Stone Kiss (46 page)

“Jesus!” He tried to stand up, but the slick soles of his shoes slid out from under his weight. “Goddammit.”

Dimmer and dimmer.

“Oh Lord!” He took hold of a wet tree trunk and hoisted himself upward, his head missing a low branch by inches.

The road had become washed out, just a stream of thick coffee pouring down the hillside.

Weighing the options, he decided he needed his hands. He folded the umbrella, sticking it into his rear pants pocket, and
was immediately assaulted by chilled water oozing down his face. He held the flashlight with his left ring and pinkie fingers
and opted to play Tarzan. Grabbing hold of thick branches—whatever would hold his weight—he used them as a purchase to scale
down the hill. Arms above his head, hands gripping one limb after another, he oscillated downward as if he were swinging on
monkey bars. His movements were slow and deliberate and painful because his fingers were as flexible as frozen carrots. Several
times, he conked himself with the flashlight. His language was foul and loud.

Now it wasn’t even
getting
darker: Decker decided it was officially dark. He couldn’t see beyond his nose and he could see his nose only because it
was good-sized. He turned on the flashlight, arcing its beam through the thicket. In front of him was an endless tangle of
denuded brush.

There was no way for him to orient himself except by using the roadway. He’d have to wade through the mud to keep himself
from getting lost. Carefully, while still holding on to a tree branch, he stuck his foot into the moving muck—colder and deeper
than he thought. It grabbed him by the ankle and threatened to propel him forward while rocks and pebbles pelted his leg.
He slid his foot about the ground—as greased as an oil slick. To keep his balance upright, he needed a wide surface area and
traction.

It was going to be a breech delivery—legs and butt first. He opened the umbrella and laid it onto the rushing rill. Grimacing,
he lowered his butt onto the canopy of nylon. Using the handle to steer and his feet for brakes, he prayed, then pushed off.

Decker was never big on sledding, probably because he grew up without snow, but he found out really quick that he had a good
sense of balance. Once he moved beyond the “cold and wet factor,” he was able to concentrate on the mechanics of getting down
without getting lost or hurt. It was stop and go as he forded the stream, not exactly Washington crossing the Delaware, but
it did bring out Decker’s more rugged side.

It took around a half hour, and though his backside felt sandpaper sore, he made it to the highway without so much as a stubbed
toe. The umbrella was lunched, about half the spokes broken and the nylon ripped beyond repair, but the flashlight still worked.
He waved the flare end with enthusiasm when he saw an approaching set of headlights. The vehicle slowed. A Chevy truck.

The driver, covered by a caveman beard, lowered the passenger window. “Hop in.”

“It’s okay,” Decker said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Several moments ticked away.

“Not a lotta cars, buddy.” He looked Decker up and down. “You
sure
?”

Decker smiled like the village idiot. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Nodding to convince him. No doubt it made him look even more ludicrous.
“Just fine.”

The driver shook his head, rolled up the window, and left.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably only ten minutes before headlights came from the other side of the roadway.
It had to be Jonathan because the illumination was creeping over the asphalt. Decker arced the blinking red light across the
roadway. The van slowed, then pulled a U-turn, easing over onto what was once the shoulder of the road. Now it was a gurgling
flow of mud.

Decker yanked the door open and hoisted himself inside. The two men looked at one another, water pouring down Decker’s face.
He smiled. “Can I kiss your lips?”

Jonathan stared at him, his mouth agape.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a change of clothes back there? Maybe a towel? I’d take a grease rag at this point.”

“Let’s go find you something dry,” Jonathan said.

“First tell me about the emergency. What do you mean by ‘Chaim’s missing’?”

Jonathan inched the van back onto the road. “Exactly that.”

“He took off?”

“Appears that way.” Jonathan sneaked in a glimpse at his brother. “Are you all right?”

“I’m drenched and my ass is sore, but otherwise fine. Tell me about Chaim. Details.”

“When I got to Quinton, he was already gone. Apparently, right after
Sha’chris
, he claimed he wasn’t feeling well and needed to lie down. But when Minda went to check on him, the room was empty.”

“Any ideas?”

