The car returned to its silent state. A moment later, Yalom indicated something by a point of the finger. Rina got off the ayalon on the Rekevet exit. The old man directed her into a series of turns that put them on a gravel and dirt pay lot. No parking spaces had been marked but the cars, mostly subcompacts, that occupied the lot were spaced in an orderly fashion. The parking area bordered a busy tree-lined boulevard. Across the roadway stood three ultra-modern granite and glass skyscrapers jutting out from what looked like a strip mall. Decker look out the rear window. Behind the lot was a nest of square patched-up apartment houses, laundry hanging from the windows. No sense of a neighborhood. Nothing matched—Tijuana meets Century City.

Rina shut off the motor and they got out of the car. The boulevard was more of a highway with cars racing at high speeds in both directions. The nearest intersection with a traffic light was a blip in the distance. Yalom rooted along a wire fence that acted as a barrier between the lot and the boulevard until he found a hole. He squeezed through it, then stood in the street and watched cars speed by.

“We’re going to cut across?” Decker asked Rina.

Rina said, “I’m just following the leader.”

Traffic finally cleared on one side. The old man dashed across with surprising speed. Decker and Rina followed until the trio took temporary refuge on the boulevard’s divider—a concrete island in a sea of blurred metal and smoky exhaust.

Decker said, “You know, if this was America, we’d all get a ticket.”

Rina said, “I know. LA’s really big on jaywalking.”

“That’s because people get killed jaywalking.” A truck shot past, blowing wind through Decker’s hair and almost knocking Rina off her feet. He said, “This is crazy.”

The old man shouted a “go” in English. All three of them tore across.

“See?” Rina said. “We made it.”

Decker ran his fingers through his hair and didn’t answer. Yalom motioned them forward, his gait slowing to that of an old man. He led them up a series of museum-sized granite steps while speaking to Rina. She translated.

“There are three major buildings in the diamond center. The Maccabee is where the Bursa is. It’s also where Joseph Menkovitz keeps his private office.” She paused and listened to Yalom’s words. “Even though the bigger dealers have offices now, they still do lots of trading in the Bursa itself. It makes excitement.”

“Makes excitement?” Decker asked.