by Hangman
“Hmm…it’s not going to explode on me, is it?”
“It’s a watch, not a weapon.”
“In your hands, everything’s a weapon.”
Donatti didn’t deny that. Decker told him to keep his hands up and his body against the wall. He slowly backed up a few inches to give himself some room. With an eye on his hands at all times, Decker began to remove the ammo from Donatti’s guns.
“You can turn around but keep your hands up.”
“You’re the boss.”
He rotated his body until they were face-to-face. Stripped of his weapons, Chris seemed impassive. There was flatness in his eyes; blue without any luminosity. It was impossible to tell if he was angry or amused.
One thing was certain. Chris had seen better days. His skin was patchy and wan and his forehead was a pebble garden of pimples. He’d grown out his hair from the crew cut he had sported a half-dozen years ago; the last time Decker had seen him in the flesh. It was brushed straight back, Count Dracula style, and trimmed to the bottom of his ears. He was still built lanky but with bigger arms than Decker had remembered. He had dressed up for the reunion, wearing a blue polo shirt, charcoal gabardine pants, and Croc boots.
“I’m starting to get a little pain in my arms.”
“Lower them slowly.”
He did. “Now what?”
“Take a seat. Move slowly. When you move slowly, I move slowly. If you rush me, I shoot first and ask questions later.” When Donatti started to sit on the chair, Decker stopped him. “On the sofa, please.”
Donatti cooperated and plopped down on the cushions. Decker tossed him his watch. He caught it one-handed and placed it back on his wrist. “Is she even here?”
“She’s in the bedroom.”
“That’s a start. Is she coming out?”
“When I give her the okay, she’ll come out.”
“Where’s Gabe?”
“He’s not here,” Decker said.
“That’s probably better.” Donatti dropped his head in his hands. He resurfaced a moment later. “I suppose your being here makes sense.”
“Thanks for your approval.”
“Look. I’m not going to do anything.”
“Why the armory, then?”
“I always pack. Can I talk to my wife now?”
Decker stood at the marble countertop of the hotel bar, the Beretta still in his hands. “A couple of ground rules. Number one: you stay seated the entire time. Don’t approach her in any way, shape, or form. And no sudden movements. It makes me jumpy.”
“Agreed.”
“Mind your mouth and your manners and I’m sure everything will go swimmingly.”
“Yeah…sure.” His voice was a whisper.
“You look a little pale. You want some water?” He opened the bar. “Something stronger?”
“Whatever.”
“Macallan, Chivas, Glenfiddich—”
“Glenfiddich neat.” A moment later, Decker handed him a crystal cut glass with a healthy dose of Scotch. Donatti took a delicate sip and then drank a finger’s worth. “Thanks. This helps.”
“You’re welcome.” Decker regarded the man. “Your color’s coming back.”
“I haven’t had a drink all day.”
“It’s only twelve in the afternoon.”
“It’s almost happy hour New York time. I didn’t want her to think I’m weak. But I am.” Another sip. “She knows I’m weak. What the fuck!”
“Watch your mouth.”
“If my mouth was my only problem, I’d be in good shape.” He handed Decker his empty glass.
“Another?” When Donatti shook his head, Decker closed the cabinet. “What happened?”
“What happened is I’m an idiot.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I’ve always had reading comprehension problems.”
“You’re missing a crucial element here, Chris. You don’t use your wife as a punching bag even if she did have an abortion.”
“I didn’t punch her, I hit her.”
“That’s not acceptable either.”
Donatti rubbed his forehead. “I know that. I’m just correcting you because I knew I was using an open hand. If I would have punched her, she’d be dead.”
“So you were aware that you were beating the shit out of her?”
“It’s never happened before, it won’t happen again.”
“And she should believe you because…”
“I can count the number of times I’ve lost my temper on one hand. Look, I know she’s scared, but she doesn’t have to be. It was just…” As he started to get up from the couch, Decker waved the gun in his face. He sat back down. “Can I see my wife, please?”
“At least, this time you said please.” Decker stared at him. “Let me ask you a couple of theoretical questions. What if she doesn’t want to talk to you?”
“She wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if she didn’t want to talk to me.”
“Maybe she just didn’t want to tell you over the phone. That would give you time to plan something dangerous and probably stupid.”
“Is that what she said?” Donatti looked up.
“How about if I ask the questions?”
“I’m not planning anything. I was an idiot. It won’t happen again. Just let me see my wife, okay.”
“What if she doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if she asks for a divorce?”
“Don’t know.” Donatti kneaded his hands together. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“It would piss you off, right?”
“Probably.”
“What would you do?”
“Nothing with you around.” His eyes finally sparked life. “Decker, she’s not going to ask me for a divorce—at least not now—because, first and foremost, I’ve got enough money to engage her in a very expensive and protracted legal battle for Gabe. It would be easier for her just to wait me out until he’s eighteen, and Terry is nothing if not practical. I’ve got another three and a half years before I have to confront this issue. I’d like to see Terry now.”
