Street Dreams

by Street Dreams

  “You’re doing a fine job at that,” he groused. “I heard about your bust. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Have you heard good or bad things?”

  “Mostly good. A couple of nasty comments about the convenient bag of X.”

  “Scum is scum.”

  “Did they hassle you?”

  “Yes, but the one good thing about being honest is you have only one story. It’s easy to repeat and you don’t get mixed up in your lies.”

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  I told him about it. “I looked up the two names El Paso spit out. Joseph ‘Juice’ Fedek is not living at his last listed address, but Pepe Renaldes is. He works on a construction crew with a posh West Side builder—”

  “See why I do my own renovation work?”

  “Not all of us can build houses, Dad. Ideally, I’d like to bring Sarah Sanders down to the station and have her look through some six-packs from mug books and see if she picks out El Paso or Fedek or Renaldes. If she does, I’d like to check Renaldes’s employment record. I also want to hunt for Fedek. I want to do all those things, but no one’s letting me do anything. So I’m here, taking out my frustration on you.”

  “Why not? Everyone else is. What is the status with the case right now?”

  “Russ MacGregor and Justice Brill are waiting to see if there’s a drug plea. They tell me that El Paso’s willing to roll, but the DA would rather put him away with a sure thing than take a chance on an iffy six-month-old rape case.”

  “That makes sense, Cin.”

  “Yes, it does. Unfortunately, if they do it, it means that two very vicious men are out there, able to prey on the public instead of being locked up behind bars.”

  “If Sarah’s story is true.”

  “That’s why I’d like to show her the mug books and see if she could pick them out.”

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I just told the young DA over the phone. Have patience.”

  “Do you see me going behind anyone’s back? In the meantime, just because I’m obsessive and dedicated, I’m still looking for David Tyler. I figure if I find him and if both he and Sarah independently ID Fedek and Renaldes, then the rape/assault case is on much more stable ground.” I sat back in my chair. “At first, I thought the bag was good, something we can use to really squeeze El Paso. But I think they’re going for the slam-dunk drug conviction. Better for the statistics.”

  “You’re too young to talk that cynically.”

  “I’m not cynical, I’m practical. And I’m in a fine mood. A good date makes everything seem a little less hopeless.”

  Dad faced me with unreadable eyes. “If you two are still speaking, you can bring him around again forShabbat dinner. I promise I won’t glare at you this time.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Have you told your mother?”

  “It hasn’t come up.”

  “You haven’t brought it up. What are you worried about? Your mother’s much more liberal than I am.”

  “I’m not worried, Dad. I just want to see how it goes before I even bother.” We both knew I was stalling. I checked my watch. “So I guess I’m off to serve and protect and look for David Tyler.”

  “Any leads at all with him?”

  “Goose egg. For all I know, he may be dead. Sarah Sanders did say he wasn’t moving when she left the bathroom.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. David could be dead, but I doubt if he was dead from the assault. Cindy, the City changes the trash. People do use the john in the park. If there had been a dead body in it, someone would have noticed.”

  “Unless the boys killed him, then came back to take him away and dump him in a less obvious spot.”

  “I don’t think so, Cindy. It would draw way too much attention. This sounds like an impulsive type of rape. Why hassle with coming back? All it could do is screw them up.”

  “Because David could identify them.”

  “He’s mentally disabled. How much credibility would he have even if hecould identify the perps? And that’s a big if.”

  I saw his point.

  Dad said, “I know you’re working your way through the decidedly unglamorous part of detective work: the shelters, halfway houses, drug rehab, missions, Salvation Army, other areas that have homeless. It’s a tedious chore, but it’s your best bet right now.”

  There was a knock on the door and in walked Oliver. He was holding up my tie. It was a nice one—a gold-and-sky-blue Mimi Fong print that I had gotten at deep discount. Furthermore, it went with the navy suit he was wearing.

  “What do you think?” I asked him.

