With five pounds of pressure exerted on the trigger of his gun, David could end Rabbi Kales right here. That was it. Five pounds of pressure. Less pressure than it would take to slap the man. David could feel his gun pressing against the small of his back, beneath his now ever-present suit jacket. He could draw his gun in a second, second and a half if he really needed to take some time with it. At point-blank range, the bullet would take just a fraction of a second to pierce that spot between Rabbi Kales’s head and neck. And for what? The hubris of wanting to give his community a place to gather and of not realizing the consequences of his actions?
Yom Kippur wasn’t for another eight months, yet David couldn’t help but think of what he’d learned about the Day of Atonement, about how almost a hundred years earlier, Rabbi Hertz had written that sin was not an evil power whose chains one must drag behind oneself for the rest of one’s life. We can always shake off its yoke, Rabbi Hertz said, and we never need to assume the yoke in the first place.
The Talmud taught that Jews live in deeds, not years, and in that way, David understood the paradox of all the things he’d learned during these months of rabbinical study: You could never quite unfuck yourself, when it got right down to it, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a better person after making a bad choice.
Rabbi Kales turned back around then, the phone pressed to his ear as he listened intently to whatever was being said to him, so David very calmly took out his gun and placed it directly against the rabbi’s forehead. “We all have a boss,” David said.
David thought he saw the wrinkle of a smile begin to play at the edges of Rabbi Kales’s mouth, though he couldn’t really be sure. What he didn’t see was fear. And that, above all else, made David’s assumptions about the power structure between Bennie and Rabbi Kales crystallize. He wasn’t scared because he knew it wasn’t his time to die yet. If Rabbi Kales was found with a bullet in his head on the same day Bennie Savone was arrested, everyone would go down.
“You’re in luck,” Rabbi Kales said. “Benjamin’s lawyer would like to speak with you.” He handed the phone to David and then fished out another cigarette and lit up.
David stuffed his gun back into his waistband, cleared his throat, collected himself for a moment, tried to decide which voice he wanted to use, and then said, “With whom am I speaking?”
“Who the fuck is this?” Bennie’s lawyer said.
“This is Rabbi David Cohen,” David said.
There was a pause on the other end for a moment, and David thought he could hear Bennie’s lawyer thinking. “Okay,” he said. Another long pause. “Okay.”
“I am Mr. Savone’s rabbi,” David said.
Another long pause. “This is Vincent Zangari, Mr. Savone’s attorney. I wasn’t expecting you to sound like you sound.”
“How do I sound?”
“Calm,” Vincent said.
“Yes, well, I am very concerned about Mr. Savone,” David said.
“He said you might be.” Vincent chuckled then, or let out what amounted to a chuckle. There was something strangled about what the man found amusing. David wondered just how much he knew. Maybe everything. David had never met Vincent Zangari, but he knew all about him from the news and the papers and the commercials he had on television. That was one of the weird things about Las Vegas: You’d be watching the news, and they’d be reporting on some guy cannibalizing his wife and kids, and they’d cut to the scene in front of the courthouse, and there was someone like Vincent Zangari, ten-thousand-dollar suit on, telling everyone how misunderstood his client was, how it was a simple accident involving cooked humans. They’d cut to a commercial, and there was that same lawyer, wearing the same suit, striding the neon streets of Las Vegas, letting you know that if you got “jammed up,” he was the guy to get you unjammed.
Zangari’s commercials had slightly higher production values and always featured him getting in and out of a Bentley. There was one specific commercial that seemed to run on a loop during the eleven o’clock news broadcasts: Zangari’s Bentley pulls up to a crime scene, and the lawyer steps out of the backseat, cell phone to his ear, and approaches a line of cops standing in front of a band of yellow crime scene tape. As soon as they see Zangari, the cops lift up the tape and let him stride into the crime scene, like he’s chief of police. He turns to the camera, the phone still at his ear, and says, “Keep your mouth closed. You have rights.” That’s it. Keep your mouth closed. You have rights. Simple but effective, David guessed, since Zangari seemed to be the go-to guy these days for the crime family types now that Oscar Goodman was running for mayor. The benefit of Las Vegas being an open city, David imagined, was that there was always plenty of work for guys like Zangari.
“How long do you expect him to remain in jail?” David asked.
“Depends,” Vincent said. “They might not give him a bond hearing for another seventy-two hours, then they’ll arraign him after that. If there’s a bond, we’ll get him out right away. That’s no problem. But with a federal case, they might claim he’s a flight risk and hold him without bond, or postpone his arraignment for thirty days. Maybe even sixty, if they end up tacking on some RICO. I’ve seen worse. Could be ninety.”
“But what do you think?”
Another long pause. “I think Mr. Savone has a good reputation locally,” he said. “He has many, many friends in all parts of local government. I think that will help him, but it won’t save him from the feds doing their best to elongate the process. At this point, I don’t even know what he’s allegedly conspired to have done. On the outside, I would guess the feds will try to get at least thirty days on him and that they won’t give him bond, based almost entirely on his last name. I’ll need to make a fuss. Even still, thirty to sixty, then probably they spend the next year watching him. This isn’t going to be a cakewalk. We get him out, first things first, and then see what the government has. They probably have dick, if I know these guys.”
“Yes, well,” David said, “Mr. Savone should know that he has the support of Temple Beth Israel.”
“He knows that,” Vincent said. “That’s why I wanted to speak with you. Mr. Savone wanted to convey how important it was for you to make sure his wife and children were well taken care of while he’s away.”
“Of course,” David said.
“He’d like you to keep a close eye on Rachel, specifically,” Vincent said. “She might feel like Las Vegas is not a safe place for her and therefore might be considering leaving. You should make her feel safe.”
“Of course,” David said.
“That’s good,” Vincent said, “because Bennie was concerned that Rachel might be thinking of leaving town, but he knew you wouldn’t let that happen if she knew you were there to watch her. Keep her safe.”
“No,” David said, thinking: Fucking Bennie. He knew everything. Probably had his own fucking house bugged. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Because Mr. Savone wanted it made clear that if he knew your wife was planning a surprise trip, well, he’d let you know well in advance, just out of common courtesy. In case you wanted to buy them travel insurance or something. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“He also wanted you to know, specifically, the faith he has in your work and that you shouldn’t be concerned about his devotion to the temple and to your work. And that you should absolutely stay in Las Vegas.”