Jonathan had reduced the van’s speed to almost nothing. He was still struggling to keep within the lines of the roadway. It
was as black as pitch outside with no street lighting. “About twenty minutes after I arrived at shiva, we received a phone
call from Leon Hershfield. I took it.”

“What’s going on?”

“Hershfield had just gotten off the phone with JFK airport police and the local FBI.”

“Oh my God!”

“You can see what’s coming.”

“He was trying to skip.”

“Those guys you were telling me about… the ones Randy mentioned.”

“Weiss, Harabi, and Ibn Dod. They were with him?”

“This was per Hershfield… who was sketchy with the facts. Anyway, he told me that they were all set to board an international
flight to Israel. Security stopped Harabi and Ibn Dod because apparently something was wrong with their passports or maybe
they looked too jumpy or didn’t look Chasidic enough—”

“They were dressed as Chasids?”

“Yes, I suppose.” A big sigh. “You know how tight things are now. Especially El Al. As soon as security was called in, they
took off— scattered.”

“Really stupid of them to travel together.”

“Last-minute flights to Israel are always a problem. Airlines have cut their dailies to Israel after the attacks.”

“Did security nab anyone?”

“I don’t know, because no one’s talking.” Jonathan tapped the wheel. “Airport police haven’t told us a damn thing. FBI hasn’t
told us a damn thing. The Feds arrived at Minda’s house and at the shiva about the same time as the phone call. Hershfield
was supposedly on his way to the airport to sort it all out, but… but I have the feeling that they
don’t
have Chaim in custody.”

“Why not?”

“By Hershfield’s questions.”

“What did he ask?”

“The gist? Where would Chaim go if he wanted to hide out? But he was subtler than that. And the Feds basically asked me the
same thing.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I decided that after the debacle with Shayndie, I’d talk to you first. So I haven’t opened my mouth to anyone. Things are
frantic over there. When no one was looking, I took off. My question to you is… where do we go from here?”

“Not back to Quinton,” Decker told him.

“No, not unless you want to be detained for hours.”

“Do you know where Chaim would be hiding, Jon?”

“No idea. My first thoughts were maybe one of his stores—in Manhattan or in Brooklyn. I’m sure both places are swarming with
Feds right now.”

“So that would be useless.”

“I think so,” Jonathan agreed. “Maybe we should meet Hershfield down at the airport.”

“Did he ask you to come meet him?”

“No.”

No one spoke.

“Well, what the hey!” Decker slapped his wet thigh. “Sure, let’s try the airport.”

“Think they’ll tell us anything?”

“No. But if they have Weiss, Harabi, or Ibn Dod in custody, I’ll call up my brother. Those guys are wanted big time in Miami.
If I get him on the phone, and he starts in with official extradition processes, it’ll give us some credibility.” Decker regarded
his sodden lap. “Before we do anything, I need dry clothing. Since Quinton by now is Fedland, how about the Bainberry mall?
Something over there should still be open.”

Jonathan turned the van around.

They rode a few moments in silence. Decker leaned forward and stared out the windshield.

“Your brother will be happy then,” Jonathan said. “That the police captured these guys… if they did capture them.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“But Chaim wasn’t a part of their Miami ecstasy ring, so far as your brother knew, right?”

Still no response.

“Akiva—”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Silence.

“Akiva, did you hear what I—”

“Just a minute…”

“What is it?”

“Hold on…” Decker’s eyes swept from the windshield to the rearview mirror, to the side mirror, then out the windshield again.

“Akiva, what’s going on?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m not sure.…” Decker’s mind was reeling. “There were headlights behind us before you made a U-turn. One headlight, not
a pair… which I thought was peculiar because it’s pouring outside.” Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and pulled
out the snub-nose.

“Wha… when did you get that?”

“It’s a long story, but right now I’m glad I have it. Can I dry the grip off on your jacket?”

“Hold on, I’ll take it off.”

“Don’t bother, I just need the hem.” He wiped moisture off the gun. “Since the vehicle was in the distance, I thought maybe
it was a car with a busted headlight. Now you just turned around, so it should be facing us. But it’s not there.”

