Faye Kellerman - Decker 04 - Day of Atonement

by Day of Atonement

  Decker said, 'Mr. Berger?'

  'OK,' Big Hersh said. 'I know friends of your wife's family. As a matter of fact, she knows my second cousins in Beverly Woods. But I'll give you their address anyway. You got a pencil?'

  Decker said he had a pencil. He wrote down the names, address, and phone number.

  Big Hersh said, 'Anything else?'

  'Can you give me a little background on your cousin?' Decker said. 'What's he like? I don't have a good feel for him.'

  Big Hersh laughed. 'You're not alone.'

  'Hersh was always a cipher?'

  'A meshugenah you mean? Yes, he was always strange.'

  'Can you tell me a little bit about him?'

  'You've got some time?'

  Decker said he had all the time in the world.

  'First thing you've got to realize,' Big Hersh started out, 'was that Hershie's father was a bought son-in-law, so you know there had to be major problems with the marriage.'

  'Bought son-in-law?' Decker asked. 'I'm not familiar with the term.'

  Hersh told him to ask Rina - she'd know exactly what he meant - but he explained it anyway. Bought sons-in-law were men purchased by rich couples to marry their daughters. They were all very similar. They had some education but were usually not professionals. They were handsome. They dressed well. Spent some time in a proper yeshiva but rarely did they go into the Torah education for their parnassah - their livelihood. Usually, they worked in the lucrative businesses of their fathers-in-law. The main purposes of these marriages-for-money were to give some physical presence to their Plain Jane brides and to sire good-looking children -grandchildren for the bride's parents.

  OK, so there was nothing wrong with a handsome dowry. But so many of these men were gonifs -

  business, but that also was charity. Zeyde felt sorry for Hersh. And he loved him. I think Hersh loved Zeyde. Zeyde was the only person Hershie was ever close to. But' Zeyde was close to everyone. Everyone loved him -really loved him.'

  'Did Peretz love his father?' Decker asked.

  Big Hersh let out a bitter laugh. 'You got me on that one. Well, I was young but I couldn't see it. Uncle Perry was nothing like him. He had nothing but disdain for the fish business and it seemed like he had nothing but disdain for his parents, also. But he had grown up poor. My mother used to say they had nothing. So when Aunt Bracha came along, my mother said, Peretz jumped.'

  'How did your Uncle Perry relate to his son?' Decker asked.

  'I couldn't see any... any bond,' Big Hersh said. 'But I wasn't with them a lot, so who am I to judge, nui Most of his disgust seemed to be directed toward Bracha. He hated everything about her, but if he wanted the money, he had to stick with her. Bracha's parents didn't give him the money all at once. They doled it out, bit by bit. And my mother told me they had put all sorts of conditions on the money. Uncle Perry had to be a Satmir Chasid - which he was at the time. So that wouldn't present a real problem. Bubbe and Zeyde Schaltz were Satmir Chasidim, grew up in Williamsburg. But Uncle Perry hated that too, couldn't wait to get away from the whole thing. Then Bracha came along. I guess the money was too tempting. So Uncle Perry had to dress like a Satmir, speak Yiddish like a Satmir, raise his son to be a Satmir.'

  'So why'd they live in Kew Gardens?' Decker asked.

  'Uncle Perry put his foot down on that,' Big Hersh

  said. 'He said he wouldn't marry her if they had to live in Williamsburg because she was a big embarrassment. So my mother told me they reached a compromise. They could live in Kew Gardens until Hersh was ten. Then Mr. Kornitsky wanted his grandson to be part of the Satmir community. Uncle Perry agreed because he really wanted the money. And once he got it, he spent it as fast as they gave it to him.'

  Decker asked him what he spent the money on. Big Hersh answered on things - and on women. Everyone knew Uncle Perry ran around with women.

  'Did his son know?' Decker asked.

  'He found out as soon as Uncle Perry married a shiksa,' Big Hersh said. 'He divorced Aunt Bracha as soon as Mr. Kornitsky died. The old man left him a little cash in his will, but the bulk of the money was left to Bracha's brother, who wouldn't loan Uncle Perry half a cent if his life depended on it. So Uncle Perry divorced his wife and married his kourve - the shiksa.'

  Big Hersh didn't speak for a moment.

  'It's all very sad,' he said. 'It's easy to blame Uncle Perry, but he did live with the woman for twelve years. Gave her some sort of a life. And then he died so terribly. You know about that?'

  Decker said he did. Then he asked if his cousin might have had something to do with it. Big Hersh said there was never any indication that he did. But everyone still wondered. It would probably be one of those things where no one would ever know.

  'When did Hersh start acting out?' Decker asked.

  'You mean acting crazy? For as long as I remember, he acted crazy. Even as a little kid working in the market, he was weird. Quiet. A loner. Then, after Zeyde died, he

  began acting even more crazy. He only came down to the market once or twice after the old man passed away. I'd taken it over by then. I was only nineteen, but I had enough experience. Hershie wasn't interested in the market, only in Zeyde.'

