Probably your basic Eyetalians. Time to get down to specifics.
Along Ocean Parkway, he found his first stop on the list: SID'S ARCADE - MINORS WELCOME. As good a place
to start as any. He parked Jonathan's Matador, stretched, then walked over. On the door was a handprinted sign stating no smoking, food, or drink allowed on the premises.
He went inside.
The arcade was dark and it took a few moments for Decker's eyes to adjust. But the assault on his ears was immediate. Bings, bangs, bongs, whistles, screeches, low-pitched wails - a cacophony created by bits and bytes. His pupils finally dilated and he was immersed in flashing lights in Day-Glo colors. The place was twenty by sixty, the walls lined with arcade machines and bisected by two rows standing back to back. At the rear were the cashier's kiosk and a half-dozen enclosed booths containing simulated consoles of spacecraft, race cars and submarines. There were also a couple of air-hockey boards. Decker could hear the steady chock, chock, chock of the puck caroming off the walls. Fan-tasyland - where a lonely kid could be something for a couple of hours.
He soon saw that two categories of adolescents populated the arcade. The Dungeons and Dragons set featuring wispy mustaches, unwashed hair, pencils in shirt pockets, and glasses with taped nosepieces. Then there were the supercoolers with slicked-back hair - also unwashed - clad in leather and denim adorned by metal chains. The D&D'ers played the machines with class, expending energy and sweat only when the heat was on. The wiseguys, on the other hand, banged on their
buttons at frenetic speed, muttering constant obscenities regardless of the outcome of the game:
'I was fuckin robbed, man.'
Or
'I was fuckin hot, man.'
He glanced to his right. A monitor exploded into a thousand pinpoints of light. An electronic rendition of the Star Wars theme tooted out. That was drowned out by the chuck, chuck, pops of Centipede, the pops turning to rapid machine-gun fire as the target worm parts were blasted to oblivion.
Onward and upward.
Decker showed the picture around - first to the brainiacs, next to the leatherset. The results were the same. Nobody had ever seen Noam Levine. Decker realized the snapshot was probably misleading. If Noam had fled to the outside world, the first thing he'd do was change his appearance. But he tried anyway, asking people to make allowances for the ethnic dress, saying Noam might be wearing a Guns 'n' Roses T-shirt.
Still no luck.
After meeting with rejection, he tapped a D&D'er on the shoulder and asked if he could speak with him for a few minutes. The boy he'd chosen was a lanky pimply-faced teen with glasses and very straight teeth - an ortho job that had taken four thousand buckeroos out of Dad's paycheck. The lanky kid looked at Decker suspiciously.
'What do you want?' he asked.
'I want to ask your opinion about something.'
The boy's eyes went to Decker, then to his frieads, then back to Decker. A slow smile spread over his lips. He said, 'My opinion will cost you.'
Decker said, 'I'm a cop.'
'Just kidding,' the kid announced.
'Thought so,' Decker said.
The lanky boy said, 'How can I help you, Officer? As I stated before, I don't know the boy in the picture. But I'll be happy to assist you in any way.'
Playful mockery in the kid's eyes - an Eddie Haskell gleam.
A low-pitched trombone slide culminated in a foghorn blare. That was followed by a human voice uttering a staccato 'shit.'
Decker started to speak, then he smiled and asked, 'First, where exactly am I?'
Another boy broke into the conversation. He was around fifteen, not exactly fat but soft around the middle, with a double chin. He said, 'You mean in metaphysical terms or simple physical location?'
Decker said, 'I know I'm in Brooklyn south. What do you call this part of town?'
The lanky kid said, 'If you're a cop, how come you don't know where you are?'
'I'm with the Los Angeles Police Department,' Decker said.
'That kid you're looking for is from Los Angeles?' the lanky kid said.
'No,' Decker said. 'He's from Boro Park. Am I in Boro Park?'
'Sheepshead Bay,' said the soft kid.
'You don't look like a Boro Parker,' said the lanky kid. 'You don't even look Jewish.'
'Are you Jewish?' Decker asked the lanky boy.
'We go to temple once a year on Yom Kippur for half a
day,' the boy answered. 'Does that qualify me to be an MOT?'
MOT - member of the tribe.
'Fine by me, kiddo,' Decker said.
A loud snap of a handclap.
'All right,' a voice shouted out. 'All right! All right! All right!'
'That's Marc,' the soft kid said. 'He must've finally rescued Zelda.'
'Way to go, Marc,' Decker said. 'Let me ask you guys something. Suppose you wanted to run away from home. Where would you crash for the night?'
'Depends whether you're a meaner or a beaner,' the lanky boy said.
'You want to run the lexicon by me?' Decker said.
'A meaner is one of them,' the first boy said, pointing to the wiseguys. 'A beaner is one of us.'
'A beaner not meaning a spic,' the soft boy explained. 'It comes from the word bean - meaning head, as in cerebrum.'
