Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 04

by Day of Atonement

“Don’t know no Hersh.”

  Decker smoothed his mustache, then pulled out his wallet. He flipped a ten onto the counter. The thin man eyed the money, then Decker, but didn’t say a word. Decker described Hersh. This time Thin listened. He shook his head.

  “I get a million baby Rambos walkin’ in and out of this place—Eyetalians thinkin’ they’re tough meat. I told you before, I don’t know no Hersh.”

  “Hersh is Jewish, not Italian,” Decker said.

  “Jews, Eyetalians—all the white boys look alike to me.”

  Decker pulled out another ten, then the photograph of Noam Levine. “Ever seen him?”

  Thin said, “If you’re looking for that kind of Hymie, you’re on the wrong side of Empire.”

  “You never get Jews crossing over to your side?”

  Thin became mute again. Decker pulled out a third ten. Thin broke into a wicked smile. He had wide spaces between his teeth. He said, “I get a few that come in here.”

  “Why?”

  Thin shrugged, feigned innocence.

  Decker said, “Look, buddy, the kid in this photograph is missing and I’ve just spent two days beating my meat for nothing. I’m tired, I’ve laid out a few bucks for you, so do something for me before I get pissed off and take it out on you.”

  Thin said, “You ain’t with NYPD, but you’re some kinda fuzz. You talk like fuzz and you’re packing.”

  “You’re very astute. Wanna answer my question?”

  “Yeah, a few hymies come in here.”

  “Why?”

  “They ain’t gettin’ enough at home, they think I can help them out.” Thin broke into a smile. “Course they’re wrong.”

  “Of course.” Decker threw a fin on the counter. “What do you tell them?”

  “All I do is give them directions,” Thin said.

  “To where?”

  “Willyburg Bridge,” Thin said. “It’s all out in the open. The sisters service their needs before they go home to the old ladies. You oughtta see them, those little curls bouncin’ while the ladies are outta sight doin’ a righteous hoover on their pipes.”

  Decker groaned inwardly, but kept his expression flat. Men were men in any culture, but the thought of rabbis getting blow jobs from hookers…it was like imagining your parents having sex.

  “Look,” Decker said, “I’m going to write down my local phone number. Keep the photograph. This kid or someone named Hersh comes into view, you give me a call.” He put his wallet in his coat pocket. “There’s a sawbuck or two in it for you, if your information pans out.”

  Thin nodded. Decker walked out of the store. At least he hadn’t promised the man a trip to Disneyland.

  Rina was waiting up for him.

  She must be interested in another round. Decker felt a pull below his belt. Another round? Why sure, ma’am, Detective Sergeant Decker is here to protect and serve. Goddamn, did she look edible in that peignoir. She patted the empty bed next to her and he was stretched out within seconds, having stripped nude in record time.

  “You want the lights on or off?” Rina said.

  Decker raised his brows. He still wasn’t used to a woman who liked making love with the lights on. But this time his eyes were tired and the harsh incandescent glare was giving him a headache.

  “Turn them off,” he said. “There’s a full moon out tonight.”

  Rina laughed, flipped the switch, and climbed on top of him. She took off her nightie, caressing his face with a swatch of pink diaphanous material. He bit the hemline, she tugged it out of his mouth.

  Man oh man, this was what life was all about.

  His stomach rumbled. He was hungry but no matter. Skip dinner and go directly to dessert.

  16

  Decker was ready by nine in the morning and waiting for Rina in the car. When she finally emerged from the house, she was wearing a down-filled jacket over a long denim skirt and a pair of thick black boots that looked suitable for trout fishing. The outfit was incongruous with her hair, which was jet black and fell to her shoulders in a nest of curls. She climbed into the passenger side of the car, kissed his cheek, and put on her seat belt. She wore no makeup other than lip gloss and mascara, her cheeks pink with a natural blush.

  “Did you get an overnight perm or something?” Decker said.

  “It’s a wig—a shaytel.” Rina fluffed up the curls. “I wouldn’t go out with my hair uncovered. Do you like it?”

  Decker said, “When did you get it?”

