Home run first time at bat. Decker reminded himself to give Rina a big kiss. He said, “Did they say where they were going?”
“Nah,” the clerk said. “They never do. If I’m lucky, they’ll just pay the bill and leave. These dudes were no problem. Paid in cash.”
“How did they leave?”
“Through the door.” Willy had a proud smile on his face.
Decker said, “Were they driving a car or did they take the bus?”
Willy thought for a moment. “Think they just walked out. Whether they caught a taxi or hopped the bus?” He shrugged.
“Were they loaded down with suitcases?”
“Each one had a suitcase—medium size. Nothing they couldn’t carry a few blocks.”
“You happen to notice the age of the younger one?”
Willy shrugged his bony shoulders. “His ID said eighteen—”
“C’mon, Clint,” Decker said. “Your eyesight couldn’t be that poor.”
“So maybe I thought the kid looked more like sixteen—”
“Try fourteen.”
“No!” Willy gasped. “No way he looked fourteen. Kid was bigger than fourteen.”
Decker said, “Next time ask for proper ID and you won’t have charges brought against you.”
“Charges?” Willy turned red. “What are you talking about? They said they was brothers. They looked alike. Both of them dark and talking with New York accents.”
“They weren’t brothers, Clint,” Decker said.
“Well, I didn’t know that,” the clerk said. “And if there was any indication that they was gay, I would have booted their butts out of here. Me and my brother don’t put up with that shit. Start getting the gays in here, it scares away the straight perverts. John Doe starts having homosexual panic.” He broke into laughter.
Decker said, “I’m talking child molestation—”
“I told you,” Willy said. “The kid looked to be about sixteen, seventeen. We get single guys in here all the time—ex-cons trying to wipe the slate clean by moving to another state. Sometimes they come in twos—buddies renting a cheap room. Never for a moment did I think that something hinky was going on between them.” He paused. “Was something hinky going on between them?”
Ignoring the question, Decker asked, “How did they register?”
The clerk grinned. “It wasn’t under Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
Decker waited.
Willy cleared his throat and opened the registration book. “They registered under the names of Mr. Hank Stephens and Mr. Nicholas Stephens.” He showed Decker the book. “Like I said before, the older dude said he and the younger dude was brothers. So I gave them separate beds and everything. They didn’t look like they was pulling anything.”
“What did they look like?” Decker said.
Willy cracked his knuckles. “They looked a little shopworn. And maybe they looked like they were out to hustle. Especially the older one. He had that look in his eye, the know-it-all grin. He was definitely up to no good. But hell, everyone who comes through those doors—present company excepted—looks like they’re up to no good. Who comes to a dump like this? People hiding from their past, people hiding from their wives, their husbands, from their parents. We get a lot of losers who bring their broads here ’cause they’re still living at home.”
He cracked his knuckles again. “I checked their ID and then I registered them. After that, I minded my own business.”
Decker said, “It would be very bad for business to have the police raiding this place for contributing to the delinquency of a minor—”
“Come on, Sergeant,” Willy whined. “I told you the kid’s ID said eighteen. I’m not required to ask for a birth certificate—”
“Close you down for a couple of months, not to mention all the fines—”
“I’m just trying to make a living,” the clerk said. “What do you want from me?”
“For starts, why don’t you show me their bill,” Decker said.
“I’m not required to do that,” Willy said. “But to show you how anxious I am to cooperate with the law, I’ll be happy to show you their bill.”
The clerk sifted through a file, then pulled out a computerized slip of paper. On it was a record of phone calls. Decker pulled out a pen and his notebook and started to copy down the numbers.
Willy said, “Don’t bother. I can tell you what all these calls are. These nine-seven-six numbers are porno lines. They made five calls to them. This number…it’s an outcall service. I think this one belongs to Embassy Girls. This is Joe Bittelli’s number. He owns Wong Lee Mandarin-Style Cuisine. Guess the boys ordered some Chinese takeout.”