  He paused.

  'Last time I saw Hershie was at the business. He asked if he could keep some of Zeyde's fish knives. I thought that was very strange. Why would he need the knives if he wasn't going to work in the market anymore? And I certainly needed the knives. But I told him to take what he wanted, figuring that was what Zeyde would have wanted me to say. He didn't deplete my stock, mind you. But he did take the best gutting knives, a cleaver, a hammer, a butterfly knife, and Zeyde's sharpening stone. Very odd.'

  Hersh hesitated again.

  'While he was picking and choosing the stuff, I remembered thinking to myself, "He's just like his mother. Only a matter of time before he goes off the deep end, too." Even when Zeyde was still alive, Hershie was strange. He had a weird smile, Sergeant. It even made me a little nervous. I kept waiting for him to go crazy. But he never quite did. Maybe Zeyde's love kept him sane.'

  Sane - but only for a while. Decker thought about all the fish that had been in Hersh's rooms. He asked if Hersh - Hershie - had liked working in the fish business.

  'Hershie hated the business.' Big Hersh hesitated, then said, 'I should say he hated the customers. Never smiled. When he did, it was that weird smile I told you about. I think he scared the customers so Zeyde told him

  he could do the back work and leave the counter to him and me. That seemed to be a good arrangement. Hersh used to love gutting the fish. Sometimes he'd do it while they were still alive. I hated when he did that. Tsaar baalei chayim - you know. Cruelty to animals is a terrible aveyrah. I used to tell him to kill the fish first, just slit the gills. But he wouldn't do that. Sometimes he'd step on their heads or slice them off. It was strange.'

  'How'd you get along with him?'

  'We were on speaking terms if that's what you mean,' Hersh said. 'But we kept our distance just the same. He was a very weird kid. But not so hard to understand if you know about the family.'

  No, Decker said, not so hard to understand at all.

  Big Hersh's cousins lived on Guthrie Drive - the poshest street in suburban Beverlywood. Decker spoke to a Dr. Sam Beiderman - a cardiologist - who knew about his cousin Hersh Schaltz from Brooklyn but had never met him and wouldn't know him if he looked him in the eye. Dr. Beiderman said he'd contact him immediately if Hersh called. Decker thanked him for his time, disappointed by the lack of progress but not surprised.

  After the conversation with Big Hersh, Decker felt even dirtier than when he had been with the homeless. He took a long shower, then phoned the boys in New York. It felt wonderful to talk with them even though Sammy spent most of the time complaining. Then, in a burst of insight rare for a twelve-year-old, Sammy said he knew that Decker was working. That this wasn't the vacation he wanted either.

  Decker said it wasn't a vacation, but he could unde
rstand the boy's frustration. He was frustrated, too. In

  less than a week, they'd all be together again. He promised to make up for lost time and asked the boys what they would like to do.

  They both wanted to build a rocket with him. Decker said, first thing when they all came home, he'd take them to the hobby shop and they'd get the biggest, most complete rocket kit ever.

  He finished the conversation just as the doorbell rang. Rina answered, greeting his daughter as if she were her best friend. Cindy returned the salutation by giving Rina a hug and breaking into giggles. Decker could hear Cindy's laughter, hear her chatter coming from outside.

  Decker peeked inside the living room. His daughter was now officially a young lady. Her lanky frame had softened into the gentle curves of womanhood. Her skin glowed with health, her hazel eyes sparked with youthful passion. She'd grown her hair out, the red locks grazing her shoulders. She looked down the hallway and when their eyes met, she broke into a radiant smile.

  She cocked her hip and said, 'Well, are you coming out or what?'

  All Decker could do was grin. He felt all warm inside. Cindy's voice did that to him every time.

  Stretched out on an unmade bed, Noam watched Hersh straighten his tie while looking in the bedroom mirror. It was old and cracked and the surface dull. Another dump, he thought, the room smelling as stale as a laundry hamper. At first, he welcomed the sloppiness. What a change from his mother's own fastidiousness. But now the dumps were just depressing - like everything else he and Hersh had done. All of it was hateful and depressing.

  He knew it was only a matter of time before Hersh would want to hit the streets again. He just didn't expect it to come so quickly. He was calm: The driving need to take his own life had faded.

  Hersh wanted to score again. Noam didn't want to hurt any more people. Hashem knew he didn't want to do that. But he didn't want to die or go to jail. Whenever Hersh spoke, an awful nausea churned up Noam's stomach. His head began to throb.

  'Yo, Nick-O,'Hersh said. 'We gotta get movin', ya know?'

  Noam didn't respond.

  'Cha' hear what I said, Bud?'

  'Yeah, I heard you,' Noam said.

  'So, we gonna make some plans or what?' Hersh said.

  Noam looked up. 'I thought you said we scored enough so we don't have to do it for a while.'

  'Duds cost money,' Hersh said.

  Noam returned his eyes to his book, but he couldn't concentrate on the words. Think, he yelled to himself. Think! Think! He said, 'Couldn't we use the guy's credit cards?'

