Chapter Nineteen
NINETEEN
Faye glanced down at her watch. It had been over an hour, and Greg still hadn’t returned with Nelly. She debated calling the old woman, demanding they return, when a sight across the street caused her heart to begin palpitating. The little old man, the one who had been at the Say No to Hate Rally in the dark jacket, had now taken up a position on a bench outside of her store.
What was he doing?
She didn’t like it. She didn’t like the way this stranger always showed up in the wake of anti-Semitic events. She didn’t like how he stared at her store, unmoving, like he had ill intent. She debated her options. Going out there, confronting him directly. Or, better yet, she could just call Eric. She retrieved her cell phone when the pitter-patter of tiny feet pulled her attention away.
Hillel had wandered out from his hidey-hole. Relieved to see him, Faye crouched down to the tiny animal. Hillel responded by giving her a good nuzzle into her wrist. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture from an animal who spent most of his time revenge-pooping all over her floors.
“Don’t worry,” she said, comforting the creature. “Greg will be back soon.”
It seemed that both of them were feeling his absence.
Faye shook the thought away. Rising from her spot, she glanced back out the shattered window to find the old man had departed. The street returned to quiet. Faye moved away from the window, careful not to step on any glass, and waited. Each second ticked by more slowly than the previous one. And so, she made more tea. Tried to set her intention. Tried to relax with deep breathing exercises and meditation. She found her way back to her studio and picked up the drawings of the modular Havdalah set she made. It would never come out the way she wanted. Because pieces couldn’t exist without hurting each other...
The bell at the front of her store rang out an arrival. Quickly, she put her papers back down and rushed to see who had entered. Eric, fully dressed in uniform, was standing in her foyer. His police vehicle was parked right outside her business.
She had never been so happy to see him.
“Eric,” Faye said.
“Faye,” he said, rushing over, embracing her. “I came as soon as I could.”
Feeling the warmth of his arms around her—the safety he provided—caused a levee to break inside of her. She hated crying in front of other people. It made her feel silly, vulnerable. It reminded her of growing up with her mother, no one ever coming to protect her. But the tears came anyway.
“It’s okay,” he said comfortingly. “I’m here.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away from him. She grabbed a tissue to blot back her tears. “I’m just...so overwhelmed right now. I can’t believe this happened.”
“You have every right to be upset,” Eric said, releasing her.
He stepped back, eyes scanning the room. Fists on his hips, he took in the full extent of the damage surrounding them. “Look at this place.” Eric spat out the words. “Goddamn criminals. Goddamn monsters. I swear to God, Faye...”
His voice trailed off. He pressed his lips together. She could hear the anger in his voice, and surprisingly, it soothed her nerves. It was comforting to know that Eric, a member of law enforcement, was taking this crime seriously.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” Faye asked. “Or perhaps coffee?”
“Coffee would be great.”
She headed to the kitchen to begin making it, flicking away a piece of glass that had inadvertently fallen inside the mug. She was finding glass everywhere. In the meantime, she tried to call Nelly and Greg, tell them to come back, but nobody answered.
“Here you go,” she said, handing the mug to him. “Though I can’t promise it won’t come without injury.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said, their fingers brushing on accident. “You’re being a good sport about all this.”
She shrugged. “What choice do I really have?”
They spent a few moments going through official business. Eric took her statement, then collected the brick, along with the note, in a plastic evidence bag. He took photos of the damage—the broken window, her pottery scattered across the floor, a hamsa broken and bent out of shape by the couch.
It was kind of Eric to come himself.
“I really appreciate this, Eric.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, playing coy. “What?”
“You’re the chief of police,” she said, simply. “I know that this, coming to my store, doing all the legwork on a crime scene...isn’t usually in your purview.”
He returned to sketching some notes in his pad. “You’re right. Normally, I would let someone more junior handle this part. But you’re my friend, Faye. I care about you. Even when I don’t like the decisions you make... I’ll be here for you, too.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He finished scribbling, putting his notepad in his front pocket. “So,” he said, glancing around her store, “where’s Greg?”
“He went to the hardware store to get some wood planks to board up the window.”
“Ah.” Eric seemed displeased. “I was hoping to question him, too.”
“I’m sorry,” Faye said, reaching for her cell phone. “I tried calling him and Nelly to come back, but I guess they’re having trouble with reception.” She wasn’t sure why a trip to Home Depot to buy some wood was taking them over an hour.
“Those big box stores can often be dead zones,” he offered.
“Yeah.”
He considered his options before waving off her concern. “It’s fine. I think I have most of what I need here.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly remembering. “I do have something for you.” Faye rose from her spot on the couch, standing up to find the note that Greg had left scribbled on the counter. “Greg went after the attackers last night.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I know,” Faye said, shaking her head. “I told him not to, but I think he was just so pumped up on adrenaline at that point...he wasn’t thinking clearly. Anyway, he was able to get a quick peek at the car along with the license plate.”
“He did?”
