“Well, then, maybe we can convince him that we’re a better bet than the police.”

Decker sipped coffee as thoughts tumbled in his brain. “I suppose we can check it out. Think the van can make it?”

“You’re the mechanical one,” Jonathan answered. “I’m a rabbi.”

“Who said rabbis couldn’t be mechanical?”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Fifteen miles one way,” Decker said. “Then, if we don’t find anything, we’ve got to make it back to Quinton. That’s forty miles in a van with a shot-out hood and driving on a spare in the rain.”

No one spoke.

Jonathan said, “I’m willing to try it.”

“Well, we have rain slickers now.…” Decker ran his fingers through his damp hair. “All right. Let’s give it a whirl.” They drove several miles without speaking. “And what do we do, Jon, if he resists? What do we do when he starts shooting at us?”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know psychos.” Reaching into the glove compartment, Decker took out the snub-nose. “I have one bullet left. If it’s him or me, I go for the kill. Can you accept that?”

“Better he be shot by you than by the police. At least, that way I’ll know that the shooting was justified.”

“Maybe better for you, Jon.” Decker felt his jaw tighten. “Not necessarily better for me.”

34

Everything was stacked against them. The van was straining at thirty, bouncing on a compromised set of tires, each bump and grind sending shock waves up their spines. On top of that, the road was oil slicked, and it was as dark as sin outside. So Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was the right way. He summed up the situation perfectly.

“This was a terrible idea.” The van landed with a thud as it took a jump over a pothole. The engine stalled for a moment, then continued to chug along. “I just want to reach Chaim before the police. Maybe less chance of his getting hurt.”

“If he doesn’t hurt us first.”

“Akiva, I asked you no less than a dozen times if you wanted to turn back—”

“I know you have. I’m conflicted.”

“So am I.” Jonathan gripped the wheel. “I want to help Chaim. He’s my wife’s brother. The family has been through hell. I’ve been through hell. But I don’t want to get killed.”

“Succinctly put.” Decker tightened his coat around his body.

“Do you want to go back?” Jonathan asked him. “Your call.”

“Now there’s a switch. The rabbi daring the cop.”

“Not strange at all. Haven’t you read the Kemelman series?”

Decker smiled. The rain had abated to sprinkles, leaving the asphalt as shiny as polished onyx. Because one of the biker’s bullets had knocked out the heating fan, the windows were kept open to prevent the windshield from fogging up. Arctic cold, but at least Jonathan could see. Since the windows were rolled down, Decker could hear the strong whoosh of water roiling downstream as it cut deep ruts into the roadside mud.