by Stone Kiss
Her disappointment was audible. Decker said, “I promise.”
“And you’ll be careful?”
“Absolutely.”
“If you truly love your daughter, you’ll take extra precautions.”
“I will.”
“Am I going to see you before Hannah and I leave?”
“Yes, of course. I just have to finish up this business in Fort Lee; then I’ll come back to Brooklyn and take you two to the airport.”
“Are you in New Jersey now?”
“No, Jonathan and I are just leaving Quinton. I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the one to tell you.”
“It’s all right.”
“Was Chaim rude to you?”
“I didn’t speak to Chaim; I spoke to Raisie. She was wondering where you were. She told me that all of them were wondering where you were. If you’re in Quinton, why don’t they know where you are?”
“Because I’m not with them. I’m with Jonathan. We had to speak in private.”
“They said you left in a huff.”
“No.” Decker kept his patience. “Not in a huff, in a hurry. I thought it would be kinder to the family to let them grieve alone.”
But Rina was skeptical. He left because he had somewhere to go. But she didn’t push it.
Decker said, “Can you change my plane ticket or should I do it?”
“I can do it. I really wish you’d reconsider.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t last until Friday. But I’d like the option. Should I call up the airline?”
“I’ll do it, Peter.” She blew her nose. “All this arranging and rearranging. I should become a travel agent.”
“I’m sure you’d be the best.”
Rina smiled despite herself. “As long as you’re in Quinton, you should drop by Mr. Lieber’s house. I have a feeling the family would like to see you.”
“Why do you say that? Chaim practically kicked me out this morning.”
“Well, maybe Raisie would like to see you.”
“I can’t see anyone right now.” Two thirty-seven on his watch. “If we’re going to make it to the morgue in Jersey, we’re going to have to hustle. Jonathan has already spoken to Raisie, although she doesn’t know I’m in Quinton. Nobody does. Like I told you, Jon and I had to talk in private. Don’t mention my presence to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t think I’m well regarded by anyone over there,” Decker said.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ve got to go. See you in a couple of hours.”
He hung up before she could tell him to take care.
Rina picked up the packages from the floor of the phone booth and tried to regain her composure. She had been stunned by the news, by the way she had found out. Calling up Raisie just to find out if Peter was there. Hearing all the weeping in the background. It broke her inside and out.
Leaving the city earlier than planned, Rina knew that her ride back to Brooklyn wouldn’t be ready for a couple of hours, so she told her that she’d find her own way home. She had completely lost her desire to shop or eat or do anything other than mope. Her bags were as heavy as her heart, her entire body zapped of its vital juices. All she wanted to do was go into a private corner and weep.
She went through her wallet. There was enough for a cab, but what a waste of money. Instead, she consulted a bus schedule. It was a short hop, but with all the downtown traffic, who knew how long it would take her? She began a slow trudge over to the stop. Her shaytl felt like a helmet on her head, her shoulders aching from toting around pounds of outfits. Why did she always go so overboard? As if L.A. didn’t have children’s clothing? She was a hog, just buying because it was there and because it was cheap.
Where was her restraint?
Lugging her bags as she tried to negotiate a crowded sidewalk, evading the masses of human flesh, trying to pass without bumping into people who were bumping into her. If she were honest, she’d admit that she was thrilled to be leaving. How she wished that Peter would come with Hannah and her. She hoped he would be okay. She truly hop—
Without warning, she was thrust forward with such impetus that she tripped over her feet, her head abuzz from several loud background pings and pops. She found herself flattened against the hood of a parked car, her face smashed against the hard metal, pushed down by an arm. The motion was so sudden and carried out with so much intensity, she had bitten into her lip. Blood filled her mouth. Scarcely able to breathe because something or someone was pressing down on her, covering her, smothering her with horrible, heavy weight. The force of the crash had winded her, sending a deep, searing cramp into her belly. She was gasping for air.
Then, as quickly as she was crushed, she was liberated. Pulled upward and onto her feet—dazed and confused.
“I tripped,” Donatti was telling a crowd of onlookers. He looped his right arm around Rina and drew her against his chest. “Are you okay, darling?”
One second more and she would have yelled for help. Except a sensation stopped her…something warm and wet seeping into her coat. When she looked down, she saw his left hand gripping his jacket as blood was squirting out from a tear in his clothing. Her eyes grew several diameters as her brain integrated what those pings and pops had been. Her lips parted as she opened her mouth to scream.
Donatti grabbed her neck and kissed her hard on the mouth for what seemed like minutes. In fact, it was only a few seconds. But it did the trick. It shut her up.
“Thank God you’re okay!” He liberated a handful of Hannah’s clothing from one of Rina’s packages and wedged it between his jacket and shirt. Kissing her again before turning to the stragglers still gawking at Rina. “Do you fucking mind?”
Quickly, they dispersed, embarrassed by their own curiosity. Donatti pulled her closer, snaking his hand around her shoulder. “Let’s get a cab.”
It was clear to Rina that he was using her for support. She put her arm around his waist and hailed a cab, helping him in first. Then she got in beside him, handing him another handful of clothing. Donatti acknowledged the gesture with a nod, stuffing the clothes against his wound.
