by Stone Kiss
“You want to borrow my gloves?” Decker asked. “I have pockets.”
She looked at the leather accoutrements enviously.
“Honestly, I’m fine.” He gave them to the woman.
Reluctantly, she put them on. “Gracias.”
“Por favor.” Decker stuck his hands in his overcoat. “That was Mr. Ephraim’s job? To stock the shelves?”
The man spoke up. “Mr. Ephraim? He do everything. He stock the shelves, he work at the cash register, he sweep the floors. I see him two, three times cleaning the toilets. Nothing is too small for him. He is berry nice man. He never complains. He don’ yell. Every time I see him, he es happy. Big smile.” He looked down. “I will miss him. It is terrible.”
“Yes, it is terrible,” Decker said. “Was Ephraim resentful to be doing all the small stuff?”
All of them shook their heads no.
“Ephraim was happy for any job,” the man said. “He es lucky the old man loved him so much.”
Marta burst into tears. “It is berry bad! Poor Mr. Lieber.”
“It is terrible!” Luisa concurred.
Decker nodded, then waited before he spoke again. “Did Ephraim seem preoccupied lately? Preocupado?”
The trio exchanged innocent glances.
“No’ to me,” Marta said. “He same to me.”
But the man was looking somewhere over Decker’s shoulder. “Señor?”
Luisa said, “Teddy, he is talking to you.”
“Me?” Teddy answered.
“Did Mr. Ephraim seem preoccupied?”
“He is beeg man with responsabilidad.” Teddy pulled a cigarette pack out of his pocket. He lit up. “I thin’ maybe he worried that Mr. Jaime don’ think he’s doing a good job.”
“Did they fight?” Decker inquired.
“No’ too much. No’ too loud. Sometimes he don’ like Mr. Ephraim talking to the womens.”
“Mr. Ephraim likes all the womens,” Luisa stated. “He nice to the girls, but he was berry nice to the old womens. He makes jokes with them, and they laugh. He es berry nice to everybody. Always with a smile… big smiles.”
“Did he have a girlfriend?” Decker asked. “Ephraim?”
Luisa thought for a moment, then shrugged ignorance. She turned to the other woman. “¿Que piense, Marta? You see Mr. Ephraim with a girlfriend?”
“No, never. I don’t see him with a girl. Es berry sad that he don’t have a wife. Mr. Ephraim loved the kids.”
“Yes, I heard he was close to Shaynda—his niece,” Decker said. “La hija de Señor Jaime.”
“He nice to all de kids from Mr. Jaime,” Marta answered. “If Mr. Jaime… If he bring the kids to the stores, Mr. Ephraim plays the games with them. He likes Street Fighter Two.”
“It sounds like he was a nice man,” Decker said.
“Berry nice.” Luisa’s voice cracked. “It is no good for the father. My heart is very heavy for him—Mr. Lieber. Ten years ago, his wife… she died.” She leaned over and whispered, “Cancer.”
“Oh, he cry and cry,” Marta answered.
“Berry sad,” Luisa concurred.
Decker turned to Luisa. “You said that Mr. Jaime watches you like a hawk.”
“He don’ mean nothing bad.” She furrowed her brow. “There es lots of stealing in the stores. We have alarm…a sensor with the bars that you stick on the packages. Then you swipe the bars at the cash register, and that turns off the sensor. But bad people don’t care. They run into the streets. It is berry bad.”
“Very bad,” Decker agreed. “But why would Mr. Jaime watch you, Luisa? You’ve worked for Mr. Lieber… how long?”
“Twelve years.”
“Exactly. Why would he think that you would steal from the store?”
“I don’ think he think I steal,” Luisa clarified. “He is just a careful man.”
Or the store was having a big theft problem, Decker thought. Maybe that’s what the fights were about.
Teddy was talking. “… worked for Mr. Lieber for seven years. I never take nothin’. Not even a battery.”
“No one say you steal,” Marta said. “Why you get so excited?”
Teddy took a deep breath. “Mr. Jaime talk about inventory to Mr. Ephraim. I hear them say that someone was stealing. It’s not me.”
“Not me, either,” Marta said.
