Читать книгу Confluence - Stephen J. Gordon - Страница 7

1

I found myself sitting in the back row of an empty Northwest Baltimore synagogue, trying not to think of anything…not my daily routine, not what I had been doing twenty minutes earlier, not what I had planned for the rest of the day. I particularly did not want to think about the past.

In the front of the modest sanctuary, maybe seventy feet away and the focal point of the entire room, was the ark. It was a rich, polished, wooden cabinet set against the wall, with a dark blue curtain covering its doors. A spotlight illuminated gold Hebrew lettering embroidered on the fabric cover. The wording, translated as “Know before whom you stand” stared at me across the empty room.

Terrific. Not the sentiment I was hoping for. “Know before whom you stand.” I closed my eyes for a moment. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I wasn’t looking for an admonition. I was seeking understanding.

Sometimes after you’ve killed someone – even if it’s justified and righteous – a malaise settles over you like a tangible presence. It weighs you down, draining you of energy and spirit. I have a friend, who spent four years with Israel’s Mossad. Today, several years later, he still has recurring dreams about the clandestine work he had done. He saved many lives by killing the right people – bad, truly evil men who planned and carried out bus and restaurant bombings, kidnappings, and murder sprees along beachfront communities – but he couldn’t sleep without nightmares.

What was it that George Orwell said? Something like, “People sleep peacefully in their beds at night because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

But there is a cost. Orwell didn’t mention that.

It was late in the afternoon on a Friday, but not so late that services were imminent. For now, I had the place to myself. I had not been in a sanctuary such as this one for maybe two years. But recently… recently, I had been considering coming here. Now, this visit had nothing to do with services or with prayer or sermons or people. That’s not what drew me. I simply wanted to be somewhere holy.

So I sat there, alone, with a small, crocheted kippah on my head. It was a kippah I had been carrying around just in case I found myself in such a place. More than a few years ago, my soon-to-be fiancée, Tamar, had given it to me. At the time, I was still in my Israeli Army uniform, and we had been walking through Jerusalem’s Jewish Quarter on a cool, spring day. We were heading down a stone staircase that led to the Western Wall Plaza when we had passed a dark complexioned man of about forty, standing to the side. He had laid out three or four stacks of crocheted kippot on the waist high wall next to the staircase. I didn’t think the yarmulkes were any different than any of the ones on sale in malls or on Ben Yehudah Street, but Tamar spotted a particular azure one. She bought it – not because I typically wear one – but because the tones, she said, matched the color of my eyes.

I smiled to myself, letting the images of another time and place dissolve. As I was seated in the rear of the shul, the entire room was open before me. It was completely silent. There were rows of turquoise-cushioned seats lined up, maybe twenty-five rows in all, leading up to the slightly elevated stage where the rabbi and officers had their individual high-backed chairs. And there was the ark with its gold lettering and ancient phrase, which I wanted to ignore.

The sanctuary was fully lit beneath fluorescent fixtures. In the center of the room stood an island, a raised platform and table, for the reading of the Torah. To the rear of the table was a cushioned bench.

I turned back to the curtain covering the ark. They had to pick that phrase? “Know before whom you stand.” This wasn’t the place for me. So, Gidon, get up and leave.

I looked toward the front again. Hanging from the ceiling near the top of the ark was the “Eternal Flame.” Okay, it was an ornamental light fixture with a golden bulb, but still, a decent representation.

The cell phone in my pocket vibrated for a second then stopped. After a moment, I checked the display. There was a text: “COME BACK TO SCHOOL. I NEED YOU.”

I pocketed the phone and looked up again at the Eternal Light.

“You know,” a man’s voice called from the front of the sanctuary, “if you sit in the back row long enough, you might fall asleep.”

A thin man in his late thirties was coming toward me. He must’ve entered from a door tucked off to the side. The man had some books in his hand, and placed them in a book holder behind one of the seats. He was wearing an open collared, seafoam-colored shirt and khakis. “At least that’s what happens when I begin to speak. Well, that’s not entirely true,” he said moving closer, “sometimes people sleep in the front row, too.”

