The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  He stared down at the table. “They asked me to approach the Rebbe again. They felt the Rebbe might feel differently since it was no longer isolated acts of hatred, but an organized system of anti-Semitism. I wanted to talk to the Rebbe about this.” He returned his gaze to his son. “People with numbers burned into their arms see all too clearly the nature of appeasement.”

  “But Rabbi Dov still refused to let them recruit?” Simon found his voice.

  “He said no.”

  I stole a look at Yakov before I asked, “What was the Never Agains’ next idea, Rabbi?”

  Reb Yonah lowered his eyes. “When my friends heard that I had been unable to convince Reb Dov, they asked me to recruit behind his back.” He lifted his head momentarily. “Again I refused. But as the attacks from the Avengers increased, they insisted something needed to be done to change the Rebbe’s mind.”

  Reb Yonah took a deep shaky breath as anguish contorted his face. “This is when everything terrible really began. I met with my friend in New York and we talked through the night. If the Rebbe truly understood the gravity of the Avenger threat…If Reb Dov saw our vulnerability, he might finally understand. My friend suggested a disruption at the Simchas Torah celebration— thugs would interfere when everyone was out on the street. The Rebbe would clearly see how easy it was to be in harm’s way. He would want our Yeshiva protected. Protected by our own.” Reb Yonah covered his face with a hand and spoke from behind it. “To this day I don’t know why I countenanced this idea.”

  “But you did,” I said.

  Now that he’d begun telling the truth, Reb Yonah seemed determined to tell all of it. Maybe the Catholics were on to something with their confessionals. Yonah removed his hand. “Yes. But I returned from New York uneasy about our discussion so I put it from my mind. Eventually it became as if I had dreamt it. Such a long time passed before I heard from him, I hoped my friend had also forgotten.”

  “But he hadn’t?” asked Simon.

  I heard Yakov’s chair scrape along the floor, sliding closer to the table. I didn’t look his way.

  “No,” Reb Yonah said. “He had not forgotten. Worse. He told me that through various contacts the Never Agains had been able to do the impossible. They had arranged for this Sean Kelly to disrupt our holiday! He said the Rebbe would taste our danger! After the disruption, if Kelly were caught, he would be identified as an Avenger. The Rebbe would now be certain to change his mind…”

  “What were you supposed to do?” Simon’s eyes shot sparks as he leaned into the Rabbi’s words.

  “Everything. I was told that my friend could no longer be contacted. It was important the Never Agains remain hidden, out of sight. They would call me after everything was finished. After Simchas Torah. I tried to remove myself but it was impossible. Everything had gone too far and I was the only one left to exercise any control over what was to occur. It was too late to stop Kelly. My friend gave me a time to meet with him.”

  “Where were you supposed to meet?” I asked.

  “I was given an address in the neighborhood. It was a church. When I got there I believed it to be the wrong address.”

  “Why?”

  “Because a Hasid would never go inside any church. I started to leave when Kelly ran over. We spoke for a little while and set times to meet again.”

  “When did he start blackmailing you?” I asked.

  Yonah lifted his shoulders tiredly. “I’m not certain of when. By then everything seemed as a dream. A terrible nightmare. This was not a Rabbi’s work.”

  “But he did blackmail you?” I pressed.

  “Yes, he blackmailed me. He had tape recordings of our conversations. He wanted twenty thousand dollars. I grew frantic and found myself negotiating, but I had nothing with which to negotiate. No matter what price he fixed, I would not be able to pay.”

  “What did you do?” Yakov asked.

  “I called my friend in New York. Then I went there, only to be given rough diamonds to push onto Kelly. I was told to refuse him any cash or any more diamonds until after the disruption.” Yonah looked at me. “This is when I was given a gun and instructed to pretend to protect the Rebbe on Simchas Torah. I was to chase Kelly from our midst.”

  “Kelly went for the jewels?”

  “He wanted cash. Also, rough diamonds do not appear valuable. I explained that when everything was finished, I would see that they were cut into gems. He was unhappy, but he finally understood I could do no more.”

  Once again everyone lapsed back into silence, the only sound Reb Yonah’s labored breath. “Everything went wrong that night, didn’t it?” I asked softly.

  Reb Yonah didn’t need to be told which night. “Yes, everything went wrong. Kelly was to have screamed and cursed while he threatened with his gun. He would stand in full view when the Rebbe came out of the building to be sure the Rebbe saw the threat.”

  Reb Dov stared over my head. “It began as planned. I saw Kelly scream and curse. I made certain Reb Dov saw the disruption. When I turned my attention back to Kelly he was waving his gun. I took mine from my pocket and started toward him. Then I heard an explosion. I turned back to see my Rebbe fall to the ground.”

  Tears washed over Yonah’s face, his arms and hands shaking uncontrollably. Inside his black suit he looked small and lost. He looked old. “Something happened within me. Something that would not allow another loved one to be taken away without revenge. I ran at Kelly. He continued to wave his gun. The next I knew I had pulled the trigger.”

  Yonah slumped forward resting his head on his arms and sobbed. I heard Yakov leave his chair and watched him circle the table to his father. Yakov was ashen but dry-faced. He tentatively placed his hands on his father’s heaving shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed Yonah’s black yarmulke.

  Simon sat quietly, a grim, hard look on his face. I kept myself from squirming in my chair.

  Sometime in the future I would be comfortable with my role in having opened a path for Yonah and Yakov. Comfortable, even, with forcing Yonah’s Simchas Torah participation into the light. But right then I had a heavy heart. Right then, Yonah’s tears and Yakov’s gain were exposing my losses.

  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? An
yone 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, pac
ed 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.

  I’d spent the entire day getting it wrong, but that’s not what I discovered when I first got to Deirdre’s apartment. Instead, I discovered her sleek modern gun pointed toward my belly from under the dangling door chain. At that moment I was absolutely certain I had it right.

  “Come inside, Mr. Jacob, but keep your hands away from your body.” She opened the door to allow me to enter as she motioned her pistol invitingly.

  “Matt, Deirdre. Call me Matt,” I said, gingerly stepping into the apartment.

  “I think not”—backing deeper into the room—”I prefer Mr. Jacob.”

  “Tough to be intimate with someone standing in front of your gun. Is that the problem?”

  “Just turn around and face the wall. We’ll talk in a minute.” Unless she lied I wasn’t going to be shot in the back. Of course, she’d been lying since we met. The room looked different, more spacious, as I turned to face the wall. Her torture machine was missing. “Stop working out, Deirdre?”

  “Right now be quiet and do what I say. Place your fingertips flat on the wall, Mr. Jacob.”

  I leaned into the white wall at a slight angle as her foot kicked each ankle in rapid succession. My head banged against the painted Sheetrock. Lucky me, a new way to assume the position. Deirdre ran a professional hand over my body extracting the .38 along the way. When her fingers slid over the back of my legs I considered a short hard kick, but better sense prevailed: the hard silencer was brushing against my leather.

  “You don’t have to remain against the wall,” Deirdre said.

  I turned to see her crow’s-feet crinkle from the scornful smile on her face. “A little old-fashioned, don’t you think?” she asked kneeling. Deirdre placed my gun on her hardwood floor and slid it across the room.