Big guy seems pretty happy.
Frieda heard deep soft sobs. She thought it might be
Breina in the next room and she should go and comfort her daughter-in-law. Then she realized that the sounds were coming from her own throat.
Ezra's three sons shared a room that was cramped but meticulously neat. The beds were made, the closet was organized; even the computer and work area were free from clutter. Decker asked the boys' secret to keeping a clean desk.
Boruch let out a breathy Eeeema.
But there was a note of affection in his voice.
All three headboards touched the same wall, lined up like a hospital ward. Sheets tucked in, the pillows plumped and rolled under the top cover like the stuffings of an omelet. Above the headboards were three rows of bookshelves. Most of the space was devoted to Hebrew and religious books, but there were about a dozen textbooks of secular study. No posters or art work adorned the wall, the sole exception being a framed picture of a small elderly bearded man in a big black hat. He had a round face, scores of wrinkles, and crinkly eyes that exuded a physical warmth.
'Rav Moshe Feinstein, alav hashalom,' Aaron said.
Decker nodded, recognizing the name. Rabbi Feinstein had been the leading Torah scholar of his day, a man noted for his exceptional kindness as well as his genius mind.
He turned away from the picture. The boys were sitting on their beds. He said, 'I'll try to put everything back the way I found it, but I'm going to have to go through all the belongings.'
The brothers nodded understandingly.
Decker said, 'In the meantime, I want one of you to
turn on the computer and bring up any files that might be Noam's.'
The boys didn't move. Aaron said, 'Did you discuss this with my father?'
Decker sighed. 'Look, I know you're not allowed to use computers on yom tov, but this is an emergency. If you don't want to do it, at least tell me how to do it.'
'No, no,' Aaron said. 'I'd be making you do a aveyrah. Boruch, you do it. You haven't been bar mitzvahedyet.'
'It's OK?' Boruch asked Decker.
'It's more than OK; it's very important.'
'Then I'll do it,' Boruch said.
Decker began with the desk. Because it was so organized, the search would be a snap. Starting on the right, he opened the top drawer. It contained notebooks of math work; the second was full of lessons in other secular subjects. The bottom drawer contained sheaves of papers written in Hebrew. The left side was a carbon copy of the first. Inside the top middle drawer were office supplies - pens, pencils, rulers, a stapler, a box of.rubber bands, a box of paper clips.
So much for the desk.
Boruch announced that there weren't any files of Noam's on the first disk. He'd try the others. Decker told him he was doing a great job. and went on to the closet.
It was as organized as the desk. Decker thought a moment. For a room housing three teen-aged boys to be this compulsively tidy, Breina must be one stern taskmaster. He remarked upon that and gauged the reaction of the boys. They smiled, didn't appear to be resentful.
The left side was open shelves containing piles of laundered and starched white shirts. Must have been around twenty of them. The hanging rack held pressed black pants, lint-free black suit jackets. Above the rack was a shelf full of black hats. The right side was more open shelving. Underwear, undershirts, socks, and a couple of dozen talitin k'tanim - small prayer shawls worn on top of the undershirt, but under the dress shirt. A belt and tie rack bisected the inside of the door. Above the rack was a small square mirror.
'What size is Noam?' Decker asked.
'Shirt or pants?' Aaron asked.
'Both.'
'We wear the same shirt size,' Aaron said. 'Men's fifteen. Pants, I wear a thirty. I think Noam's closer to a thirty-one or two.'
'He's heavier than you?'
Aaron said, 'Heavier and taller.'
Boruch looked up from the computer screen. 'I tried all of the disks here, brought up the files. I don't see anything that looks like his stuff. Either Noam has his own disk or he erased everything he ever wrote.'
'Thanks, Boruch,' Decker said. 'It was worth a try.'
Boruch turned off the screen.
Decker said, 'You wouldn't notice if any of his clothes were missing, would you?'
The boys peered into the closet.
Aaron said, 'It looks about as full as it always does. But he could take a shirt and pair of pants and I wouldn't notice.'
On the floor of the closets were the boys' knapsacks. Decker opened Noam's first. Just books and schools supplies. His papers contained no doodling, no names of
girls. Decker asked the boys if he could look inside their knapsacks. Both of them said sure. Their cooperation showed him that the boys had nothing to hide. He took a quick peek, then moved on.
He stripped the beds. Finding nothing, he removed the mattresses, checked all three out individually. Still nothing. Then he removed the box spring. Underneath Noam's bed was a sales slip - slightly faded pink, dated ten months ago. Someone had purchased a Guns 'n' Roses T-shirt for fifteen fifty. He asked the boys if Noam ever wore the T-shirt when the folks weren't home.
' I never saw him wearing any T-shirt with a gun or a rose on it,' Aaron said.
Decker said, 'Guns 'n' Roses is a rock group.'
Aaron shrugged ignorance.
'How about you?' he asked Boruch. Sometimes kids confide more easily in younger siblings than in older ones.
Boruch said, 'I never saw him wear any T-shirts except as undershirts for our tzitzit.' He thought a moment. 'You know we have this old transistor radio. I think Noam listens to it late at night when he thinks we're asleep.'
