one as well.
Eldritch and Epstein: men of similar name, of similar age, and with similar aims, yet they had never met. Epstein had once suggested a meeting, and had received in return a handwritten note from the lawyer politely declining his approach. It had made Epstein feel like a spurned suitor. Now the lawyer’s pet killer was running loose, assuming Eldritch ever had any real control over the man to begin with, which Epstein doubted. Perhaps it was as well that they had never sat across a table from each other, for they were not really the same. Epstein did no man’s bidding, while the lawyer was the Collector’s creature.
Adiv, driving his own car, collected Liat and Epstein from the latter’s home on Park Slope. They were waiting to turn at the corner of 4th and Carroll when a young man dressed in jeans and an overlong sweater, and wearing worn sneakers, threw a carton of milk at the car, smearing the windshield. His skin was sallow but unhealthy, as though he were suffering from jaundice. Spying Epstein’s clothing and Adiv’s yarmulka, he then began kicking the side of the car while screaming, ‘Fucking Jews! Fucking Jews! You’re leeches. The whole country’s going to hell because of you.’
Epstein placed a hand on Adiv’s shoulder to restrain him.
‘Ignore him,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
And that might have been the end of it had not the young man struck the windshield a hard blow with something in his right hand. It appeared to be a pool ball, and it cracked the glass instantly. Furious, Adiv got out of the car, slamming his door shut behind him. A shoving match ensued, with the sallow-skinned man seemingly trying to get around Adiv, not away from him. It ended when the sallow-skinned man spat in Adiv’s face and tried to run away.
‘Leave him, Adiv,’ ordered Epstein, but Adiv’s blood was up. This had been a bad week for him, and he now had an outlet for his anger. He started running, but his prey was too fast for him, and Adiv’s legs still ached from the long walk through the Jersey Pine Barrens. He still managed to grab the strap of the running man’s battered satchel, which he was holding in his hand instead of wearing over his shoulder. The bag came away so suddenly that Adiv fell backwards, landing painfully on his coccyx. The young man paused and looked back, as if debating whether it was worth trying to retrieve his satchel and possibly take a beating for his troubles, then decided to sacrifice it.
‘Jew bastard!’ he shouted once more, before disappearing into the night.
‘I have your bag, asshole!’ cried Adiv. ‘You lose, you prick!’
He got to his feet and dusted himself off. His butt ached. He limped painfully back to the car. Liat had opened the passenger door on the far side and stood on the road, watching him. He could see the gun in her hand.
‘I got his bag!’ said Adiv, raising the satchel.
Liat shook her head. No, no, she mouthed. Her eyes were wide. She waved her arms. Drop it, Adiv. Drop it and run. Liat pulled Epstein from the car and began dragging him to safety, keeping her body between Epstein, and Adiv, and the satchel.
Understanding dawned on Adiv. He looked down at the satchel. It was made of soft brown leather, and only one of the buckles on the front was tied. Adiv lifted the unsecured end of the bag and peered inside. There was a package wrapped in aluminum foil, like sandwiches, and beside it a thermos flask.
‘I think it’s okay,’ said Adiv. ‘I think—’
And then he was gone.
37
I was anxious to head north to speak with Marielle Vetters again. Once I had done that, I could start figuring out how to get to the plane. For now, though, my daughter, Sam, and her mother, Rachel, were in Portland for an evening, which was good.
Unfortunately, so was Jeff, Rachel’s current squeeze, which was bad.
How did I dislike Jeff? Well, let me count the ways. I disliked Jeff because he was so right-wing he made Mussolini look like Che Guevara; because his hair and his teeth were too perfect, especially for a man who was old enough to have started losing most of the former, and some of the latter; because he called me ‘big guy’ and ‘fella’ whenever we met, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to use my actual name; oh, and because he was sleeping with