on Kate, I told you - Kate."
"Kate," he uttered. "Pretty Kate, sweet Kate, has disappeared." He was giving me goose bumps.
"Do you know anything about her?" I asked, afraid of the answer.
"A long time ago," he said."A long, long time ago."He sank into silence again.
"And lately?" I asked, without much hope.
"I just got here and I'm leaving right away. What could I know? But if it's that important to you," he added after a long pause, "maybe I can find out something for you."
In silence they finished off two family-sized onion pizzas, as Nissim had anticipated, two beers, and two cups of coffee. Then Steve, the family spokesman, took up his role again. "We've got to go. We're moving to Costa Rica. It makes a pretty good base. A good Jewish community, on good terms with the locals. Right, Charlie?"
Charlie looked over at Steve from where he was sitting with Sharon's arms around him. "Sure," he muttered, and went back to snuggling the neck of that thrilled young woman.
Steve snorted scornfully. "Okay, kids," he said. "We don't have much time. As for you," he added, addressing me as he examined his clothes on my body, "you can keep what you already took. It'll bring you luck. It's time we got ourselves a new wardrobe anyway." He moved cautiously toward the picture window of the restaurant, keeping himself hidden behind a column, and peered outside. "Looks okay, looks okay," he muttered several times. Sharon and the twins got ready to leave.
I was sorry for Sharon, who had so generously and innocently helped me settle in here, and I was worried about her too. "What now?" I asked her. "What are you going to do?"
"Bang, bang, bang," she sang out with shining eyes, "And then again, bang, bang, bang." The three of them disappeared through the back door.
The next morning I got up at six to meet the produce truck from the Farmers’ Market on Long Island. As the delivery man was unloading sacks of onions, I heard a noise behind me and spun on my heels. One of the Safran brothers was sitting on a dumpster watching us. I looked at him questioningly.
"Hey," he called. "What's up?"
I figured it must be Steve, since I'd already discovered that Charlie wasn't in the habit of initiating conversations. I grinned as I remembered Sharon's last words the day before. "Sleep well?" I asked.
"Too bad we can't stay," he answered. "That girl's fantastic. She kept us busy all night," he answered with a sad smile. "I'm not up to it anymore. It's a good thing Charlie was there. The man loves her. I mean love love . It must be serious between them. Go figure." He lit a cigarette. That early in the morning the smoke made me nauseous.
"As you might imagine," he went on, "I have all sorts of things to take care of. Like a small package, tiny really, that has to get to Philadelphia. Sharon tells me you can be trusted, and that you behaved with her." He fell silent.
The produce man finished unloading the sacks of vegetables, took his leave with a few words in Spanish, and went out of the alley into the main street. I climbed up on the dumpster and faced Steve.
"I don't know," I said. "It depends."
He stared at me. "Oh yeah," he said. "I already had enough time to find out. Check with Rammy's."
"You know Rammy Rachamim, from Rammy's Trucking Co. in Queens?" he offered in answer to my puzzled expression. "I understand he recently did a cleanup job at Kate's apartment. Check it out. It wasn't legit, just a bluff. You know, they show up at the apartment like they're movers, but the owner doesn't know anything about it until he gets home and finds the place emptied out." Steve gave me a tired smile. "I'm a little too old for that kind of thing. Ask that crook Miller. He'll arrange for you to meet with Rammy."
I didn't respond. "I'm going to get that package for you," he said, and disappeared with surprising agility between the buildings.
A half hour later I caught sight of him through the window and went out to meet him. It was only six-thirty and the restaurant wasn't open yet. There was hardly anyone in the street either. He crossed the street at an angle, forcing the few cars on the road to stop with screeching brakes. That wasn't like him. The Safran brothers were in the habit of appearing and disappearing under cover. He was limping and veering unsteadily back and forth. He reached the entrance to Motti Pizza and leaned on the door with the last of his strength. I rushed over to him. Very slowly, he began to collapse, struggling to get a hold on the doorpost and painting it with red stripes as he went down. He tried to say something, but only bits of words came out: "…package...girl...Sharon...the house...package..." A sigh burst from deep inside him, and he fell to the ground. I leaned over and knew I couldn't do much for him. I started running toward Astor Place, prudently circling the block. As far as I could see, there weren't any suspicious characters or vehicles outside the building, and I sped up the stairs to the second floor. The door to Sharon's apartment was wide open. I flattened myself against the wall and moved toward it. In the foyer, there was even more of a mess than I remembered. I found Charlie in the bedroom, spread out on his back, on the round bed, naked. His head was hanging off the side of the bed, his eyes wide open in surprise, his brow sporting a red circle, and his cheeks stained with the same color, as if someone had tried futilely to wipe away the blood. I went into the bathroom, opening closets and quietly calling her name, but it was no good. Sharon was gone.