  “I bought it in Los Angeles for Rosh Hashanah. Only so much had happened, I didn’t feel right wearing it.”

  “Oh, that’s what that furry thing in the suitcase was.”

  “Do you like it, Peter?”

  “It’s sexy. It doesn’t match your boots.”

  “My feet got so cold in this weather.”

  “You don’t have to come with me.”

  Rina said, “Maybe I’ll bring you better luck than you had last night.”

  Last night, Decker thought. A few of the men he’d spoken to on Empire thought they might have met a kid like Hersh, but no one was sure of anything. Noam’s picture was met with empty stares, shakes of heads.

  “What do I do?” Rina asked.

  Decker started the motor. Jonathan and his Matador had gone back to Manhattan, so Rina’s mother-in-law had immediately volunteered her car for his use—a Plymouth Volare. It had a bench seat and even though he’d pushed it all the way back, his knees were still slightly bent. Here he was, three thousand miles from L.A., doing police work driving Volares and Matadors—typical unmarkeds. He might as well be home getting paid for it. Rina repeated her question.

  “What do you do?” Decker said. “You sit in the car and keep me company. I’ll holler if I need you.”

  “Okay.”

  Decker floored the pedal and peeled off. He flipped on the radio, couldn’t find a station he liked, then, without thinking, pushed a waiting tape inside the tape deck. The speakers projected a gravelly male voice emoting in Yiddish. Decker pushed the eject button.

  “What is this?” he said, pulling out the tape.

  Rina took it from him and read the label. “Oh.”

  “What’s oh?”

  “It’s number five in a series of lectures given by Rav Pearlman on Midos—manners.”

  Decker said, “That’s what these people listen to when driving?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t refer to them as ‘these people.’”

  Decker smiled. “Music isn’t allowed?”

  “Of course music is allowed.” Rina flipped open the glove compartment. “She has a ton of tapes in here.”

  “Such as?”

  Rina started reading the labels. “For your listening enjoyment, we have Rav Chaverstein singing cantorial classics—”

  “Put a bullet in that one.”

  “We have the Lubavich Boys Choir singing Shabbos Zmirot and other favorites.”

  “The Lubavich Boys Choir,” Decker said. “Anything like the Castrati Choir in Italy?”

  “No, Peter,” Rina said. “These boys grow into men.”

  “Notta gooda for business,” Decker said. “Too mucha turnover.”

  “Do you know how to get to Crown Heights?” Rina said.

  “I got there last night, didn’t I?”

  “You seem to be taking the long route,” Rina said. “At this rate, it will take us an hour to get there.”

  Decker didn’t respond right away. Finally, he said, “You want to drive, Hotshot?”

  Rina smiled. “You’re doing fine, darling.”

  “Jesus, how’d you talk me into letting you come?”

  “Because you need another set of eyes and someone who can shoot.”

  Decker whipped his head around. “What?”

  Rina gasped, Decker slammed on the brakes. He almost rear-ended the car in front of him.

  “You okay?” Decker said.

  “Maybe I should drive, Peter.”

  “I’m a fine driver,” Decke
r said. “What did you mean by someone who can shoot? I thought you gave up guns.”

  Rina didn’t answer.

  “Rina…”

  Slowly she unbuttoned her jacket. She was wearing her Colt .38 snub-nose detective special inside her waistband.

  Decker said, “I don’t believe it—”

  “It’s not loaded—”

  “Why are you so obsessed with guns? Last time you had a chance to fire it, you froze—”

  “I didn’t freeze,” Rina shot back.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, oh!” Rina closed her jacket and crossed her arms. “I didn’t shoot your weirdo friend because I had this sixth sense that he wasn’t going to hurt me—”

  “Oh, that’s worth a lot!”

  “He didn’t, did he?”

  “You didn’t know that!”

  “Yes, I knew it—”

  “How’d you know it—”

  “I just knew—”

  “You just knew—”

  “Yeah, I just knew.”