“Well, actually...it’s only the first four letters and numbers,” Faye qualified. “But basically, it was a dark blue four-door sedan. I figured it might be a good start in tracking down whoever was behind this.” She handed the evidence over to him.
Eric stared down at the note. “This is great, Faye.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.” He beamed, clearly impressed. “I’m gonna take this right back to the station and run it against our files. See if we can come up with an owner for this vehicle. Honestly, Faye...this might just be the break in the case we need.”
It made her feel better. He made her feel better.
“And there is—” she swallowed a little over the words “—there is one other thing. I’m not even sure I should mention it.”
Eric leaned in. “Okay.”
“I saw that man again.”
He squinted, confused. “What man?”
“The weird one,” she said, feeling foolish for even mentioning it. “The one that has been lurking about, showing up whenever there seems to be anything happening with these Paper Boys. I saw him after the flyers, and at the rally, and this morning, I looked out my window...and, well, he was just sitting on the bench across from the street, watching my store.”
“Did he do anything else?” Eric asked, concerned. “Threaten you? Say something weird or inappropriate?”
“No.” She shook her head. And then, realizing once again how paranoid it all sounded, brushed off her own fear. “I’m sorry,” she said, apologizing for her behavior. “I’m just so mixed up nowadays. Ignore me. With everything happening as of late, I’m not thinking clearly.”
“Hey,” Eric said, touching her arms gently. “You don’t have to apologize to me ever. I’m here for you, alright?”
“I know.”
“I’m always here for you, okay?” He met her eyes directly. “Whatever you need, Faye... I’ve got your six, okay?”
She believed him. He moved to hug her again, and his arms lingered there around her. She took note of how good he felt. The heat of his skin, the comfort he was providing. And yet, her mind wandered to Greg. Deep down inside, despite both their attempts to keep things friendly, it was Greg that she wanted more than anything.
Greg stepped out of Nelly’s vehicle and found himself smack-dab in the middle of the woods. A modest home with birch tree shingles and strange angles greeted his arrival. On the front door was a mezuzah.
“This is where you live?” Greg asked.
“Last fifty years.” Nelly sighed. “My husband was an architect. This was our dream home.”
It was beautiful. The peaceful surroundings, which so seamlessly blended in with the building, stood in stark contrast to the war zone he had just come from. Nelly waved him forward, one hand on her hip while she proceeded up three front steps and they both went inside.
With the flip of a switch, the lights around the living room and foyer went on. The same angles, the sharp sloping lines that made up the aesthetic of the outside of the house, now found their way indoors. Unlike Second Glance Treasures, crammed full of items, covered in dust, her house wasn’t messy.
It was, however, filled with art.
From the foyer to the living room, sitting on consoles and coffee tables alike, were all manner of statues, paintings, and sculptures. Greg recognized the pink vase with a large circular opening at the top sitting front and center on a table in the hallway.
“Isn’t this one of Faye’s pieces?” Greg asked.
“You here to talk about my art collection or learn about The Paper Boys?” Nelly said.
“Paper Boys,” Greg admitted.
“Good,” she said, her hand encircling the knob of a closed door, a keypad at the side. She turned to enter in numbers. “Because we don’t have much time.”
The door beeped, followed by the sound of whirring, bolts unlocking, and some machine grinding across a tread, before finally, the door popped open. Greg followed Nelly down a dark set of stairs and landed in her war room. Nelly had not been kidding. What the old woman had created in her basement was more than mission control. It was the goddamn epicenter for the antics of The Paper Boys across America.
Track lighting glowed green, yellow, and purple, each denoting a different and ongoing investigation in its respective corner of the room. On the wall in front of him sat a large map of Woodstock. To the right of that map, the state of New York was separated into counties and towns. To the left, another map of the United States of America. Connecting the maps were hundreds of red strings, each one pinned to a newspaper, or a photograph, or a note.
Greg twisted towards a pool table being used as an actual table in the center of the room. A large metal machine, clunky and old, sat beside spray paint and laminate paper. “Is this a machine to make fake IDs?”
“Yeah.” Nelly squinted. “How did you know?”
“I don’t know.”
He considered the question. It hadn’t come up in Faye’s books, he was certain. But somehow, as soon as he saw it sitting there, he knew what it was. Strange. From there, his eyes moved to a pile of yellow shirts with green lettering—five in total—folded up at the corner.
Greg picked one up. On the front, in dark green lettering, were the words Nazi Hunters . Beneath that, the tiny image of a gecko scrambled across the front.
“You got T-shirts made?” Greg asked.
“Well,” Nelly said, pulling it away from him, “I thought Faye and the rest would be the ones down here, helping me out. If I had known it was only going to be you... I wouldn’t have spent so much money getting a bulk order.”
“What’s with the gecko?”
“Mistake on a previous order,” Nelly explained. “I got a good deal if I used these T-shirts instead of new ones.”
He supposed that made sense.
“Here,” she said, tossing him a shirt in his size.
Greg put it on. “Now what?”
