Decker nodded, wondering what kind of fantasies had ever danced in the priest’s mind.
Bram said, “By the way, Lieutenant, I want to apologize for my sister’s comments yesterday. Eva isn’t anti-Semitic. But she is having a hard time with her Jewish husband. She’s another one who has trouble making distinctions.”
“How’d your parents feel about Eva marrying a Jew?”
The priest’s voice leaked exhaustion. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring that up with my mother either.”
“I’m not bringing it up with her. I’m bringing it up with you.”
“We’ve all made peace with our differences.” He looked up, engaged Decker’s eyes. “We’ve run far afield.”
“I’ll take that introduction to Grease Pit, Father. Sorry to have monopolized your time.”
“Actually, you did a mitzvah…distracted me from these unreal circumstances for a short time. Isn’t that what shivah is all about?”
Decker said, “You know Hebrew.”
“Yes, I do.”
Guy was probably more fluent than he was. Seems the world was more fluent than he.
Decker pushed aside his jealousy and thought about what the priest was saying. There were some similarities between this gathering and shivah, the required seven days of Jewish mourning. The grieving family of course, the somber dress, visitors offering words of comfort to the bereaved, even the ample supply of finger food.
But there were also distinct differences. Namely the lack of religious rituals. Jewish law requires that the mourners wear torn clothing, sit on low stools or the floor instead of chairs, and refrain from greeting visitors. They were not permitted to leave the house-even to pray at synagogue. Which meant a minyan-ten adult men needed for public prayer-was usually brought to the mourners’ house. Bathing was prohibited during shivah. So was shaving. All mirrors were covered, usually with taped-to-the-wall sheets. And of course, the official mourning period was intense for seven days, followed by thirty lesser days, followed by eleven months of reciting the mourner’s Kaddish in a minyan.
Bram said, “Actually, the one thing I wished we would have incorporated into our memorial service was a recitation of Kaddish. It’s a very beautiful prayer.”
“I didn’t realize that priests studied Jewish liturgy.”
“In general, we don’t give it more than a superficial glance.”
Decker met the priest’s eyes. “Perhaps you learned it at the shivah of an old friend.”
“Perhaps.” Bram cleared his throat. “From the sublime to the ridiculous. Let’s go find Grease Pit.”
The man was pushing three hundred pounds with an enormous gut and a face as large and round as a globe. Tanned skin with noticeable pores and a sweeping black mustache that topped his lip like a boa. His hair was straight and black, and fell halfway down his back. Tall sucker, too. Almost Decker’s height. He had on a black shirt, too-tight black jeans that exposed a crescent of hairy belly, and scuffed riding boots. He held a spangled leather jacket. He pumped Decker’s hand.
“Manny Sanchez, Lieutenant. Call me Grease Pit. Or call me Manny. I don’ care. Good to meet you, good to meet you. I wanna tell you somethin’ right off the bat, right off the bat, know what I’m sayin’?”
“I know what you’re saying.”
Bram said, “If you two would please excuse me, my attention is needed elsewhere.”
“You bet, Father.” Sanchez grabbed the priest’s hand and shook it vigorously. “You take care of your family, take care of your mother, you know what I’m sayin’.”
“Yes. Thanks for coming down and giving us your support.”
“For Granddaddy, you bet I came. That was one hell of a man, your daddy. Now you go and take care of your mamma. ’Cause that’s what family’s for, know what I’m sayin’. To take care of each other.”
“Absolutely.” Bram extricated his hand. “Lieutenant.”
“Father.”
After Bram left, Sanchez hitched up his pants and said, “One hell of a guy, that Father Bram. Granddaddy loved him, I can tell you that. Loved his boy, loved his kids. But it’s good that he left. ’Cause what I gotta say isn’t for God’s ears, know what I’m sayin’?”
“Tell me.”
Sanchez jabbed the air with his index finger as he spoke. “Because I’m talkin’ to you right now. Man to man. Know what I’m sayin’? Man to man, not pussy to pussy. And I’m tellin’ you this. Asshole who did this to Granddaddy should be stringed up by the cojones, you know what I’m sayin’.”
“I know what you’re saying, Mr. Sanchez. But that isn’t how we operate under American law.”
“Fuck American law.” Sanchez realized he was talking too loud. “Fuck American law,” he repeated softer. “I mean not fuck it…but you know, like…fuck it. I mean like you gotta job to do. And I can unnerstan’ that. And I don’t want to fuck you up-”
“That’s very wise, sir.”
“But sometimes it just don’t work the way it should. You know what I’m sayin’.” Again his finger started poking air. “Now, I’m not sayin’ I’m gonna break the law or anything-”
“That’s very good thinking. Because breaking the law can get you into serious trouble.”
“I’m just sayin’ that if you can’t get it done, then I can get it done. Now I’m talkin’ man to man, unnerstan’. You get it done. Or I get it done.”
Decker said, “Mr. Sanchez, do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“An asshole.” Sanchez tugged up on his waistband. “That’s what you gotta look for. An asshole. A punk. Someone who rips for the fun of rippin’. And that means an asshole. Probably one of these gang-bangers. Did you look at the gang-bangers?”
“We’re looking into everything and everybody.”
“That’s good. Hey, Sidewinder!” Sanchez shouted out. “Sidewinder, come on over here.”
Sidewinder was slightly smaller than Sanchez-less gut but more bottom heavy. His face, eroded by acne, held a weak chin and a mouth of crooked front teeth. He had dishwater hair tied up into a ponytail. His garb was almost identical to Grease Pit’s-black T-shirt over black jeans. His boots held tips and spurs-great accoutrements for kicking recalcitrant motorcycles.
“Sidewinder Polinski, this is…”
“Lieutenant Decker.” He proffered his hand. Polinski turned it into a high-five handshake.
Sanchez said, “Sidewinder, this guy here, he’s in charge of Granddaddy’s bump. We gotta cooperate with him. Find the asshole who did this.”
“Absolutely,” Polinski said. “Anything we can do to help. Not just me, any one of us. We all loved Granddaddy.”
Sanchez said, “One hell of a guy. I was just tellin’…tellin’…”
“Decker.”
“Yeah, the lieutenant here that either he finds the asshole. Or we find the asshole. Don’t make no difference to me. Just so long as someone finds the asshole.”
“Sir, it does make a difference to the law.”
“Aw, fuck the law-”
“I know, Mr. Sanchez. We’ve had this conversation before.”
“Grease Pit’s just frustrated,” Polinski said. “We all are. I mean look at it from our point of view. The tax dollars wasted on OJ’s trial. And then the Menendez mistrial…more tax dollars wasted. Then the retrial. More tax dollars. That’s a lot of money. So you see what he’s saying about taking the law into his own hands. I mean it’s wrong. But it’s efficient.”
“It will land you in jail.”
“More tax dollars wasted,” Polinski said. “But that’s what this society has come to. Lots of waste.”
Decker stared at the biker, took out his notepad. “Any idea who might have bumped Granddaddy, Sidewinder?”