He was panting. Decker said, “Another Scotch?”
“No.” Donatti shook his head. “I’m fine.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m ready when you are.”
Decker gave him a hard look. “I’ll be watching your every move.”
“Fine. I won’t move. My butt is glued to the chair. Can we get on with it?”
There was no sense putting off the inevitable. Decker called out her name. He had placed Terry’s chair to the side so he had a clear path from the barrel of his gun to Donatti’s brain. Not that he really expected a shoot-’em-up, but Decker was a Boy Scout and a cop and always tried to be prepared. Terry had curled her legs under her long dress, but her posture was erect and regal. Again, she was sleeveless, her long tanned arms adorned with several bangles. Her eyes were on Donatti’s face even though he was the one who had trouble meeting her gaze.
“You look good,” he told her.
“Thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
“Okay.”
“How’s Gabe?”
“He’s fine.”
Donatti exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. Then he focused on her face. “What can I do for you?”
“Interesting question,” she told him. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
He scratched his cheek. “I’ll do anything.”
“Can I quote you on that?” Before he could answer, she said, “I’m not ready to come back with you.”
Donatti folded his hands in his lap. “Okay. Are you ever going to be ready?”
“Possibly…probably. Just not now.”
“Okay.” Chris glanced at Decker. “Could we get a little privacy, please?”
“Not gonna happen.” Decker held up the flowers. “He brought you these.”
Terry glanced at the lilies. “I’ll call for a vase later.” To Chris, she said, “They’re lovely. Thank you.”
“In California or here in the hotel?”
“I was thinking away from me, but yeah, how much longer are you going to be here, too.”
“I don’t know.”
“A month? Two months?”
“Longer than that.” She licked her lips.
“That’s getting a little on the expensive side. I mean, not that I’m begrudging you the money…”
“It is expensive,” Terry said. “I want to rent a house. Technically you’d be renting it. I saw one that I’d like. I’m just waiting for you to write the check.”
Decker was amazed at how confidently she spoke, daring him to deny her anything.
“Where?” Donatti asked.
“Beverly Hills. Where else?”
As she started to stand, Decker said, “What can I get for you?”
“I’m a little thirsty.”
“You sit back down. What would you like?”
“Pellegrino, no ice.”
“Not a problem. What about you, Chris?”
“Same.”
“Give him a Scotch,” Terry said.
“I’m fine, Terry.”
“Did I say you weren’t?” she snapped back. “Give him a Scotch.”
Donatti threw up his hands. Decker said, “No problem just as long as both of you stay put.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Donatti said testily. As soon as the Scotch reached his lips, he seemed to calm down. “So…tell me about this house that I’m renting.”
“It’s in an area called the Flats, which is prime real estate here. It’s twelve thousand a month—about as minimal as it gets for that neighborhood. It needs a little work, but it’s certainly live-in ready. The main reason I chose Beverly Hills was for the school district, which is a good one.”
“No problem,” Donatti said. “Whatever you want.”
Judging by this conversation, it would seem that Terry was in control of the relationship. Maybe she was most of the time. Obviously most didn’t equate to all.
Donatti said, “Do I get a key?”
“Of course you get a key. You’re renting it.”
“And how long do you intend to live out here…in the house that I’m renting?”
“Usually leases are for a year.”
“That’s a long time.”
Terry leaned forward. “Chris, I’m not asking for a legal separation just a physical one. After what happened, that’s the least you can do.”
“I’m not arguing with you, Terry, I’m just trying to get an idea of how long. If you want a year, take a year. It’s about you, not me.”
She was silent. Then she said, “You’ll know where I am, you’ll have a key to the house. Come whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere. Fair enough?”
“More than fair.” Donatti forced his lips upward. “It’s not bad for me to have a hitching post on the West Coast anyway. It’s probably a good idea.”
“So I did you a favor.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Twelve thousand a month. How big is this sucker?”
Terry gave him a smile—a cross between humor and flirtatiousness. “It has four bedrooms, Chris. I think we can work something out.”
Donatti’s smile turned genuine. “Okay.” He took a sip of his booze, then laughed. “Okay. If that’s what you want…fine. Maybe you’ll actually miss me when I’m gone.”
“You can dream.”
“Very funny.”
“Are you hungry?” Terry’s eyes ran up and down his body. “You lost weight.”
“I’ve been a little anxious.”
“How would you know what anxiety feels like?”
Donatti looked at Decker, his eyes unreadable. “The girl’s a wit.”
“Are you hungry, Chris?” Terry asked him.
“I could eat.”
“They have a world-class restaurant.” She glanced at a diamond wristwatch sitting among her gold bracelets. “It’s open. I wouldn’t mind something.”
“Great.” He started to stand, but then looked at Decker. “Can I get up without you shooting me?”
“Go down to the restaurant and get something for the two of you, Chris. Get a table next door for me. We’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
Donatti’s expression turned sour. “We’ll be in a public place, Decker. Nothing’s going to happen. How about a little privacy?”
