was still depressed over the miscarriage. He was thrilled to hear the answer.
“So, Mr. Moe, you came an awfully long way to bring me a box of Publix rugelach, which, to tell you the truth, taste like rolled-up cardboard with jelly filling.”
“I notice you’re not complaining about the vodka.”
“Complaining! Who’s complaining?”
Though it was early afternoon, we had a shot or two of the vodka.
“So, you didn’t answer my question about this unexpected visit, Mr. Moe.”
“What question? I didn’t hear a question.”
“What is this,
There was no avoiding it, so I told him. He took it calmly, if not gladly. No amount of cruelty or calculation surprised him. He had seen firsthand the very worst of man. He had witnessed the systematic slaughter of his family and friends and breathed their ashes into his lungs. Though no longer capable of tears, he was not unmoved by the suffering of others. He had not let the inhumanities he’d suffered turn him dead inside. It was one of the things I admired about Mr. Roth. I didn’t know if I was that strong.
“You’re going to meet with the man who funneled the money back to Cuba?”
“I hope so. This ex-marshal I hired seems to know his way around down here. Apparently, Joe Spivack-”
“The one that killed himself?”
“Him. He didn’t cover his tracks that well. Within hours of getting in himself, Barto found out Joe’d flown down to Miami at least three times in the last year. I guess Spivack never thought anyone would connect the dots.”
“Maybe.” Mr. Roth was skeptical. “It doesn’t seem a little odd to you that such a man would be so obvious? Would a man, a professional at his job, be so sloppy? Look at what you say about the flag, that it was a hint or a challenge. It seems inconsistent, no, to be so subtle on one hand and obvious on the other?”
My first instinct was to argue with him, but I could see Izzy’s point. I didn’t know Joe Spivack all that well. He was, as Izzy had so aptly put it, a professional. Now that I stepped back and gave it some thought, it did seem a little odd that he had taken so little care to cover his own tracks. Only if he had contemplated suicide all along, which was possible, would his sloppiness have made sense. Then why all the secrecy? Why no suicide note? Why the flag? On the other hand, if he had meant not to get caught and hadn’t contemplated suicide, why hadn’t he traveled under an assumed name? Why hadn’t he driven or taken the train? There would have been no paper trail. But Barto had been specific about Spivack flying in.
“You make some sense, Mr. Roth.”
“We
“Go ahead.”
“You have with you your gun?” he asked sheepishly.
“No. I flew down, remember? I’m not licensed to carry on aircraft. Guns and aircraft don’t mix.”
“Wait here a second.”
He stood up and went into his bedroom. I used the time to consider what he had said about Spivack. Mr. Roth had definitely planted the seed of doubt and it had quickly taken root. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t yet see what it was.
Israel Roth stepped back into the living room of his neatly kept condo. He held a rectangular plastic case in his right hand.
“Here, Mr. Moe.” He handed me the case. “I want you to take this for while you’re here. Then, before you go home, you can give it back.”
I opened the case. Inside was a little.25-caliber automatic in pristine condition. I took it out, clicked off the safety, and ejected the bullet that was in the chamber.
“You should never leave a loaded weapon around, Mr. Roth, especially ones with chambered rounds.”
“What, so I should tell the burglar to wait until I put the clip in and put a bullet in the chamber? I got no small children here, Moe, and I keep it well hidden. I’m not a reckless man.”
“I know, Mr. Roth. I didn’t mean to lecture. It’s just that guns are funny things. If you hesitate or are afraid to use them, they’ll get taken away from you and used on you.”
“I wouldn’t hesitate, believe me. In my clothing store on Flatbush Avenue I used to keep a big.38. More than once I had to stick it in somebody’s
“But why do you need a gun down here?”
“I sell a little jewelry on the side, nothing too fancy. Everybody’s got some little side business in this place. The money is nice, but it’s not so much the money as it keeps you sharp, awake. Retired people don’t so much die as they let themselves fall asleep a bit at a time. They become passive and inactive and they forget they’re alive.”
“I understand.”
“So I keep the little pistol when I go to the bank or pick up inventory. That’s all. It makes me feel safer. There are people who prey on the old. I’ve been prey once in my life. Never again. Now it’ll make me feel safer if you keep it for a few days. All right?”
I didn’t hesitate. He’d sufficiently spooked me. Everything had been falling so neatly in line. Maybe too neatly. Mr. Roth had done me a tremendous favor, not necessarily by giving me the gun, but by calling attention to a blind spot.
We chatted for a little while longer. I was glad of it. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave with the pistol being the last business between us. It really was good to see him. My grandparents had been very old when I was a boy and my parents had both died relatively young, so I’d never formed much of a relationship with a man of Mr. Roth’s age. I found his calm demeanor and his perspective a great comfort. Although he didn’t talk about it much, I knew he was estranged from his son. I guess we both filled a niche in each other’s lives.
He went back into his bedroom to put away the gun case, then reemerged with three smaller jewelry boxes.
“I had meant to send these to you for Hanukkah, but I prefer to let you take them home with you. This one we’ll open here. It’s for you,” he said, a proud smile washing over his face as he raised up the lid of the blue velveteen box.
Inside was a Star of David. It was lovely, the points of the star formed by overlapping pieces of gold that were shaped like the number 7.
“When we were up in the Catskills, Mr. Moe, I noticed you didn’t wear one. I hope you don’t think it is presumptuous of me to-”
“Not at all. Will you help me put it on?”
We were quite a sight there, the two of us with our hands shaking, trying to get the clasp open.
“Thank you, Israel. I don’t know what to say.”
“The look on your face is thanks enough. There’s one there for Katy and for Sarah, too. I only hope they are as pleased as you look.”
“They will be. I better get going,” I said, tapping my watch.
We wished each other well. He promised to come visit in November during his biyearly pilgrimage to the Catskills. I told him Katy would never forgive him if he didn’t show.
“I promise. I promise!” he shouted as I retreated down the hall.
During the drive back to Miami, I couldn’t help touching the star. It had been so long since I’d worn one that it felt odd against my chest, even a little uncomfortable. A little discomfort was a good thing, I thought. It made you pay attention. On the other hand, I had almost forgotten about the pistol tucked in my jacket pocket. Strange, the things you get used to.
The red message light on my motel-room phone was flashing madly when I reentered the dank world of peach and teal. The calls were all from Barto, each successive message more feverish than the last. Where was I? He’d found the middleman. It hadn’t been easy to arrange a meeting, but the meeting was set. It would be just me, the middleman, and Barto.
“You show up on your own. I’m gonna get there ahead of you just to make sure the coast is clear and that he
