Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 03

by Milk;Honey

  “Get your hands off of me,” Abel said.

  “Just cool off—”

  “I said, get your hands off of me.”

  “I will as soon as you calm down.”

  Abel whacked Decker’s arm off his shoulder. Then sudden force and change of equilibrium threw Decker off balance. Abel backed up two feet and arched like a threatened feline. “When I say take your fucking hands off me, I mean now, pal. I may be a gimp, but I’m still your peer.”

  Decker turned red. “I just meant—-”

  “You just meant, you just meant,” Abel mocked him.

  “Oh, fuck off,” Decker said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to defend my intentions. Yeah, you’re a gimp, Abe. But worse than being a physical gimp, you’re an emotional gimp—”

  “Oh my God!” Abel waved his hands into the air. “You’ve given me sudden insight!”

  Decker felt his body about to explode. Quietly, he said, “I’m sick of you, I’m sick of your mouth, I’m sick of your problems. Get some other sucker to bail you out. Just get out of my life.” He slung the envelope against Abel’s chest. “I don’t need the bread. Go spend it on your goddam whores.”

  Abel let the money fall to the ground, stroked his beard, and let out a strange smile. He cocked his hip and said, “Now ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black. Way I remember it, I was always the one draggin’ your ass out of the hooches.”

  “That’s because you were the one draggin’ my ass into the hooches.”

  “I never heard you complain any, Decker.”

  “You were too busy sniffing for poontang to hear.”

  “Jealous of my rate of success?”

  “Fuck off, Atwater,” Decker said. “Just ’cause we toured together, don’t start painting me with your brush.”

  “Hey, Decker, your memory gears need some oiling. I recall you having a right fine time in Bangkok—”

  “Man, I didn’t want to go to Bangkok. You wanted to go to Bangkok!” Decker was shouting now. “I wanted to go to Hawaii! All I wanted to do was sit on a beach without getting my ass blown off. Nuh-huh, that’s not good enough for PFC Atwater. Honest Abe wants excitement. Nam’s not exciting enough, mind you, he’s got to have more. No fucking way was Bangkok my idea. Bangkok was your idea!”

  “So if you wanted to go to Hawaii, why didn’t you fucking well go to Hawaii?”

  “You want me to tell you why?” Decker screamed.

  “Yeah, tell me why!” Abel screamed back.

  “I’ll tell you why!”

  “Fucking tell me why!”

  “I went to Bangkok ’cause you wanted gash, and gash was cheaper in Bangkok!”

  “Well, you didn’t do so bad in the Bangkok gash department yourself!”

  “How would you know what the fuck I was doing? You were too busy humping like a mutt in heat.”

  “Not too busy to notice you taking some slant slit up to your room. I seem to recall three days passing before you let the poor thing surface for air!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Decker saw Rina standing by the back door. Her hand was over her mouth, her eyes just staring at him.

  How much had she heard?

  He felt himself go feverish with shame, hot with rage. In a blind anger, he jumped Abel, both of them tumbling to the ground.

  “You talk with respect around my woman!” Decker yelled, as he tried to pin Abel down. But Abel was stronger than he looked. He took his cane and rammed it into Decker’s solar plexus. Decker doubled over, but managed to shove his own elbow full force into Abel’s gut. The punch winded Abel, but it didn’t dull his reflexes. He saw Decker come at him with his fist, rolled over, and heard Decker scream as his fingers hit dirt. He whacked Decker across the back with his cane at the same time that Decker grabbed his hair.

  Decker picked Abel’s head up by the roots of his hair, and was prepared to slam him against the ground when he felt light pummeling on his back—like a gentle rubdown. The fuck? he thought. Then he heard her—Rina screaming at him.

  “Stop it!” she shrieked. “Stop it, both of you! Stop it right now!”

  Decker let go of Abel’s hair.

  “Are you out of your mind, Peter!” Rina was hysterical. Decker felt her gripping his shirt. “Get off of him! Get…off.” She yanked his shirt so hard, it ripped, and she stumbled backward.