*
Nissim didn't open the restaurant that morning. The front door remained locked, and inside we used the time to give the place a spring cleaning - the stoves, the counter, the tables, the floor. Police detectives came and went through the back door. Nissim handled all most of the conversation with them. He explained that I didn't know anything and had not heard anything. I just confirmed that to them. It wasn't far from the truth. Nissim wouldn't let the press or TV cameras in. Over the Motti Pizza sign out front, he hung a large banner advertising printing services, which he kept in the storeroom for just such occasions.
"Business is good enough," he grunted. "We don't need to advertise."
Around eleven, I went out to buy a paper. In front of the newsstand, I felt a hand on my arm. Sharon was wearing faded jeans and a woolen jacket over a white T-shirt stained with blood. She saw the perplexity on my face and pointed to her shirt.
"They shot Charlie in the head twice. They shot Steve twice too, but they missed. He got away, but he wasn't in good shape," she said. "The whole thing took maybe two minutes. I saw it all. I was in the bathroom. My God, David, I can still see them…" I tried to hug her, but she stayed away, all shaken. "I got out by the fire escape. It was hours ago, but I didn't want to leave Charlie, I couldn't. I was so scared. Listen, David," she said in a sudden businesslike tone, "I'm going to Philadelphia. I have to deliver that package. I'll be back in a few days to pack up. Just get my things and keep them here for a while. You're a real sweetheart."
She threw her arms around me and gave me a kiss. I could feel her shaking all over. I gave her my shirt.
"You see," she said in a tone of bitter triumph, "he did come back after all."
She crossed the street.
It was very hot out, a weird Indian summer in the middle of October. Steam rose from the sidewalk on Waverly Place. The cars passing by made a clanking sound as they rode over the manhole covers. In Washington Square, a half-naked kid on skates danced to the music of a huge boom box. Outside the restaurant, an antique, black Cadillac dotted all over with nickel was parked on the pavement. It was hard to ignore that Eldorado, probably from '62, maybe '63. There were two men inside. The thundering noise of the sawn-off shotgun sounded like a motorcycle backfiring, but then Sharon who just, somehow, crossed the road, raised her arms like a bird trying to fly before collapsing on the sidewalk. A man got out of the Eldorado and walked over to her lazily, trying to look like some confused bystander who wanted to help. Then he gently took the purse from her hand, returned to the car and drove off quickly. I turned back to Washington Square
before the storm started again.
An enormous black girl joined the half-naked skater and began swaying along with him. She was more than six feet tall, dressed in a tight black blouse and shorts with hot pink stripes. Her dancing became more frenzied. Beads of sweat appeared on her neck and her face, but she kept moving faster and faster. A growing circle of spectators gathered around them, mesmerized by the music. Suddenly, they were joined by several more performers on skates who had been waiting nearby - a juggler in a tuxedo; a woman dressed up like a snake, three girls in bathing suits, and two ebony giants in glowing white costumes.
I could still feel the touch of Sharon's lips on my cheek; I could still hear her warm voice in my ear. I sat on a bench and conducted my own private accounting. New York had been good to me. I could settle in at Motti Pizza, walk around freely, earn a thousand dollars or more in ten minutes, make new friends and lose them the next day, go into business in South America, make a fortune and lose it and come back to Motti Pizza. Was that what I wanted? I was very depressed and homesick, but what home was I sick for? I still dreamed of Kate every night and thought about her all day. I could see her stranded in terrible places, looking desperately for someone to trust, her eyes holding mine, wide open, trying to make sure I wouldn't leave her. She was calling for help - I could hear her - but up to now I'd been too stupid to do what I had to. I had abandoned her like everyone else before me. Getting into her apartment with a bouquet of flowers and questioning Gadi and the Safran brothers didn't make me her knight in shining armor.