Street Dreams

by Street Dreams

  “Do you still play?” Sammy said.

  “Basketball? I used to play all the time. Point guard, of course. Speed was never my problem. And I can shoot, hit layups in a game of HORSE and do swish shots from the perimeter. But I have problems when I play with people.” He laughed. “They get in my way.”

  “A perfect metaphor for my life,” Dad said wryly.

  Rina thumped his shoulder.

  Koby said, “Especially here in L.A., they play rough. They block you and push, and slam and hit and shove. And then you push and shove and slam and hit. It gets very physical. In three months, I saw one guy twist an ankle, another break a wrist falling on it the wrong way, a third fall on his face and crack his two front teeth. The final thing was a very good friend of mine was guarding against a layup. The guy with the ball did a one-eighty spin with a raised elbow and caught my friend’s nose, snapping the septum. I had just turned thirty; I say, that’s it. God gave me one body. I keep it in shape by running four times a week, but no more weekend basketball.”

  “One day, I’d like to play a game of one-on-one with you,” Sammy said.

  “Sure, that I don’t mind. It is safe.”

  “Now Dad here . . . he’d have to play center, don’t you think?” Sammy said.

  “That’s because I’m too heavy and slow to move across the court.” Dad looked around the table, then at Rina. “Where’s Hannah?”

  “She was reading on the couch. Maybe she fell asleep.”

  It could have been my imagination but Dad looked envious. What he did was smile at Rina. “The meal was superb.”

  “Thank you.”

  Decker sipped wine. “Notice she doesn’t offer me another helping.”

  “Take whatever you want, dear.”

  “Actually, I’m full . . . more like stuffed.”

  “Me too,” Jacob concurred.

  “You hardly ate,” Rina said.

  “Not true. I’m just leaving room for dessert.”

  Dad said, “I need to take a walk.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jacob said. “God forbid you should have any solitude.”

  My father smiled at my stepbrother with loving eyes, an expression he had yet to grace me with this evening. “I would love for you to come with me.”

  “Wanna come, Shmuli?” Jacob asked.

  “I’ll help Eema clear.”

  “I’ll help her clear, Sammy,” I told him. “Go ahead.”

  “Then let’s make this a true male-chauvinist outing,” Sammy announced. “Koby, you can come with us.”

  He shook his head. “I thank you, but I shall pass.”

  “Go,” I told him.

  “No, no,” he insisted. “I’m fine.”

  For the first time, I noticed the fatigue in his eyes. “Did you work a double shift again last night?”

  “I’m fine, Cindy.”

  “You’re falling off your feet.”

  He shrugged. “Could be the wine. Perhaps we should sayBirkat Hamazon. ”

  “Absolutely.” Rina passed out prayer booklets for Grace after Meals.

  My dad gave Koby the honors of leading the family in the singing of the prayers, not only because he was a guest but also because he was a Kohen. Five minutes later, Rina stood to gather up the dishes.

  “I’ll help you clear,” I told her.

  “No way,” Rina said. “I’ll make you a care package and then you both go home.”

  “Oh please, don’t bother,” I said. “I’ve eaten enough for a week.”

  Koby echoed my sentiments. He shook Rina’s hand. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Decker. This was a real treat for me.”

  “Anytime . . . with or without her,” Rina answered.

  “She means it,” I told him.

  “You’re very gracious.” Koby turned to my father. “It is a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

  “Same.” Dad gripped his hand and shook it with spirit. Then he patted Koby on the back, walking him to the door with his arm looped over his shoulder. I think at final count, Dad had polished off half the bottle of wine. “Drive carefully.”

  “She’s driving,” Koby told him.

  My father looked at me and rolled his eyes. “All the more reason for the caveat.”

  15

  Ileft Decker’s house,knowing that the Loo was peeved, but what could I do? He had played his part, had been gracious after the initial stiffness, even downright funny. I was thankful that however miffed he was with me, he had had the decency to keep it under wraps.