  'I threw them all away with the wallet,' Hersh said. 'Can't use stolen cards. They can be traced.'

  'Well, we could use them and then split—'

  'Forget it,' Hersh said. 'Too messy.'

  'But killing someone is clean?'

  Hersh pounced on the bed and slammed the book out of Noam's hands. He grabbed Noam by the shirt and pulled his face close to his nose. 'You fucked up!' he whispered, spittle spraying the teenager's face. 'If you wouldna fucked up, that guy would be walkin' today.'

  Noam felt his heart beating out of his chest, but he

  forced himself to remain rigid. Hersh held him close for a moment, then pushed him down on the bed.

  Noam straightened his shirt and wiped his face. He was scared, but not as scared as he had been in the past. He had two choices: he could go along with Hersh or he could refuse. The look in Hersh's eyes told him he couldn't refuse right now without getting beat up. Better to go along with him now, decide what to do later. Figure out what's going on when Hersh wasn't around.

  'So what do you want to do?' Noam whispered.

  The lopsided smile appeared. 'Now, you're talkin'.'

  'Know what?' Noam suddenly blurted out.

  'What?'

  Noam paused. Shut up, he told himself. Don't say it; just shut up.

  Hersh said, 'What's on your mind, Nick-O?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Go ahead,' Hersh said. 'I won't do nothin'.'

  Noam's words came out in a rush. 'I think we need the money. But I also think that you like to hurt people.'

  The smile vanished. Noam braced himself for punishment, the sudden attack. Hard fists in his already bruised face. He balled up his body and tucked in his head. But whenever he expected the worst, he never got it.

  That's what was so weird. Hersh was so unpredictable. Noam lifted his head. The lopsided smile had reappeared.

  Hersh said, 'So what's wrong with that?'

  The setup was almost identical to the first one, except this time Hersh went to a queer bar full of queers who admitted they were queers. Queers, Hersh said, were the best victims 'cause they were like women. All they did was

  scream and prance around, but they never fought back.

  A crock, Noam thought. The guy that Hersh had killed had fought like a tiger!

  Noam felt his stomach buck. He let go with a series of dry heaves. He'd been vomiting off and on for an hour. He felt weak, but was afraid to say anything to Hersh.

  One more time. This was it!

  This time they were in western Hollywood, far, far away from Grauman's Chinese. Everything in this section of western Hollywood was fancy, fancy. Big health clubs, lots of shops, lots of restaurants. And lots of queers. All sorts of them. Some of them looked like women. Some even wore makeup. But some of them looked tough and wore leather and long hair and had earrings and mustaches and beards. They looked as tough as Axl Rose. It was weird to see tough guys holding hands with other tough guys.

  He had so many stories he wanted to tell his brothers.

  His brothers.

  He'd always hated them. Now he missed them. Missed the tiny room they shared. When he lived at home, he could never get any privacy, never do anything. Now he nad more freedom than he had ever had in his life and never had he felt so trapped.

  Hersh had placed him in another alley. The area might be much better than Downtown Los Angeles, but the garbage still smelled like garbage.

  He thought it would be easier the second time around. Just the opposite. It was harder. He was vomiting more, sweating and shaking like he had the flu. Maybe he did have the flu. But he knew that wasn't it. He'd felt OK until Hersh said they had to score again. Nothing - nothing about it was easier the second time. If

  anything it was harder because Hersh insisted that the gun be loaded this time. To prevent what happened last time.

  Noam was about to ask why they would need a gun at all if Hersh was so sure that queers didn't fight back. But the look in Hersh's eyes - the glare of a mad dog about to attack - told him to shut up and keep his thoughts to himself. Besides, right at that point, he had to make a sudden run for the bathroom.

  So now the gun was in his hands again, as slippery as ever. But now Noam didn't dare drop it. It could misfire, blow off his leg.

  God, why didn't he just run away right now?

  Why?

  Noam thought, well, why didn't he just do that?

  Just pick up his legs and run away.

  Do what Tanti Miriam told him to do.

  Go to the police.

  Even jail must be better than this.

  Had to be.

  But what about his parents?

  They'd never forgive him if he went to jail.

  They'd never speak to him again.

  He shouldn't have called Tanti Miriam and let her know he was in trouble. He should have waited it out and run away when he could.

  Come home when he was safe, keep these terrible aveyrahs his secret. But now Tanti Miriam knew he was in trouble.

  There would be questions.

  But there would have been questions anyway.

  Just run away.

  Run now.

  Doit!

  DOIT!

  He stood up from his crouch, his brain pounding against his temples. His legs felt as limp as noodles. Even though he felt as if he were about to faint, he knew he should run right now.

  But it was too late.

>   He saw Hersh.

  Saw the victim.

  This one was tall, just like the first one.

  This one was thick, just like the first one.

  Hersh swore he'd get a smaller one. What was it? Did he have a wish to die?

  Trapped.

  One more time, Noam swore to himself.

  This was it.

  Take the guy's money and then this was it!