Faye Kellerman - Decker 04 - Day of Atonement

by Day of Atonement

  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 - // 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 savin' 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 whatV 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 OK. It's OK.'

  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 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.

  'Lookit,' Hank said. 'You wear a ski mask over your head, no one will know who you are, all right?'

  Noam paused a long time. Finally he agreed.

  'Good guy, man, good guy.' Hank picked up the gun. 'You gotta get comfortable with it, Nick-O. You gotta hold it. Touch it. It's like girls, Nick-O. You gotta start sometime. At first, it's gonna feel weird, but after a few

  times...' He snapped his fingers. 'You get the hang of it. Hey, after we pull this thing off, I'll get us another girl—'

  'No,' Noam shook his head. 'Not for me.' His stomach started to churn. He remembered hearing all those grunts, those slurping noises. The smell of raw fish oozing under the bathroom door.

  'You gotta start sometime.'

  'Not yet,' Noam insisted, his voice cracking.

  'OK, buddy,' Han
k said. He offered him the gun. 'But this. You gotta get comfortable with it.'

  Noam took a deep breath, then clasped his fingers around the gun.

  'Ain't so bad,' Hank said.

  No, Noam thought. No it wasn't so bad. All it was was a piece of metal. A piece of metal...

  'Is it loaded?'

  'No,' Hank said.

  'Will it be loaded when we...' Noam's voice trailed off. He looked up, at the lopsided smile.

  'Up to you,' Hank said. 'You can convince the mark it's loaded, I don't care if it is or isn't. But if it isn't, you'd better not fuck up.' He paused a moment. 'Course, I'll have my gutting knife for a backup.'

  'Then I don't have to do it with a loaded gun?' Noam said.

  'Can you pull it off?'

  'Yes,' Noam said. 'Yes, definitely. No problem.'

  "Then it won't be loaded.'

  Noam broke into a big smile. 'I'll do it, Hank. I can do it for you.'

  'Hey, buddy,' Hank said. 'That's what I like to hear.'

  'Why am I obsessing on the fish?' Decker said to Marge.

  'Someone gets head while cleaning a fish...' Marge rubbed her arms. 'Somehow that has to be significant.'

  She wore a white cotton blouse, a pair of Levi's, and a yellow windbreaker. But the zipper on the jacket was broken and every time the wind kicked up, she felt tiny electric shocks prick her skin.

  'You want my jacket?' Decker asked.

  'You're not cold?'

  'No.' Decker handed her his denim jacket. It would have swallowed up any ordinary woman. Marge filled it nicely.

  'It goes beyond the sexual perversity,' Decker said. "There's a connection and I can't bring it up.'

  'Don't fight it. It'll come to you.' Marge scanned the crowds. 'Besides, if you're concentrating on fish, you're going to miss what's around you. And that's why we came to Westwood.'

  She was right. There were just too many people cluttering the street. He needed all his energy for observation.

  They were walking north on Westwood heading toward the skyline of UCLA. The queues for the eight o'clock movies were around the block. Most of the

  boutiques were open - a western boot store, sports paraphernalia, a cubbyhole that specialized in humorous greeting cards. All the eateries were open as well. Most sold portable grub - ice cream, chocolate-chip cookies, muffins. Decker was munching on a buttermilk doughnut bought from a pushcart, sorting out the faces.

  There were groups of college kids, that was to be expected. But there were also groups of children too young to go unsupervised. Boys and girls junior high school age. Plump little girls barely pubescent, sporting five earrings in each lobe, dyed green tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles. They wore miniskirts even though it was cold. The boys were dressed in baggy pants or combat fatigues, using cigarettes to look grown-up because their facial hair and muscle layer hadn't come in yet. They made a lot of noise but for the most part, they were innocuous.

  Not the case with the homeboys. Black teenaged boys, in oversized clothing - convenient duds if you're hiding a gun. They checked out the scene, on the prowl for enemy color. Confrontive eyes, short haircuts covered by baseball caps worn backward. The Crips rivalry with the Bloods was so fierce, they wouldn't even pronounce words that began with B - saying cecause for because.

  Rap music boomed from ghetto blasters. Sometimes two rival groups would pass each other, eyes filled with malice, the music a cacophonous mix sounding like competing marching bands. The jaunty walks would slow just a tad. Cold glances exchanged, more threatening than words.