“I’ll pay you back—”
“Please.” She leaned over to the driver. “Where’s the nearest hospit—”
Donatti yanked her back in the seat, then gave the cabbie his home address. Rina was about to protest, but his eyes, reptilian and venomous, warned her off. Instead, she took out a red T-shirt and dabbed his wet forehead. He took the cloth from her and wiped his entire face. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, keeping his breathing as rhythmic and smooth as possible.
The ride seemed interminably long. Traffic was heavy and not a word was uttered between them. As they rode through the city, she noticed that he was inching farther and farther away from her until his head was plastered against the window. His bleeding seemed to have slowed. Or maybe he was just bleeding into the blob of clothing pressed against the wound.
Rina closed her own eyes.
Inevitably this too would end.
All things end.
But nowadays, the endings hadn’t been too good.
The coming of Mashiach? Better to have faith than to lose it.
Forty minutes later, the cab slowed as it pulled curbside. She opened her eyes, then reached into her purse. Donatti placed his hand over hers. With effort, he slipped his hand into his jacket, parting it just enough for Rina to see the gun. He pulled out his wallet, extracting from it two one-hundred-dollar bills. He leaned forward and snapped them in the driver’s face. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as a bullet.
“You take her to whatever address she gives you.”
“But—”
Donatti slapped a bloody hand over Rina’s mouth, then slowly brought it back to his side. “You take her to whatever address she gives you; then you forget you ever saw us. Do you know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir.” The man’s v
oice was a tremor of terror.
“You know who I am?”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“Who?”
“That man with that older man, the one with the trial… with the fancy lawyer…” His head was bobbing like a buoy. “I know, I know.”
“It’s good you know who I am,” Donatti said. “Because now I know who you are. You’re Faroom Narzerian. I bet you have a family, right?”
The head bouncing up and down as if on a spring.
“That’s good. It’s nice to have family.” Donatti picked up the cabbie’s hand and crushed the bills in his palm. “Now if you really forget who I am, then I will really forget who you are. But if you don’t forget, I have a very… long… memory. Know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir.”
He glanced at Rina, his eyes rolling in their sockets. He reached out to open the door. His hand was painted with blood. “Take care.”
Again she started to speak. Again Donatti smacked a hand over her lips. Hard. Her lip was already sore from where she had bitten into it. It hurt. She hurt. He spoke in low, deliberate tones. “Remember what you said about what would happen to me if I laid a finger on you?”
She removed his hand from her mouth and wiped her lips with the tips of her fingers. “Yes.”
“Take it back.”
“I take it back.”
“You can do that, right?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
He stared at her.
“It’s okay.” She nodded. “I understand what you did and why you did it. It didn’t count.”
“You’re right. None of that counted.” In a flash, he was on her, his mouth kissing her hard on her swollen lower lip, sucking up her blood. “Now that one… that did count.” He managed a devil’s smile. “Get out of the city. Go home. Take care of yourself. I mean that. I like you.”
He opened the door and limped out. She watched him unlock a glass door and slip inside a foyer. Within moments, he was out of sight.
24
Jonathan had gone beyond pale, his complexion having turned chalky—dry and gray. After finishing with mounds of paperwork, Decker took his brother’s arm—an act of physical as well as emotional support—and the two of them trudged outside to the parking lot to retrieve the van. Seeing Jon’s shaking hands, Decker offered to drive. Jonathan told him no, then opened the car doors, taking the driver’s seat. They sat for several minutes in silence, staring out the windshield.
Jonathan’s eyes were moist and red. He whispered, “What kind of monster does things like that?”
Decker didn’t have an answer. Guilt was still pouring into his conscience. He should have taken Shayndie forcibly, brought a gun and shot Donatti. If he had planned it more carefully, had trusted his own instincts instead of that bastard—
“What kind of God creates such monsters?” Jonathan said.
“I’ll drive,” Decker offered once again.
“I’m all right,” Jonathan answered. “Thanks for coming.”
“I just wish…” Decker started to pound the dashboard but wound up tapping it instead. “I’m sorry I failed you. I failed the whole family.”
“You didn’t fail, Akiva. That’s ridiculous.”
“You don’t know.”
Jonathan turned to him, waiting for an explanation.
“I could have done better.” Decker was abashed. “I should have done better.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. If anyone failed, it was God. We’re nothing but His pawns—little pieces He moves around His board called the universe.” His lip trembled. “It’s not that I doubt His wisdom. That’s why we say Baruch Dayan Emes. I believe every word theoretically. But I am human… fallible… emotional. Right now, I’m very angry at Him.”
Tears marked paths down his cheek.
“You and me both, buddy.” Decker slumped in the seat. “You and me both.”
More seconds passed, then a minute. Finally, Jonathan started the van and put it into reverse. “Where to?”
“While you were signing papers, I got hold of Micky Novack. I’m supposed to meet him at a restaurant at…” Decker looked at the paper. “Broadway between One hundred fourteenth and One hundred fifteenth… or maybe One fifteenth and One sixteenth.” He gave him the exact address. “It shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Then I was supposed to meet Rina and Hannah at your apartment and take them to the airport.”