'I never heard anything,' Aaron said.
'I think he uses the earphone,' Boruchsaid. 'Wecanlis-ten to the radio as long as we've finished our studies and it's news or sports. Abba and I are Knicks fans. Rock music is out of course. But some of the kids at school listen to it anyway. They even watch MTV - go down to the electronic stores and watch the televisions on display. It's a hard thing to do because most of the stores are owned by frumyiddin and the kids don't want anything getting back to their parents, you know.'
'You'd like a TV?' Decker asked.
'Nah,' Boruch said. 'Turns your brain to rot.'
Decker smiled. The way the kid said it - just a line he'd picked up somewhere.
'Maybe that's what he does when he wanders off,' Aaron said. 'Walks around Prospect Park listening to rock music'
Decker thought: Noam sneaking off, maybe wearing his Guns V Roses T-shirt under his traditional garb. When he was alone, like Clark Kent turning into Superman, he'd pull off his regular shirt, untuck his T-shirt, and blast his pathetic little radio.
Trying to hang out, trying to fit in.
But always looking over his shoulder, making sure no one would see him.
Decker put back the box springs and mattresses. He remade the beds, then checked the pillows. He unzipped a slipcover and felt a hard flat surface about the size of a playing card. He thought it was probably a calculator, but it turned out to be a miniature Nintendo game -Octopus. Sammy had the same game. The idea was to score as many points as you could before a tentacle squeezed you to death. He showed it to the brothers.
Boruch said, 'Some of the kids at school have them. Hey, wait. Doesn't Shmuli have this game?'
Decker nodded.
'He's lucky.' Boruch looked at Decker with longing. 'Abba won't let me buy one, even with my own money. Says it's a waste... which I guess it is.'
For the first time, resentment had crept into the boy's voice.
'But if a friend brings them over,' Boruch went on, 'like when Shmuli brings it over? Abba'U let me play with it. As long as I've finished my schoolwork.'
Decker said, 'So your abba doesn't know that Noam has this.'
'Definitely not,' Aaron said. 'Abba's pretty strict on what wecan have. But it'snot like he doesn'tlike us to have fun. If wehav
efreetime, he likes us to get exercise. Wehave basketballs, baseballs, footballs. He even plays with us sometimes. Especially basketball.'
Slightly defensive tone. Decker said, 'Well, with all you boys you must have quite a team. Noam join along?'
'Sometimes,' Boruch said.
'You know, Noam's taller than me and all,' Aaron said. 'But he's not real coordinated. He's slow.'
'He also has trouble keeping his mind on the game,' Boruch said. 'I'd pass him the ball and it's like he'd be on Mars. The basketball would bounce off his chest. Lucky he's so big; otherwise he'd be knocked down all the time. He doesn't play with us too much anymore. Guess it isn't fun for him.'
'Guess not,' Decker said, thinking of his own youth. Always a head taller than anyone else, he was a natural choice for center. But like Noam, he also had weight. Lumbering across the court, it was especially embarrassing because everyone expected'him to be so good. Agility was never his forte. He gave up basketball in his freshman year of high school, moved on to football. Made State All Star six months later. All he had to do was mow over the opposition - a piece of cake. At the age of sixteen, he'd been six two, one eighty-five.
He pocketed the Nintendo game. If Noam had run away, why had he taken his T-shirt but not this portable video game. Surely he didn't forget it.
Decker thought about it for a moment.
Maybe the kid was subconsciously leaving behind clues.
Even if that wasn't the reason, the game served the same purpose as if it had been left behind intentionally. Now Decker knew that Noam liked rock and roll and played arcade games. The shirt and the game indicated places to search.
Decker said, 'I can walk you guys back to your bubbe's now.'
Boruch stood, but Aaron didn't move. Decker asked him what was wrong.
'I'm worried,' Aaron said. 'I'm not worried like somebody kidnaped Noam. But I'm worried that he did something stupid and now is in some kind of trouble. He wouldn't just not show up, unless he was in trouble.'
Decker didn't answer.
'The way I talked about Noam,' Aaron said. 'It sounds like I don't care. But I do.'
'Of course you do.' Decker put his hand on Aaron's shoulder. 'I know you love him. Both of you do.'
Aaron sighed. 'He's still my brother...'
'You gonna find him?' Boruch asked.
'I'm going to do my best,' Decker said. But there was a queasy feeling in his gut as he spit out the words.
He walked both of the boys back, then stopped by the Lazarus house to pick up his piece.
The sun was setting. Though he didn't know Brooklyn, he knew it contained some mean areas. He had no intention of searching for Noam in a ghetto, but there was always the possibility of getting lost. Along with his Beretta, he'd taken four clips, sixteen rounds apiece. That should hold him nicely.
Number-one item on the agenda: get a good street map.
Though the sidewalks of Boro Park were populated with Jews walking home from synagogue, the streets were nearly empty - few cars, all businesses shut down for the holidays. Decker took off his yarmulke, put the photograph of Noam Levine on the seat next to him, and took off, searching for an open service station.