“I’ll be sitting at another table,” Decker said. “Whisper if you don’t want me to hear. Go ahead. We’ll meet you there.”
Donatti rolled his eyes. “Do I get my steel back?”
“Eventually,” Decker said.
“You can keep the ammo, just give me the pieces.”
“Eventually.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Coldcock you?”
“I wasn’t even thinking along those lines, but now that you mention it, you are unpredictable.”
He turned to Terry. “Do you care if I pack?”
“It’s up to him,” Terry said.
“They’re worthless without ammo.” When Decker didn’t reply, Chris said, “C’mon. It would show good faith. All I’m asking for is what’s mine.”
“I hear you, Chris.” Decker opened the door. “But you can’t always get what you want.”
The two men faced off. Then Donatti shrugged. “Whatever.” He swaggered through the door without looking back.
Decker shook his head. “That’s one icy dude.” He regarded Terry. “You handled him very well.”
“I hope so. At the very least, it’ll buy me some time to think.”
Decker noticed she was shaking. “Are you all right, Terry?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little…” Perspiration dripped from her forehead. She wiped her face with a tissue. “You know what they say, Lieutenant.” Nervous laughter. “Never let them see you sweat.”
CHAPTER THREE
AS LONG AS Decker was in the city—about twenty miles from his front door—Rina made reservations to meet for dinner at one of the many kosher restaurants along Pico Boulevard. They left her parents’ house at six, and a half hour later, they were in a booth, sipping glasses of Côtes du Rhône. Although Peter wasn’t a big talker, tonight he seemed unusually subdued, so Rina was happy to carry on the bulk of the conversation. Maybe Peter was hungry. She figured he’d join in when the mood hit. But even after polishing off his rib steak, fries, and salad, he remained quiet.
“What’s going on inside that cranium of yours?” Rina finally asked.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“See, that’s where you females mess up. Whenever we men don’t talk, you ascribe it to some deep inner meditation we’re having with ourselves. In my case, I was thinking about dessert—whether it was worth the calories.”
“If you’d like, we can split something.”
“Which means I eat ninety percent.”
“How about we forgo the desert and just have some coffee. You look a little beat.”
“Do I?” Decker stroked his red-and-gray mustache as if he was thinking of something profound. While his facial hair still retained some of its youthful, fiery color, his head hair was more white than orange, but there was still plenty of it.
He smiled at his wife. Rina had changed to a deep purple satin dress that she kept in her mother’s closet. Although she was way too religious to ever show cleavage, the neckline did accentuate her lovely throat. He had given her a pair of two-carat diamond studs for her forty-fifth birthday and she wore them every chance she got. He loved to see her in expensive things, even though with his paycheck, that didn’t happen very often. “I guess I am a little tired.”
“Then let’s just go home.”
“No, no. I could use a cup of coffee.”
“Okay.” Rina touched his hands. “You’re not just tired, you’re bothered. What happened this afternoon?”
“I told you. Everything went smoothly.”
“And yet you remain perplexed.”
Decker chose his words. “When she talked to him…she appeared confident…clearly in control.”
“Maybe she was with you around.”
“I’m sure there was some of that. And he was contrite, so she had a certain amount of free rein. I don’t know, Rina. She was bossy almost. When they had lunch, she did most of the talking.”
“You could hear them?”
“I could see them. She clearly dominated their conversation.”
“Maybe when she gets nervous, she talks.”
“Could be. Before we met him for lunch, we spoke a few minutes. All of a sudden she started shaking and broke out in a cold sweat.”
“So there you go.”
“But there was something else, Rina. If I didn’t know any of the backstories, I would have sworn she was acting flirtatious at lunch—downright sexy. Something was strange.”
“What’s so strange? She likes him.”
“He beat her up six weeks ago.”
“She knows what he is and there’s still something about him that she finds attractive. She makes poor choices. That’s what got her into the situation to begin with. No one told her that she had to visit him in jail and have sex with him without birth control.”
“She’s not a stupid girl, Rina. She’s a conscientious mother and she’s an emergency care physician.”
“Like all of us, she has positive aspects and some blind spots. In Terry’s case, her weaknesses are harmful.” She leaned forward. “But like I said this morning, Peter, this isn’t our problem. You were hired help. She paid you money and you did your job. How about letting go?”
“You’re right.” Decker sat up and kissed her hand. “We’re out to dinner and you deserve a noncomatose husband.”
“How about some coffee now?”
“Coffee would be great!” Decker grinned. “I’d even go for dessert.”
“How about the peach pie?”
“Peach pie, it is. Dare we order it with vanilla ice cream or whatever frozen concoction they make up to simulate the real deal?”
Rina smiled. “Sure, let’s go crazy.”
THE CELL PHONE went off just as the car had crested the 405 freeway and began to dip into the San Fernando Valley. Mountains on either side made reception spotty. Since Decker was driving, Rina took the phone from his coat pocket.
