Buffalo Jump (12 page)

“Sure. Why?”

“I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“We spoke last week.”

“Are we down to once a week now?”

“Come on, Ma. The last three times I called, you weren’t home.” A call to a Jewish mother must count whether she is there to answer or not. Elsewhere madness lies.

“When were these alleged calls?” she asked. “Give me days and times, mister. Let’s see how your story stands up.”

“Tuesday suppertime. Friday around seven. Sunday afternoon.”

“Tuesday, I was at the museum,” she said. “They had a
members-only preview of the new Chinese ceramics exhibit. It hasn’t even gone to New York yet—we got it first. Friday was Shabbas dinner with the Golds. It’s one meal I hate to eat alone, and both you and Daniel were busy. Maybe this week you’ll come to me.”

“We’ll see.”

“Which means you won’t. And Sunday … Sunday I had a board meeting
at shul,”
she said. “Did I tell you I was re-elected president of the sisterhood?”

“Of course you did. I congratulated you effusively, as I recall.”

“All right,” she said. “So your story checks out. Doesn’t mean you can’t call more often but at least you tried. So how are you, dear? How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine, Ma. A hundred per cent.”

“I’m so glad.”

“You don’t sound glad.”

“Well, it’s just that if it’s healed, you’ll be going back out in the field, no?”

“Yes.”

“And the last time you were in this field of yours, you got shot.”

“Ma …”

“I saw you in that hospital bed, Jonah, and my heart was in pieces. It took so long for Daddy and me to conceive Daniel, we never thought we’d have another baby. When you came along, it was like a miracle. That’s why we made your middle name Nathaniel.”

Gift from God, it meant. Some gift. She was probably checking the returns policy as we spoke.

“All the women at the office, at
shul,
at the golf club, at openings, their sons either treat gunshot wounds or at least defend the ones who do the shooting.”

“Can we not veer into career advice?”

“Who’s veering? But you were such a clever child, every bit as smart as your brother, and from where I sit you’re still struggling.”

“So change seats. Pretend we’re in a restaurant and they sat you near the kitchen.”

“You probably don’t remember but we had you tested in Grade 3 and your IQ was exceptional.”

I didn’t remember the test but had no trouble recalling the thousands of times she had brought it up since.

“Your teachers always said, ‘Jonah is so bright, he just doesn’t apply himself.’”

“Well, I’m applying myself now.”

“To what? Really, dear, to what?”

“I like what I’m doing and I’m making a living.”

“Darling, a one-bedroom apartment and a used car is not a living. You have to admit, I never pushed you to choose a traditional profession. I gave you plenty of latitude, especially after Daddy died. True?”

“True.”

“I told you if you wanted to try the arts or something like that I would back you as long as …?”

“As long as I worked my butt off. Which I am doing, by the way.”

“I just want you to be happy, Jonah. Happy and safe.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a very simple case.”

“No gangsters?”

“No gangsters.” Not that I was going to tell her about.

“So are we on for Shabbas?”

Hmm. Shabbas. Friday night. What would I be doing that night? Throwing myself in front of a bullet meant for Lucas Silver?

“Can I let you know?”

“Yes. I’ll see if Daniel is free. And it wouldn’t hurt you to call him either. When’s the last time you spoke?”

“Not that long ago.” Or not long enough, depending on where you sat.

“Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

“Just today or every day?”

“Some boys call their mothers every day.”

“There’s a name for them.”

“Smartass,” she said.

“No, that’s not it.”

I thought we were done but she said, “One more thing.”

What? A Jewish Beauty’s phone number?

“Are you coming to the Rally for Israel?”

First Mitchell, now my mother.

“You really should make the effort. Connect with the community a little. See some old friends. Things are terrible in Israel, today, and not so good for Jews in plenty of other places. We have to show solidarity.”

“I did my part for Israel, Ma.”

“That was a long time ago, dear.”

Not long enough.

I find it funny sometimes that our parents named us Daniel and Jonah, two men who are so sorely tested in the Old Testament. Maybe they were preparing us in a way for the trials that attend life as a Jew in a non-Jewish world. When we were kids, Daniel once told me, “If Mom and Dad had had another son, they would have named him Job.”

