Even if that wasn’t the reason, the game served the same purpose as if it had been left behind intentionally. Now Decker knew that Noam liked rock and roll and played arcade games. The shirt and the game indicated places to search.

Decker said, “I can walk you guys back to your bubbe’s now.”

Boruch stood, but Aaron didn’t move. Decker asked him what was wrong.

“I’m worried,” Aaron said. “I’m not worried like somebody kidnapped Noam. But I’m worried that he did something stupid and now he’s in some kind of trouble. He wouldn’t just not show up, unless he was in trouble.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“The way I talked about Noam,” Aaron said. “It sounds like I don’t care. But I do.”

“Of course you do.” Decker put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I know you love him. Both of you do.”

Aaron sighed. “He’s still my brother….”

“You gonna find him?” Boruch asked.

“I’m going to do my best,” Decker said. But there was a queasy feeling in his gut as he spit out the words.

He walked both of the boys back, then stopped by the Lazarus house to pick up his piece.

The sun was setting. Though he didn’t know Brooklyn, he knew it contained some mean areas. He had no intention of searching for Noam in a ghetto, but there was always the possibility of getting lost. Along with his Beretta, he’d taken four clips, sixteen rounds apiece. That should hold him nicely.

10

Number-one item on the agenda: Get a good street map.

Though the sidewalks of Boro Park were populated with Jews walking home from synagogue, the streets were nearly empty—few cars, all businesses shut down for the holidays. Decker took off his yarmulke, put the photograph of Noam Levine on the seat next to him, and took off, searching for an open service station.

He found one about a half mile down, filled the tank with gas—Jonathan had left the car bone dry—and paid two seventy-five for a map of Brooklyn. He asked the gas station attendant or maybe it was the owner—the man was about fifty with a pot belly and white hair—exactly where he was. The older man scrunched watery blue eyes and answered,

“What do you mean where are you?”

It came out: Whaddeyeh mean wheh arh youse?

“You’re in Brooklyn—Boro Park.”

Boro Park was Burrow Park.

“This is still Boro Park?” Decker asked.

The attendant said, “You lost or something? Give me the numbers, I’ll tell you how to get there.”

Decker said, “So Boro Park isn’t all Jewish?”

“Well, most of it is Jewish. You lookin’ for the Jewish part?”

“No, I just came from the Jewish part,” Decker said.

The attendant said, “Funny, you don’t look Jewish.” He spasmed with laughter at his joke.