Decker remembered the boxes of inventory lists found in Ephraim’s apartment. Was Ephraim checking up on someone, or was he covering his tracks? Decker said, “Any idea who was stealing?”
Teddy shook his head vehemently. “Mr. Lieber gave Mr. Ephraim the inventory because Mr. Jaime hated to do it. It is boring, counting this and that. Ephraim don’t mind it. That was Mr. Jaime. He always gave Ephraim the long and boring jobs.”
“Why not?” Marta questioned. “Mr. Ephraim only work mebbe two years. Mr. Jaime worked years and years when Mr. Ephraim was… well, you know.”
“He do the drugs,” Luisa whispered to Decker.
Decker nodded. “Was Mr. Ephraim angry about doing inventory?”
Just then, the Community Hall doors opened, the black glob of human mass splitting like a dividing microbe. From the opening yawn came the pallbearers, lumbering through the crowd, hoisting a pine casket on their shoulders.
Decker pointed to Jonathan. “That’s my brother. The one in the far left corner.”
“Vaya con Dios,” Luisa whispered. Then she started crying. “Vaya con Dios.” She found Marta, and the two of them hugged each other as they wept together.
Decker spotted his wife, sobbing into a handkerchief. “I’d better go to my family.”
“Your gloves, señor.” Luisa began to peel them off her hands.
Decker stopped her. “You can send them back to me when you get home. Mr. Lieber will send them to my brother. He knows my address.”
“You are berry nice.”
He thanked her, then thanked them all. He pushed his way through the thickness and went over to comfort Rina.
19
It was after five by the time Ephraim was laid to rest, the sunlight withering like yesterday’s prom corsage. The experience was emotionally wrenching, and Decker needed a good stiff scotch before meeting with Donatti. Plus, he had yet to find the exact location of the meeting spot because all Donatti had given him was an address. It took him over an hour just to deduce that the place was in New Jersey.
Decker had suggested a quick dinner before he went out, but Rina had other things in mind. The proper thing to do was to make a shiva call, to personally express condolences to Emmanuel Lieber and his four remaining children, one of them Decker’s sister-in-law. As much as Decker wanted to talk to the old man—he wanted to get the father’s perspective on his son’s new life as a sober man—he couldn’t deal with Chaim and Minda Lieber and Christopher Donatti in the same evening. Because Shayndie’s welfare outweighed protocol, he told Rina to go without him.
“But Jonathan’s expecting you.” They were outside the cemetery gates, at the ritual washing fountain. The sky had turned from ashen gray to deep charcoal, and the temperature had dropped even further. As Rina poured ice-cold water over her hands, her fingers turned ketchup red. Silently, she recited the traditional prayer made upon exiting a graveyard.
“It can’t be helped.” Decker took the washing cup from her. “With the new scheduling, I’ll have time to pay a shiva call to the family tomorrow. Can you bum a ride from Jonathan?”
“That’s not a problem.” Rina dried her stiff hands with a damp paper towel. “If I can find him.”
“We were among the first to leave. He has to stop here first, right?”
Rina nodded.
“So you’ll be able to find him.” Decker rinsed his hands and muttered the Hebrew words. “Just tell him that I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“That’s his van. It might be nice if you told him yourself—”
“For goodness’ sake!” Decker grumbled. “All right, I’ll tell him!”
Red-eyed, Jonathan g
ot out of the vehicle and shuffled, stoop-shouldered, over to the washing area, his arm linked about his wife’s arm, both of them weathered by the tragedies of the past few days. Raisie had fresh tear marks on her cheeks, her nose pinkened by cold and sorrow. Decker tapped his brother on his shoulder. Jonathan pivoted and looked up, a stunned expression on his face. Decker crooked a finger, and Jonathan broke away from Raisie.
“Can you take Rina to your in-laws, then back to Brooklyn?”
“You’re not coming?”
“I can’t, Jon. Something came up—”
“What?” The rabbi’s pale face instantly filled with color. “Are you on to something?”
“No, not at all,” Decker lied. “Just tying up loose ends with the detective.”
“You wouldn’t miss shiva for that,” Jonathan snapped back. “You’ve got a lead.”
