Chapter 21

"I made you a sandwich." Guilt food. Good. Those usually came with extra side dishes.

He led me into the kitchen, my stomach gurgling. On the large table by the sunny window, Baruch had laid out two plates along with big glasses of very cold iced tea from a blue glass pitcher.

There was a distinct lack of sides, but I accepted the peace offering of shaved meat, sliced bocconcini, and tomato on a crusty Portuguese bun. I sank into a chair, eager to dig in.

Baruch sat beside me. Even though his ass extended past the seat, it was so rock hard that it didn't droop over the sides. I checked twice to make sure.

"So you were in Jerusalem before now?" I asked.

"No, Cairo. They needed extra hands with all the civil unrest. But I was in Chicago when I got the heads up about you."