19

It was after five by the time Ephraim was laid to rest, the sunlight withering like yesterday’s prom corsage. The experience was emotionally wrenching, and Decker needed a good stiff scotch before meeting with Donatti. Plus, he had yet to find the exact location of the meeting spot because all Donatti had given him was an address. It took him over an hour just to deduce that the place was in New Jersey.

Decker had suggested a quick dinner before he went out, but Rina had other things in mind. The proper thing to do was to make a shiva call, to personally express condolences to Emmanuel Lieber and his four remaining children, one of them Decker’s sister-in-law. As much as Decker wanted to talk to the old man-he wanted to get the father’s perspective on his son’s new life as a sober man-he couldn’t deal with Chaim and Minda Lieber and Christopher Donatti in the same evening. Because Shayndie’s welfare outweighed protocol, he told Rina to go without him.

“But Jonathan’s expecting you.” They were outside the cemetery gates, at the ritual washing fountain. The sky had turned from ashen gray to deep charcoal, and the temperature had dropped even further. As Rina poured ice-cold water over her hands, her fingers turned ketchup red. Silently, she recited the traditional prayer made upon exiting a graveyard.

“It can’t be helped.” Decker took the washing cup from her. “With the new scheduling, I’ll have time to pay a shiva call to the family tomorrow. Can you bum a ride from Jonathan?”

“That’s not a problem.” Rina dried her stiff hands with a damp paper towel. “If I can find him.”

“We were among the first to leave. He has to stop here first, right?”

Rina nodded.

“So you’ll be able to find him.” Decker rinsed his hands and muttered the Hebrew words. “Just tell him that I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“That’s his van. It might be nice if you told him yourself-”

“For goodness’ sake!” Decker grumbled. “All right, I’ll tell him!”

Red-eyed, Jonathan got out of the vehicle and shuffled, stoop-shouldered, over to the washing area, his arm linked about his wife’s arm, both of them weathered by the tragedies of the past few days. Raisie had fresh tear marks on her cheeks, her nose pinkened by cold and sorrow. Decker tapped his brother on his shoulder. Jonathan pivoted and looked up, a stunned expression on his face. Decker crooked a finger, and Jonathan broke away from Raisie.

“Can you take Rina to your in-laws, then back to Brooklyn?”

“You’re not coming?”

“I can’t, Jon. Something came up-”

“What?” The rabbi’s pale face instantly filled with color. “Are you on to something?”

“No, not at all,” Decker lied. “Just tying up loose ends with the detective.”

“You wouldn’t miss shiva for that,” Jonathan snapped back. “You’ve got a lead.”

Decker pulled him aside, away from the open ears. “Jonathan, listen up, because this is important. I’m going to make myself very clear. This stays between you and me.”

The rabbi nodded eagerly.

“No, I have nothing to tell you,” Decker insisted. “You’ll have to trust me. Still, you can’t talk about me to anyone-not your brother-in-law, not your father-in-law. If they ask where I am, tell them I’m not feeling well.”

“Yes, yes, I understand!” He grabbed Decker’s jacket. “I’m your clergyman, Akiva. Just tell me! You’ll have confidentiality. I can’t and won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. It’s not fair to shut me out! Please! Now more than ever, I need to know.”

“Stop right there!” Decker tried to control his temper. “Let me try again.” He looked at his brother with stern eyes. “I’m not telling you anything, and you don’t say a thing to anyone! If you shoot off your mouth, if you even give someone the wrong impression with a little tiny look, you’re going to fuck everything up! Is that clear enough?”

The rabbi recoiled at the obscenity.

Decker ran his hand over his face. Dealing with Donatti was turning him into a bastard. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Jonathan put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with, Akiva, but obviously it’s something or somebody dangerous. Don’t give it another moment’s thought. I know how to make excuses and make them believable. They’ll never suspect a thing.”

Decker exhaled loudly. “Jon, you’ve just got to trust me.”

“Of course I trust you. I’m very sorry to intrude.”

Decker tried to calm his rapid breathing. “I’ll go get Rina.”

“Akiva.”

Decker waited.

“Thank you.” He reached out toward his brother. “Thank you for everything.”

Sealing the deal with a bear hug.

It took Decker over three hours to find a place, and after so many twists and turns and dead ends, he wasn’t even sure it was the place. It was underneath deserted elevated train tracks, a few blocks from the numbers that Donatti had given him. He had followed instructions, but Chris had given him right and left, instead of east and west. Decker was somewhere out in Jersey, that much he knew, away from anything populated, away from anything civilized. The last city that he remembered driving through was Camden-a poverty-stricken, blighted, poorly lit area of deteriorating brick tenements and boarded-up, abandoned buildings. Some time ago, Decker recalled reading an article about urban renewal in the city. From what he had seen, it wasn’t evident.

It was almost eleven. Standing in dirty, damp mist that chilled him down to the marrow, with only a tire jack at his feet for protection, he rocked on his soles and rubbed his bare hands constantly to keep sensation in his fingertips. Why the hell did he give his gloves to Luisa? Ah well, maybe he’d pump her later on and she’d remember his act of chivalry… give him something juicy to work with.

His car was parked fifty yards away-as close as he could get to the spot. Distant highway sounds could be heard-a roar of a motorcycle, the rumble of a big rig, an occasional honk. Beyond manufactured noise, the area was eerily silent.

New Jersey, home to “Born in the USA” Bruce Springsteen. Decker knew there were gorgeous and wealthy neighborhoods in the state, but this wasn’t one of them. Didn’t TV always put the mobsters’ dump spot somewhere in the Garden State? Was that why Donatti had chosen it? Had he dumped bodies here before?

A blare sounded in the distance: something that was traveling because of the Doppler effect-the wave of noise advancing, then receding. A series of hoots. Owls, possibly? Then once again there was nothing, a creepy stillness that was worse than the creaks and the cracks.

And what if Donatti didn’t show?

Then that would be that.

At the moment, the option sounded all right to Decker, much better than freezing his nuts off in the middle of nowhere. Breathing in soot and grime, continuously looking over his shoulder or behind his back because any second he might get sliced up by some fifteen-year-old psycho punk with nothing better to do. One side of Decker was almost hoping that C.D. would revert to his pathological lying self and pull a tilt. Donatti was a funny bastard. He wasn’t evil for evil’s sake, but he was self-serving and amoral-an unscrupulous son of a bitch who did evil things, and that made his moves even harder to figure out. An evil man will kill and rob and rape for the thrill, for the fun and games. An amoral man like Donatti had no problems with killing and robbing, but he didn’t do it for kicks. He did the deeds, sure, but only if they were in his best interest.

Just what was in Donatti’s best interest?

Decker took out a small bottle of Chivas and took a stiff drink. For dinner, he had eaten a tasteless vegetarian sandwich made with stale bread. It was atonement for eating so much meat yesterday night. He was trying to help his stomach out. Instead, the supposedly light food was sitting like stone in his gut.