  Westwood was well patroled. It showcased L.A.'s first-run movies and held some upperclass restaurants. But with this many people cruising the sidewalks, so

  many cars clogging the streets, it would be easy for bystanders to catch a stray bullet if the gangs went to war.

  Lots of people. But so far, no Hersh or Noam.

  They had canvassed almost all the shops, all the ticket booths at the movie theaters. Now they were down to using their eyes.

  Marge said, 'I don't think they've been here yet.'

  Decker agreed.

  'It's almost ten-thirty,' she said. 'Want to call it a night?'

  'Might as well,' Decker said. 'If they show up, most of the store owners have our business cards.'

  'Yeah, it was worth coming down just to pass out the pictures,' Marge said. 'They might not be here tonight, but to quote Scarlett: Tomorrow's another day.'

  'I like Rhett's line better,' Decker said.

  'You don't give a damn?'

  'Not right now.'

  Marge smiled and yawned.

  ' I keep forgetting you have to work tomorrow,' Decker said.'Let's go.'

  'You're still thinking about Hersh and the fish,' Marge said.

  He shrugged.

  Marge said, 'Look at that guy.' An emaciated six-foot man on roller skates was weaving through the crowds. He wore a black veil over his head. 'Is there a point I'm missing?'

  'Got me.'

  Marge said, 'You know, Pete, I never did get a chance to tell you how much fun I had at your wedding.'

  Decker broke into a broad smile. 'It was a great wedding, wasn't it?'

  'Like nothing I'd ever seen before,' Marge said. 'You always hear about Jewish weddings. But it's different when you're there.'

  'Especially if you're the groom.'

  'Know what I liked best? Cindy dancing with Rina. It was really touching.'

  Decker smiled.

  Marge shook her head. 'And now you're reduced to doing this on your honeymoon?'

  'Call it collecting points with Rina.' He stopped a moment and finished off his doughnut. 'I have this delusion that what I really want is vacation and rest. But here I am working... I'm not unhappy.'

  'Gets in the blood, doesn't it?' Marge said. 'I act like I'm doing you a favor by cruising with you. What would I be doing otherwise? Harry's always on call. We meet for bed.' She paused. 'Not a bad arrangement.'

  'Not bad at all—' Decker snapped his fingers. 'Goddamn, that's what it is!'

  'What?'

  Decker smiled. 'This is so stupid... Hersh. One of the Hershes I inquired about in Crown Heights was a fish vendor.'

  'And you think that's the Hersh you're looking for?'

  'No,' Decker said. 'That Hersh was bearded and weighed over two hundred pounds. His last name was different. I think it was Hersh Berger or Bergman. But it is a little weird isn't it. Two Hershes, both associated with fish.'

  Marge shrugged.

  'You know,' Decker said. 'Jews name after their deceased relatives. Rina once told me she had a cousin

  Rina, both of them named after her maternal grandmother.'

  'Think big Hersh is related to psycho Hersh?'

  'It's a possibility.'

  'Did big Hersh mention anything to you about a cousin Hersh?'

  'I didn't talk to big Hersh directly. I talked to his wife and maybe she doesn't know he even has any relatives named Hersh.' Decker thought a moment. 'Think I'll give him a call.'

  'What do you hope to find?'

  Decker said, 'If psycho Hersh is related to big Hersh, he can give me a little more background about psycho Hersh. Or maybe they have relatives out here... maybe that's why Hersh flew out here with Noam.'

  'They didn't hook up with anyone when they came into Los Angeles, Pete.'

  'Well, maybe it'll take them a little time to get their act together. Get all the raunchy stuff out of the way, all the forbidden fruit. I don't know, I'm just spouting off the top of my head.' Decker looked at his watch. 'It's one-thirty over there. It'll have to wait until morning.'

  Marge said, 'You still hungry or did the doughnut do it for you?'

  'I can always use another cup of coffee,' Decker said.

  Two Hershes, both connected with fish. And what also struck him as a coincidence was that the fish shop was in Williamsburg - where psycho Hersh had lived -not Crown Heights, where big Hersh was living.

  He thought about it all th
e way to the coffee shop.

  Crouched in the back alley stinking of garbage, Noam was sweating even though it was cold. He could tell the