He called Brooklyn information. As soon as the operator answered, he hung up. He had just wanted to see if the line was capable of connecting long-distance calls.

It was.

At the sound of footsteps. Noam jerked his head up, his dreams of his family dissipating instantly. He saw Hersh standing over him, his hand behind his back. Fully awake, Noam grabbed his bag, stood up, and stepped back.

Hersh moved a step forward and said, “Just going to check that we didn’t forget anything. You can go back to sleep.”

Noam didn’t answer.

Hersh said, “Go back to sleep, Nick-O. Catch some Zs while you can.”

Noam took another step backward, holding his bag against his stomach as if it were an armored vest. “Not tired.”

“I want to check your baggage,” Hersh said. “Make sure you packed everything.”

“I did.” Noam retreated. “Everything’s okay.”

“Gun loaded?” Hersh asked.

Noam shook his head and took another step backward. “You said, what would be the point of loading it? That we were packing it inside the valise and checking it through.”

Hersh stepped forward and said, “Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to load it anyway.”

Noam retreated some more and said, “That doesn’t make any sense. It might go off accidentally; then we’d be in trouble for no reason.”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Noam could tell that Hersh was mad. He was looking at the bag. He wanted it. He wanted the gun. Yet he wasn’t making any moves toward it. Then Hersh gave him that weird smile and Noam saw why. Hersh was holding a gutting knife in his right hand. He wasn’t exactly threatening him with it, but he was kind of waving it around.

“Give me the gun,” Hersh said. His voice was steady. “Hey, I’ll load it for you, Nick-O.”

Noam’s heart raced in his chest, his head banging like a gavel.

Like that book Hersh always read—Marvin K. Mooney.

The time had come.

This was it!

He was positive that Hersh was going to kill him. The thought of being butchered like those other men made him dizzy, made him sick. But he couldn’t get sick now. Not with so much tshuvah left to do.

What to do?

Run?

Not a chance. Hersh was quicker.

Think, Noam told himself. He was so tired, so weak, nauseated from what had happened and no sleep.

Play dumb. Try to get a little more time.

Noam backed up, never taking his eyes off Hersh. Slowly, he unzipped his bag. He’d pretend he’d lost the gun. That was a good trick.

He reached inside, attempted to feel around. Yes, there was the gun. And to his surprise, it was loaded. At least it had a clip in it. Whether the clip was empty or not, he didn’t know.

But Hersh didn’t know either.