Confluence. Stephen J. Gordon

porch. Most of the houses were also of the same construction. Red brick. The street itself was quiet; no traffic. While I had no idea if this were accurate, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the majority of the people on the block were Sabbath observant and wouldn’t be in cars for the next 24 hours.

      Josh and Shelley’s house was coming up across the street on the left. It was the only one on the block different from the rest. Their house had no front porch, the brick was painted white, and there was an addition on the left side. While I was still a few houses back diagonally, movement ahead caught my attention. A car was parked directly across from the Mandels’. It was a late model Buick, the Regal, and had three figures inside. Two in the front and one in back. The car had Virginia plates. Nothing unusual about that, except that Virginia plates were common on rental cars here, particularly from BWI airport. I made a mental note of the license plate. Another old habit.

      I was pretty sure this was the same car that cruised past us a few hours ago as the rabbi, Shelley, and I spoke in front of his synagogue.

      A car length behind them, I stopped walking.

      The driver, just a silhouette through the rear window, was moving his head, speaking first to the figure beside him and then to the figure in the back seat. After a moment, the two passengers got out, one from the front and one from the back. They looked to their right and left – they should have easily noticed me – but they weren’t really looking, as their minds seemed elsewhere.

      Both men appeared to be of average height, with close cut dark hair. The man who had come from the front seat was in black pants and a lightweight, dark zippered jacket. The passenger from in back was in jeans and a green windbreaker. They looked at each other, then crossed the street. What were the chances they were heading to the rabbi’s house?

      They walked across to the white brick house that had an addition.

      What were the chances they were guests like me? Shelley and Josh had said they had no other guests tonight.

      The man in the lightweight dark, zippered jacket reached inside his coat with one hand and rang the bell with the other. In a few seconds, I could see Shelley at the door. The man in the dark jacket said something and Shelley quickly stepped aside. The two men went in, and the second man closed the door behind them.

      In front of me, the driver in the maroon Buick stayed where he was behind the wheel, watching his associates. For a moment I had wished I had brought my folding knife along. It was a three and half inch Benchmade combo blade, half straight edge, half serrated. Didn’t matter. I put the bottle of wine down beside the sidewalk and moved into the street to come up behind the Buick on its left. I figured I would come up to the driver and see what was going on. If he made any sudden movement with his hands inside his jacket, I’d punch down at him with the crown of my first two knuckles into the corner of his eye. I’d then reach in and grab him by throat between windpipe and muscle and take it from there. If he wasn’t in position for that, I’d figure something out. I wanted to know who those two men were inside the rabbi’s house. If they were just asking a question or in need of other directions, no problem. The man would not reach inside his jacket, and would be spared multiple fractures to the orbit of his eye.

      I passed the left rear corner of the Buick and walked forward, realizing the car was idling. How focused was the driver on the Mandels’ front door? Approaching from this angle was a calculated risk. Would his peripheral vision pick me up? No other way to get close to him. Even as this went through my mind, the driver spotted me in his side mirror. All I could make out were some dark eyes beneath thick, dark eyebrows. Before I took another step, the car slipped into gear, then shot forward into the street, speeding down the block.

      Shit.

      I ran across to the Mandels’ front door. It was a dual entryway. First there was a storm door and then an inner, solid wooden door. To the left of the door frame was a four-sectioned sidelight. I looked inside.

      The foyer led straight ahead to a short hallway that ended in what looked like the right side of a kitchen. To the left of the foyer was a doorway; I couldn’t make out what was beyond it. To the right, another doorway to what could have been a study. Again, I couldn’t tell. Regardless, no one was in sight. I knew there were at least four adults in the house, and I didn’t know how many kids. Where were they? In the kitchen? In rooms to either side? Were they all together?

      Whatever was going on, I needed to interrupt it. I knocked on the door. A few seconds passed. Nothing.

      I looked through the sidelights again. No Josh, no Shelley.

      I knocked on the door again.

      This time Shelley came from the kitchen at the end of the hall. Gone were the jeans and Orioles T-shirt from this afternoon. They had been replaced with a green dress that had yellow curving lines running diagonally from shoulder to hip. She saw me looking through the glass panel and looked straight into my eyes. The fun I had seen in them earlier was gone.

      I waited, holding the storm door open. The deadbolt slid back and Shelley opened the inner door just a few inches. She was pale and unsmiling. In fact, it looked like she was clenching her teeth.

      “You have to come back tomorrow,” she said flatly.

      She began to close the door, but I leaned into it.

      I put a finger to my lips and placed my mouth to her ear. “Where are they?” I whispered.

      She turned to my ear. “In the kitchen.”

      Josh called, “Shelley, is everything okay?” His voice sounded a little higher than I remembered.

      I nodded to her.

      “Yes.”

      I moved back to her ear. “Let me in. Everything will be fine.”

      She soundlessly opened the door just enough to let me slip in.

      “Dear?” Josh again, from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

      “Yes. Coming.”

      I whispered again: “Is there another way into the kitchen?”

      She pointed to the room on the left.

      “Stay right here. Don’t move…and look straight ahead.”

      She nodded.

      I moved to the open doorway to my left. The room beyond, I could now see, was a dining room with a table beautifully set for a Friday night meal. There were five place settings. I guessed they were for Shelley and Josh, me, and two kids. I could see some silver wine cups on a plate near the head of the table, a breadbasket, and some flowers. Off to the side was a sideboard with four lit Shabbat candles.

      I moved into the dining room and hugged the common wall with the hallway, just to the side of the doorway.

      “Dear,” Josh called again, “are you coming?”

      Shelley turned to me. I put my finger to my mouth and shook my head. I then pointed for her to look toward the kitchen.

      A few seconds went by.

      “Shelley,” came Josh’s voice, “are you okay?”

      Shelley didn’t answer.

      The two men from the Buick were in the kitchen with Josh and his kids. That was my guess. I had no idea why and I didn’t care right now. I was also guessing that one of them would come through the door to check on Shelley. If he came through the other door, the one through the dining room side, he would see me. Then things would start getting interesting. Maybe I should grab a table knife. It wasn’t weighted for reliable throwing, but I could always throw it as a distraction. And then what? I had no idea.

      He didn’t come through the dining room. He came through the hallway. I could hear his footsteps. The man, I hoped, would have emerged from the kitchen to see Shelley standing, immobile at the front door. He would be walking toward her, curious. From where I stood behind the dining room entrance, I could see Shelley indeed still standing near the front door. She looked petrified, but she did as I had asked