Decker copied down the number of Embassy Girls. He said, “The girls come here?”
Willy shrugged and said, “Guy wants a massage in his room, I can’t stop him.”
Decker tossed him a dirty look.
Willy said, “People come here to be unwholesome. I don’t help them do it.”
“Right,” Decker said. “And you’re just trying to earn an honest buck.”
“I don’t get any kickback from the girls,” the clerk said. “These guys want to call up a young lady, I don’t make a dime off of them.”
Decker shook his head. “What can you tell me about the young lady who was sent up?”
“No one passed through the lobby. However, a couple of months ago I did happen to notice a blonde walking around the back…musta been around six. Hard to miss. She was wearing white hot pants and a halter top. My first reaction was that she must be freezing her ass off.” He looked at Rina and apologized. “But then I saw she was well-endowed in certain places and thought maybe all those extra pounds were keeping her warm.”
“You noticed all this in the dark?”
“I got some lighting in the back,” Willy said. “Security purposes. I could see her well enough. Like I said, I’m farsighted. But I’ll be honest. I wasn’t looking at the face.”
Decker looked at the motel bill again. “What are these charges for?”
“Using the in-house adult TV channel,” Willy said. “The boys watched three movies. Three’s about an average day’s worth of viewing. Seen one, seen them all.”
Decker asked if there were any more charges made to their room. Willy answered none that he knew of.
“Did they ever leave the room, go somewhere?” Decker asked.
“I didn’t pay attention to their comings and goings,” Willy said. “The day they checked in, the younger kid brought out this big bag and asked me where he could do the laundry. I directed him to a spot a block and a half down the road.”
“I want to take a look at the room,” Decker said.
“You can, but it’s been cleaned,” Willy said. “You know, my maid usually doesn’t mention the state of the rooms after the people leave.” He looked at Rina and lowered his voice. “I mean, she’s used to all sorts of smells, if you know what I’m talking about.”
“I know what you’re talking about.”
“But she did mention to me that their room had a very fishy smell in it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Dirty sex can be very fishy-smelling but she said the odor was out of the ordinary.”
Decker thought back to the apartment in Flatbush. The bits of home-cooked fish in the garbage. “Did she find any remnants of fish lying around?”
“She didn’t say,” Willy said. “And believe me, she don’t check the trash. The woman cleans with thick gloves. But I thought I’d pass that bit of info on to you. Just to show you that I’m cooperative.”
“If you wanted to be Mr. Joe Citizen, you should have called the cops the moment you saw those two walk through the door.”
“On what basis?” Willy said. “Yeah, maybe the kid looked a little scared, maybe he even looked stoned. So what? How many scared or stoned kids you see in this town, Sergeant? How many are you gonna stop and ask what’s wrong?”
“I don’t see a lot of kids checking into a dump like this,” D
ecker said.
“That’s ’cause you don’t work here,” Willy said, suddenly assertive. “Know what I see? I see exactly what you see, Sergeant. The leftovers.”
Embassy Girls was nothing more than a name. All its calls were routed through a tiny little shack discreetly labeled Ace Messenger Service. The service, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a printer that advertised FAX MACHINES AVAILABLE, was located on Aviation Boulevard, a half mile south of the airport. Looking at the place, Rina would never have suspected it was a front for outcall services although all the blinds were drawn tight. She sat in the unmarked, listening to the cars on the 405 freeway whizzing by, waiting for Peter to finish up.
She wished she had brought Ginger for company.
Ten minutes later, Peter appeared with a smile on his face. If Rina hadn’t known better, she would have been jealous. He opened the driver’s door and slid in.
“Did you find the massage girl?” Rina asked.
“I found her.” He turned the ignition key and the motor charged up. “Caught her just before she was about to go out.”
“Was she well-endowed?” Rina asked.
“Clint didn’t lie,” Decker said.
“One of your more enjoyable interrogations?”