“I would never do that,” I said, standing up.

The man, now to my right, held out his hand. “Josh Mandel.”

“Gidon Aronson.” I shook his hand. He had a firm grip. “I hope it’s okay that I was hanging out back here.”

“If the door’s open and you got past our secretary, then it’s okay.” He paused. “For the record, my speeches are always enlightening and stimulating. Never ponderous or esoteric.”

“I don’t doubt it. You don’t seem like a ponderous man. Esoteric, maybe.”

“Only on the first Saturday of every month. The congregation expects it.”

I looked at Rabbi Mandel. He was about five foot ten, and had thinning, sandy-colored hair, and an easy smile.

“What brings you around? Services don’t start for a few hours.”

I smiled, “Would you believe esoteric reasons?”

“And it’s not even the first of the month.” He paused. “Maybe you want to give the sermon tomorrow.”

“Another time, perhaps.”

He let a moment go by. “Seriously, though, anything I can do for you?”

“No, just wanted to wrap my head around a few things.”

“That’s refreshing.”

“What?”

“That you came to a synagogue to do that. I’m really glad.”

“So all this is yours.”

“Well, they seem to like me. I talk, I teach, I talk, I teach.”

“And they keep coming back. Impressive.” I smiled. I had never met a rabbi who was so easy to talk to. Maybe because he didn’t have that professional clergy aura – and the fact that he was on the younger side and closer to my age.

He seemed about to say something, but then interrupted himself… “Wait… Gidon…” he trailed off, his mind running. “Why do you seem familiar to me? Have you been here before?”

I shook my head. It was a small lie. I was here months ago, in the social hall, as an invited guest to a fundraiser for an Israeli dignitary. There was an assassination attempt and I stopped it. I didn’t want to discuss it.

“I’ll get out of your way.” I began to move toward the door. “I’m sure you have things to do.”

“You can stay longer, if you want. Did you find what you came for?”

I looked over at the aphorism on the ark cover. “No, it’s okay. Timing must not be right.”

“Come to services tonight. Friday evening is really special here. Better than Shabbat morning, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Thanks. It’s not my thing. No offense.”

“JJ?” A woman’s voice called from the front of the sanctuary.

“Over here,” the rabbi responded.

I turned to see a young, slim woman coming toward us, carrying a manila envelope. She had shoulder-length, dark straight hair except for the hair cut short to frame her face. She was clad in an orange Orioles T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and blue Teva sandals.

“Shelley, this is Gidon.” He turned to me, “Gidon, this is Shelley, the rebetzzin,… my wife.”

I looked at her again. She was a head shorter than me, maybe in her early thirties, and not what I’d have expected. She looked more hippy-ish than rabbi’s wife-ish.

“Okay,” she said, looking down at her T-shirt and reading my thoughts, “the congregation puts up with the way I dress because they really love my husband. They would prefer I wear a dress all the time, be demure…”

I didn’t know what to say.

She patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry. I know the look on a person’s face when we’re introduced.”

“Sorry I was so obvious. I pride myself on being inscrutable.”

She smiled and turned to the rabbi, handing him the manila envelope. “You forgot your notes, Einstein.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

She turned to me, “So, Gidon, are you from around here? Got a meal tonight? Do you want to come to us?”

The rabbi leaned in to me, “Shelley wants everyone to have a Friday night meal. I think tonight’s an off night. We don’t have any guests, do we?

“Nope, just the kids and us.”

We began to head out of the sanctuary. Soon, we were outside the building, standing on the sidewalk at Seven Mile Lane, a quiet suburban street. We spoke in the shade of a big maple.

“So, Gidon, really,” the rabbi pressed, “do you have a place for tonight?”

I thought about the text message on my phone. I hadn’t responded to it.

“JJ,” Shelley said to her husband, “Gidon is hesitating because he has to check with his wife or girlfriend, right?”

As I considered a response, a red Kia went by with four kids inside. I could hear rock music blasting through the open windows as the car passed us.

