In the Name of God. Stephen J. Gordon

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ he looked at me, “If it’s okay with Sifu.”

      “Oh, I suppose.” I smiled, then turned to Alli. “Let me just change my shirt and I’ll be ready to go.”

      “Me too,” Jon said.

      With that, I headed to my office to change while Jon went to the men’s room to quickly wash up. Once in my inner sanctum I pulled off my T-shirt and changed into a blue polo that I kept around. My black cargo-BDU pants would be fine for a casual evening. Besides, I didn’t have another pair of pants. When I returned to the main hall, Alli was checking her cell phone. Jon soon joined us — he had changed into Dockers and a sport shirt — and we were off.

      Alli and I rode in my Jeep and Jon followed us in his Mitsubishi Eclipse. We headed down I-83 — the same road I took last night to Alli’s — but instead of heading to Federal Hill, I turned left onto Eastern Avenue.

      Little Italy, just east of the highway, is just a few square blocks of narrow streets, row houses, eateries, and minimal parking. Curb-side spaces are all but impossible to come by, particularly at dinner time. We circled the block a few times until we came upon a middle-aged couple just getting into their late-model Audi. I waited patiently and then pulled into their spot. Jon, in his Eclipse, drove past, continuing his search. He turned a corner and disappeared.

      Alli and I got out and walked toward where Jon had disappeared. Before we made it to the end of the block, Jon came

      sauntering around the corner. “There’re three spaces just up the street.”

      “Naturally,” I said.

      As we crossed onto High Street, I scanned the area we had just left. A number of pedestrians were walking in our direction. Several were dressed up: sport coats or semi-dressy skirts and nice blouses.

      I stopped for a moment, letting Alli and Jon continue on ahead. I looked back toward where we had parked, and I saw a group of four boys, hanging out at the line of cars. The kids were probably about sixteen or seventeen, and for the most part were dressed in jeans and T-shirts. They looked out of place among the young marrieds and professionals. I could see that one of the boys had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and he was on crutches...not the wood version, but the aluminum type. Every few seconds the quartet looked over at me. I watched them watch me.

      Jon and Alli came back for me, thinking I was just taking in the scenery, and the three of us returned to the task of picking out a restaurant. We settled on a new place called Testa’s, and stepped inside. By now it was 6:30 and the restaurant was moderately full. I was glad to see that they were busy so early in the week. A tall, balding maitre d’ dressed in a black dinner jacket met us, and inquired as to the number in our party. As he checked a seating chart, we looked around. The place was relatively small, but filled with booths along the perimeter and

      tables in the middle of the room. The decor was continental, with dark woodwork, and Rubenesque paintings on the walls.

      In a matter of minutes, we were seated at a table near the back and had menus in hand. A young, perky waitress came over a few minutes later, carrying a bottle of olive oil and a basket of warm bread. She filled the small saucer in the middle of our table, and I wasted no time in tearing off a piece of the warm bread, dipping it into the olive oil, and popping it into my mouth. As we knew what we wanted, we ordered: Alli had settled on Veal Parmesan, Jon went for spinach ravioli, and I was having linguine with mushrooms and sun-dried tomatoes.

      While we waited for our food, Alli turned to Jon. “So, I understand you have a life besides karate.”

      “There is no life besides karate,” he said smiling. “Okay, there is something else I do between workouts. My family has some commercial properties in the city and I help manage them.”

      “Like businesses or offices?

      “Mainly offices and apartment buildings. My dad got started when he was relatively young — probably in his early twenties. I guess I’m the heir apparent, though I don’t know if it’s what I want to do the rest of my life.”

      “Jon’s father wants him to try the business for a while before making up his mind,” I said.

      “Sounds practical,” Alli commented. “He’s a sharp man, I bet.”

      “And very generous,” I added.

      “Sifu helped my father out a few years ago and he wanted to repay the kindness.”

      “The place I have, the dojo, is a present from him.”

      “Wow.”

      “Yeah, wow. And he won’t hear of me paying rent or anything. Incredibly magnanimous.”

      Alli didn’t ask what I did for him, and Jon didn’t volunteer any information. I was glad for that. Instead, Jon just tore a piece of bread from the basket in front of us and dipped it into the olive oil.

      “So,” Alli said after a moment went by, “did Gidon tell you about last night?”

      “A little bit.”

      Bless him. He had more of an inside track as to what happened than Alli, even though she was there, but he didn’t say anything. Jon also knew about the Shin Bet man coming to see me. That news I hadn’t shared with Alli.

      “So, what d’you think,” she looked at Jon. “Why would anyone want to assassinate the man running for Prime Minister of Israel?”

      “Someone doesn’t like his politics. Or could be a religious thing — you can never tell when it’s the Middle East. Or maybe he was just paid.”

      “I vote for that,” I said quietly.

      “That he was just hired to kill him?” Alli asked. “Why?”

      “I’m tired of young fanatics killing in the name of God.”

      “What do you mean?”

      As I looked at Alli I could see Jon looking at me, too. I just shrugged, trying to blow it off, not wanting to pursue this.

      “So, it was an exciting evening,” Jon jumped in. “Not your typical banquet.”

      Alli came back to it: “Do you think he was working alone? I mean what are the chances of that?”

      My eyes drifted to the front window, and in my mind I could picture four boys near my car across the street...the four of them...and one was on crutches. Last night when we came out of the synagogue, there was a group of boys watching the excitement. One of them was on aluminum crutches. The metal had glinted in the police lights.

      “So, how ‘bout them O’s,” I heard Jon say.

      I looked back at Jon and Alli. “What?”

      “The Orioles, boss,” Jon repeated. “Do you think they’ll do better this year?” He turned to Alli. “I have a friend who has a skybox. Anytime you want to go to the game...”

      “Thanks,” Alli responded. “Save it for your new girlfriend.”

      Our meals arrived shortly and the conversation turned from the Orioles to the Ravens, СКАЧАТЬ