The first boy explained. 'Now, in answer to your question, because the outcome is totally dependent upon the input, you have to decide which of the characteristics best exemplifies your missing kid.'
The soft boy said, 'We get the Chasids in the arcades.'
'You do?' Decker said.
'Not a lot,' the lanky kid said. 'But some. They break down into two types - those who are just like us only they're wearing black and have the side curls, and those I'd categorize as beaners wishing to be meaners. See, we have no desire to mix with those other species. But a few of the real religious kids would like to rebel. They want to be like tough guys.'
'But they're too scared,' the soft boy said.
'So they hang around us,' the lanky boy said. 'And they're real pains in the asses, because they give us a hard time - say stupid things that they think are put-downs.'
The soft boy said, 'Which category does your kid fall under?'
Decker said, 'Probably the latter.'
The lanky boy took out a tissue and blew his nose. 'I'll bet he's at one of the arcades now, trying to mix with the meaners. These places are pretty safe. Good ones like this have bouncers; they don't like trouble.'
'Or,' the soft kid said, 'there're a bunch of all-night movie houses. If the kid could pass for seventeen, he could be sleeping in the balcony of the Cresta right now.'
Decker took out his sheet of paper and showed the kids the addresses. 'Any of these places look like possibilities?'
The lanky kid studied the street numbers. 'You used an old phone book, didn't you.'
Decker didn't answer. Instead, he opened his wallet and waved two five-dollar bills in front of their faces. He said, 'Think you can get me some current addresses of safe late-night establishments the kid might go to?'
The boys looked at each other. They smiled, then each of them pulled out a wad of bills as thick as a sodden sponge. The soft boy said, 'Could always use a few more bucks. You got the pencil and papers, I got the addresses.'
Decker took the bills from one of the boys and snapped them between his fingers - not just ones, they were tens and twenties. 'Where does a kid like you get so much money?'
The lanky boy laughed. 'Teaching meaners remedial
math for Papa e Mama, so that sonny boya would fin-isha uppa de high school.'
'A truly lost cause,' the soft boy said.
'But I'll tell you something,' the lanky boy said. 'They can be taught. But you have to change your terminology.'
'Phrase everything in terms of getting laid,' the soft boy said. 'If Tony got laid six times in a day and Ernie got laid fifty percent more times than Tony, how many times did Ernie get laid.'
'The
answer?' The lanky boy held his crotch and said, 'Six fuckin' times a day? Dafuck is Tony's secretV
The two boys cracked up.
'The addresses, boys?' Decker said.
'Sure,' the lanky kid said. 'I love to help a man with a mission.'
After five hours of searching the streets, combing movie houses, discos, arcades, and finally the shelters, Decker was left with a giant goose egg. He called it quits at half past midnight and checked in with Jonathan and Shimon. Their door-to-door hadn't yielded anything of significance. Jonathan reported that some of the boys Noam's age had seemed uncomfortable as Shimon talked to the parents. Not trusting his memory, Jonathan wrote down the names and addresses - again infracting the religious law. But this was clearly a case of pekuah nefesh - the saving of life taking precedence over almost everything.
The Levines were all up and beside themselves with worry. Decker and Frieda Levine exchanged quick glances. Her eyes were red, her hands made raw by her own kneading fingers. The look in her eye had been
nothing more than a fleeting moment, but, ah - what her expression had told him.
Please, help us, help me.
Where was her help when he needed her forty-one years ago?
But his heart couldn't hold any anger -not at this time. He turned to the rest of the family and suggested they try to bed down as best they could. In the morning, Decker would talk to the kids. The next step right now would be to talk to the police and file the missing-persons report. The family wanted to come down with him, but Decker said no, it was better handled cop to cop. All he needed was a good clear picture of Noam, his physical stats, and what he'd been wearing when he disappeared.
Before he left for the police, he pulled Rina aside.
'You want me to walk you back to the Lazaruses' house?'
'No,' she said. 'I'll wait here for you.' She brushed strands of limp red hair off his forehead. 'You look exhausted.'
Decker smiled. 'I'd be lying if I said I was spunky.'. 'You're a godsend. That's what Mrs. Levine said. You were sent here by Hashem.'
'She said that, huh?'
Rina nodded.
'Everything is in the hands of God,' Decker said. 'That's a neat, compact way of dealing with your guilt.'
•Oh, Peter—'
'That was stupid.' He exhaled forcefully. 'I really do feel sorry for her. For her, for the parents. It's hell, no doubt about it.'
'I know you care,' she answered. 'I know that's why you're doing what you're doing. And don't think the
family isn't grateful. That's all they talk about - how fortunate they are to have someone like you at a time like this—'
'Rina—'
'They are fortunate.' She kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Everyone has confidence in you—'
'Yeah, we've got a slight problem with that,' Decker said. 'I'm in an uncomfortable position here. Depending on how this thing resolves, I'll either be a savior or a bum, and neither of those hats wears well with me. If we don't get anywhere by tomorrow, I'm going to recommend that Ezra and Breina hire a professional—'
'You're a professional.'