  “It’s beautiful, Cin. Something I would have picked out. What is it? Battle pay?”

  “You might say that.”

  My father’s face held a sour look. “You bought him atie? ”

  “Yes, I bought him a tie when I bought Koby a shirt.”

  “You bought Oliver a tie and Koby a shirt, but your father gets nothing.”

  I got up and hugged him around the neck. “Daddy, you’ll always be my number one guy.”

  “You’re choking me,” Dad grumped.

  Oliver said, “So you and the guy are back together?”

  “For the time being, and theguy —like you, Scott—has a name.”

  “Yeah, he’s got a name. Theblack guy. Orif I feel like being politically correct, the African American guy.”

  “If you want to get technical, then he’d be just the African guy. Or the Asian guy, because I think he’s an Israeli citizen. Now if he were an American citizen, then you’d have to call him African Asian American guy. Sothat’s why it’s much more convenient to call him Yaakov.”

  “You call him Koby.”

  “That’s reserved for friends, Oliver.”

  He smiled. Dad drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Anything official you need to talk to me about, Detective?”

  “No, not really,” Oliver answered.

  “Then close the door on your way out.”

  Oliver laughed and left.

  I said, “So it looks like my weekend is booked. On Saturday, I’ve got my workout at the gym, afternoon is lunch with Mom, and then I’ve got bowling practice from six to eight in the evening. Then maybe if Koby’s off, we’ll go out. Sunday morning is brunch with my friend Hayley. I’ll look for David in the afternoon, then Sunday evening if Koby and I are still in good standing, we’ll go out again.”

  “I’m getting tired just listening to you. You’re hyperactive, Officer Decker.”

  “Loo, it’s better than crying in my beer.”

  31

  Since last week’s dinnerat Mama’s, Rina had made a valiant effort to restrain herself, mentioning her grandmother’s case only a couple of times. Peter had played coy, refusing to take the bait. Since subtlety wasn’t working, it was time for the direct approach. After the dinner table had been cleared, she sashayed into the kitchen and slid her arms around his waist as he washed dishes. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt but had still managed to get his cuffs wet.

  “I’ll do that,” she said.

  “I’m almost done,” Decker told her. “But you can keep hugging. It feels good.”

  “I love a man who knows how to scour a roasting pan.”

  He smiled. “What’s Hannah doing?”

  “Her homework. So what’s going on?”

  “Not much.”

  Rina broke away. Nervously, she smoothed out her denim skirt and hiked up the sleeves of her pink sweater to her elbows. She picked up a towel and began to dry the dishes. “Just answer me one question. Did you find Marta Lubke?”

  “Yes.”

  Rina was flabbergasted. “Youdid? ”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she alive?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  She punched his shoulder.

  “Yes, she’s alive,” Decker answered. “Even better, so is her older sister. I was going to tell you after Hannah went
to bed. But since we started, what else would you like to know?”

  “For starters, how’d you find her?”

  “That would be giving away my trade secrets.” Decker winked at her. “I logged onto Google and got hits for around a hundred Lubkes . . . probably not the smartest thing to do since the Lubke I was looking for was from Germany. But I thought I’d test the waters here, maybe find a relative. From what I pulled up, I began a process of elimination mostly by age. I found about ten Lubkes who were old enough and sent out e-mails to all of them. I got unbelievably lucky. I received an e-mail response from an Anika Lubke. That, in itself, is pretty good—a woman in her eighties savvy in computers. You wouldn’t believe where she lives.”

  “Los Angeles?”

  “No, but almost as good. She lives up in Solvang.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Right north of Santa Barbara. I told you it was good.”

  “You’re the best. So what did Anika Lubke write back?”

  “That she was from Munich. And this is where it getsreally unbelievably lucky. She has a sister named Marta, whose married name is Wallek. She lives in St. Louis, Missouri, which I understand has a large population of people of German descent.”

  “The home of Anheuser-Busch. As in Busch Stadium.”