“Now—” she pointed to a large and well-used ottoman positioned in front of a projection screen “—you take a seat. Settle in for a little presentation.”
Greg did as instructed. The lights went off. The movie projector went on.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Nelly said, flipping to her first image. Five black-and-white photographs with names and ages in large block lettering appeared. “The Paper Boys are an underground network of individuals across America connected by one shared fact...their virulent anti-Semitism. It’s led by five main figureheads. Those figureheads are the public face of the organization and run the bulk of their websites, organize demonstrations, coordinate attacks on social media...along with PaperBoy TV.”
Nelly flipped to an image of one primary computer with arrows to other computers.
“But that’s not even the worst of it. The Paper Boys may have five main figureheads, but the bulk of their followers work alone...or in small local cells within their communities.”
“So, they work anonymously?”
“That is correct,” Nelly confirmed. “Each cell operates independently from the other cells. Sometimes a cell is small. A group of three or four people. A cell can even be as small as one single person. Sometimes it’s larger. But they all function the same. They work to spread disinformation and fear around Jews...and to recruit others to join them in their antics.”
“But what do they want?” Greg asked. “Why go to all this trouble?”
“What all anti-Semites want,” Nelly said. “To spread their hatred of the Jewish people to a wider audience. For their beliefs to take hold, and ultimately, lead to violence.”
He had seen that violence for himself last night.
The lights in the room returned.
“I need your help, Greg,” Nelly said. “I’ve made headway into the cell operating in Woodstock. I found them online. Followed their chatter. Found out that they meet in a place that serves buffalo wings.”
“Buffalo wings?”
She lifted one finger into the air. “Without blue cheese dressing.”
“Okay.”
Greg didn’t understand how this was relevant.
“So,” she said, smugly, “I went ahead and checked with every single restaurant in town, and there are only three restaurants in all of Woodstock that serve buffalo wings without blue cheese dressing. But here’s my problem... I can’t go into them. People know me. They know I’m Jewish. They’ll google my name, and bam, we’re done for. Also, my hip has been acting up...”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“But nobody knows you, Greg,” she said, grabbing him by both knees. “You’re a blank slate, a tabula rasa, a total unknown. Which means...you can go in and infiltrate The Paper Boys. You can find out who’s behind these attacks, and bring them to justice.”
Nelly didn’t have to wait long for a response.
“Okay,” Greg said. “Count me in.”
Faye swept another round of shards up and into a garbage bag. She had been cleaning for close to an hour, trying to sort through the mess of broken glass and pottery to see what was salvageable. It didn’t feel like much.
On top of everything, her wrist was aching. Absolutely killing her. It was like everything in her body was suddenly inflamed, working in hyperdrive. All the trauma of her past, meeting up with her present, until she couldn’t seem to focus on anything but keeping busy.
And yet, unlike all those nights being abused by her mother—those nights where her father would just disappear—Greg had been there. He had jumped into action, risking his own safety in the process to protect her.
Like a bona fide golem.
She couldn’t help but think it.
He had to be a golem, because men like Greg didn’t exist. At least, not for Faye.
She was still thinking about all the ways it could never work out between them, when the bell above the front door rang out.
Greg had returned.
She exploded into tears, and Greg didn’t hesitate. He dropped those wood planks by the door, rushed over, and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry it took so long.”
“It was only an hour,” she stammered.
Technically, one hour and thirty-six minutes, but she didn’t want him to know that she had counted every single second. That she had been afraid, even in broad daylight, with Eric stopping by to visit. That every sound had made her jump, brought her back to her childhood, brought her back to the feelings of being a victim...
She was not herself. Maybe she would never be able to find herself again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling back from him. “Last night has just gotten me so spun up.”
“You have every right to be upset.”
He was a golem. He was a man. She was a woman, stuck in the past, unable to move on in her present. She didn’t know who she was anymore, only that the feeling of his arms around her wasn’t enough. She needed him. She needed to forget about what had happened, to escape from this cruel and heartless reality, to believe that she was deserving of better.
“I’m never going to be okay again.”
“You are.”
“I’m so afraid.”
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm. “I am going to protect you.”
“You can’t,” she stammered. “Nobody can.”
He took her by the arms, his nostrils flaring. “I will protect you, Faye.”
It felt like a promise.
Her lips parted. The breath in her chest quickened. She was screaming with need, and suddenly, all the reasons she had for avoiding a kiss went right out that broken window. And she was going to give in to it, allow herself to be soft and vulnerable, wanting him to take her in his arms and bring her up to her bedroom, never letting her go again—when a bird, a bright and happy cardinal, landed on a shard of broken glass in the window, chirping its happy song in their direction.
Faye pulled back. “We should probably get that window boarded up.”
Greg grimaced. “Yeah.”
Pulling apart, they jumped into action. Picking up boards, gathering nails, trying to lessen the damage of that broken window. Putting all thoughts of romance—like all those complicated conversations and questions simmering beneath the surface—in the background.