Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 14

by Stone Kiss

  “I gave up cigarettes for you. Leave me alone.”

  “I care. It’s not safe.”

  “My system’s impervious to drugs. It’s a wonder I’m still alive.”

  I took the bottle out of his hands, brushed my fingers over his grizzled face. “I’m glad you are.”

  He regarded me, scrutinized me. A long time ago, his penetrating eyes made me nervous. Not anymore. Years of dealing with Chris’s unpredictability had hardened me. I needed him—as my son’s father, as my bank account. Initially, my grandparents had supported my son and me. They are lovely people, and I knew we were a burden. After eighteen months, I assured them that I would be fine and convinced them to move to a retirement community in Florida. Immediately, I was plunged into poverty. For almost two years, I put myself through college while trying to put bread on the table. Debt took on a life of its own. I was drowning, and Chris was watching. As I exhaled my last breath—a heartbeat away from eviction—Chris offered me a life preserver. I took it and haven’t looked back, although someday I’m sure I will. It will not be a sterling moment in my moral history. Still, being his courtesan was better than choosing between quitting med school or suffering through another frigid Chicago winter without decent heat.

  His hands went to my face. He kissed me… long and gentle. I could feel the ball of his tongue pierce as he swept through my mouth. He loosened my hair from the ponytail holder and ran his fingers through my long tresses. He kissed me again and again. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Not true,” I told him. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

  “Yeah, you’d do it out of obligation.”

  “You sell my affections short,” I said. “Don’t be nasty.” I let my hand travel down to his inner thigh. “Be nice.”

  He placed it over his groin, and I felt him grow in my fingers. He closed his eyes, his breathing audible. He whispered, “I keep forgetting what you do to me.” He gave me hungry eyes. “This is the safest place, Teresa. The only place where I feel comfortable talking.”

  “I didn’t know you wanted to talk.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his lips, then bit them gently. “Doesn’t matter, Chris. Here’s fine. Anywhere’s fine.”

  “You want a pillow or something?”

  “Do you have something that’s clean?”

  He made a face. “You’re very funny.”

  “I’m dead serious. I don’t know who you bring in here.”

  “No one. You know how meticulous I am.”

  That he was.

  “I have a stereo hooked up, too,” he said. “Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’?” A rare sort of smile graced his lips, one that shot light into his eyes and showed how incredibly good-looking he could be. “Gipsy Kings?”

  “You beast you.” I answered his smile in kind.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  His face had become suffused with little-boy excitement, like the first time I had given him a birthday gift. He put on the music and brought in a big, fluffy pillow, placing it on top of the desk. I pushed it off, letting it fall to the ground.

  I dropped to my knees.

  A couple of hours later, I asked if there was a place where I could bathe. Though he claimed to use condoms assiduously, he refused to use them when he was with me, saying it was the one time he could let his guard down. But it was more than that. Anything less than full culmination implied my rejecting his basic being, so my pleas had fallen on deaf ears. I had had the good sense to get an IUD when we became intimate again, but it did nothing for disease. The last time I had begged him to wear protection, he became very angry—that silent, dreadful fury that sent waves of fear into my gut. He had this look—this deadly look. He used it whenever he meant business. I had been on the receiving end of his wrath and revenge. There were some things I just couldn’t push him on.

  “I have a unit upstairs. I’ll come with you in a minute.” He took my hand and kissed my fingers one by one. Then he let go and got dressed. He was still breathing hard when he sat down. “Let me rest for a moment. You gave me a workout, you animal.”

  I got up from his desk and put on my clothes and clipped my hair back. I gulped down half the bottle of Evian, then gave it to him. He took a big swallow, then closed his eyes. He was drenched with perspiration. He didn’t look well at all. I felt his forehead. “You’re very hot.”

  “It’s stuffy in here.”

  “You’ve got a fever, Chris.”

  “Any wonder after the calisthenics you put me through.”

  “I’m concerned. Do you have a doctor I can talk to? You need Keflex.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Are you taking it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It upsets my stomach.”