  Decker held up his hands and flopped them back on the steering wheel. His “weirdo friend” had been an old war buddy waiting for someone to push his self-destruct button. He’d tried to get Rina to detonate him by advancing upon her as she held a loaded gun. When she’d refused to pull the trigger, he’d taken the gun from her, aimed it at her head. But a moment later, he gave it back to her and simply walked away. Decker had known immediately what the bastard had been after. He had wanted retribution for his love murdered in the war. He blamed Decker and maybe that was justified. Decker had never told Rina about the incident. He wouldn’t ever tell her. Some things were just too painful to admit to anyone, even your wife.

  He slammed on the brakes again. Rina didn’t say anything. Her silence was more potent than words.

  “Rina, let me ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Why on earth are you carrying a gun—the very one that you supposedly sold? First of all, you know I’ve got my piece, so what do you need yours for? Second, why are you carrying a weapon into an area like Crown Heights?”

  “I told you it’s unloaded.”

  “Then why bother bringing it? What is it with you? You have a strong desire to be Bonnie and Clyde?”

  “Just Bonnie.”

  “That’s not funny,” Decker said. “I find your preoccupation with guns extremely disturbing. It almost got your head blown off.”

  “You’re sounding very parental.”

  “Stop it, Rina.”

  She sighed. “Okay. You asked me a reasonable question, I’ll answer you honestly. I brought my gun with me because I wanted you to know that I own it.”

  “You told me you sold it.”

  “I was going to sell it—”

  “You lied to me.”

  “You were harping, Peter,” Rina said. “I just wanted to—” She stopped in midsentence.

  Decker said, “You wanted to shut me up, so you lied to me. Nothing like honesty in a marriage.”

  “Well, I’m admitting it now,” Rina said. “And I’ve felt very guilty about it. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  “If you sell the gun.”

  “Peter, it should be my decision, not yours.”

  “You’re my wife! According to Jewish law, I bought you.”

  Rina glared at him. “I hate when you use religion to prove a point.”

  Decker said, “This conversation is pointless.”

  “So drop it!”

  They rode in angry silence for the next few moments. Decker broke it.

  “After two years, I finally see that no matter what I say…what I do…you’re going to carry that stupid gun.”

  “You’re right.”

  Decker drummed his fingers on the wheel. “I hope to God you know what you’re doing.”

  “Peter, you have no trust in my judgment. A marriage should be based on mutual trust.”

  “Now who’s sounding preachy?”

  “What do I have to do to earn your trust?” Rina said. “Outshoot you?”

  Decker broke into laughter.

  “Yeah, laugh,” Rina said. “Want to know what I think? I think you’re threatened.”

  “And I think you’re a bit overwrought,” Decker answered.

  Rina crossed her arms over her chest, again too steamed up to answer. It was his tone of voice. So condescending.

  Decker said, “You don’t want to talk, I’ll shut up.”

  Rina thought that was a very good idea. They drove awhile without speaking. But when they hit Eastern Parkway, Rina took his hand. She hated it when they fought. Life was too short. He looked over her way and broke into a smile. He thought he was angry, but he took one gander at those eyes and he melted. He adored her, couldn’t stay angry at her. And hey, what the hell was wrong with that?

  Crown Heights was another small island of ultra-Orthodox. Today not being a holiday, it was business as usual. Metal accordion grates had been pushed to one side, the doors were wide open. A few proprietors were hosing down the sidewalks at the entrances of their shops. An elderly lady wearing a bandana was on a ladder checking out a gash sliced into the store’s front awning.

  EISENSTAT’S DRY GOODS had piled the sidewalks with boxes of marked-down items. ETTI’S WHOLESALE OUTLET had run a metal bar across the front of its stall. Hanging from the bar were dozens of jackets and coats, not a moment’s thought given to sorting the merchandise according to size or sex. Next to the overcoats were makeshift shelves filled with assorted shoes. Another wholesale outlet was selling linens. Stacks of towels and sheets loaded down several folding tables placed in front of the store window. A bakery had set up tables and chairs on the front sidewalk. Two black-hatted men occupied one table. They were drinking from Styrofoam cups, eating onion rolls. Out of a double-parked van, a bearded Chasid was selling fruits and vegetables to a bevy of housewives. Another bearded man was crossing the street, shoving a steaming pushcart over a pothole.

