by Stone Kiss
Jacob said, “The picture’s for you, Dad. When I graduate from Ner Yisroel, looking gaunt and pale, remember what you and Eema did to me.”
“A little academic pallor never hurt anyone.”
Jacob frowned. Then abruptly, his face lit up. “Zeyde, Zeyde, don’t you look handsome!”
Rav Lazarus had walked into the living room with cane in hand, although he wasn’t visibly using it for support. His smile was blinding, even though the teeth had browned from years of tea drinking. He went over to his grandson, looped his arm around Jacob’s neck, pulling him down so he could plant a kiss on the forehead. He stood no taller than five-five, with a flowing white beard. In honor of Shabbat, he wore a long black coat, a wide black waist sash known as a gartl, and a beautiful black hat. His voice was raspy and high, almost as if he were choking. “Yonkeleh.”
“Zeydeleh.” Jacob kissed his grandfather’s cheek. “You can be proud of me. I now have my own black hat.” He showed him his Borsalino, then put it on his head. “What do you think?”
Rabbi Lazarus patted his cheek. “I think you’re a good boy!”
“Like my abba?” Jacob said.
“Like your abba.” The old man smiled at Decker. “Like both your abbas.”
“Shabbat shalom, Zeyde.” Sammy kissed his grandfather. “Are you ready?”
“Cain, cain,” he said, answering yes in Hebrew. “Of course, I’m ready.” He walked over to Decker. “Thank you for coming. You made my wife very happy.”
Decker smiled. Of course it was only Sora Lazarus who was happy about hosting the two grandsons who carried the Lazarus name. “I’m very glad to be here.” He ran his fingers through slightly damp hair. The shower had felt good, but by the time Jonathan had made it back to Brooklyn, Decker had been the sixth in line to step into the bathroom. The water had turned tepid. At least, it wasn’t cold.
The dining table had extended into the living room: the table set for twenty-six. Decker’s family was five; then the two elder Lazaruses and their daughter’s family brought it up to thirteen. Jonathan’s wife and kids along with his parents who lived just a few blocks away added another six for a total of nineteen. Then, at the last minute, Mrs. Lazarus invited Jonathan’s brother Shimon, who also resided in the neighborhood. Shimon, of course, was also Decker’s half brother and the oldest of the five Levine children. He was outgoing and funny, and Decker liked him a lot. Over the years, Decker had kept in touch only with Shimon and Jonathan…not counting the yearly shanah tovah card to Frieda Levine. As far as the rest of the Levine clan, there hadn’t been contact past that initial burst of brotherhood.
Twenty-six bodies in total.
Decker’s half relations were kept a secret out of respect for Jonathan’s father. Alter Levine had never known that Frieda, his devoted wife of forty-seven years, had given birth to an illegitimate child fifty years ago. He could never have imagined the anguish that Frieda had suffered when she put the baby boy up for adoption. But that hadn’t been the final chapter. Ten years ago, while Decker and Rina were in Boro Park visiting the Lazaruses, he had run full force into the poor woman by chance, turning her life upside down.
Decker’s life as well.
He was still sorting things out. The volume of blood relationships was simply overwhelming. When Decker was at home, in L.A., he often felt like a lone ship out on a vast sea of emptiness. Here, it was as if his boat were moored in a marina—safe but crowded.
Smothering was the operative word.
Yet, there was something about family… for better or worse.…
Seeing the elongated table reminded Decker of the Lieber house, and for a brief moment, he felt a twinge of the hell they must be going through. So painful, yet Decker refused to let the poison inject and take hold. It had been thirteen years since the Lazaruses had lost their only son, yet tonight their hearts were filled with simcha—joy—as they shep nachas—or took pride—over their grandsons and nine-year-old Hannah. Decker owed it to the Lazaruses to be grateful for life. He bent down and kissed the small man’s hat. “Shabbat shalom, Zeyde.”