He found one about a half mile down, filled the tank with gas - Jonathan had left the car bone dry - and paid two seventy-five for a map of Brooklyn. He asked the gas station attendant or maybe it was the owner - the man was around fifty with a pot belly and white hair -exactly where he was. The older man scrunched watery blue eyes and answered.
'What do you mean where are you?'
It came out: Whaddeyeh mean when arhyouse?
'You're in Brooklyn - Boro Park.'
Boro Park was Burrow Park.
'This is still Boro Park?' Decker asked.
The attendant said, 'You lost or something? Give me the numbers, I'll tell you how to get there.'
Decker said, 'So Boro Park isn't all Jewish?'
'Well, most of it is Jewish. You lookin' for the Jewish part?'
'No, I just came from the Jewish part,' Decker said.
The attendant said, 'Funny, you don't look Jewish.' He spasmed with laughter at his joke.
Decker waited for the man to finish, then asked, 'If this isn't Jewish Boro Park, what part is this?'
'Here you got your basic working Eyetalians, a few Puerto Ricans and Asians.' The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'You go that way - that's east - you got Bay Ridge, your basic Eyetalians also. You go south, that's Bensonhurst. What you got there is rich Eyetalians. You got relatives in Bensonhurst, no one's gonna mess with you, hear what I'm sayin'?'
Decker said yes.
The attendant said, 'You go west, you got Flatbush. Keep goin' west, well, you don't wanna go there, that ain't good for nuttin'. You go north you eventually gonna hit Williamsburg. That's them religious Jews again and lots of Puerto Ricans. We got every type of person, place, or thing here. Lots of things, let me tell you. What are you lookin' for?'
Decker handed him the picture of Noam Levine. The attendant gave the photo a cursory glance, then handed it back to Decker.
'Never seen the kid,' he said. 'Not that I'd know him if he was staring me straight in the eye. All those boys look alike to me with their Shirley Temple curls. Why would they want to do that to their boys, take the chance of turnin' them into fags or something.'
Decker gave a noncommittal shrug. He remembered the talkative taxi driver saying that Flatbush was the main thoroughfare through Brooklyn. He asked for directions to Flatbush Avenue. He had addresses of a few arcades and movie theaters. But before he checked
them out, he wanted to get a cursory feel for the city. Riding at night, alone... it helped him think.
Dusk had just about turned to night, Flatbush Avenue darkening, fading into sinister loneliness. Neons and shadows characterized the street. Every mile or so, Decker spotted groups of ski-hatted youths, convening in cloistered areas, bouncing on their feet, rubbing fin-gerless weight-lifting gloves together. Like cockroaches they sank deeper into their crevices whenever too many headlights illuminated the spot. Off the side streets were pods of homeless camped out in corners, warming their hands over trash can fires.
As he'd done so many times before, Decker tried to place himself inside the mind and body of his quarry. This one was a fourteen-year-old boy with an ultra-religious background. If Noam was a runaway, Decker supposed part of the kid's motivation was excitement. In a routinized world such as Boro Park, earthly sins were mighty tempting dishes.
But there was more to it than that. The interviews had painted a picture of an angry, lost boy. By running away, Noam was trying to find himself, emphasizing his schism with the community by leaving on Rosh Hashanah. An act of defiance, an act of hostility.
Noam was big physically, maybe considered a tough one in Boro Park, but he wasn't streetwise. He would eventually fold on foreign sod. That meant, if he stayed away long enough he'd probably do something stupid -commit a minor crime such as shoplifting and get caught. The act had a twofold purpose. It was protective - sitting in a police station was safer than being mugged in a back alley - and getting arrested would get his parents' attentions.
Running away on Rosh Hashanah. Talk about spitting in your parents' faces. The only other day that would have elicited greater outrage would have been the Day of Atonement - Yom Kippur. Alt sins against God and Man were washed away on Judaism's most holy of days. The soul cleansed of all its contaminants - but only if there was true repentance.
Maybe Noam hoped to be back home by Yom Kippur so he could repent. The trick was to find him before he self-destructed or before someone destroyed him.
As Decker headed north, the neighborhood deteriorated even further, not the kind of place where a white teenager would take refuge.
He pulled to the curb and spread the map over the seat of the car, planning his route of attack. A moment later, he heard a heavy thump on his car door. Jerking his head up, he saw three dark-skinned youths, one of them mouthing the wor
ds 'Need help?' through the locked window. Decker pulled out his Beretta and laid it on his lap. He smiled, winked, and mouthed back a 'No, thank you.' The young man gave him a palms out 'no-problem, man' gesture; then the three backed away, doing a fade-out into blackness.
Decker sat a moment, lit a cigarette. Doing crap like this on his honeymoon, the whole situation drawing him deeper into the Levine family - a friggin' mess! He jammed his unloaded Beretta into his waistband, started the car, and headed south.
Through a series of turns, he found himself in friendlier territory. Not that the area was beautiful - this would be considered a downscale neighborhood by L. A. standards - but at least the buildings weren't gutted. Working-class white.
Faye Kellerman - Decker 04 - Day of Atonement Page 9