This wasn’t on some dumbfuck Unsolved Mysteries at midnight.
This was repeating all night on cable news in prime time, which meant it was also on ABC, CBS, and NBC nightly news.
Kirk fucking Biglione.
And then, a starker truth began to show up in Sal’s mind: I’m never going to find Jennifer and William.
If Peaches was running The Family now, that meant Peaches was involved in this setup of Matthew Drew, however it had really gone down.
They were coming closer.
If they knew how to touch Matthew Drew, they were steps away from finding Sal Cupertine. They’d already dumped those Gambino fucks on Ruben, probably just to see what would happen. It made sense that they’d let Biglione claim this death versus just dumping Matthew’s body. It helped burnish Biglione’s name and made Matthew look even more guilty. The police probably had his gun to match to all those bodies.
Sal Cupertine wasn’t going to wait around for either of these motherfuckers to show up on his front porch. He’d be goddamned if Kirk Biglione was going to watch him die, too. That was not fucking happening.
Sal clicked off the TV, stood up. “I need to go.”
“Sit,” Rabbi Kales said. “Drink a cup of tea.”
“I don’t want a fucking cup of tea.”
“I know,” Rabbi Kales said, “which is why you will sit here and drink a cup of tea with me.” He slit open an envelope of Earl Grey, dropped it into a cup, poured in hot water, then handed it to Sal. “Let it steep.” When Sal didn’t move, Rabbi Kales said, “Rabbi, in my home, that is who you are.”
Sal went to the window, half expecting to see Las Vegas Metro lined five deep, but there was nothing but an In-N-Out wrapper scooching across the blacktop. This whole building was in the wide open. Attackers could come from all points. “It’s not safe here,” Sal said. “If they can’t find me, they’ll start working through the people I care about. We need to move you.”
“For what? My safety? You know as well as I do that in a week’s time, you will kill me. I know how my son-in-law thinks. And Rabbi, I am settled to this fact.”
Sal said, “Rachel wants you dead, too.”
“I know. Her desire comes from kindness. Bennie’s comes from fear. The end result is that both are probably right.”
“Listen,” Sal said, “everything has turned sideways. I’m not sure I can protect myself, much less have time to kill you.” A cop car came screaming down Rampart, lights and sirens, kept going. An ambulance, no lights, pulled lazily into the parking lot of The Willows. Two EMTs got out, snapping on gloves, grabbing duffel bags. “There a good reason for an ambulance to be here?”
“Every night,” Rabbi Kales said, “someone needs 911. I try to go to bed by this hour so that I can have something to surprise me in the morning. Was the siren on?”
“No.”
“Then it’s probably a catheter problem.”
Sal closed the blinds. Looked up at the ceiling. There were water stains in the acoustic tiles. How many people had come and gone from this apartment over the years? How many ghosts were watching the two of them right now?
“Rabbi,” Rabbi Kales said again, “leave the hit man at the window.”
There’s no difference anymore.
Rabbi David Cohen sat down on the sofa, took a sip of tea, too bitter, poured in some half-and-half, dropped in a square of sugar. Took another sip. Let the warmth wash over him. Here was Rabbi Cy Kales, the most honest bad man he’d ever met. All this was put into action because of him. He wanted his synagogue. He wanted his Home of Peace. He wanted a place in the desert that celebrated the Jewish faith. He saw the history of Moe Dalitz, Bugsy Siegel, Meyer Lansky, saw the streets that bore the names of their hotels and imagined, in its place, streets named for him and for his family. Imagined a Las Vegas where a bad Jew did some good versus those bad Jews who simply washed their money in tourists’ losses and called it philanthropy. Rabbi Kales had done mostly good. Rabbi Cohen had done the rest. Which is why Sal Cupertine ended up here in the first place.
And, in the end, wasn’t that the final existential conundrum Sal Cupertine had to face? If Rabbi Kales had never let his daughter marry into the mafia, Sal Cupertine would already be dead. Talk about mazel.
“Can I give you a piece of advice?” David asked.
“Of course.”
“Run,” David said. “Trouble is about to come down, and you’re going to end up in prison. Tomorrow, pack a bag, buy tickets to Israel for you and Avi, and as soon as Bennie is gone, go.”
“I’m an old man, David.”
“Avi will protect you,” David said. “You have family there. They will also protect you. You once told me that if I found myself in trouble, I should surround myself with Jews. Give yourself the same respect, Rabbi.”
“David, I fear you’re being rash.”
“Your name is on everything,” David said. “You’ve been running an extremely lucrative criminal operation, and the only reason you’re not already in prison is that Bennie hasn’t opened his mouth. But if your daughter goes to the FBI in hopes of getting away from her husband, you’ll be implicated. You’ll be dragged through everything. That’s the truth, Rabbi. I know the man who killed Matthew Drew. He saw my father die. He did nothing but ascend to the top of the FBI in Chicago. He is bought and paid for by the same gangster who tried to own me for my entire life. If he figured out how to kill Matthew, I’m next. I don’t have much time. With or without my wife.”
“You’re scared.”
“No,” David said, “I’m realistic.”
Rabbi Kales stood. “Well. There is but one thing left to do, Rabbi.” He went into the kitchen, came back with a butcher knife. “Are you ready?”
“Rabbi,” David said, “I’m not gonna kill you. If you want to die, I’ll give you a bottle of pills, but I’m not putting my hands on you.”
“No,” Rabbi Kales said, “that’s not what I meant.” He walked into his bathroom, began to run a bath, then came back into the living room, still holding the knife. “Do you want to save your soul, Rabbi?”
“We’re beyond that.”
“We’re never beyond that,” he said. “If you want to walk through the Mount of Olives hand in hand with me, you must convert. That’s all that’s left. Draw your blood, bathe in the mikvah, and take a Hebrew name.”
“I don’t think I can observe all six hundred thirteen of the mitzvoth,” David said.
