“No, sir,” Shai said. “Not to me.”
“Me, either,” whispered Eli.
“Hersh ever mention any family?”
Both boys shook their heads.
“So,” Decker said, “if he didn’t work out of his house, where’d you guys score from him?”
“He hangs around liquor stores on Empire,” Shai said.
“Which ones?” Decker said.
“All of them,” Shai said. “He hangs out with a group of Italians. I thought he was Italian until he told me his real name was Hersh.”
“What name did he use?” Decker said.
“Tony,” Eli whispered.
“Tony?” Decker repeated.
“Yeah, Tony,” Shai said. “He called himself Tony.”
Decker said, “I’m not from around here. What kind of area is Flatbush?”
“Flatbush is mixed,” Shai said. “There’re very religious areas, there’re black areas, there’re Italian areas. That’s why I thought he was Italian. He hung out with the Italians, he looked Italian, he even talked a little Italian. But then there was this one time. He was ticked off at his so-called friends. He showed his true colors. He pulled us aside and said he wasn’t a wop—his words, not mine—and his name was really Hersh. He even spoke to us in a bissel Yiddish, remember, Eli?”
There was no response.
Decker looked at Eli. He’d buried his head in his hands again. Decker said, “Go drink a quart of water right now, then make yourself a cup of strong black coffee.”
Eli dutifully got up and went into the kitchen. Decker shouted, “Bring the water here. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
Shai said, “I don’t take drugs—”
“Save your breath, son. This isn’t confession.”
“I swear I don’t. Drugs are dangerous.”
Decker studied the boy. “You’re right about that.”
“But Eli…I’ve known him since we were little kids. I try to look after him. See, he’s under a lot of pressure because his father runs a small Lubavicher shul in North Carolina and lives more there than here. His mother refuses to move ’cause she hates North Carolina. So they’re always fighting about it when he gets home. Now Eli’s mom’s got a full-time job and all the household stuff is falling on Eli’s shoulders ’cause he’s the oldest.”
Eli walked back into the room. He held a pitcher of water—no cup—and his hands were shaking. Decker stood, told the boy to sit. He fetched a glass from the kitchen, poured the water, and made sure the boy drank at least half the pitcher.
A minute later, Eli announced that he had to go to the bathroom. Decker told him that was the idea. After Eli left for a second time, Decker said to Shai, “If you’re his keeper, get him off drugs.”
“I’ve tried and Eli’s tried,” Shai said. “It’s hard. See, when Eli isn’t stoned, he gets real, real nervous and his ulcer starts to act up. One time it acted up so bad, he was in the hospital for a week.” Shai pounded his forehead several times with his fists. “I don’t know what to do. Eli seems to be smoking more and more every month. I’m afraid he’s gonna try something stronger. Then I really won’t know what to do.”
Decker said, “He only uses pot?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
Shai paused, then nodded. “That’s what Tony…Hersh sells. Never seen him sell anything stronger and he would if he had it.”
Eli returned. Decker made him finish the rest of the water. Then he pulled out the photograph and said, “You boys ever see this kid with Hersh?”
Both boys looked at the picture, Eli for the second time, Shai for the first. It was Shai who first spoke up.
“I’ve seen him with Ton—Hersh. I was real surprised, because you could tell he was one of us.”
“By one of us,” Decker said, “you mean religious—frum?”
Shai nodded.
Decker turned to Eli. “You’ve seen him with Hersh?”
“Once or twice,” Eli said.
Shai said, “I think he called himself Nolan, but it was obvious that that wasn’t his real name.”
“It’s Noam Levine,” Decker said.
Both boys shrugged.
“Did they seem like good friends?” Decker asked.
“This Nolan seemed more like Tony’s servant than like a friend,” Shai said. “Ton—Hersh would show up with these kids—kids our age. He knew a bunch of them. Most of them were like these skinny, wimpy-type kids. But this Nolan or Noam…First off, he was big. Second, you could tell right away that he was raised frum. For some reason I think Tony liked Nolan because he was frum. Also ’cause Nolan was bigger and a bully. He wasn’t a bully to us, Eli’s bigger than him. But you had the feeling, Nolan liked to boss around little kids. Also, he wasn’t put off by Hersh’s knives—”
“Knives?” Decker said.