The Bible says Jonah was ordered by God to go to Nineveh and tell the sinners there to repent or face His destruction. Because the people of Nineveh were enemies of the Hebrews, Jonah didn’t see why they should be saved. Instead of heeding God’s word, he boarded a ship bound in the opposite direction. Displeased by Jonah’s disobedience, God whipped up a deadly storm that would not abate until the terrified crew cast Jonah into the sea. Jonah was swallowed by a
monstrous whale and spent three days in its belly before he was spat back onto land with another chance to complete his mission. In the end Jonah learns that everyone—enemy or not—is entitled to salvation.

All the Bible says about Jonah’s background prior to his contact with God is that he was “the son of Amittai.” That’s it. Four words. Nothing about his mother, siblings, what he did before God’s call or whether he was any good at it.

The Book of Daniel, on the other hand, devotes six full chapters to his many gifts: how prodigiously learned and skilled he is in the arts and sciences, how unblemished in beauty and character. Living in forced exile, Daniel advises Babylonian kings with discretion and wisdom, masterfully interpreting their visions and dreams. Promoted above princes and satraps, he is cast into the lions’ den, ostensibly for refusing to abandon his God, but in reality because he has stirred such jealousy among his rivals.

Six fucking chapters.

He gets more buildup than he could possibly live up to, then not only lives up to it but exceeds it by a mile. The more I think about it, the more I root for the lions.

So there you have us.

Daniel: gifted to a fault, rising effortlessly to the pinnacle of his profession and beyond.

Jonah: obscure, obstinate, punished for not doing what was expected of him.

My mother wants us to be closer. “You only have one brother,” she tells me once a month. “Blood is thicker than water.”

But we could hardly be more different. Daniel is always sure of himself: intelligent, yes, but imperious too. If Daniel ever made a mistake in his life, you wouldn’t hear it from him. I knew only too well that I was capable of mistakes.

Just ask Colin MacAdam.

T
here were no parking spots to be had in front of the Med-E-Mart, so I drove around back to the overflow lot and found a spot facing the loading dock behind Silver’s store. I got my Zeiss field glasses out of the glove compartment. The loading dock was a deep concrete alcove with a steel door that could be rolled down after hours. The other three walls were cinder block. There were shipping tables along two of them, as well as stacks of empty wooden pallets and bales of corrugated cartons. Set into the back wall were double doors that led into the rear of the store.

An unmarked cube van was backed up against the dock with its rear doors open. One man was walking out of the van, wheeling an empty hand truck in front of him. A second, much bigger man was walking in, his hand truck piled high with four cartons, one hand holding the top case steady. I wondered why a pharmacy would be making deliveries by the case instead of receiving them. I put the field glasses on the men doing the loading. One was wiry, dark-haired, in his mid-forties, wearing a light grey suit. Not your average driver or shipping clerk. The other was big enough to show up on a topographical map, sweating through a powder-blue track suit. He looked six and a half feet tall and weighed some three hundred pounds, none of
it soft, with a shaved head that grew straight out of his shoulders. He had gold hoops through both earlobes. Put him in a vest and pantaloons and he could pass for a guard outside an Arabian palace. The one where they kept the virgins.

Just as the two men had finished loading, the shipping doors swung outward and Jay Silver came out looking even more worried than he had this morning. He went up to the wiry man in the suit and spoke to him urgently, gesturing at the contents of the truck. The wiry man cut him off within seconds, sticking his index finger in Silver’s face and giving him a talking-to. I couldn’t hear a word but I could tell it was no pep talk. Jay Silver was supposedly sole owner of the company. No partners. But here he was on his own property and this runt was treating him like a fat kid in a schoolyard.

When he was done talking, the runt shoved Jay Silver toward the doors and followed him into the store. The big man waddled behind them. I slipped out of the Camry and moved quickly to the cube van. There were no markings on it; nothing visible through the driver’s window to indicate who owned it or where it might be going. I slipped up a narrow side staircase onto the loading dock and looked in the rear of the truck, where I saw stacks with cartons labelled with the names of major pharmaceutical companies. Pfizer, Searle, Eli Lilly, Meissner-Hoffman, Merck Frosst.