  “Christopher—”

  “I’ll take it.” He finished up the bottle of water. “I’m probably just dehydrated. Stop nagging me.”

  “I care.” I sat in his lap. “Please?”

  “Yes, I will take Keflex.” He nibbled my upper lip, then kissed me. “Happy?”

  “Yes.”

  We began to kiss. Then he broke away.

  “So who are you dating?” he asked me.

  “No one.”

  “Don’t lie to me, angel. Who are you dati—”

  “No one,”

  I insisted.

  He pulled out a nutrition bar from a file cabinet, ate half, then offered it to me. I shook my head, so he finished it.

  “Not dating anyone?”

  “No, I am not dating anyone.”

  “Then why’d you go to the Hilton with your classmate? What was his name? Michael Bonocelli? Did I pronounce it right?”

  His eyes were dead, just waiting to pounce. I said, “Your spy wasn’t thorough. If he had been more watchful, he would have seen me walk out as well as walk in.”

  His face told me he was unconvinced.

  “They have a very good Italian restaurant, Chris. When Mike invited me to go to dinner, I had no idea he meant room service.”

  “You still went out with him.”

  “We were working on a paper together—‘The Implications of Iatrogenic Causes in Radiation Deaths of Stage-Three Breast Cancer Patients’—a subject that interests me since both of our mothers died from the disease. Thank God we had a son. The lead professor’s name is Doctor Edwin Alvary. Mike offered me a dinner meeting, and I took him up on it. Sue me. I get tired of mac and cheese or peanut butter every night.”

  I pushed his face away from mine.

  “I don’t date, Chris. When would I have time? Besides, the last thing I want is a parade of men going in and out of the apartment. Gabe is everything to me. He is not going to grow up with a slut for a mother.”

  “You wouldn’t be a slut if you had a toss now and then.”

  “But I don’t! You know that cause you’re watching me all the time. I only sleep with you, and that’s different because you’re Gabe’s father. In fact, you’re the only guy I’ve ever been with, period! For twenty-four years old, that is truly pathetic!”

  “Not to me. I still get this incredible jolt every time I lay you down and spread your legs.”

  Again I pushed him away. “Stop being crude.”

  “That was a compliment, angel.”

  I scrunched up my face. “That’s such a male perspective. I want to have sex with you, ergo you should feel honored!”

  “Men are dogs.”

  Stated without expression. I quickly remembered whom I was talking to. I kissed his cheek. “At least, you’re a very generous dog.”

  He took in my eyes. “How much?”

  “That wasn’t a hint.”

  He reached over to the second drawer of his file cabinet. Inside was a shoe box stacked with pictures of Ben Franklin. He pinched some bills off the top, then folded them into a wad and offered it to me. Longing in my heart, but I held my ground.

  �
�I said that wasn’t a hint.”

  He counted them—eight hundred dollars. He added two more bills and then stuffed them in my hand. “Buy something nice for yourself and the kid.”

  “Thank you.” I kissed his cheek again. “It won’t go on forever, Christopher. I’ll be earning money in a few years.”

  “I’m not complaining, Teresa.”

  “You never do,” I told him. “I should marry some sugar daddy just to give you a break.”

  “I am your sugar daddy. What do you need someone else for?”

  I shrugged.

  He gave me a stare. “Anyone specific in mind?”

  “I’m talking theoretically.”

  “You’re pissing me off!”

  “Some good-looking, much older man who’ll baby me for the rest of my life. Someone who wouldn’t be much competition for you.”

  “He wouldn’t be any competition for me because he’d be dead.”

  “I mean much, much, much older, Chris. Like in his forties or fifties. That wouldn’t bother you, right?”

  “Forties maybe. Fifties, probably not.” He raised his eyebrows. “Who would you go for, baby doll? Decker?”

  “You’re sick!”

  “Yeah, you’re right. No money.”

  I faced him, suddenly turning serious. “So you two are working together?”

  “Beats me.”