Decker pulled him aside, away from the open ears. “Jonathan, listen up, because this is important. I’m going to make myself very clear. This stays between you and me.”
The rabbi nodded eagerly.
“No, I have nothing to tell you,” Decker insisted. “You’ll have to trust me. Still, you can’t talk about me to anyone—not your brother-in-law, not your father-in-law. If they ask where I am, tell them I’m not feeling well.”
“Yes, yes, I understand!” He grabbed Decker’s jacket. “I’m your clergyman, Akiva. Just tell me! You’ll have confidentiality. I can’t and won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. It’s not fair to shut me out! Please! Now more than ever, I need to know.”
“Stop right there!” Decker tried to control his temper. “Let me try again.” He looked at his brother with stern eyes. “I’m not telling you anything, and you don’t say a thing to anyone! If you shoot off your mouth, if you even give someone the wrong impression with a little tiny look, you’re going to fuck everything up! Is that clear enough?”
The rabbi recoiled at the obscenity.
Decker ran his hand over his face. Dealing with Donatti was turning him into a bastard. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” Jonathan put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with, Akiva, but obviously it’s something or somebody dangerous. Don’t give it another moment’s thought. I know how to make excuses and make them believable. They’ll never suspect a thing.”
Decker exhaled loudly. “Jon, you’ve just got to trust me.”
“Of course I trust you. I’m very sorry to intrude.”
Decker tried to calm his rapid breathing. “I’ll go get Rina.”
“Akiva.”
Decker waited.
“Thank you.” He reached out toward his brother. “Thank you for everything.”
Sealing the deal with a bear hug.
It took Decker over three hours to find a place, and after so many twists and turns and dead ends, he wasn’t even sure it was the place. It was underneath deserted elevated train tracks, a few blocks from the numbers that Donatti had given him. He had followed instructions, but Chris had given him right and left, instead of east and west. Decker was somewhere out in Jersey, that much he knew, away from anything populated, away from anything civilized. The last city that he remembered driving through was Camden—a poverty-stricken, blighted, poorly lit area of deteriorating brick tenements and boarded-up, abandoned buildings. Some time ago, Decker recalled reading an article about urban renewal in the city. From what he had seen, it wasn’t evident.
It was almost eleven. Standing in dirty, damp mist that chilled him down to the marrow, with only a tire jack at his feet for protection, he rocked on his soles and rubbed his bare hands constantly to keep sensation in his fingertips. Why the hell did he give his gloves to Luisa? Ah well, maybe he’d pump her later on and she’d remember his act of chivalry… give him something juicy to work with.
His car was parked fifty yards away—as close as he could get to the spot. Distant highway sounds could be heard—a roar of a motorcycle, the rumble of a big rig, an occasional honk. Beyond manufactured noise, the area was eerily silent.
New Jersey, home to “Born in the USA” Bruce Springsteen. Decker knew there were gorgeous and wealthy neighborhoods in the state, but this wasn’t one of them. Didn’t TV always put the mobsters’ dump spot somewhere in the Garden State? Was that why Donatti had chosen it? Had he dumped bodies here before?
A blare sounded in the distance: something that was traveling because of the Doppler effect—the wave of noise advancing, then receding. A series of hoots. Owls, possibly? Then once again there was nothing, a creepy stillness that was worse than the creaks and the cracks.
And what if Donatti didn’t show?
Then that would be that.
At the moment, the option sounded all right to Decker, much better than freezing his nuts off in the middle of nowhere. Breathing in soot and grime, continuously looking over his shoulder or behind his back because any second he might get sliced up by some fifteen-year-old psycho punk with nothing better to do. One side of Decker was almost hoping that C.D. would revert to his pathological lying self and pull a tilt. Donatti was a funny bastard. He wasn’t evil for evil’s sake, but he was self-serving and amoral—an unscrupulous son of a bitch who did evil things, and that made his moves even harder to figure out. An evil man will kill and rob and rape for the thrill, for the fun and games. An amoral man like Donatti had no problems with killing and robbing, but he didn’t do it for kicks. He did the deeds, sure, but only if they were in his best interest.
Just what was in Donatti’s best interest?