  Abel burst into laughter, Decker tried to contain himself but was unsuccessful. He rolled onto his back and broke into loud guffaws.

  Rina glared at them, a piece of fabric in her hands, huffing from the exertion. Two idiots, holding their stomachs and howling with delight, squirming on the ground like infants. They were infants. No, infants had more sense. They were little naughty boys, like her sons after they’d played a trick on her.

  Good old Mom. The butt of all the jokes. One part of her wanted to stalk off, another part of her wanted to join in the fun. Yet she knew from her own kids, it would spoil their little game if she laughed with them. She maintained her stern expression.

  “You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said as seriously as she could.

  Just as Rina thought, they laughed harder. She shook her head. “Absolutely ashamed at such outrageous, infantile behavior.” She turned on her heels and waited until she was inside before her scowl turned into a grin.

  Abel’s laughter had become so hard, tears were rolling down his eyes. “Boy, are you in trouble!”

  “Big trouble,” Decker said.

  “Real big trouble,” Abel said. “As in: Forget about getting laid.”

  Decker frowned. “No. Not that much trouble.”

  “That’s what you think,” Abel said. “She was pissed.”

  “Yeah,” Decker said. “She was.” His laughter had subsided now. “I think she was upset, but not that upset.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re deluding yourself that you’ve still got a chance,” Abel said.

  Decker smiled.

  They were quiet for a minute, the two of them on the ground looking up at the hot bluebell sky, the sun cooking their faces. Abel let out a small chuckle and said, “Hell, if I lost a night with her, I’d be pretty upset, too.” He faced Decker and said, “She’s a beautiful woman, Doc. Nice inside as well as out. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Decker said. He gave Abel another smile, but this one lacked warmth.

  “Scares the shit out of you, don’t it?” Abel said.

  “What do you mean?” Decker asked.

  “I mean, you must keep asking yourself, ‘What the fuck does she see in me?’”

  Decker sighed. “You’re a perceptive sucker, know that?”

  “I just know how it is,” Abel said. “It’s scary when they’re that beautiful…that smart. It’s almost…a curse. ’Cause if you lose them, you’re a goner.”

  “I try not to think in those terms,” Decker answered.

  Decker’s voice held tension; Abel didn’t respond. A minute of silence passed. Abel closed his eyes, let the heat nurture his aching heart. “Just do me one favor, huh, Doc?”

  “What’s that?”

  “If Rina’s ever interested in a cheap thrill,” Abel said, “send her to me.”

  “I send her to you, Abe, she’s gonna get spoiled.”

  Abel laughed.

  Decker said, “So what gives, PFC Atwater? You going to join the human race, or what?”

  “I’ll stick it out as a what.”

  They both laughed.

  “Keep the money,” Abel said.

  “I don’t want the money,” Decker said. “Buy yourself a good lawyer.”

  “They switched PDs on me,” Abel said. “The new one I have isn’t too bad, she’s already talking about plea bargaining. Buy something nice for your woman. A bouquet of flowers can go a long way.”

  “I don’t think Rina can be bought so easily.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Abel said. “Tell you what, Doc, I’ll buy her some flowers and you tell her it’s from the both of us
.”

  “Settled.” Decker stood up, offered Abel his hand, then pulled him up. “Tell your PD to call me. At home.”

  “What gives?” Abel tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but he could tell by the expression on Decker’s face that he hadn’t.

  Calmly, Decker answered, “Abe, I’m in a precarious position, doing what I’m doing for you.” Precarious wasn’t the word for it. He was doing a fatal balancing act, playing cop to get dope for the defense. Pete the Mole. It didn’t have a nice ring to it. He exhaled forcibly, then said, “The less you know, the better. Just have her call me, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, Pete. And listen to me, don’t get yourself in the shithole for my sake—”

  “Stuff it, Atwater.” Decker rubbed his shoulder. “You pack a mean wallop for a gimp.”

  “Know what I want to do right now?” Abel said.

  “What?”

  “Go one-on-one with you.”