“Hersh loves knives,” Shai said. “He’s always showing them off. He has lots of them.”
Swell, Decker thought. Noam’s possibly involved with a psycho. Maybe Noam was a psycho. He said, “Did Hersh ever threaten you with his knives?”
“Not me,” Eli said. “But once…this was real weird…” He knitted his brow. “He asked me what my father did for a living. I told him he was a rabbi and a mohel—”
“Oh, yeah,” Shai interrupted. “He started asking all these questions on the kind of knife used for circumcisions. Then he offered to trade Eli…” The boy sighed. “He offered to trade stuff for his father’s bris milah knife. He liked the fact that it was sharp on both sides.”
“Did you do it?” Decker asked.
Eli shook his head vehemently. “I don’t steal.”
One point in his favor. Decker said, “So Hersh liked knives. What about Noam?”
“No idea,” Shai said. “I only saw Nolan once or twice.”
“And from what you saw, Noam and Hersh didn’t relate as equals,” Decker said.
“Not at all,” Shai said. “Hersh used to boss Nolan—or Noam—around. ‘Move here, go there, get that, take that.’ Nolan just took it.”
“Did he threaten Noam with the knife when he was ordering him around?”
Shai thought a long time. “I don’t think so. I would have remembered if he did. But I do remember him waving this big long knife around. Just showing it off. It was very scary.”
Decker kept his face impassive and turned to Eli. The boy shrugged, said he didn’t remember if Hersh ever threatened anyone. While Decker had Eli’s attention, he said, “Your friend Shai tells me he’s clean, he’s not a user. You smoke solo.”
Eli nodded.
“Okay,” Decker said. “Then this little speech is for your ears, Eli. Before I leave, you’re going to get me your stash. Then, as far as you and I are concerned, it’s almost Yom Kippur, you get a clean slate. If you want to hang out with losers, that’s up to you. But think about this for just a moment. Life may seem terrible, but prison is worse. You’ve got to talk to your parents, Eli. Tell them what’s on your mind.”
“They don’t understand,” Eli said.
“They may understand more than you think.”
“You don’t know my parents.” Eli shook his head vigorously. “You just don’t know my parents.”
“How about this?” Decker said. “I’ll get you the name of someone you can talk to.”
Eli’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have a car. So who’s gonna talk to me who lives close? Who’s gonna talk to me for free? Who’s gonna talk to me and not tell my parents? Who can I talk to who will understand the kind of life I have to live?”
Without missing a beat, Decker said, “I’ll find someone for you.”
“Who?” Eli said.
“Hey, that’s my end of the bargain,” Decker said. “Now what you’ve got to do is stay off drugs until I find someone.”
No one spoke for a minute. Finally Eli said, “How long will that take?”
“Three days,” Decker said, p
icking a number out of the air. “Lay off drugs for three days and I’ll find someone for you to talk to. We’ve got a deal?”
Eli lowered his head. He mumbled, “You gonna tell my parents?”
“You’re off drugs, right?” Decker said, “I really don’t have anything to tell your parents, do I?”
Eli didn’t respond.
Decker said, “Son, if you mess up, eventually your parents will find out. So try and save yourself some heartache. Give me a chance to find someone for you.”
Eli’s eyes overflowed, tears drawing tracks down his smooth cheeks. Slowly he nodded consent.
“Great.” Decker stood, laid a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Now let’s get you back to school.”
Eli nodded, then said thanks in a cracked voice.
Decker wondered who the hell he was going to find for the boy. No matter. If he had to scour all of New York, he was determined to find someone. He told Eli to fetch him his stash and was surprised when the kid returned with a coffee can full of primo stuff. Made Decker wonder if the kid wasn’t a dealer himself. Or maybe he was just an economy shopper.