  The block seemed more like an open-air market than a business district. Decker half expected to hear hawking cries from the vendors as his car rolled by.

  The metered street parking was already taken and cars had begun to double-park. By Los Angeles standards, an area this size could be easily canvassed in a day. But here the population was dense. In terms of questioning people, it was as if he had to cover an area four times the actual square footage.

  He hunted for a parking space, frustrated by the narrow streets and the hordes of people who thought nothing of jaywalking.

  “Why don’t you double-park?” Rina said. “I’ll sit in the car while you ask around.”

  Decker looked at her as if she’d said something profound. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Thank you. Oh—and Peter?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been thinking…not that I want to tell you your business—”

  “What?”

  “Well, rather than ask about your Hersh in specific, maybe it would be better to just ask about Hershes in general.”

  “Come again?”

  “Ask the people if they know any Hershes who are about twenty-one. Hersh is a common name and your Hersh could be living a double life.”

  Decker didn’t answer.

  Rina said, “Forget it. It was just a thought—”

  “It’s a good thought. I’ll take it into consideration.”

  “And maybe you should also ask about people named Zvi. Hersh and Zvi are used interchangeably in the community.”

  “Hersh and Zvi?”

  “Hersh is Yiddish, Zvi is Hebrew. Both mean ‘deer’…as in ‘hart.’”

  “Oh.” Decker was aware that only an insider could have known something like that. He was glad Rina had come along. “You’ve got good horse sense, kiddo.”

  “Thanks.”

  She lowered her head, but Decker saw that she was smiling. He reached over and kissed her cheek. Then he got out of the car.

  The sun was shining,
the temperature a crisp forty degrees. The streets seemed to dance with their own energy. People conversing, horns honking, the smell of yeast dough and onion and grease wafting through the air. Decker took out the picture of Noam and started his task at the beginning of the block, questioning people in each store as well as approaching random passersby. After two hours of inquiries, he came back to the car. Rina was reading a book—a biography of Menachem Begin. At her side was this morning’s crumpled newspaper, the crossword puzzle completed in ink.

  He got into the driver’s seat. She looked up.

  “No luck?”

  “No one I spoke to recognized Noam. I’ve got a list of two Zvis and five Hershes or Hershels still in their twenties, with approximate addresses. You know how people are. ‘Oh, there’s a Hersh Goldblum who lives down that way.’ Well, ‘that way’ could be any one of five streets or forty houses. I’m going to drop by the local police station, which I found out is the 72nd Precinct. They’ve got all the backward directories at their fingertips. I can phone telephone security and DMV from there.”

  Rina said, “Do you want some lunch first?”

  “Nah, I’ll wait until I get this over with. You go get yourself something.”

  “If you don’t need that picture of Noam, maybe I could try my hand at canvassing the houses, talking to the women. I could pick you up at the station house in about an hour.”

  “You really want to do that?”

  “Yes,” Rina said.

  “Okay, lady, you’ve got a deal.” He handed her a bunch of photographs of Noam. “It would help me out.”

  Rina said, “We make a good team, huh?”

  Decker laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She sounded hurt.

  “We make a great team,” Decker said. “It’s just that Shimon said the same thing to me yesterday.”

  “Everybody wants to pair up with a winner,” Rina said.

  “I wish,” Decker said.

  An hour later, Decker returned to the car and they exchanged their findings. The Hersh/Zvi list had been pared down to three possibilities since two Hershes and the two Zvis had moved out of town. He’d spoken with Hersh One’s wife and found out her husband owned a fish store in Williamsburg. He was a bearded man of six one, approximately two hundred pounds and thirty years old. Decker scratched him off the list. The other Hersh learned in a kollel all day and spent evenings at home with his wife and newborn son. He was about the right size, but was bearded and didn’t seem to have any muscles to speak about. The third—a Hershel—was a jeweler and worked in Manhattan. Decker had talked to his wife and found out that he had blond hair and blue eyes and was twenty-eight.