  “As in Budweiser beer,” Decker said.

  “There was an expression my friend Ellie in Munich used to use—‘Bierbauch Bayer.’It means beer-bellied Bavarian. Beer is a cultural icon in Germany, especially Bavaria.”

  “Well, beer doesn’t do too bad in the good old US of A, either. The upshot of this entire thing is that last night I got an e-mail from Marta. Did I do well or what?”

  “I can’t believe you found out all this information in so short a time.”

  “Thank the Internet. Both women are widows, by the way.” Decker held up a wet roasting pan. “Can you dry a little faster so I have some room for this in the dish rack?”

  Rina picked up the dinner plates and stacked them on the counter. “Happy now?”

  “I just didn’t want to nick the stoneware.”

  She smiled. “You’re wonderful. I love you.”

  Decker started washing the utensils. “I love you, too. You want to hear the interesting part?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Lots. Guess what Anika’s married name is?”

  Rina finished with the dinner dishes, then picked up the pan and began to dry it. “Being as there must be about a million German surnames, I give up.”

  “Even if you went through them all, you wouldn’t be close. It’s Emerson.”

  “She married an American.”

  “She married a Brit.”

  “That must be a story.”

  “It must be one hell of a story. But I don’t know it because it’s not the kind of thing you e-mail to a stranger.”

  “Are you sure you’ve got the right Marta Lubke?”

  “Yes, I’m positive because she remembers your mother for the same reason your mother remembered her. They were both Marta. And she remembered some of the other girls when I mentioned their names. And both of them remembered your grandmother’s murder. How much detail they recall . . . that I don’t know.”

  Rina put her hand over her mouth and froze. Slowly, she let it drop to her side.

  Decker said, “Marta Lubke and Anika are well into their eighties. I think your mother has been playing a little loose with the years.”

  “I’m stunned.” Rina swallowed. “Not by Mama cheating on her age, but that you really found someone she knew as a child.”

  “Marta Lubke Wallek was very excited that Marta Gottlieb Elias is still alive. She would like to contact your mother, Rina,if that’s okay with your mother. She said she has quite a story as well. We need to tell Mama what’s going on.”

  Rina sighed. “Of course. It won’t be easy to tell her about it. Mama will wonder why we were searching for Marta Lubke.”

  “Just tell her that after she spoke about her childhood, you wanted to find someone from her past.”

  “All right.” Rina was uncertain but was resolved to do the right thing. “We’ll forget about my grandmother’s murder. I’ll tell Mama what’s going on. Actually, I’m much more excited about a possible reunion between the two of them. Better than digging up old bones.”

  “Very noble of you.” Decker laid the clean utensils on top of the rack. “However, I think I have a better idea.”

  Rina waited.

  “I don’t think we should bring the two of them together until we know more about Marta and Anika Lubke. Remember, your mother is a camp survivor, and we don’t want to cause her any more pain. I think we should talk to the women first.”

  “You want to go to Saint Louis?”

  “No need because the fates are with us. Marta Lubke Wallek is coming in to visit her sister. How about we take advantage and make a little vacation out of it? We’ll leave Saturday night, right afterShabbat, stay overnight in Santa Barbara, then continue on to Solvang on Sunday and come back Sunday night. Surely the boys can watch Hannah for twenty-four hours. They’re both over eighteen.”

  “Sammy works on Sunday.”

  “Jacob doesn’t.”

  Rina made a face. “I don’t know, Peter. What about Cindy?”

  “Saturday is her day with Jan. Sometimes they go out at night. That’s inviolate. But she can certainly pick up some of the slack on Sunday. I’m sure she won’t mind a morning or afternoon shift.” Now Decker made a face. “By the way, she’s bringing Koby over forShabbat this weekend.”

  Rina’s eyes brightened. “So they’re back together?”

  “For the time being, yes.”

  “I like him.”

  “You like his circumcision,” Decker remarked.