  It was late by the time I pulled into Koby’s driveway. He offered a nightcap, but I declined, feeling drained and not very sexy. Plus, I still had some miles to travel before I got home. I think Koby was relieved not to play host, having worked so much overtime. We settled on a dinner date for Sunday.

  I slept in Saturday morning, then met Mom for lunch. My luck was holding because she was in a great mood, and the hours passed as smoothly as oiled gliders. When I got home, I took a long bike ride west down Venice Boulevard, hitting the ocean and back in a little over an hour. After showering off the sweat and salt, I checked my phone messages and my e-mail. Koby had my phone number but hadn’t called. Instead he had e-mailed me, telling me how much he had enjoyed last night. I answered him back, then turned off the computer, along with the rest of the outside world.

  Dinner was a tuna fish sandwich and a good book in bed. I turned in at midnight, determined to sleep eight hours without nightmares. Partial success. But even after being jolted awake with the usual shakes and a rapid heartbeat, I was able to calm down enough to fall back asleep.

  I got up early on Sunday to prepare something warm and fuzzy for Dad, deciding on a breakfast of French toast and vegetarian breakfast links, with fresh orange juice and Ethiopian coffee. Even if no one ate anything, at the very least my place would smell good. Unlike Koby’s house, my interior decor was generic—basic furniture and a serviceable kitchen. The best part of my tiny apartment was the fireplace mantel that had once been filled with glass figurines and family photos representing better times in my life. Now it lay bare. I had meant to fix it up with homey touches, but after a maniac had trashed and violated my personal space, the energy was lacking. I needed an infusion of something.

  Dad was on time, as usual, casual yet handsome in a black leather bomber jacket, a dark green polo shirt, and black jeans. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a controlled smile.

  “What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” I said to him.

  “Something smells good.” He unzipped his jacket and took it off.

  “I’ll take that.” I opened the guest closet and hung it up. It was incredibly heavy and made the wire hanger sag. “Thanks again for Friday.”

  “Our pleasure.”

  I hesitated a fraction just to make sure he had nothing else to add. He didn’t. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am now.”

  “Then . . . let’s eat.” I had set my small dinette table for two, complete with cloth napkins. I poured him some coffee and orange juice as he speared a piece of French toast onto his plate.

  “I should wash,” he told me.

  “Lucky for you, I have running water.”

  He smiled and washed his hands, saying the ritual prayers before he bit into his breakfast. I drowned my French toast in maple syrup and dug in. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

  “Delicious.” Dad cut the bread into neat little bites. “So . . . you found the baby’s mother. I’m very proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your interviews must have gone well.”

  “You gave me some good advice.”

  “Still, you must have executed it with aplomb.”

  “I do listen when you talk to me.”

  He stopped eating for a fraction of a second. “I know that.”

  “You’re irritated at me.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Yes at all. Would you like to say what’s on your mind?”

 
“No, I’d like to enjoy this delicious French toast and help you with whatever you need help with.”

  “I can’t concentrate if you’re mad.”

  “That’s fine, because I’m not mad.”

  “Did you like him?”

  “Very much.”

  “But . . .”

  The Loo put down his fork and knife, then looked me squarely in the eye. “No buts, Cynthia. He’s a good guy. End of story.”

  We ate in silence for a few moments. I suppose there was no purpose in pressing him until I found out how viable my relationship with Koby was. “I really did ask you here for a purpose other then getting on your nerves.”

  He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “What do you need?”

  “Spoken like a true parent. The baby’s mother, Sarah Sanders, I never really got a chance to interview her. Even if it had been my job, I didn’t feel capable of questioning her.”

  “That’s okay, Cin. After you get your gold shield, you’ll feel much more comfortable with interviewing.”

  “I talked to Russ MacGregor about it. He’s taking the case over for Greg Van Horn, who’s on vacation. I don’t know, Dad. I just want to make sure that certain questions are asked.”