I turned to the rabbi. “ ‘JJ’?”

“Joshua Jeffrey.”

Shelley explained: “We’ve known each other since high school. Now stop avoiding the invitation. Go talk to your friend and let me know.” She didn’t mention “wife” this time. She noticed I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

The phone in my pocket vibrated again. Another text message. I ignored it.

“Okay,” I smiled. “I’ll ask.”

A maroon, late model Buick approached from the left with three men inside. It seemed to slow as it went by, and the two passengers – one in front and one in back – were looking our way. I didn’t get a good look at them, except to see that the man in front was wearing aviator-style sunglasses.

“Here’s the address,” the rabbi handed me a card. It said, “Shelley’s Party Planning” with a phone number and address.

“If you come to dinner, I’ll explain the card,” Shelley said. “We’re just around the corner. I’ll give you directions when you call.” With that, she put her arm through the rabbi’s and the two of them headed back into the building.

Even before the glass entry door closed behind them, I dug the cell phone from my pocket and read the text.

“I NEED YOU – NOW.”

I texted back that I was on my way.

S

By the time I pulled my Grand Cherokee into the Solomon Stein Day School parking lot outside the Beltway, only a few cars were left. Being late in the day, students as well as most staff had gone for the weekend. The Day School was a K-8 private school, teaching both secular studies and Judaic courses. I hustled across the parking lot and over to a curved roof overhang, protecting the school entrance. I swiped in, knowing that a computer somewhere was recording my name and entry time. No sneaking in unnoticed.

The building, like the parking lot, was all but abandoned. The lobby was a two story open affair with offices to the left and a floor to roof mural ahead of me to the right. It was some modern impressionist thing that I was told represented various events in Jewish history. Most observers couldn’t figure it out. The artist, rumor had it, had gotten the idea from the mural high up in the Capitol rotunda in Washington. Never mind that the Capitol mural was designed to look like a series of sculptures, or that it only went around the inside of the dome and wasn’t floor to ceiling. Here at the school, I don’t think anyone paid attention to this mural anymore. Around to the immediate right was a staircase, and I took the steps two at a time.

On the second floor, I followed the corridor to the left, turned right past a storage room door painted in the style of the mural, and then walked past yellow walls covered with student art. Down a silent hallway, I found the office I was looking for. The door was closed and had the name Katie Harris inscribed on a brass plate at eye level. I knocked, waited for a “Come in,” and stepped inside.

Katie was sitting behind a desk with neatly stacked piles of papers and folders. I always marveled at anyone who could keep a neat desk. Katie stood up. She was a petite woman in her early thirties, with her blonde hair pulled back with a barrette. She was wearing a peach jacket over a collarless white top and green skirt.

“So where were you? I had to send a second text.”

Katie came around her desk, and as she did, she took off her jacket to reveal that her white top was a tank top. I loved Katie in tank tops. They accented her tanned shoulders and her curves. And this white one was my favorite. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“If you must know, I was actually in a synagogue, thinking.”

“You were in a synagogue. Thinking.”

She put her arms around me and held me close. She kissed me.

“Well,” she lowered her voice, “I was here…thinking…that tonight we have no plans. I get to spend the entire evening with you.” She inched her body closer until we were very close. We stood groin to groin.

Katie moved her hips minutely and looked into my eyes.

I peered back. “You keep doing that and I’ll lose…”

“Lose what?” she whispered, as she moved her hips ever-so-slightly again.

“I don’t remember.” I kissed her gently. “I guess I should tell Josh and Shelley we won’t be joining them for dinner.”

We swayed slowly as one.

“Who are Josh and Shelley?” she asked barely audible in my ear.

“He’s the rabbi of the shul. Shelley’s his wife.”

“Mmm.”

“They’re nice.”

“…And they invited us to dinner. That’s sweet.”

I swallowed. I could feel my heart beating against her. “You’d like them.”

We rested our heads on each other’s shoulders. I closed my eyes.

“So, do you want to go?” Katie asked.