“Rina, this isn’t my idea of a good time. I’d gladly trade looking at a pair of large breasts for a little peace and quiet.”
Rina patted his hand. “What did she say?”
“Well, she identified Hersh immediately,” Decker said. “Noam she was less sure of. Apparently, he was in the bathroom the whole time. Out of choice. She said Hersh offered to pay for her to…well, ‘to do the kid’ was the way she put it. But Noam refused.”
“Boruch Hashem for that!” Rina shook her head. “Peter, he must be so scared.”
“I’m sure he is,” Decker said. “According to the girl, Hersh—or rather Hank—loves his knives. And he loves fish.”
“What do you mean?”
Decker said, “Hersh had the hooker bring up a whole monkfish. Then he butterflied it while she performed oral sex.”
Rina buried her head in her hands. “That’s disgusting!”
“It’s out of the ordinary,” Decker said.
“It’s perverted,” Rina said.
“Yeah, I guess it’s pretty weird.”
“Pretty weird?”
At least he didn’t hurt anyone, Decker thought. Except the fish. But he was assuming the fish was dead. But maybe not. If Hersh dissected a live fish while getting a blow job—now that would be really disgusting.
Rina was looking out the window.
“How about you staying home tomorrow and resting?” Decker said.
“Sounds good to me.”
Decker couldn’t get his mind off the fish. What had Hersh done with it after he had butterflied it? He thought of the fried fish found in Hersh’s New York apartment. Could he and Noam have eaten it? Hersh and fish. The connection was eluding him.
It was almost six-thirty. By the time he took Rina back home, he’d have just enough time to shower and eat and be ready for Marge by eight.
“I feel like doing something productive,” Rina said. “Maybe I’ll bake a cake while you’re gone. A cake can be very life-affirming.”
“I can think of other activities that are life-affirming,” Decker said.
“You have time?” Rina said.
“For you? Always!”
“I can’t do it,” Noam insisted. “I won’t do it.”
“Will you keep your trap shut?”
“I can’t do it—”
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Hank told him.
Jesus M. Christ, the kid was having another shit fit. Just what he needed. Here he was in another sleazy hotel room with the kid having a shit fit. What did it take to get something done around here?
He took a deep breath. The heater was bad, but it wasn’t that cold outside. He could live with a faulty heater. What pissed him off were all the bums downstairs. Who wants to look out the window and see bums pissin’ on the sidewalk? Even the first dump didn’t have bums.
But the room was cheap and they were within walking distance to the place. He’d staked it out and it was perfect. Queer businessmen meeting after hours at a secret fag bar. Great targets ’cause they were all in the closet. Churchgoing men. Married with kiddies, some of them even grandfathers.
Rocky John had told him about the spot. Hank remembered him grinning when he explained the deal.
Think they’d ever admit they were rolled by a hustler?
Last Hank heard, Rocky had been busted for multiple B and Es. Hank had learned a shitload from him. He wondered if he’d ever see Rocky again.
A Wall Street fag bar, Rocky had called it. Hank had sneaked out last night when Nick-O was asleep. But he had taken all of Nicky’s clothing just in case. He had found several marks that looked good. The one he had in mind had an office right near the bar. Perfect setup—if the mark would show up tonight. If not, well, he’d just find someone else and wing it.
“Listen to me, Nick-O,” Hank said, softly. “I’m not sayin’ you have to do somethin’ with it. Just wave it in front of the mark’s face and I’ll do all the hard part.”
“I can’t—”
“Listen, for chrissakes,” Hank said. “I’m the one that’s doin’ all the hard stuff. I’m the one that’s gonna bait him, bring him to the spot. Man, all you hafta do is wave the gun. You can even wear a mask, Nick-O. I wouldn’t make you do anything dangerous.”
“I just can’t do it,” Noam said.
“Stop saying that!” Hank shouted. “You’re making me pissed off!”
