“I’m not sure. Take any of them and I’ll ask directions. The hotel’s on the main drag near the ocean—HaYarkon. We’ll find it eventually.”

Decker complied, took the first exit into the city, and drove a few blocks only to find himself smack in the middle of a slum. Streetlights were few, garbage was plentiful, and the neighborhood obviously didn’t believe in street signs.

He looked around. Old tenement houses were zigzagged by thin fire-escape staircases. The construction was cheap, stucco buildings with tiny windows. No longer exhausted, he realized his system had turned into its fight-or-flight mode.

“I don’t like this.”

Rina said, “Why don’t you pull over and I’ll ask directions from those guys over there.”

“Are you nuts?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Do you know where we are?”

“No, Peter,” Rina said, testily. “If I knew where I was, I’d get us to the hotel.” She rolled down the window and yelled out a s’lichah—an “excuse me.” Punks began approaching the car. They wore tight jeans, open-necked shirts under leather jackets, and gold glimmered around their necks. Decker pressed metal to the floor of the car, flattening Rina against the back of the passenger seat as he peeled out.

“Are you crazy?” she screamed.

Decker drove a few blocks, then pulled the car over. “Why in God’s good green earth are you asking assholes for directions? You might as well put a sign around your neck, saying, ‘I’m a stupid tourist. Mug me.’”

“What are you talking about?”

Decker looked at his wife. She was confused, making him confused by her lack of understanding. Up to this point, Decker had never thought of his wife as that naive. Now he realized how trusting she was and it scared him. He took a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, we’re in the middle of a slum. And those boys whom you were about to ask for directions? They are what we call in the business scumbags—”

“Peter—”

“Honey, they’d sooner rape you than help you.”

“This isn’t a slum. It’s the heart of Tel Aviv.” Rina looked around. “Probably a working-class area. Those kids were just your average Israelis out for a good time—”

“I’ll bet—”

“We’re not in America, Peter. While I’d place money that the boys weren’t rocket scientists, I’d also place money that they weren’t rapists. Repeat after me: We’re in a Levantine countr—”

“Rina, I know scumbags when I see them.”

“All right. If no one was looking, maybe they’d break into the car and steal the radio. They’d figure it’s just a rental car anyway, right?”

“Rina!”

“I’m just trying to explain the mentality.”

“You don’t have to tell me about people, all right?” He started the car. “Doesn’t the country believe in street signs?”