I kissed the side of her neck, then paused. “Go where?”

“To your new friends.”

“What new friends?” I could smell her scent on the skin just below her ear. I breathed it in.

She stopped swaying. “I think you should go.”

“What?”

“I think you should go.”

“You do?”

Katie pulled away just enough so we could look at each other. “Yeah. You’ve been looking for something lately.”

“Have I?”

She smiled. “You can’t hide anything from me. ”

“Will you come?”

She kissed me slowly. Then after a moment, “You should go by yourself.”

I just looked at her.

“I’m…not ready yet.” She paused. “I will…another time, just not tonight. “You go,” Katie repeated. “I’ll find something to do, and I’ll be waiting when you get back.”

We pulled away a little more.

“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.

This time Shelley came from the kitchen at the end of the hall. Gone were the jeans and Orioles T-shirt from this afternoon. They had been replaced with a green dress that had yellow curving lines running diagonally from shoulder to hip. She saw me looking through the glass panel and looked straight into my eyes. The fun I had seen in them earlier was gone.

I waited, holding the storm door open. The deadbolt slid back and Shelley opened the inner door just a few inches. She was pale and unsmiling. In fact, it looked like she was clenching her teeth.

“You have to come back tomorrow,” she said flatly.

She began to close the door, but I leaned into it.

I put a finger to my lips and placed my mouth to her ear. “Where are they?” I whispered.

She turned to my ear. “In the kitchen.”

Josh called, “Shelley, is everything okay?” His voice sounded a little higher than I remembered.

I nodded to her.

“Yes.”

I moved back to her ear. “Let me in. Everything will be fine.”

She soundlessly opened the door just enough to let me slip in.

“Dear?” Josh again, from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Coming.”

I whispered again: “Is there another way into the kitchen?”

She pointed to the room on the left.

“Stay right here. Don’t move…and look straight ahead.”

She nodded.

I moved to the open doorway to my left. The room beyond, I could now see, was a dining room with a table beautifully set for a Friday night meal. There were five place settings. I guessed they were for Shelley and Josh, me, and two kids. I could see some silver wine cups on a plate near the head of the table, a breadbasket, and some flowers. Off to the side was a sideboard with four lit Shabbat candles.

I moved into the dining room and hugged the common wall with the hallway, just to the side of the doorway.

“Dear,” Josh called again, “are you coming?”

Shelley turned to me. I put my finger to my mouth and shook my head. I then pointed for her to look toward the kitchen.

A few seconds went by.

“Shelley,” came Josh’s voice, “are you okay?”

Shelley didn’t answer.

The two men from the Buick were in the kitchen with Josh and his kids. That was my guess. I had no idea why and I didn’t care right now. I was also guessing that one of them would come through the door to check on Shelley. If he came through the other door, the one through the dining room side, he would see me. Then things would start getting interesting. Maybe I should grab a table knife. It wasn’t weighted for reliable throwing, but I could always throw it as a distraction. And then what? I had no idea.

He didn’t come through the dining room. He came through the hallway. I could hear his footsteps. The man, I hoped, would have emerged from the kitchen to see Shelley standing, immobile at the front door. He would be walking toward her, curious. From where I stood behind the dining room entrance, I could see Shelley indeed still standing near the front door. She looked petrified, but she did as I had asked and kept her focus straight ahead. In a moment, one of the men appeared, a semi-automatic in his right hand. He was the one wearing a windbreaker and jeans. I noticed several things at once. He was my height, younger than me, and his handgun was a Czech CZ 75. I knew it to be double action weapon – if there were a round in the chamber, the hammer did not have to be cocked for it to fire. I also knew that it came in both 9mm and .40 caliber – not that such a difference would matter to my chest or head at this range.