Decker took the coffee can, emptied the contents into the toilet and flushed several times. Gonna be lots of mellow rats in Brooklyn for the next few hours. He walked back to the living room and motioned the boys to the door with his thumb. The interview was over.
After he dropped off the teenagers at the yeshiva, he filled Rina in on the details and asked her if she knew any religious shrinks.
“No,” Rina said. “Shrinks aren’t big in this community.”
“I bet,” Decker said. “I’ve got to find someone.”
“Couldn’t you have promised him a trip to Disneyland instead?” Rina said.
Decker gave her a dirty look.
“Some people have no sense of humor.” Rina was quiet for a moment. “I bet Jonathan might know of a good therapist. As a matter of fact, I think Jonathan has some sort of counselor’s license.”
“Wonderful,” Decker said. “I’ll call him as soon as I get back to your in-laws’ house.”
“You know what, Peter?” Rina said. “You try to hide it, but you really are a good guy.”
“Aw shucks.”
She pinched his cheek. “So, what’s next?”
Decker said, “First, I’m going back to the liquor stores on Empire Boulevard. I asked the owners about a guy named Hersh. Now I’m going to go back and ask about a guy named Tony. If I’m extremely lucky, one of the men may even know Tony’s assumed last name. I don’t want to be looking for Hersh Schwartz when he’s going by the name Tony Palumbo.
“Then, we’ll hit Flatbush. See if we can find Tony/Hersh’s apartment. I’m going to check in with the local precinct there. I want to see if Hersh aka Tony has a record—maybe a drug bust. Or maybe he’s been involved in a local incident. You start talking to these guys, they start to remember all sorts of things. That’s how these cases go forward—legwork and mouthwork. Talk and walk. I just hope this Hersh holds the key to Noam’s disappearance. If not, we’re back to square one.”
He smiled at Rina; she returned his smile. For the first time, he noticed she’d become a little pale.
“Have you eaten lunch yet?” Decker asked.
Rina shook her head.
“Let’s go grab a couple of big sandwiches at a local deli,” Decker said. “You need some protein.”
“You know,” Rina said, “there’s a wonderful kosher dairy Italian place in Flatbush on Coney Island Avenue. Red-checkered tablecloths, sawdust on the floor. There are even wine bottles hanging from the doorway. And they make a mean eggplant parmesan.”
Decker shook his head. “Don’t want to waste the time. I need to cover as much ground as possible before it gets dark.”
“Of course,” Rina said. “I mean, we’re here to find Noam, not eat.”
Decker patted her hands and gave her a warm smile. She was disappointed but trying not to show it. The glamour of detective work was fading fast.
That was good.
17
Decker took off his yarmulke, then walked into the Empire Liquor House. The same thin black man was at the register. He was reading a magazine and looked up when he heard the Doberman grumble.
“I was hopin’ for someone like you. I could use some more pocket change.”
“Then it’s your lucky day.” Decker flipped out a twenty, held it between his first and second fingers. “You don’t know any kid named Hersh, how about a kid named Tony?”
Thin smiled. “They’s all named Tony.”
“Do these Tonys have a last name?”
“I don’t pay attention,” Thin said.
Decker leaned over the counter until he was almost nose to nose with Thin. “Well, maybe you should pay attention, buddy, because some of these Tonys are dealing. Now it may seem like nothing to you to pass a little weed back and forth, but man, if these rabbis find out you’re polluting their kids—”
“Who said I was pollutin’—”
“Let alone having minors hang around your store—”
“What!”
“These hymies have tempers,” Decker said. “But hell, with a dump like this, a smashed window isn’t going to make much of a difference—”
“You tryin’ to muscle me, man?”
“God forbid,” Decker said. “I’m just trying to jog your memory.” He smiled. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to tell me all your Tonys’ last names.”
Thin just glared.
Decker threw up his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He headed for the door, then turned around. “Does the word chaptzum mean anything to you?”
Thin screwed up his face. “I know what you’re sayin’.”