  “Like what?”

  “Questions about the father of the baby. I think it’s important to know.”

  “Russ didn’t ask about it?”

  “Russ interviewed her for about fifteen minutes, mostly details of her abandonment. Where did you give birth? Why did you throw the baby away? Why didn’t you tell your sister? Like she was the felon . . . I mean, she is a felon, but there are circumstances, you know.”

  “I’m sure a judge will take her mental capacity into consideration.” Decker sipped coffee. “Why are you concerned? Did the sister call you up with a complaint?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’ll be okay, Cindy. You can’t mother the world.”

  “I still think someone should ask about the father.”

  “Talk to Russ.”

  “I did. I spoke to him on Friday before I picked up Koby for dinner. He said he danced around the topic, but she wasn’t talking. He didn’t know if she was protecting someone or didn’t understand the questions. He said he’d deal with it on Monday when he came back from Mammoth. Then I asked him ifI could talk to her over the weekend.”

  “And . . .”

  “He was reluctant, Lieutenant. Didn’t say yes right away, but I played dumb and waited him out. In the end, he said to go ahead, but just don’t screw anything up.”

  “Meaning don’t screw up the case, and don’t screw him by showing him up. He doesn’t want you to make him look bad. That’s understandable.”

  “I understand about seniority. I’ll give him all the credit: I don’t care about that.” I leaned over the table. “I just want to make sure that the girl wasn’t raped—”

  “Whoa! Hold on.” Decker put down his coffee cup. “The girl was raped?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So why do you think she was raped? Retarded adults have sexual drives, too.”

  “I know that. It’s just she didn’t have lots of opportunity. They’re watched pretty closely in the center.”

  “All it takes is one time.”

  “Shouldn’t it be considered as a possibility?”

  Dad gave my question some thought. “If it were my case . . . I would consider it a possibility.” He rubbed his hands together. “Go interview her.”

  “I’d like you to come with me.”

  “For an independent woman, Cynthia, you are full of contradictions. Why do you want to bringDaddy into this?”

  “Because I don’t want to screw anything up.”

  “Somewhere along the line, you’re going to have to learn to trust yourself.”

  “How about if you do the interviewing and I watch and take notes?”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Loo, I know this makes me look wussy. I don’t care. I want this done right.”

  Decker shook his head. “Cin, I don’t work on cases out of my jurisdiction. That’s stepping on toes and I don’t know when and where I might need these guys.”

  “All right.” I gave him a charitable smile. “More coffee?”

  “Yes, it’s very good.”

  “It’s Ethiopian.”

  Dad caught my eyes. “I’m sure there’s more where that came from.”

  “I’ve got a source.”

  Decker chuckled. “Okay, Officer, this is what I’ll do. I’llaccompany you.”

  Better than I thought he’d do.

  “You’ll nudge me in the ribs if I’m doing something wrong?”

  “If I nudged you in the ribs every time you did something wrong, you’d have a hole in your side.”

  “Aha! I knew you were mad!”

  “I’m not mad—”

  “Yes, you are. Just say it so we can move on.”

  Decker locked eyes with me. I felt my face go warm.

  “What?What?”

  “This has nothing to do with Koby. I meant it when I said he seems like a good guy.”

  He gave me one of those scolding-parent looks. At twenty-eight, I don’t know why I had to deal with it, but that’s the nature of being a daughter.

  “Go on.”

  “You should have told me, Cynthia. That would have been common courtesy.”

  “Why? I wouldn’t have made a point of telling you if he had been white.”

  Decker rolled his eyes. “I think you like to see me squirm.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, I don’t think so.” He stood up and cleared his plate. “I wash and you dry?”

  “I can handle two plates.” I brought my own plate in. Together we cleared the table. “So that’s all you want to say about it?”