“When’s the flight?”
“Nine… something. It’s a commuter flight. It leaves out of La Guardia.” Decker’s watch read six. “Am I cutting it close?”
“Say you’re done at seven. At least forty-five minutes to get to La Guardia if traffic isn’t heavy.” A sigh. “Yes, you are cutting it close.”
“Give me a half hour with the guy.”
“Tell you what,” Jonathan said. “I’ll drop you off, run down to my shul, pick up my messages and mail, then come back and fetch you. That should eat up the thirty minutes.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Yes, things always sound perfect in the abstract.”
Novack stood up when Decker walked into the deli. The place was as small as a kiosk, crammed with a half-dozen linoleum-topped tables and chairs with cracked Naugahyde cushions. There was also a counter and stools, the seats filled to capacity. It was after work hours, so the detective had donned a flannel shirt and jeans instead of a suit. His fingers were greasy from the homemade French fries that he was munching. A half-eaten corned-beef sandwich was on the plate, as were two pickles. Decker sat opposite him, squeezing his body into nonexistent space. A wash of warmth swept through him and he began to sweat. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt.
Novack continued to stare, even after he sat down. “You’re sweatin’. You feeling okay?”
“I think my blood sugar’s low.” He eyed Novack’s remaining half sandwich. “This isn’t a kosher place, is it?”
“Kosher style. That don’t count, I know. They got some vegetarian stuff. I think the mushroom barley soup is vegetarian.”
“That’ll do.”
“Coffee?”
“Great.”
Novack hailed a waitress—a geriatric, bony woman whose name was Alma. Five minutes later, a steaming bowl of thick soup was placed in front of his nose. Even with his swollen membranes, the mixture smelled good. It tasted even better. Served with fresh rye bread surrounded by a thick seed crust, Decker was in heaven, though he had to eat slowly.
Novack had finished his sandwich and decided to top off his meal by ordering a cup of coffee and a healthy wedge of apple pie. “What the hell happened to your face?”
Decker gave him the standard line about being punched. Novack looked dubious. “You report this guy?”
“He ran off. I could have chased after him, but my head was spinning.”
“It looks like it hurts.”
“It does, but not that bad. My wife hasn’t seen it yet.”
Novack scratched his cheek. “She ain’t gonna be pleased. Matter of fact, if I was her, I’d be thinking that maybe you weren’t being too truthful. That someone attacked you and you’re trying to protect her—or maybe trying to hide something from her. Or maybe hiding something from everybody, including me?”
An admonishing look.
Decker was casual. “If someone was out to get me, Novack, I would have had a bullet in my head.”
Novack thought about that. It was probably true. “We gotta be honest with each other, Pete.”
“Absolutely,” Decker lied.
“Yeah, absolutely.” Novack’s expression was cynical, but he didn’t persist. “So you just come from the Fort Lee Police?”
“From the Bergen County Morgue actually.” Decker chewed the bread slowly, then swallowed. “Do they know what they’re doing?”
“Yeah, Bergen gets its share of bodies from us cause it’s right over the bridge. I’m not saying the park’s a dumping ground—they got the area unde
r constant patrol cause it’s a popular spot—but it’s a big place, and this ain’t the first time a corpse has shown up.”
“Is there interdepartmental cooperation?”
“In the ideal, yeah. Practicality-wise, it depends on who’s leading the investigation.”
“A guy named Martin Fiorelli.”
“I heard the name, but I’ve never worked with him. I haven’t worked all that much with Jersey Police, but I know a couple of people who have. Now I’m not saying this to sound like sour grapes or nothin’ like that. Just that some of those smaller departments have this complex about NYPD comin’ in and takin’ over. And maybe it’s justified, cause we got some pushy people. But that’s still no excuse for not sharing information. Cause it’ll be of real interest to me to see if Ballistics turns up a match, being as it looks like the same M.O.”
Decker said, “The single shot to the head was visible on the ID, but they also got her in the chest.”
“Really. You saw that?”
“No, I skimmed the M.E.’s report at the scene. I wish I had more time to study it, but I was too busy taking care of my brother.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Not too well.” Decker finished the last spoonful of soup. He felt better. “No one’s doing too well.”
“I can imagine. Losin’ a fifteen-year-old period, but especially like that.” Novack shook his head. “I don’t know how long the body’s been sitting there. I’m wondering if maybe she was popped right at the beginning, at the same time Ephraim was taken in.”
“I believe the report said time of death was somewhere between two hours to four hours before they found her.”
“She was fresh, then?”
“Yes.”
“What a shame. No rigor—”
“Not even close,” Decker said. “No discernible lividity.”
Most of the shock had leached from Decker’s system; guilt had taken its place. Why the hell had he trusted that scumbag mother-fucker! Maybe he could get the guy arrested? But on what grounds?
“… natural that the girl had witnessed something, maybe escaped. Then she was tracked down and murdered.”
Focus, Decker! “Or maybe she was in on it in the beginning.”