“Then why don’t you give yourself a break?”
“Hmmmmm.” Thin pondered a moment. “Maybe I can come up with a name or two.”
Decker walked back to the counter and waited.
“They’s a Tony Madiglioni,” Thin said. “He’s ’bout twenty-six or -seven—”
“Too old. I’m looking for a Tony who sells weed and brings along thirteen-year-old boys for gofers.”
Thin thought a moment. “Yeah, that’d be a Tony. ’Bout twenty, maybe twenty-one. Never said his last name—”
“Cut the shit—”
“I’m tellin’ it straight, Mr. Heat. But for your twenty…” Thin snapped the bill away from Decker. “I will tell you something of in-te-rest. This Tony—no last name—once crashed with a kid named Ernie Benedetto in Flatbush. Now I haven’t seen Ernie in a long time. Could be the kid got busted, could be the kid took a hike. But the two of them—they used to live together.”
Decker asked, “Did Tony and Ernie do more than room together?”
Thin shook his head. “Don’t think so. Tony, he sure knew a lot of teenage boys, I always suspected that kids was his thing. But I don’t know that he did something with them. Ernie liked girls—least he used to talk like he liked girls.” He looked at the twenty in his hand. “I think I’ve given you more than your money’s worth.”
Decker said, “We’ll see about that.” But he dropped another ten on the counter anyway. Informants in foreign cities were hard to come by.
“Ernest Benedetto,” the desk sergeant said. His name was Mahoney, a man in his forties with a florid complexion and pecan-colored hair that had been combed straight back. “No, Ernest Benedetto don’t ring no bell to me. But that don’t mean nuttin’. All it means is that there’s so many assholes, I can’t keep track of ’em all.”
It was four in the afternoon. Decker had wanted to drop Rina off, but she was determined to stick it out with him. Besides, she said, she was reading a good book. So she waited in the car while he talked shop with the boys at the Six-Seven. One thing about NYPD, they were accommodating to the brothers.
Decker said, “Can you punch Benedetto into the computer, find out if he has a yellow sheet?”
“No problem,” Mahoney said, typing in the n
ame. “Let’s hear it for electronic wizardry.” He waited a moment, then said, “Oh my, oh my, Ernie’s been a busy boy.”
Decker studied the monitor. Benedetto had been busted for possession—six months’ jail sentence. Served his time as a trusty until one day he’d walked off the premises and forgotten to return. A warrant had been issued for his arrest.
Mahoney regarded Decker. “Is he involved in your kidnapping?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said. “Can you punch up his last known address?”
Mahoney said, “Man, with these computers, I could tell you the last time he took a dump.”
Mahoney fed the computer, gave Decker the information a few moments later.
Decker said, “Now can you cross-reference that address with any other names?”
“I can cross-reference it,” Mahoney said, “but the computer’s only gonna spit out names of record holders. To get names of Joe Civilian, youse gonna have to use the backwards directories or call the phone company.”
Decker said, “Try it anyway.”
“Sure.”
There were no other names.
“Okay,” Decker said. “Can you try this? Can you see if you can get hold of Benedetto’s former addresses.”
“We can try,” Mahoney said. Three other sets of numbers appeared on the monitor. “Now you want me to cross-reference those with other names?”
“You bet,” Decker said. He held his breath.
Nothing.
Which meant either Tony/Hersh didn’t have a record or the list of addresses was incomplete.
“I’ll have someone bring you out the last five years’ worth of backwards directories,” Mahoney said. “You can look up the addresses; they’ll tell you name and phone numbers of the people they used to belong to.”
“That would be super,” Decker said. “In the meantime, can you punch in the name Hersh Schwartz, Shartz, or Shatz and see if anyone with those names has a record?”
“You got it,” Mahoney said.
Five minutes later, Decker saw a woman officer teetering under the weight of five large phone books. It wasn’t until he took the books away that he noticed she was gravid, ready to drop any moment. She smiled as he stared, saying that the exercise was good for the baby.
Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 04 Page 17