I silently stepped forward before the man was beyond my reach. The thought of being shot didn’t occur to me. My hands and hips moved rapidly and in concert. With my left hand I used a chin-na variation, pulling him slightly off balance and locking his wrist. Simultaneously, with my right I grabbed the Czech pistol over the slide and twisted the weapon against his trigger finger, both pulling his finger away from the trigger and breaking his hold on it. I tore the gun out of his grasp before he knew I was on him. I continued the chin-na hold, pulling his shoulder and torso forward. He was now bent over. I raised my right arm high and brought my descending elbow straight down onto the spot where the back of his neck ran into the back of his skull. There was a nice hollow there, and I hit it – hard enough, but not with everything I had. The man crashed face down to the floor.

A moment went by, and a voice came from the kitchen, but it wasn’t Josh’s.

“Mazhar!”

Once again, I put my finger to my lips to indicate that Shelley should remain quiet.

“Mazhar?”

Another few seconds passed.

“Mrs. Mandel,” the voice from the kitchen said, “If you do not come here I will shoot your husband, and then I will shoot your children.”

The man had an accent, but I couldn’t place it. Mediterranean? Slav? Romanian? And what was that name, “Mazhar?”

“Do you hear me, Mrs. Mandel? I will save your children for last.”

Shelley looked at me, her eyes wide. I nodded.

“I’m coming,” she said quickly.

I whispered in her ear, hopefully, one last time: “If you can, walk slowly.” I didn’t wait for her response.

With Mazhar’s pistol in hand, I headed into the dining room for the other kitchen entrance. I stopped at the corner, just before the opening to the kitchen. Hopefully, when Shelley would walk in from the hallway, all eyes would be on her. In that moment I’d turn the corner, take in the situation, and shoot. In theory. It really all depended on where everyone was, and if the man’s gun was pointing at someone.

I looked down at the CZ 75. I moved the slide back just enough to verify that there was a round in the chamber – there was – and waited.

“Here I am,” I heard Shelley say. I wondered if that was for me.

I turned the corner, and leveled the gun. In that moment, I saw the second man was indeed looking at Shelley. His back was almost completely to me and had a .45 to Josh’s head.

“Tell me what happened, Mrs. Mandel, or I’ll shoot him. Is someone else here?”

I was essentially behind him, but the angles were horrible: Josh and the gunman; Shelley on the other side. I could shoot the intruder, but Shelley could get hit as the bullet passed through him.

“Yes, there’s another guest,” I said from the far doorway.

The man with the .45 on Josh turned and pulled him closer.

Positions had gotten worse. He now had the rabbi almost completely in front of him.

With a quick sweep, I took in the room: exterior wall to the left with a large window midway across. Beneath the window was a sink, then a countertop to both sides. Double oven to my left, fridge to my right. Island in the center of the room with bar stools around it. Across from me was Josh and the gunman. Shelley had moved to the left between Josh and the countertop. Two young girls, maybe 8 and 10, stood in front of her.

All eyes were now on me.

Not good at all.

I looked at the man holding Josh. He was in his forties, with an olive complexion. He had a wide nose and high cheekbones.

“Mazhar is dead, ” I said. I didn’t know if he was. “This is his gun.”

I noticed Josh’s torso. He was thinner than the gunman, but I still didn’t like the shot. The man needed to take his weapon off of Josh’s head. I couldn’t risk shooting the guy and having him inadvertently pull the trigger.

Josh’s eyes darted from me to Shelley and then back to me. I relaxed, keeping my gun on the intruder, but allowing my focus to stay wide. I could see Shelley and her young girls to the left, Josh and the gunman in the center, and dishes and glasses on a small counterspace near the fridge on my right.

I really didn’t have a shot, but I smiled. “You’re fatter than the rabbi,” I said to the man holding the .45. “I’m going to shoot you in the side and then I’m going to shoot you in the head.”

I spoke to the two young girls in front of Shelley, but kept my eyes on my target. “Girls,” I said, “Close your eyes and keep them closed until your mom tells you to open them, okay?”

The two girls looked at Shelley who nodded. They closed their eyes.

I lowered my gun slightly and pointed it at the gunman’s side. The man behind Josh moved his head out and began to aim at me.

I raised Mazhar’s gun and pulled the trigger.