Outside, the world was shades of charcoal and black. Even the sky failed to bring forth any illumination, the cloud cover
blocking out the stars and the moon.

“Jonathan, cut your lights. Then coast a minute or two and pull over.”

The rabbi killed the beams. They were encased in total darkness. Decker turned on the flashlight and shone it out the windshield.
It wasn’t much, but it was better than a blackout. “Coast a few minutes, then pull over.”

A warm flush swept through Jonathan’s body. His hands were shaking. “Here goes nothing.…”

The van bumped and dipped and finally stopped, askew in the mud, just inches from a tree trunk.

“Switch places with me,” Decker told him.

Jonathan started for the door, then stopped himself. “You mean I should crawl over you.”

“Yes, of course. Stay down.”

Falling over one another, they switched places. Decker was on the floor of the driver’s seat; Jonathan had hunkered down on
the passenger’s side. Decker could hear his brother breathing hard…or
maybe he was hearing his own exhalations. A moment ago, he had been exhausted, completely spent. In a few seconds’ time, adrenaline
had put speed and force into his heartbeat.

“What—”

“Shhh…”A pause. “Hear that?”

“What?”

“Listen!”

Finally, Jonathan heard it, the low growl of an engine grumbling through the rain. Decker peered over the dashboard, but nothing
came into his field of vision. He lowered the driver’s window halfway down, more than enough to liberate the barrel of the
snub-nose. Then he looked over the dashboard again.

The motorized whir grew a bit louder, then abruptly all was silent except for the rain.

“Uh-oh… this doesn’t look good.…”

“Wha—!”

“Shhh…”

Jonathan would have thrown up his hands had there been room. His armpits were soaked through.

“Okay, okay… Where’s the flashlight?”

Jonathan gave it to him. “What are you going to do?”

“I gotta see him first.” Decker was talking to himself. He patted the battery pack. “Let’s hope this motherfucker’s strong.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Don’t know.” He put the driver’s window all the way up, then unlocked the doors. Again he peeked over the dash. He couldn’t
really
see
anything, but the darkness in front of him seemed to shift, as if the air molecules were rearranging themselves. Could be
his imagination playing games. But then something shifted again. “Get way down, Jonathan. Tuck your head between your legs
and your hands over your neck.”

The rabbi did as told. Decker noticed that his brother was moving his lips, but no sounds were coming out—silent prayer. He
hoped Jon was saying one for him, too. “I see something. Hold on, baby… C’mon, you mother…”

The shape—presumably a human and most probably a male—
was nearing the van, walking with a bowlegged gait as if he were about to draw a gun in an old-fashioned Western. Then Decker
realized that the legs were straddling a seat. The motorcycle was a small one. Looked to be a Honda… something nimble. He
was approaching them from the driver’s side, most likely because the van’s passenger wheels were stuck in a rut of mud right
next to the woods.

“C’mon, c’mon… ,” Decker urged.

Inching closer.

“Just a little more, baby….”

“Oh God!” Jonathan moaned.

“Hold on.” Decker swallowed hard. “He’s almost here.”

The seconds ticked by.

One… two… three.

He peeked out again. “C’mon, motherfucker. Move a little closer to the door.…”

Four… five… six.

The Honda was at the front bumper on the driver’s side. A figure looking through the window… to the dash. Even though Decker
couldn’t see out that well, he knew there was no way that the biker could see in.

“Keep going…”

The figure was moving toward the driver’s window. “A little closer…”

Springing into action, Decker hurled the door, clipping the front wheel of the motorcycle, spinning the entire ensemble off
balance. Then he aimed the light’s beam on the driver’s face, features hidden behind a ski mask. “Freeze!”

Abruptly, something sped past Decker’s head.

“Shit!” He dropped the flashlight and ducked behind the safety of the metal door. Vaulting out a second time, he shot from
the hip, discharging a bullet at the bike, but a volley of flying metal forced him to retreat another time. The biker’s bullets
hit the front of the van, sending a deafening clatter throughout its interior, some of the ammo ricocheting off, spitting
fire into the wet, raven night. Decker covered his head as hot lead flew past him.

“Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck, fuck!”