  I didn’t like the attitude. I said, “Christopher Sean Whitman Donatti, I swear if you hurt that man I will never ever, ever forgive you for the rest of my life!”

  Rudely, he pushed me off his lap. “What is it about that guy that inspires such loyalty?”

  “Besides the fact that he got you out of prison? Besides the fact that he sent me money when no one else would? Besides the fact that he is the only heterosexual male I’ve ever met who hasn’t tried to sleep with me?”

  “You forgot your father.”

  “I stand by the original statement, Chris!”

  He jerked his head up, taking in my eyes. “What? When?”

  I waved him off. “Before I met you. He wasn’t insistent. He wound up not doing anything.” My eyes watered. “He couldn’t. He was too drunk.”

  “What else is new?”

  “Jean caught us—him. To her credit, she didn’t blame me. Didn’t support me, but didn’t…” I wiped the tears away. “Melissa’s that age now. I call her nearly every day. I tell her over and over that if he tries something…” I didn’t dare finish my thought.

  “You never told me.” He pulled me back onto his lap. “You should have said something, angel. I could have sympathized. I was molested, you know. Joey, right after my mom died, he used to comb out my hair and make me give him blow jobs.”

  “That’s horrible!” I meant it. I touched his face and kissed his lips. “Poor Chris.”

  “Yeah, poor me.” He shook his head. “You know, I keep my mouth shut for years. Then I wind up telling two people about it within twenty-four hours. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Who was the other person?”

  “Rina Decker. I don’t know why I brought it up. She has this way of getting stuff out of you. She and the lieutenant are suited to one another.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Jesus, I can’t believe your old man actually—”

  “It was over before it started.”

  “I should pop him.”

  “Chris—”

  “I won’t, but I should.”

  “Can we switch the subject? It’s so painful! Especially after making love.”

  He brought me close to his chest. “Is that what you consider it? Making love?”

  “Yes, of course.” I looked at him. “What do you consider it?”

  “Making beautiful love.”

  “So we’re in agreement.” I leaned against him, my head to his heart. “Does he know what he’s doing? Lieutenant Decker?”

  “He’s no dummy, but New York’s different from Los Angeles. He’s in foreign territory, doesn’t really know what or who he’s dealing with. On top of that, he’s not packing.”

  I looked up. “He doesn’t have a gun?”

  “I tried to give him one. He refused. The man is stubborn.”

  “Who’s he up against?”

  “I’ve got some definite ideas—amateurs trying to look like some pros we both know. That means they’re stupid. And stupid is dangerous. If I were his wife, I’d start looking at his life-insurance policy.” He took another gulp of water. “It probably would be easier if someone popped him. More elbowroom for me. This problem has got to be taken care of.”

  My heart started skipping. He must have picked up on it. He stroked my back. His voice was low and soothing. “Baby doll, I tried. But he told me to butt out. So I’m out. Tell you the truth, I haven’t been feeling well enough to do much of anything. If he wants to duke it out solo, he can be my effing guest. I’m not the man’s nanny.”

  Gently, I put my arms around his waist, being careful to avoid his gunshot wound. I barely spoke above a whisper. “Don’t let him sink, Chris. Even if he doesn’t want it, help him.”

  He was silent.

  “Please?”

  Again he didn’t answer me. But he didn’t push me away. Instead, he drew me closer… nuzzling the top of my head with his lips… stroking my back… his fingers up and down my spine… playing me like an instrument. His touch could be so incredible. I gave off a little shudder.

  “Cold?”

  “No, just… mmm, feels good.”

  “I know what my baby doll likes.”

  “Yes, you do.” And by now, I could read him pretty well also. Affection meant he was listening. Affection meant he’d be cooperative. Affection was a very good sign.