  Decker burst into newfound laughter.

  “I’m serious,” Abel said.

  “Come on, Abe—”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Abe, we’re over forty, and it’s hot outside.”

  “Since when did you become an old fart?”

  “Since I met Rina and realized I wanted to stick around a long time.”

  “I’ll play you easy.”

  Neither one spoke for a moment.

  “I’ll tie a hand behind my back,” Abel said. “One leg, one hand, can’t get much easier than that, Decker.”

  “You really want to do this,” Decker said.

  “You bet your sweet ass I do.”

  “It’s a macho thing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay.” Decker wiped off the seat of his pants. “Okay. We’ll drive down to MacGrady Park and rent a basketball. I don’t keep any around anymore. Just let me brush down the horse and tell Rina what’s going on.”

  “You report to your honey,” Abel said. “I’ll take care of the horse.”

  Decker nodded. As he walked to the house, he wondered what Rina was going to say to him. He found her peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. She put down the peeler, wiped her hands on her apron, and gave him a disapproving shake of her head.

  “Are you pissed at me?” he asked.

  Rina said, “Peter, he’s a cripple, for godsake!”

  “You don’t have to worry about Abel,” Decker said. “He can take care of himself.”

  “You acted completely childish. Both of you. You were talking as if those things happened yesterday instead of what, twenty years ago?”

  “About,” Decker said.

  “Amazing.”

  “It’s like this, Rina,” Decker said. “No matter how old you are, the minute you step into your parents’ home, you become their kid. And you play into it, too. Mom serves you, scolds you for putting your feet on the table. And no matter how independent you are, you sit there like a lump and take it all. That’s how it is with Abel and me. We met each other as adolescents, and we act adolescent together.”

  She threw up her hands. “Is he gone?”

  “No. He wants to play some basketball down at MacGrady Park—”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “He thinks we’re still twenty.”

  “You told him no, didn’t you?” Rina said.

  Decker smiled at her, asking for approval without asking her directly.

  She let out a small laugh. “Have fun, boys.”

  Decker smoothed his mustache, tried to figure out how to say what was on his mind. “You know, as a kid I didn’t always have the swiftest of judgment.”

  Rina didn’t answer.

  “Even our forefathers weren’t immune,” Decker continued. “The commentaries tell us that Joshua married Rahav the whore—”

  “Oh, Peter, don’t get biblical on me. You don’t have to justify what you did.” She laughed again. “You mean I wasn’t the first?”

  “Hate to tell you, kid,” Decker said.

  “And all this time, I thought Cindy was hatched parthenogenetically.”

  Decker said, “She was hatched just like your boys.”

  Rina smiled, lowered her head, her eyes suddenly drifting away.

  Decker had seen the look before—sweet nostalgia for her late husband—and it bothered him. The first time he and Rina had slept together, she’d been extremely shy. Decker had known part of it was modesty, but he’d mistakenly thought that part of it had been innocence. After she’d become used to their nakedness, it had become painfully obvious to Decker that he had no new tricks to teach her. Suddenly, the roles had reversed, and now she was the one playing him like a virtuoso; all she’d needed had been a little practice to get her fingers nimble. As a matter of fact, he ranked Rina as one of his best, sharing the spot with such notables as a Vegas call girl and a twenty-five-year-old nympho named Candy he had once busted on a soliciting charge.

  Rina’s expertise really bothered him.

  It also put her late husband, Yitzchak, in a completely different light. Until he and Rina had sex, Decker had always assumed that the soft-spoken Talmudic scholar had lived a boring, modest life. Now, Decker found himself wondering about the duality of the guy. A Jewish Superman—a studious bochar by day, a stud by night.

  Rina certainly knew her way around a man’s body. And Decker knew there had been only one other man in her life. He was dying to ask her what Yitzchak had been like, but knew that was just the old ego begging for reassurance.

  Unsolicited, she had told Decker he was wonderful. But everything he did she said was wonderful. Decker hoped his lovemaking wasn’t as mediocre as his woodworking.