The old man smiled with thin, pale lips. He threw the cane on the couch and took Decker’s arm. “You’re a strong boy. I can lean on you, yes?”
“Anytime. That’s what muscles are for.”
It was wonderful, it was beautiful, it was spiritual, but it was also exhausting!
By the time Rina made it to bed, it was after one. Sora Lazarus didn’t wash dishes on Shabbat, so there would be a ton of cleanup Saturday night, Motzei Shabbat. But it was truly astounding how much work went on even without washing dishes. The serving, the clearing, the scraping of the plates, the food storage, the piling of dishes, the counting of the silver—plus the kitchen was so small!
And then there was the initial tension when Frieda arrived. However, Peter never failed to amaze her. He was a different man than he had been ten years ago, so much more comfortable with Jewish religious customs and with himself. He actually seemed relaxed—joking and smiling with the boys, with everyone. It had been Jonathan who was tense—nervous and fidgety—but he was dealing with so much right now. She also couldn’t help but wonder what had gone on between Peter and him.
Crawling into bed, she scrunched up her pillow, then curled into the covers. A moment later, she felt Peter kiss the iota of face that wasn’t obliterated by the blanket.
“You’re still up?” she whispered.
“Waiting for you.”
She rolled over and faced him. “I love you madly. But I’m very tired.”
“I don’t mean that, darlin’!” He kissed her nose. “I’m tired, too. I just wanted to say I love you. That’s all.”
She pulled off her covers and snuggled against him. “That’s so sweet. If I had a speck of energy, I would definitely make that compliment worth your while.”
Decker paused a moment. “You know, there’s no harm in trying.…”
She whacked his shoulder. “You were wonderful tonight. Considering all that’s going on, you were nothing short of a miracle.”
“It’s called compartmentalization. Can’t let the bastards get me down.”
“Should I ask how it went with you and Jonathan?”
A sigh. “Well, let me put it this way,” Decker said. “Remember when we were out here ten years ago, and Frieda Levine suddenly realized that I was her long-lost son. And how she fainted when she saw me. And then the entire evening turned into a big fiasco with your running in and out to bring her food. And me food? And Rosh Hashanah was a total mess. And then, the crowning glory, the very next day, Noam disappeared?”
“That bad, huh?”
“No, that was a cakewalk compared to this. At least, Ezra and Briena were on my side. They wanted me to find Noam. They actually helped me.”
“Chaim and Minda aren’t helping you?”
“Minda is a difficult woman. She doesn’t like me. She just about called me a goy to my face.”
“Oh my!”
“I’m sure part of it was hysteria. But there was a part of her that meant it, too.”
“What about Chaim?”
“The first time I saw him, he was all gratitude. Four hours later— the second time I saw him—he asked me to leave the house.”
“That’s bizarre. Why the sudden shift?”
“I don’t know. Either he was displeased by my lack of progress, or my charm isn’t what it used to be.” He sighed. “I know I told you that some cases can be solved in a half hour. This isn’t one of them. There is no way I am going to be able to do anything. I am totally useless.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“I’m sure it is true. I was only able to find Noam because Hersh the psycho took him to L.A. That made all the difference in the world. In L.A., I have resources. It’s my home territory. I’m lost here. I need an insider to show me the ropes. And from the looks of it, it ain’t gonna be Chaim or Minda. I can’t even get them to let me search Shayndie’s room. I can only imagine
what they would say if I asked to talk to some of Shayndie’s friends or her siblings. Even if I were the type to go around them, I know that the community would close ranks.”
“You’re trapped.”
“Like spider’s prey. If they really cared about their daughter, they’d give me more information. This wall of silence makes them look complicit… like they’ve stashed her away and they’re pretending that she’s missing. I don’t know. Maybe she’s pregnant, and they shipped her off somewhere, using Ephraim’s death as an excuse. Who knows? Maybe they set the entire thing up—”
“Peter, that’s a horrible thing to say.”
“It’s not nice, but it could be true.”