  He lifted a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Yes. That is all I want to say. Now get a paper and pencil. Tell me what questions you want to ask this girl and why.”

  I went to fetch my notepad, not happy about the dialogue between us. But at least it was a dialogue. By the time we were done refining our inquiries, it was almost eleven. I wrapped up the cold leftovers and stuck them in the fridge. I faced my father and made eye contact. “I like him, Daddy.”

  “It’s important to like the person you’re dating.”

  I tapped my toe. “Well, we’ll see what happens. It’s probably premature to talk about it.”

  “For what it’s worth, I liked him, too, Cin.”

  “It’s worth a lot to me.”

  “A definite step up from your last fling.”

  I hit my father’s shoulder. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Then let’s do it.” He threw his arm around my shoulder. “You tell your mother about him yet?”

  “Like I said, it’s premature.”

  Dad didn’t respond. He knew bullshit when he heard it.

  16

  Earlier in the weekend,Sarah had been discharged from the hospital. She was facing a court hearing on Wednesday, but for now she was out on a five-thousand-dollar bail bond and placed in her sister’s charge. Dad was pleased that Sarah was home: It was much easier to interview someone in the comfort of familiar surroundings. By the time we made it to Louise Sanders’s house, it was after twelve. She answered the door wrapped in a terry-cloth housecoat, a steaming mug of something in her left hand. She wasn’t overjoyed about our visit, but she did invite us in.

  “It’s nothing personal, Officer Decker,” she told me. “You were very nice to us. I’m just tired of answering questions.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I should get dressed.”

  “You don’t have to bother, Louise. This is my father, Lieutenant Decker. We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d drop by to see how Sarah was doing.”

  Dad and Louise exchanged smiles. He said, “How’s she dealing with everything?”

  Louise laughed. “Honestly? I think she’s delighted by all the a
ttention.”

  “And how are you coping?”

  Nice choice of words, Dad.Louise’s exasperation oozed out. “Youdon’t want to know. Would either of you like some coffee?”

  We both accepted coffee. She told us to sit while she fetched our drinks. It took longer than it should have. When she came back, she had changed into a loose set of black sweats. We sipped java for a moment; then I broke the silence.

  “If Sarah has a moment, we’d like to talk to her.”

  Louise said, “Officer Decker, we already went over everything with Detective MacGregor.”

  “I spoke to Detective MacGregor, Louise, and that’s why I’m here. He told me that Sarah didn’t say much about the baby’s father. There is someone else responsible for what happened.”

  “I know. I hadn’t wanted to go there.” Louise threw up her hands. “She was supposed to be on the pill.”

  “Why was she on the pill? Did Fordham know that she was sexually active?”

  “She was under a doctor’s care,” Louise said. “Her gynecologist put her on as a precaution as well as a way to even out her periods. The decision wasn’t haphazard.”

  “Of course not,” I concurred. “Listen, Louise, if her sexual activity was voluntary, then the baby’s father is her own business . . . or at least not police business. But like I said last week, if the activity was forced, that’s another matter.”

  She stood up and began to pace. “I’mnot going to put her through a rape trial. That’s out of the question!”

  “I understand your reluctance. But shouldn’t we at least find out?”

  “No, we shouldn’t! Some stones are better left unturned.”

  “Maybe she needs therapy—”

  “Shehas a therapist. If the topic comes up in therapy, let her deal with it then.”

  “Louise,if there’s a person out there raping disabled girls like Sarah, I want him behind bars. At least, let her tell meyes orno.”

  Louise tried to stare me down. But her eyes told me she had relented. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “Take your time.”

  She disappeared into the back room.

  Dad said, “Good job. You don’t need me.”

  “Daddy, I always need you.”

  Decker patted my knee. We exchanged shrugs and finished our coffees. When Louise came back, Sarah was holding on to her arm. The girl was dressed in blue pajamas with lambs on them. Louise settled her into a chair. “Do you remember Officer Decker, Sarah?”