The doors behind me banged open. I turned to see the runt and the big man.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” said the runt.

I said, “Sure.”

We waited a beat until he realized I wasn’t going to say anything more. I could tell I found it funnier than he did.

“I couldn’t find parking in front,” I finally admitted. “So I parked back here and I was just trying to find a way into the store.”

“Why?” the runt asked. “You need painkillers?”

“No.”

“Or maybe you do but you don’t know it yet.” He held out his hand. “Let’s see ID.”

“You going to show me yours?”

“Come on, smart guy. Hand it over or Claudio will extract it.”

The big man smiled. His mouth was huge, made for swallowing things whole, but his teeth were small and unevenly spaced. His lower lip stuck out much farther than the upper. It gave his face an oddly sensual look, though I couldn’t picture myself telling him that.

I made no move to present ID, so the runt gave Claudio the nod and he came toward me, moving like truly big men do, his arms swinging out away from his sides. He looked like he could pull a redwood out of the ground and pick his teeth with it. He was between me and the stairs that led down off the loading dock, and the truck was parked too close to the other side to allow passage. My best option was to fend him off and get into the store, where a crowd of witnesses might deter an all-out assault.

I feinted to my right, which got Claudio going that way, then crossed him up with a quick shift left. The lithe Steve Nash against the lumbering Shaq. I reached the double doors easily—just as Jay Silver pushed them open from inside. The left-hand door slammed my shoulder and knocked me down. Claudio took the opportunity to grab my bicep with a hand that closed entirely around it.

“What’s going on?” Jay Silver asked.

“Never mind,” the runt told him. “Get back inside.”

“Who is he?” Jay asked.

“I said, never mind.”

I decided a little confusion was in order. I held out my free hand toward him like we were old friends. “Jay Silver!” I said. “How the hell are you?”

“Huh?” He stared at me like he was wondering where we had met.

“You know him?” the runt asked Silver.

Silver didn’t respond. Only his eyes moved, narrowing as if he were willing himself to understand how I fit into the mess he was in. The runt poked him in the chest. “I asked, do you know this guy?”

Jay Silver shrugged. “No.”

“Then beat it.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“I told you, get inside. Mind your store. Make sure no one steals a lipstick.”

Silver straightened himself out of his natural slouch. He was actually a pretty big man: nowhere near Claudio’s size but towering over the runt and outweighing him by a good sixty pounds. “Now listen, Frank—”

“Shut up!”

Frank. Frank who?

“Don’t make things worse than they already are.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Frank hissed. “Get your fat ass inside before I kick it.”

“This is my store,” Silver said firmly. “My place of business. I don’t care what’s happened till —”

Frank slapped him hard across the face, then backhanded him harder the other way. Silver looked stunned, both cheeks glaring red. For a moment I thought he might go after him. Claudio must have thought so too because he let go of me and moved in on Silver but Frank motioned to him to stay back.

“Don’t ever talk back to me,” Frank said. “And don’t ever, ever speak my name.” He stuck his finger in Silver’s face as he had before. “You got that, bitch?”

Silver swallowed hard like a child trying not to cry in front of his friends.

“Now get out of here and let the men take care of business.”

Silver gave me a look that was shameful and apologetic at once. Frank snorted impatiently and grabbed Silver by the upper arm. “Fuck this guy up and get rid of him,” he told Claudio, then marched Silver through the shipping doors into the Med-E-Mart.

I scanned the area around us, looking for room to move, identifying obstacles: two concrete pillars, the stacked pallets and baled cartons. Claudio had the obvious advantage in strength—and in scaring the living shit out of his opponent— but guys his size rarely have speed or stamina. If he wasn’t a trained fighter, chances are he’d be gassed after thirty to sixty seconds of combat. It was time to get my well-trained ass moving. Get this big schlub wilting in the heat.

I started dancing, leading him to my left, then back to the right. He put his hands up in a boxer’s stance and moved his feet pretty well for a beast his size. Maybe he had some training after all.