“I’m sure it’s like you said. Minda is just distraught!”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t trust me.” Decker’s good nature suddenly snapped. “Jonathan calls me up… asks me to come out. So I come out. Within twenty-four hours, I think I’ve outlived my usefulness.”
Rina said, “You’re frustrated—”
“Correction. They’re frustrating me! Just like when we first met. I was the evil cop. Well, you know what, Rina? I’m tired of playing that role.”
“I don’t blame you. What I can’t figure out is why they’re so hostile toward you. Jonathan made it sound as if they begged him to ask you to come.”
“Things have obviously changed.”
“What about the cops? The ones you met with today? I guess it’s technically yesterday.”
“Micky Novack. He’s a good guy. Very simpatico, but he’s also a busy man with more important things to do. He can only tote me around for so long; then it’s every man for himself.”
“So what’s next?”
“Not much as far as I’m concerned. I say we weather out the weekend here, then cut short our stay in New York. That’ll let us spend more time in Florida with my folks. We can take Hannah to Epcot and Disney World. I can take her horseback riding or for a boat ride out on the lake. We can visit the Everglades. I really need a vacation.”
Rina was silent.
Decker tried to hide his irritation. “What’s the objection?”
“No objection. You’re right.”
“You feel bad about leaving the Lazaruses.”
“Actually, it’s okay with me. Tonight’s dinner was a little intense in the emotional department.”
“Then what is it? My mother?”
“Your mother and I get along fabulously. She respects me because I know Old Testament better than she does. And your father’s downright adorable.” Rina stroked his face. “It’s not your parents at all. And it’s not leaving the Lazaruses. It’s you. You hate it when you have to give up. You think you’re okay. Then it eats away at you.”
“Not this time.”
“Famous last words!” She looked at him intently. “You promise to forget about this as soon as we leave?”
“I promise.”
“And you really can just forget it that easily?”
“You bet. How about this? We take the boys out to dinner Sunday evening; then you and I go to a Broadway show—”
“Broadway’s dark on Sunday night.”
“Really?”
“I would not lie to you, Peter.” She noted disappointment in his voice. “How about a jazz club? More your style anyway. I’m sure the Lazaruses will baby-sit Hannah.”
“Fabulous.” Decker smiled in the dark. “That’s the spirit! Let’s opt for fun while our hearts are still beating.” He kissed Rina long and slow, feeling a tightening below the waist. But he decided to ignore it. “Good night, darling. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Rina closed her eyes, was just about to drift off when she heard him speak.
“… off chance that Micky Novack will call tomorrow night.”
“Huh?” She was groggy. “Who’s Mick—oh, the cop. What did you just say?”
“I said, that there was a teeny, tiny off chance that Novack might call me tomorrow night. When I left him, he was investigating the possibility that Ephraim might have attended some twelve-step program meetings for Jewish addicts. If he gets a tip on that, he said he’d call me. Then maybe we’d go out together and interview the members of Ephraim’s chapter… if Novack gets a lead.”
“I just thought you washed your hands of the entire thing.”
“Only if he gets a lead, Rina.”
“But you’re not obsessed.”
“No, I’m not. Obsessed would be if I went out to the meetings without a lead and started asking questions myself. That would be obsessed. Do you see the difference?”
“Yes.”
“Are you just agreeing with me to shut me up?”
“Yes… I mean, no.” Rina lifted her head and kissed her husband’s lips. “Good night, Peter.”
She pulled the cover over her face. She fell asleep to the background noise of his muted grumbling.
9
A teeny, tiny off-chance call, huh?
Not that Rina had actually said anything. She hadn’t needed to say anything. She had simply given him one of those looks. The actual verbalized question had been: “Do I change the airline tickets?” Decker answered with an offended “No, of course not,” and left before she could see him blush.
