Confluence. Stephen J. Gordon

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      “You don’t mind? What will you do?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe see if someone wants to try that new restaurant on Charles Street.”

      We separated completely, and I took a few breaths to settle my heart, which was definitely racing. After another moment, I looked at my watch. “I better get moving, then. I want to shower and change.”

      With that, Katie turned off her computer, switched off the lights, and we headed out.

      S

      As we had come in our own cars, we went our separate ways. Katie drove to her place – she lived in Cedarcroft, a neighborhood just inside the City line west of York Road – and I headed for a liquor store in a small shopping area just north of the Beltway on Reisterstown Road. The upscale shop was next to a cell phone retailer, and inside, after my inquiry, was directed toward a display of kosher red wines. I bought a bottle of Merlot.

      Back in my Jeep, a phone call to the Mandels confirmed that I was coming – solo. Josh gave me directions, which helped me visualize where to go.

      Thirty minutes later, I was in my shower. As water poured over my head, I leaned with both hands against the front wall, and let the shower cascade over me. I thought about the afternoon…sitting in the shul, trying to find solace. I thought about Katie in my arms. And I thought about a young man in an Israeli Army uniform walking through Jerusalem’s Old City with his fiancée.

      By the time I got myself together, darkness had fallen over the city. Josh had said to come about 8:00. I drove northward on tree lined Roland Avenue to Northern Parkway, up out of the Jones Falls valley and over toward Northwest Baltimore. As I headed up Park Heights Avenue toward the County line, I passed several synagogues to my right and left. Men dressed in dark suits, some in shirtsleeves and pants, were walking out of services. In a matter of minutes, I found the Mandels’ street. It was about four blocks from their synagogue, on a one-way street. I made the turn onto their block and parked almost immediately on the right. I grabbed the bottle of Merlot, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

      Their street was a long, straight block, maybe four car widths across, with older trees lining sidewalks on each side. As I came out of the Grand Cherokee, I looked up and down the block for cars of course, but also for people. It was an old habit…know who and what is around you. Even though the rabbi’s house was up the street on the left, I stepped onto the sidewalk on the right side and headed up the block.

      The May evening was cool. I was dressed in an open collared white shirt, blue blazer, and khakis. I would’ve come without the jacket, but it was Friday night and decided to err on the side of being better dressed. Despite that, there wasn’t even a thought about wearing a tie. An open collared shirt was a carryover from my Israel days.

      As I walked up the block, wine bottle in hand, I noticed that virtually all the houses on both sides of the street were semi-detached, with three or four steps up to a small front porch. Most of the houses were also of the same construction. Red brick. The street itself was quiet; no traffic. While I had no idea if this were accurate, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the majority of the people on the block were Sabbath observant and wouldn’t be in cars for the next 24 hours.

      Josh and Shelley’s house was coming up across the street on the left. It was the only one on the block different from the rest. Their house had no front porch, the brick was painted white, and there was an addition on the left side. While I was still a few houses back diagonally, movement ahead caught my attention. A car was parked directly across from the Mandels’. It was a late model Buick, the Regal, and had three figures inside. Two in the front and one in back. The car had Virginia plates. Nothing unusual about that, except that Virginia plates were common on rental cars here, particularly from BWI airport. I made a mental note of the license plate. Another old habit.

      I was pretty sure this was the same car that cruised past us a few hours ago as the rabbi, Shelley, and I spoke in front of his synagogue.

      A car length behind them, I stopped walking.

      The driver, just a silhouette through the rear window, was moving his head, speaking first to the figure beside him and then to the figure in the back seat. After a moment, the two passengers got out, one from the front and one from the back. They looked to their right and left – they should have easily noticed me – but they weren’t really looking, as their minds seemed elsewhere.

      Both men appeared to be of average height, with close cut dark hair. The man who had come from the front seat was in black pants and a lightweight, dark zippered jacket. The passenger from in back was in jeans and a green windbreaker. They looked at each other, then crossed the street. What were the chances they were heading to the rabbi’s house?

      They walked across to the white brick house that had an addition.

      What were the chances they were guests like me? Shelley and Josh had said they had no other guests tonight.

      The man in the lightweight dark, zippered jacket reached inside his coat with one hand and rang the bell with the other. In a few seconds, I could see Shelley at the door. The man in the dark jacket said something and Shelley quickly stepped aside. The two men went in, and the second man closed the door behind them.

      In front of me, the driver in the maroon Buick stayed where he was behind the wheel, watching his associates. For a moment I had wished I had brought my folding knife along. It was a three and half inch Benchmade combo blade, half straight edge, half serrated. Didn’t matter. I put the bottle of wine down beside the sidewalk and moved into the street to come up behind the Buick on its left. I figured I would come up to the driver and see what was going on. If he made any sudden movement with his hands inside his jacket, I’d punch down at him with the crown of my first two knuckles into the corner of his eye. I’d then reach in and grab him by throat between windpipe and muscle and take it from there. If he wasn’t in position for that, I’d figure something out. I wanted to know who those two men were inside the rabbi’s house. If they were just asking a question or in need of other directions, no problem. The man would not reach inside his jacket, and would be spared multiple fractures to the orbit of his eye.

      I passed the left rear corner of the Buick and walked forward, realizing the car was idling. How focused was the driver on the Mandels’ front door? Approaching from this angle was a calculated risk. Would his peripheral vision pick me up? No other way to get close to him. Even as this went through my mind, the driver spotted me in his side mirror. All I could make out were some dark eyes beneath thick, dark eyebrows. Before I took another step, the car slipped into gear, then shot forward into the street, speeding down the block.

      Shit.

      I ran across to the Mandels’ front door. It was a dual entryway. First there was a storm door and then an inner, solid wooden door. To the left of the door frame was a four-sectioned sidelight. I looked inside.

      The foyer led straight ahead to a short hallway that ended in what looked like the right side of a kitchen. To the left of the foyer was a doorway; I couldn’t make out what was beyond it. To the right, another doorway to what could have been a study. Again, I couldn’t tell. Regardless, no one was in sight. I knew there were at least four adults in the house, and I didn’t know how many kids. Where were they? In the kitchen? In rooms to either side? Were they all together?

      Whatever was going on, I needed to interrupt it. I knocked on the door. A few seconds passed. Nothing.

      I looked through the sidelights again. No Josh, no Shelley.

      I knocked on the door again.

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