He stared at me incredulously. "Five hundred liras. That's my last offer, Mr. Lapid."

It was a good one. The sort of money that could tide me over for a long while. But I wasn't tempted. Not when it came from him.

"It doesn't matter how much you offer me. The answer would still be no."

He grabbed my coat. "You can't do this to me. Not to me."

"You did it to yourself." I pushed him off me and turned for the door. I was done here.

The shattering of glass alerted me to what was coming. I ducked and whirled, and the jagged bottle end streaked over my head. If Harpaz had been smarter, he would have hit me with the full bottle. Then he might have caught me by surprise.

I punched him hard. Right on the nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and then he was on the floor, moaning incoherently, blood streaming over his face.

I stood over him, breathing hard. "There's more where that came from if you ever try something like that again."

The door to the room smashed against a wall. There was the barkeep again, knife in hand. Behind him was the solitary customer, brawny and glowering.

"What the hell?" the barkeep growled.

"Mr. Harpaz attacked me and got more than he bargained for. He could use a doctor," I said. "I'll be heading off."

"Like hell you will. He's a valued customer; you, I never met before today."

"I'm just a guy who defended himself and now wants to leave. So step aside. I don't want any more trouble."

"You gonna let him talk to you that way, Mendel?" the customer said, clearly drunk beyond good sense. "In your own place?"

Mendel glared. "You make trouble in my place, you damage my reputation. You need to pay for that."

"Or else?"

"Or Mendel will cut you up some, and I'll help," said the customer, flashing crooked teeth. "And we'll take what's coming to us from your wallet, like it or not."

I nodded slowly. My fingers ached from slugging Harpaz. My ribs were full of stabbing pain from putting my body behind the punch. This had to end quickly and without more violence.

I pulled out the gun. Pointed it straight at Mendel's face. "Drop the knife and kick it here."

His face turned white, and he complied. I stepped on the blade and turned the gun on the equally stunned customer.

"You got something to say?"

He shook his head and raised his hands. Decent of him to stick them up without my asking.

"Step inside. Both of you. Go sit on those chairs there."

They obeyed. They looked like misbehaved pupils awaiting their headmaster's ruler.

Harpaz, his mouth ringed by a beard of red, raised himself on his elbows and gave me a look of abject hatred. "I'll get you for this, Lapid. I'll get you."

"You'll have to get in line," I said, not bothering to point the gun at him. To the other two, I added, "I'm going to walk out now. I'll close this door behind me. Count to five hundred and only then come out. And if I ever see either of you two again..."

I pulled the trigger.

The bullet blasted a chunk of floor near their feet. They both jumped with a yelp. The report echoed around the small room, and the air stank of spent gunpowder and blood.

I walked backward until I passed through the door and then slammed it shut. I hurried out. I didn't think they'd come after me, but you can never know with fools and drunks.

It was raining with rage, and I was glad. The heavy downpour had probably muffled most of the report.

I'd neglected to bring an umbrella from Tel Aviv, but Harpaz had left his by the door to the bar, and I grabbed it on the way out.

I turned the first corner I got to, and then the next, moving quickly and putting many turns between myself and the bar. After ten minutes, certain I wasn't being chased, I slowed to consult street signs and get my bearings.

It was about midnight, and the number of people I saw out could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

I headed to Moria's apartment. As I walked, I thought about my talk with Arye Harpaz. He was a creep and a liar, but could he have been truthful about the affair? Maybe Moria's lover had been Dr. Shapira after all, as improbable as it seemed. He fit Lillian's description. If he had broken things off with Moria, that would only add to her motive for killing him.

Still, it was likely Harpaz. The guy was a rake, and he'd admitted to trying to seduce Moria. Good liars know that the best lies are rooted in truth, not made up of whole cloth. And Harpaz was an experienced prevaricator.

But why not simply admit it? After all, he'd confessed to trying to cheat Gafni out of money. Wasn't that bad enough? But maybe he sensed that I disliked Gafni and thought it would be easier to bribe me to look the other way if I believed the fraud scheme rather than his affair with a much younger, and now dead, Moria.

I got into Moria's apartment as I had the previous night. It was cold and dark, and a little water had got into my shoes, so I removed my socks and spread them out on the rim of the tub.

I figured I was in for better sleep than the night before. I'd committed violence today. The nightmares wouldn't come. I was in no danger of screaming. I wouldn't need the gag.

But I was restless rather than tired. I felt like pacing but didn't dare to. I wanted a cigarette but didn't fire one up. Instead, I stood in the middle of the dark living room, the remnants of Moria's life around me like ancient relics of a bygone civilization, feeling like an archaeologist trying to decipher a murky past.

With careful steps, I moved toward the window. I looked at the roiling sky blanketed with bloated black clouds. I watched the rain strafe the buildings across the street. I recalled harder rains in colder lands and shivered at the memory.

Then my eyes drifted downward, and I saw the man.

He was standing on the opposite sidewalk, a black shape with a black umbrella. Standing motionless in a bombardment of water. I strained my eyes, but his height and build were difficult to estimate. But he wasn't fat, nor very tall. A regular guy. But why would a regular guy be standing in the middle of Amos Street in the dead of night under heavy rain?

Fear scurried up my back like a swarm of spiders. Who was this man? Had he been following me? How come I hadn't noticed him before?

Was he one of the men from the bar? A cop? I didn't think he was Kulaski. I couldn't make out his face, but his shape didn't fit the inspector's.

The man was moving. Tiny shifts at this distance. Moving his head?

Then his umbrella tilted up a little, and I realized why.

He was looking up. He was scanning the windows of Moria's building. Searching for me?

I took a quick step backward, out of sight from street level. But it had taken me a split second to react. Had I been fast enough? Had he seen me?

I swore. I took out the gun. I looked at the closed door, at the accursed window with runnels of water running down its pane like prison bars. Up until that moment, I'd felt safe in Moria's apartment, unseen and unheard, but now that illusion was shattered.

What should I do? Go down and confront him? But doing so would make a lot of noise, and I wouldn't be able to come back to Moria's apartment. I chewed my lip for a minute and then, still undecided, chanced another peek at the street.