Confluence. Stephen J. Gordon

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      “Don’t know how long we can do that, but we’ll see. Be nice to wrap this up soon.”

      “Be nice to know what the hell is going on,” I said. “Meanwhile, just found out that our rabbi has another side to him.”

      Both Nate and Medrano looked at me. I explained what Sakolsky had told me about Josh, the Torah rescues, and the conflict he once had.

      “It may be nothing,” Nate said.

      “I’ll talk to him about it tonight.”

      “Anyone notice the collection of people so far?” Medrano asked. “A dead guy with a Turkish name, a dead guy with an Algerian passport, and a live guy with a French name. You guys notice that?”

      “Yeah,” Nate said.

      “Yeah,” I said.

      “So, you and Katie coming to dinner Monday night?” Nate asked, apparently moving onto the next topic.

      “Looking forward to it.” I let a moment pass. “If that’s it for now, gentleman, I need to take off. I have a hot date tonight.”

      “You?” Nate asked. “With who? Katie?”

      “With whom,” Medrano corrected.

      Nate just looked at him.

      “Yes, with Katie, of course,” I answered. “Every date with Katie is a hot date.”

      S

      Two hours later, I was freshly dressed in khaki chinos and a short sleeve black Henley. Interestingly, Katie had changed into something similar: a black knit top and white capris. Without having to search too hard, we parked in a spot near the Square in Canton, actually a rectangular series of streets encompassing a small park. On the outside of the rectangle were rows of shops and restaurants. The Patterson Park neighborhood where I had met Nate was not far away, and I felt as if I had just left the area – which I had.

      Our parking spot was next to an old, beautiful Lutheran church – its stone structure easily could have gone back to the early 1900s – and we walked to a restaurant-tavern on O’Donnell Street called The Magnificent Seven. The owner must have been an aficionado of the classic western, for lining the interior walls were posters and stills from the movie. As we entered, a curvy, raven haired, twenty year old in a long flowing maroon dress slid off a stool to greet us. The front of her dress had a plunging neckline and revealed plenty of cleavage. Katie jabbed me in the side with her elbow. I looked at her, then turned to the hostess. “Two for dinner, please.”

      “The restaurant is upstairs. Just seat yourself and a server will be right with you.”

      “Thank you.” We headed to the rear of the tavern and to a flight of old wooden stairs. Before we walked up I said to Katie, “Why’d you poke me?”

      “I was helping you focus.”

      “I was focusing just fine.”

      The upstairs restaurant was of modest size, but filled with perhaps fifteen small tables. The room was relatively dark; the walls were paneled in a dark wood, and the floorboards were black-brown six-inch wide planks. They must have been original to the building and refinished. Half the tables were occupied, so we moved over to an available one near the front window. Within a few minutes a server came over. She was also about twenty and wearing the same flowing maroon style dress as the woman downstairs, but our server was more modestly endowed. She showed us a pair of menus and took our drink order. By the time she returned, we were ready to order. Katie chose a chicken fajita wrap and a garden salad; I ordered a salad as well and an entrée of pistachio encrusted grouper and a baked potato.

      “So,” I said once we were alone, “how’s life?”

      Katie smiled. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

      I shook my head.

      “Life is great, I suppose. Not as crazy as yours.”

      “Doesn’t matter. I need to apologize to you.”

      “Why?”

      “Because we’ve only been connecting at night and mostly rolling in the sack.”

      She reached for my hand. “I like rolling in the sack with you.”

      “Ah, but is it enough?”

      “You’ve got a lot going on.”

      “Don’t apologize for me.” I let a moment pass. “Okay, I accept your apology.”

      Katie smiled again. After a second she asked, “Do you think we’re good together?”

      “Do you mean like Laurel and Hardy good, or like the Princess Bride and Westley good, because I’m partial to Westley.”

      She laughed.

      I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed it. “We’ll see.”

      “As you wish,” she smiled.

      Our meal came, and we ate over small talk, staying away from the intensity of the last few days, at least for me. We passed on dessert, and instead headed out to take up Sakolsky’s suggestion of the promenade walk. I moved the Jeep closer to the Canton marina, and after locking up we meandered toward the waterfront. We cut between a pair of three tiered condos, and walked around a seafood restaurant at the edge of the marina.

      As we turned right onto the promenade, we could see the walkway winding along the water’s edge off toward Fells Point in the distance. Harborwalk, as the signs named it, was paved with bricks, and was bordered on the left by a fully berthed marina and on the right by the townhouse units. At the property line some homes had short hedges separating the public and private space.

      Overall, the area was calm and peaceful. The sun had already set off to the left and city lights had taken over. As we strolled, we were far from alone. Joggers, both men and women, ran past us, some coming up from behind, others approaching on the left. Almost universally, all joggers, whether male or female, had white wires running down their torsos from ear buds.

      “Sakolsky was right,” I said as a couple passed us going the other way. “This is pretty cool.”

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