  The faraway look still held fast in Rina’s eyes. Decker’d had enough. He said, “You want to come with us?”

  “Huh?” Rina answered.

  “Yoo-hoo, space cadet.” He waved his hand in front of her eyes. “Want to come with us to the park? It’s not a great offer, but I bet it beats peeling potatoes.”

  Rina said, “Sure. Why not?”

  It took Abel a shorter time to deal with the horse than it did for Decker to deal with Rina. Twenty minutes later, Abel saw Decker and Rina come out of the house. He was carrying two six-packs of beer, she was carrying the car keys. She had pinned her hair under a kerchief, but her face was still as radiant as ever. She stopped in front of Abel and gave him a feigned sour look. It was all he could do to keep from laughing.

  “I’m coming for two reasons,” Rina said.

  “What’s that, ma’am?” Abel said.

  “One is Peter intends to consume beer, and I don’t want him drinking and driving at the same time.”

  “Fair enough,” Abel said. “And what’s reason number two, ma’am?”

  “Peter just taught me CPR,” Rina said. “That means I’m still a novice, so don’t test out my skill, please?”

  “No, ma’am,” Abel said. Meanwhile, all he could think about was her lips plastered to his, her breath filling his lungs. The image made him hard.

  22

  Opening the envelope, Decker frowned. Last Friday he’d requested all of Linda Darcy’s credit-card receipts. Visa had been the first to respond, sending him photocopies taken off of microfilm. The print was small and smeared, and Decker knew it would take him the entire morning to sift through the list. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a magnifying glass, unsure what he was looking for. But he trusted his intuition. If there was something of note, he’d note it.

  After three hours of hunching and squinting, Decker stretched and poured himself a cup of coffee, wishing it were Friday instead of Tuesday. But at least something interesting had turned up.

  Linda Darcy had paid for a room at the Sleepy-Bi Motel on Foothill Boulevard six times during the last year—the same motel she and Byron had gone to once upon a time. And a corollary pattern had become apparent. She had also purchased gas from the same service station—a Shell—on the same day she had paid for the motel room.
<
br />   She’d paid for the room.

  Let’s hear it for women’s lib.

  Decker sipped his coffee, then dialed the Sleepy-Bi Motel. A desk clerk with a nasal voice answered. Decker introduced himself and his mission, described Linda, and gave Mr. Nose Voice the dates of the trysts. The desk clerk reported back that a Mr. and Mrs. Smith had checked in all the given days, in room 211.

  Big surprise. Decker kept up the questioning.

  “Do you remember what this Mr. and Mrs. Smith look like?”

  “The missus sounds like the woman you described. Sexy little thing.”

  “And the man?”

  The nasal clerk punted the question, saying that in his line of business he tried to forget faces rather than remember them.

  Decker described Byron Howard, Rolland Mason. The clerk said he wasn’t sure, but as best he remembered, both those men didn’t sound like the man she was with. Decker thanked him and hung up.

  A washout.

  Ten minutes later, Decker dialed up the Shell station Linda had used. Maybe one of the pump boys remembered Linda and her anonymous beau. The man who answered the line identified himself as Grains. Decker started his pitch, mentioning Linda Darcy, and received an immediate unexpected reaction. Grains became defensive, dropped his voice to a whisper and asked, What about Linda?

  Bingo!

  Decker pressed on. Grains’s voice became edgier and edgier. Finally, Decker announced he was coming down to pay Grains a visit. Grains pleaded for a half-hour delay. He owned the station, one of his men was out sick, and he was up to his neck in work. Decker agreed to the grace period, and they arranged to meet at the McDonald’s across the street from the service station in thirty minutes.

  Grains was sitting at a corner table when Decker walked in. The service-station owner had a long face, sparse blond hair, bulging blue eyes, and callused hands with nails full of grease. He seemed to be around forty, thin, with a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed whenever he swallowed. He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with the name Jim embroidered in red thread over the breast pocket. Decker sat down in the chair next to him. Grains didn’t bother to look up.