  “Yes, I like that he’s Jewish. I’ve never hidden my partisan feelings. So when are we going to visit Solvang?”

  “Marta is visiting her sister in three weeks. How does that work?”

  “Perfect. No major holidays in the way. And it will give me plenty of time to prepare . . . cook Sunday dinner for the boys and Hannah.”

  “Rina, they’re capable boys. They can cook for themselves.”

  “I know, but it’s not hard for me to cook a little extra.”

  “Can I give you a cross to nail your hands on, Saint R?”

  “I like cooking for my family. So sue me.”

  “I don’t want to sue you.” Decker took her in his arms and slapped her to his chest. “I’d rather screw you.”

  She punched his shoulder. “What got into you?”

  “I wish something would get into you.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you would examine my motivations, you’d see I have other reasons for wanting you alone for a night away.” He kissed her hard on the lips.

  “Eeeuuuu!”

  They both looked toward the door. Hannah scowled at them, turned on her heels, and stomped out. They broke into laughter.

  Decker said, “I’ll see what she wants.”

  Rina held him tightly. “She’ll survive for a minute.”

  She gave him a long, slow kiss, the kind that makes body parts move independently.

  “My oh my,” Decker said. “What got intoyou? ”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Not at all.” He broke away. “I’ll go check up on Hannah.” He was still stiff. “Maybe you should check up on Hannah, and let me take a cold shower.”

  “Not too cold.”

  “Believe me, darlin’, there’s plenty more where this came from.”

  32

  The secret of optimal performanceis to keep the mind focused, but the body completely relaxed. Completely loose.” Koby shook out his arms. “You watch basketball, no?”

  “Occasionally,” I told him.

  “You ever see the pros make long shots? The trey—the perfect three-pointer—is usually a swisher, all net with just a flick of the wrist. So loose. Or a slugger at bat, the follow-through on his swing,
the whole body moves in one motion. It’s very hard to do because the natural thing when you concentrate is to tense up, right?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s a mind-set, Cindy, one of the reasons why pro athletes are so arrogant. They have to think they’re the best, otherwise they won’t relax.”

  “They’re arrogant because they make ten million bucks a year and have thousands of women willing to minister to their genitals.”

  Koby smiled. “I say it’sone of the reasons.”

  I rubbed my arms, bouncing on the heels of my feet. We had already done preliminary stretching, but it was still cold outside and my muscles were starting to tighten. Gray clouds hung in the L.A. skies like wet gym clothes. Even though it was the ungodly hour of seven on a Wednesday morning, there were people on the outdoor track. Koby had waved to a few of them.

  “When I ran competitively, I used to think of my joints as very thin rubber bands, that it was no effort at all to stretch them and that they’d always bounce back. It helped me maintain a long stride.”

  “You have a long stride because you have long legs,” I told him.

  “Yes, I am African. We are built to outrun lions. Even so, anyone can improve the performance. Are you ready?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “This was your idea, Cindy.”

  “I just thought it was something we could do together that didn’t involve spending money or having sex.”

  He smiled. “If you like, we can go back to sex.”

  “Notice you said nothing about spending money.”

  “First we have sex; then I spend the money.” He laughed and took my arm. “Come on.”

  “Please pretend like we’re going at the same pace.”

  He trotted by my side as I jogged around the oval, keeping up a steady patter of conversation. Mostly, he spoke about work. It was good because it gave him a chance to vent his frustrations and, at the same time, distracted me and made the time go quicker. He did the talking because I needed all my breath for running. I hadn’t realized it, but slowly, slowly, he had picked up the pace. After forty-five minutes, I was shot and broke to a fast walk. As I cooled off, I told him to go out and stretch his legs. Within moments, he was burning rubber, pure poetry in motion. By the time we got back to his house, I was feeling very amorous with all the endorphins flowing. That pleased him immensely. He suggested we take a run every morning. The hot shower shook out the last remaining bits of lethargy. As I walked into his kitchen, I noticed that my cell phone was beeping.