  28

  If there were any answers, they’d lie in Quinton. Decker knew the Jewish sector of the town was a lost cause— he’d be as welcome as ham and Swiss on rye—but he held faint hopes that maybe he could salvage something with Virgil Merrin, ascribing his rude behavior to his own embarrassment at being seen at Tattlers. Then maybe he’d play out some of the good-ol’-boy routine, knowing he could make it work if he could just get the sneer out of his voice. With Merrin as an ally, he could possibly get names of some Quinton teens Shayndie might have known.

  But he’d have to tread lightly.

  Because there was this possible worst-case, politics-and-moneycorrupts, trust-no-one scenario: Merrin was involved in ecstasy distribution, using erotic dancers as couriers for the Israeli Mafia members. There was also the unholy missing trio of Weiss, Harabi, and Ibn Dod. They could be back in Israel, camped out in a Jewish community incognito, or they could even be dead.

  And even if this product of Decker’s overactive imagination were somehow borne out, if the loose bits of facts that Randy had given him did weave into a fanciful but cohesive story, how, if at all, would it relate to the Lieber murders?

  Which brought him back to the original dilemma.

  He needed to penetrate Quinton’s Jewish side and that meant he needed someone trusted by the locals. More important, he needed someone he could trust. Decker required a mole with a firsthand knowledge of Jewish traditions, mores, and rituals—an insider who could point out the outsiders, but who would be loyal to him.

  Since Rina was gone, there was only one person who could possibly pull that off.

  How well did Decker know his half brother?

  He supposed that he was about to find out.

  It was a small but growing synagogue in the Morningside Heights district, within walking distance of Columbia University. The daily morning minyan, held at eight o’clock, often included college students, and because it was Conservative in denomination, the service included men and women in equal proportions doing equal duty. By the time Decker drove uptown and found a parking space, it was almost eleven, well past Sha’chris, and he figured maybe his brother could use a coffee break.

  Jonathan’s secretary, a twenty-something African American
named Arista, informed him that Rabbi Levine was in conference with several members of his congregation and wouldn’t be available until twelve-thirty. If it was a true emergency, she could intercom him, but short of that, he had asked not to be disturbed.

  It wasn’t a true emergency.

  In that case, he was welcome to wait in the library if he wanted or perhaps he should go grab an early lunch. She’d tell the rabbi that he had come by. He thanked her and told her he’d be back at half past twelve and could she please ask the rabbi to wait for him.

  He went out of the shul and began walking down Broadway, a whiff of garlic hitting his face because the shul was next door to Tito’s Pizza Joint. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and stuck his hands in his pockets. He should have called before he came. Cursing under his breath, Decker found a ubiquitous Starbucks and bought himself a large cup of black coffee. There wasn’t anywhere to sit, so he leaned against a wall, looking like a dealer waiting to score. He thought about his options, mentally thumbing through his notepad, which, by now, was thick with his chicken scratches.

  There were ways he could fill the time; people he could interview again. There were Luisa and Marta, the ladies he had met at the funeral. They worked inventory with Ephraim, maybe they had thought of something important since he had last seen them. And Luisa still had his gloves—a perfect excuse to call on her.

  Except by now, she was at work at one of the Liebers’ stores, and Decker’s presence would be noticed. Maybe he’d try her tonight, in the privacy of her own residence.

  There was Leon Hershfield. If anyone would know anything about hanky-panky within the religious Jewish community, it would be him. The attorney was aware of lots of things, but asking him questions wouldn’t help because of confidentiality. Usually, Decker could gauge reactions from his interviewees even as they pleaded the Fifth. A lot was conveyed through facial expressions and eye contact. But Hershfield was way too savvy to give anything away, even through nonverbal methods. Talking to him would not only be futile, but detrimental as well. It would give him Decker’s insights with nothing in return.

  Scratch the lawyer.

  Finally, there was Ari Schnitman, the recovering addict who knew Ephraim from Emek Refa’im. Since Luisa and Leon weren’t going to help, it was almost by default that the Chasid was elected. Schnitman dealt in wholesale diamonds on the East Side. Since Decker didn’t want to lose his parking space or battle traffic jams, he elected to catch a cab instead of driving on his own.