Decker took out a small bottle of Chivas and took a stiff drink. For dinner, he had eaten a tasteless vegetarian sandwich made with stale bread. It was atonement for eating so much meat yesterday night. He was trying to help his stomach out. Instead, the supposedly light food was sitting like stone in his gut.
Another drink just to soothe the nerves.
He was completely disoriented: a friggin’ sitting duck. Why the hell hadn’t he taken the piece that Donatti had offered him? But even that could have been a setup.
You take the piece, and then I’ll have a reason to shoot you.
With C.D., Decker just didn’t know. Donatti had talked about Decker swallowing, just as he had for eight years. Was this meeting staged? Was it masking a final act of revenge that had lain dormant for years, turning over in a cold, cruel mind?
Eleven-fifteen.
Decker took another swig of booze.
Fifteen minutes passed, producing nothing but hard shivers down his spine and numbness to his toes.
He’d wait until the witching hour. Then… that was it.
Five minutes before midnight, Decker saw it—an approaching, silent shadow. No car in his view; Decker hadn’t even heard any faraway engine sounds. He wondered how the shadow had gotten here so quietly. Did it walk on tiptoes, or had Decker’s mind wandered so he hadn’t noticed obvious noise?
His nerves shot into overdrive as he bent down to pick up the tire jack—heavy and cold in his grip. Slowly, the shadow took shape, Donatti materializing through the mist. He was dressed in a woolen overcoat, with gloves on his hands. He was literally dragging a package behind him—a small, frail thing swathed in a baggy coat. Her hands were wrapped in knitted mittens, but there were holes at the fingertips. She appeared like a toddler next to Donatti’s massive frame. Even at a distance, Decker could tell that she was crying, sobbing to him, begging him.
“Please don’t make me go back.”
“No one is making you go back.”
“Please don’t make me talk—”
“He just wants to see you—”
“No, please, no!” She was clutching Chris’s arm, her nails digging into his coat. Strands of long, matted hair stuck to her wet face. He continued to lug her closer, and Decker took a few steps out to meet them. At that point, Decker saw that she was shaking harder, absolutely trembling with dread, barely able to support her own weight under bent knees.
Decker stopped a
dvancing. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Stay where you are.” He studied the girl. It appeared to be Shayndie, but with it being so dark and with her face obscured, Decker just wasn’t sure. Donatti halted his footsteps and the girl immediately buried her face into Donatti’s ribs, just under his armpit.
“She’s obviously comfortable with you,” Decker remarked.
“What can I say?” Donatti answered. “Natural charm. Shayndie, just answer this man’s questions and we’ll go back—”
“He’ll tell my father.”
“I won’t tell your father,” Decker answered.
“Don’t believe him, Mr. Donatti. He’s one of them.”
“Nah.” Chris blew her off. “He couldn’t care less about Jews. He has to pretend to be Jewish, or else his wife will get mad. C’mon, Shayndie. I’m cold and I’m grumpy. Let’s get this over with.” He grabbed her by her arm and pulled her away from his body. Then he bent down and looked in her eyes. Instantly, Shayndie covered her face with her palms.
“He won’t hurt you.” Donatti pulled her hands down. “He’s actually an okay guy, all right. I promise he won’t hurt you. And if he does, I’ll kill him, all right?” A gun was pulled from his coat. It was a big one, possibly a Magnum. Donatti stood up and pointed the weapon at Decker. “See this? I have the weapon; he doesn’t. That means he’s screwed if he tries anything.”
“Please don’t make me talk to him.”
“Shayndie, answer his questions, or I’m gonna get pissed! I’m tired. I want to go home. Just do it, okay?”
She nodded, but then slapped her hands over her face again.
“And take your damn hands off your face! C’mon, girl! I’m willing to help you, but you gotta pull yourself together.” Again he bent down. He lowered his voice. “C’mon, sugar. Can you do that for me?”
She didn’t answer, but Decker noticed that the shaking was subsiding.
He kissed her forehead and pulled loose hair from her face. “Please, sugar? You want to make me happy, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“This would make me happy. Can you do it? Can you talk to him?”
Again she nodded.