Noam stopped protesting. He felt his limbs shake. And the tears come back. “I can’t take this anymore, Hank. I wanna go home—”
“You what?” It came out a whisper.
“I want to go home,” Noam said. “Just let me go, I won’t say anything about you—”
“I didn’t hear you right, did I?” Hank said.
Noam didn’t answer.
“’Cause if you said you want to go home, ’cause if you said that, know what I have to say to you?”
Noam remained silent.
“I’m gonna say I’m pissed off. And you know what I do when I’m pissed off?”
“Stop threatening me,” Noam managed to say.
“What’d you say?” Hank asked, incredulously.
“I said stop threatening me,” Noam repeated.
Hank bit his lip. “Fine. You want to go…go.”
Noam didn’t move.
“Go on, hotshot…Go.” He pushed Noam by his shoulder. “Go…go, go, go on. Dafuck outta here before I cut your balls off.”
Noam didn’t move.
Hank said, “See how fuckin’ far you’ll get without me. What’ll you do for food, hotshot? Where ya gonna sleep tonight? You think you can just call home and all your piddlyshit problems will be solved?”
He shoved Noam.
“That what you think?”
Another shove. Harder. It hurt his chest.
“Huh?” Hank yelled out. “Huh?”
Hank slammed him against the wall. Noam slid down, holding his head, crumbling into a pile of loose bones.
Hank pinned him down to the floor. “Whaddaya think your mama’s gonna say to you, huh? Welcome back, sonny boy? That what you think she’s gonna say? Whaddaya think the rabbaim are gonna say? Know what they’re gonna do? They are gonna lay this…this biggest guilt trip on your head. They’re gonna tell you what a rotten kid you are and how you fucked up for life for doing such a terrible thing to your parents. Then everybody in the whole community is gonna stare at you like you’re some freak. The girls are gonna laugh at you. ‘There goes weirdobrain No-am. What a jerk! What a freak!’ And the boys—they ain’t gonna be no better. They’ll be laughin’ just as hard. No one will talk to you. Everyone’ll treat you like you got boils on your face. Like you’re nothin’ but a disease. You’re gonna be one big embarrassment to
your whole family.”
He jerked Noam up by the arms and pushed him to the door. “So go, if that’s what you want. Go ahead, hotshot! Go! GO!”
Noam burst into tears, letting out huge gulps of sorrow. Hank pulled the teenager into his arms and rocked him.
“Hey, guy,” Hank said. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Noam sobbed on Hank’s shoulder.
Hank said, “I know how you feel. And maybe I don’t got enough patience all the time. But let me tell you this, Nick-O. You’re my buddy. You can trust me. Hey, everything you’re feelin’…they crapped on me too, man. My parents. The rabbis givin’ me nothin’ but grief. I know the scene ’cause I’ve been there. Shit, all of them loonies. Only one who was ever nice was my zeyde.”
Noam stopped crying and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
“My bubbe’s nice,” Noam said.
“Yeah, but she’s probably an old lady by now,” Hank said. “How long you think she’s gonna last? Then she croaks and you’re all alone again. Believe me, I know.”
Noam didn’t know. Bubbe didn’t seem sickly, but she was old. He used to talk to her all the time. But then his brothers teased him about talking to her so he stopped. And when he stopped talking, so did she.
“You think I brought you out here to jump fags?” Hank said. “Hey, this is only temporary. Insurance is still dickin’ around with my money. But I’ll get it. And then you and me can live in style. But we need some bread now, man. You gotta help me. We’re in this together, you know.”
Noam nodded.
“Hey, that’s what I like to see,” Hank said. “We’re like brothers, know what I mean?”
Again, Noam nodded. But deep inside he knew something wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be talking to Hersh, he should be talking to his mother or uncle or aunt. Or Bubbe. But they never listened to him. Hersh…at least, he would listen. Or seemed to be listening. Vey is mir, he was so confused. His head hurt from the bang on the wall. His hands were shaking. All he wanted to do was curl up and die.
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