Decker said, “If Psycho Hersh is related to Big Hersh, he can give me a little more background about Psycho Hersh. Or maybe they have relatives out here…maybe that’s why Hersh flew out here with Noam.”

“They didn’t hook up with anyone when they came into Los Angeles, Pete.”

“Well, maybe it’ll take them a little time to get their act together. Get all the raunchy stuff out of the way, all the forbidden fruit. I don’t know, I’m just spouting off the top of my head.” Decker looked at his watch. “It’s one-thirty over there. It’ll have to wait until morning.”

Marge said, “You still hungry or did the doughnut do it for you?”

“I can always use another cup of coffee,” Decker said.

Two Hershes, both connected with fish. And what also struck him as a coincidence was that the fish shop was in Williamsburg—where Psycho Hersh had lived—not Crown Heights, where Big Hersh was living.

He thought about it all the way to the coffee shop.

Crouched in the back alley stinking of garbage, Noam was sweating even though it was cold. He could tell the temperature by the gun in his hand. The metal was chilled—like the handlebars of his bike after it had been left out overnight. It must be the ski mask that was making him so hot. The ski mask and fear.

When Hersh first set him in the alley, he nearly gagged from the stench. He was also petrified to be left alone. But he was more afraid of Hersh’s temper than he was of being attacked by a stranger. As the hours wore on, his fear had blossomed into terror. Shadows were people waiting to jump him, every sound was magnified into an explosion. He felt like the rock pulled back on a slingshot, everything tight and ready to spring. Perspiration was preventing him from getting a good grip. Twice he even dropped the gun. Then he thought maybe he should just tell Hersh he’d lost it.

But Hersh would get mad. Maybe even kick him out. And it was just like he said. He had nowhere to go at this time of night. Just the police. And he was terrified of that.

What if the druggist reported him as the one who stole those things? Vey is mir, what if they arrested him, put him in jail?

No, he couldn’t go to the police.

They might even be looking for him now.

He felt his hands shake uncontrollably and told himself to stop thinking about that. Just go through the night one minute at a time.

Just let the night be over with. He prayed to Hashem to give him guidance, but as always he found no answer in tephila. Just empty words. Hashem never answered him. But maybe he didn’t pray right.

He was so confused.