'I've got a very demanding day job. I'm not interested in doing unpaid moonlighting.'
Rina didn't say anything.
'I didn't mean it like that,' Decker said. 'I don't care about the money—'
'I know you don't.'
'I don't want the responsibility, Rina,' Decker said. 'The whole situation is just too damn close to home. If it were my kid, I'd hire out. A good P.I. agency has networks all over the country, honey. They've got the interdepartmental contacts, the best skip tracers, and the manpower. They can cover more in a day than I could in a month.'
Rina said, 'Ezra's not a rich man. The only thing of value he owns is the house. How much do these agencies cost?'
That gave Decker a moment of pause. 'If they find the kid quickly, it's not that bad. And the good ones usually find them fast.'
'And if they don't?' Rina said.
Decker sighed. 'I'll do what I can until the holiday is over. Then I want out. I'll find the family the best P.I. available. One that knows the city of New York. Hey, if it was L.A., maybe I'd take another day or two. But I'm a foreigner here, Rina.'
'Whatever you want, Peter.'
Her voice was glum. Decker said, 'You think I should do more?'
Rina sighed. 'No... No, of course not. It's just that... well...'
'What?' Decker said. 'What? What?'
'I just know that...' Rina sighed again. 'If it were Sammy or Jakey, I'd want you to handle it.'
'But / wouldn't handle it if it were Sammy or Jakey. That's what I'm telling you. I'm just one person and that's a big problem. Plus, you don't take on cases where there's personal involvement.'
He realized he was shouting and dropped his voice to a whisper.
'This is what I call a swell honeymoon. First, I come out here, sentenced to be a weak substitute for your late husband—'
'That's not—'
'Yeah, right. It's not true. They love me for my hair color.'
'Peter—'
'I'm not saying anything against the Lazarus clan. Your former in-laws happen to be nice people. But look at it from my perspective, my background, then tell me I should feel right at home.'
Rina lowered her eyes. 'I know it's hard.'
'Damn right it's hard. But I can handle it. And if I may say so myself, I was doing a fine job of adjusting until I
got my long lost mother slapped in my face. I'm still reeling from that blow and this nightmare pops up. And now I'm supposed to be the objective, third-party professional. For chrissakes, Rina, the kid is my blood-nephew. I have a tangle of emotions inside me that's going to take years to unravel. What do you want from me?'
'Oh, Peter!' Rina hugged him as tightly as she could. 'I'm sorry!' She burst into tears. 'I'm sorry!'
'Forget it,' Decker said, hugging her back. 'I'm sorry, too. Part of me wants to walk away from this mess. And the other part is yelling at me to do more. And I'm not getting anywhere, which makes me feel like a failure. I've got plenty invested in this. I'm a juvey cop; I've located hundreds of missing kids. /, of all people, should be able to get somewhere.' He paused a moment. 'Fuck this noise.' Then he said, 'Pardon my Hebrew.'
Rina smiled, kept him locked in her embrace.
After a minute, Decker pulled away. 'I'm going to talk to the police. File the report, see what I can come up with.'
'Want me to come with you? It's only a ten-minute walk from here'
'No.'
'I can just walk with you to the building—'
'No, I've got my map. I'll be back in about an hour. Sure you don't want to go home?'
'I'll wait for you.'
'You don't have to do that.'
'I want to,' Rina said.
Decker smiled. 'I won't object.'
Boro Park was under the auspices of the 66th Precinct, which local cops called the Six-Six. The building was tucked into the corner of Sixteenth and Fifty-ninth, a two-story brick rectangle attached to a taller towerlike edifice also made of bricks. It was a fortress that would have protected the Three Little Pigs from any wolf for many years to come. Atop the lower portion of the structure was an American flag waving in the breeze.
Outside the station were a black Ford LTD unmarked and three bright-blue and white cruisers perpendicularly parked on the sidewalk. Decker hopped up three concrete stairs, opened a rust-scarred door and stepped into a sally port. The entrance was done in faded mustard tiles held together by black grout. On the floor were blocks of lackluster green marble surrounding a dim square of teal-blue marble. The ceiling plaster was buckling, ready to shower gypsum. Against the walls were a pay phone, a beverage-vending machine, a candy-bar machine, and a uniformed patrol officer. The cop was dark and short, had a thick black mustache, and needed a shave. His name tag read Melino. He wore a light-blue shirt, navy tie, navy pants, and rubber-soled black oxfords. He sized Decker up and didn't like what he saw.
Decker was used to that. His height made many men
wary- Then he realized that Melino was staring at the bulge under his jacket. Decker said, 'I'm a cop from L.A. I'm packing and I've got a license to carry in the state of New York.' He raised his arms in the air. 'Check it out.'
Faye Kellerman - Decker 04 - Day of Atonement Page 10