They were walking on Broadway—Novack and he—passing the upper Seventies. The street was wide, but even so, cars were backed up from traffic light to traffic light, the area teeming with life and all the young people who frequented what the Upper West Side had to offer. There were scores of cafés and restaurants, lots of bars, and lots of stores—not the outrageously priced boutiques on Fifth or Madison, but drugstores and bookstores and liquor stores and grocery markets. The night was cold and damp, but Decker had brought along gloves and an overcoat—an old heavy wool thing that he had purchased twenty-five years ago when he and his first wife went to London on vacation in the wintertime: Off-season prices were all he could afford. The trip had been miserable, but he had been warm.
Novack was wearing a black ski parka. “While you were praising God at Shabbat services, I was working. Course that’s my job. I just wanted to assure you that we’re not all yutzes out here.”
Decker’s expression was surprised. “Why would I think that?”
“The toilet-bowl thing,” Novack said. “I had it checked out. There was recent splatter on the rim. I shoulda thought of it myself. Course it’s a lot easier to be smart when you’re working on one case as opposed to twenty, and your city ain’t under siege.”
“Absolutely,” Decker said.
“Still, it made me feel bad, you know. Got my ass in gear, and that’s not a bad thing. So I started calling some of the phone numbers on the pamphlet on the dead guy’s coffee table. The Emek Refa’im handout. Except no one was answering the phone. And then it dawns on me…” He knocked his head with his fist. “It’s Shabbos. They’re not using the phone. So I tried the good old-fashioned phone book… looked up the names.”
“That’s a lot of legwork.”
“Damn right! But the Knicks are playing again Sunday, so what the hell. I’ll watch tomorrow’s game. Now, it was very confusing because the chapters meet in the city, but none of the names have city listings. Then it hits me. They’re Chasids, probably live in Brooklyn like Ephraim did, but they meet in the city, because they don’t want anyone from home base knowing that they have a problem. Anonymity, you know. So I start looking them up in the Brooklyn directory, and I got lucky. Since they’re not answering the phones, I figured I’d take a drive south.”
Decker nodded. “What happened when you showed up at their doors?”
“They weren’t pleased, but I was discreet. I musta visited three, four men…one woman also. When this guy Ari told me he knew Ephraim, you coulda knocked me over with a spoon.”
“Did he know that Ephraim had been murdered?”
“Yeah, he knew. He was agitated about it. I don’t know who was asking more questions, him or me. Anyway, he was talking to me on the sly—ca
n’t let the nice little Jewish wife know what’s going on— so he asked if I could meet him at some kosher restaurant around here.”
“He’s not afraid of being recognized at a kosher restaurant?”
“He says it’s not a problem. Nobody’ll know him because he’ll be wearing civilian garb. I take that to mean not Chasidic dress.”
“Civilian garb?” Decker asked. “He said that?”
“He did indeed. This whole thing about them being in the army of Hashem…I guess these guys take it literally.”
Marvad Haksamim meant Magic Carpet in Hebrew. The place had carpets all over the walls, carpets on the floor, and a big carpet tacked onto the ceiling, draping the eatery like a tent. Tivoli lights twinkled from the windows, and a couple of pictures of Jerusalem framed the doorway. But the restaurant did have linen napkins and tablecloths, and candles and a vase with a fresh flower decorated every tabletop. There was also a pretty decent wine list. Decker treated himself to a glass of Cabernet. Novack opted for a beer.
Ari Schnitman—whose civilian dress consisted of a black polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers—played with a glass of soda water. On his head was a knitted kippah instead of the usual velvet yarmulke or black hat. But because his hair was so short, the kippah could not be bobby-pinned on. It kept threatening to topple over any moment. Schnitman was in his early thirties, with a well-trimmed beard, an ashen pallor, and pale green eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. His features were small, as were his hands. Decker had met him while he was seated. He knew he was going to tower over Schnitman when they both stood up to say good-bye.
In the middle of the table sat a plate filled with appetizers—spiced carrots, potatoes with scallions and vinegar, olives, pickles, hummus, eggplant salad, and merguez—a spicy sausage that was dripping with oil.