“That’s what I do for a living, Counselor. Stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“But you’re not getting paid for this, Lieutenant. You’re taking precious vacation time to get spit at. And if you think you’re going to redeem yourself with these people, even after this is over, think again. You’ve been with the tribe long enough to know that working for Jews is nothing but problems. I’m getting paid for it. But what do you need it for?”
The anonymous complainer could have been anyone from Chaim to the cops, even Donatti, who used Hershfield as his lawyer. And if it were Chris, maybe Hershfield was using the Liebers to deflect the heat off him. Decker said nothing.
“Anything else?” Hershfield asked.
“Yes, actually there is something else. First time we met, you asked my brother about Mr. Lieber’s stores as a pass-through for money-laundering drug dollars. Do you know something that I don’t?”
“Lieutenant, if you want to work from that angle, it’s fine with me.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“No, Decker, you don’t.” Hershfield’s face had tightened, the skin over his bony cheeks taut and dry. “Look, murder is a terrible thing. And I’m devastated about the young girl. Really, I am. But until she’s found-one way or another-the Lieber family has to be protected. That’s why you hired me. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Which is why I’ve instructed the family members not to talk to you until we know what’s going on.”
Decker stared at him.
“It’s for their own good,” Hershfield went on. “I know that you’ve got a job to do, Lieutenant, but so do I.”
“You’re shutting me down.”
“No, Lieutenant, I’m being a very good defense attorney.” Another flick of the wrist.
Decker stood. “Don’t bother. I’m going.”
“Lieutenant, don’t be so bitter. I heard that you had a very nice Shabbos. That your sons came in to visit you for the weekend and your family was together. Think of that as the purpose of your trip.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He smiled. “Thanks for your time, Counselor.”
“It’s no problem.”
Decker closed the door behind him, thinking there were only a select number of people who knew the specifics of his Shabbos, but only two of them who would have a reason to contact Hershfield. It was unlikely that Jonathan would have shut him down, so it was down to Raisie. The question was, did she call Hershfield on her own, or was she her brother’s agent?
The larger question was, what did it matter?
He shouldn’t be here. He should be where he was wanted, in Gainesville, doing something meaningful, like helping his old man rebuild the toolshed and fixing the plumbing for his aged mother. Instead, he was doing favors that no one appreciated.
No more Mr. Nice Guy.
To hell with Quinton.
To hell with all of them.
13
His stomach was growling, matching his feral mood, but Decker had no one to blame but himself. If anything, Hershfield had been forthcoming. He was doing what he’d been hired to do. Getting representation had been Decker’s idea. He’d been hoist on his own petard.
Outside the building, he called the Lazaruses’ number to speak with Rina, but she had gone out shopping. Just as well. He was too angry to be good company. Still, he missed her. He began to walk aimlessly, looking for a simple place to fight off hunger pangs. That was easier said than done. Lots of the restaurants in the area weren’t open for lunch on Sunday, and those that were looked too ritzy for his blood. He finally settled on a small café on Third Avenue squashed between a flower shop and a Korean fruit vendor. The salad was mediocre-saturated with a garlicky dressing that had wilted the lettuce. Decker took a few bites, then gave up. There was a pastry shop a few doors down that looked pretty good. He tamed his groaning belly with an apple croissant and a double espresso.
Trying to make sense of it all, he was furious but, like Hershfield said, it wasn’t all bad. Tonight the immediate family was going out to dinner at a steak house labeled by the boys as awesome. Then he and Rina would catch a little music, have a couple of drinks. Be adults for a change, and why the hell not? He took a final sip of coffee, then threw it in the trash.
It was a little after two. Decker was down to counting the hours until they left. He stopped at the corner of Fifty-third and Second Avenue and lifted his finger to signal a cab, hoping he’d find a driver willing to make the trek out to Brooklyn. Eventually a bee-pollen-yellow taxi pulled over, answering his signal. As Decker opened the back door to get in, a voice carried over his shoulder.
“Share it?”
Decker turned around. Donatti’s face was placid.
“I’m always one for saving money.” Decker stepped aside. “Beauty before age.”
Donatti slid in. Decker followed, giving the driver Donatti’s uptown address. The young man slumped in his seat, his face as expressionless as plastic. The ride was silent until Chris’s cell rang. He waited until it stopped ringing, then regarded the number, distaste flitting through his eyes. Then his face went slack.
The ride took over twenty minutes. Decker paid, and Donatti didn’t argue. As soon as they entered the loft, Donatti said, “I’ve gotta return a call from my office. Wait here. You can make some coffee if you want.”
Decker said, “Want me to make enough for two?”
“Nah, I’m coffeed out. I’ve also got some Glenlivet single malt in the cupboard underneath the pot. Help yourself.”
Ordinarily, Decker wouldn’t drink. But he poured two glasses of scotch, trying to get some kind of camaraderie going. When Donatti returned, Decker gave him a glass. “Was that Joey on the phone?”
“How’d you guess?” Donatti took a healthy swig.
“You made a face in the car.”
“Some things never change.”
“How’s he feeling?”
“Terrible. He’s working on fifty percent of his heart and that’s after quadruple bypass. Actually, fifty percent is pretty good for a guy who never had a heart to begin with.”
Decker smiled and clinked his tumbler onto Donatti’s glass.
Donatti said, “What’re we toasting to?”
“Whatever you want.”
“How about obscene financial success?”
“You’ve got it.”
Donatti picked up the scotch bottle, then took out a ring of keys. “Let’s go into my office.” He opened the door.
Decker said, “After you.”
Donatti said, “Age before beauty.”
Decker shrugged, then stepped inside the windowless chamber. The fan kicked in, so did the lights. The video monitors gave the decor a space-age module look. Decker stared at the TV screens. “Good security.”
“It pays to be careful.” Donatti took another belt of scotch. “I’ve got it set up with every bug-blocking gadget on the market. I’m not saying I can’t be had, but currently this is as good as it gets. Besides, after September eleventh, Feds got more important things to do.” He downed his drink, then poured himself another. “After you left this morning, I got curious.” His eyes met Decker’s. “What’s your interest in the whack? It’s a local matter.”
Decker said, “Doing a favor for a friend.”
“You take your hard-earned vacation time to spin your wheels in the shit holes of New York to solve a low-level pop. Must be some good friend.”
Decker analyzed Donatti’s words. He had called the pop low level-a dodge or was it truly something beneath him? Of course, Donatti wanted information, but what exactly was he asking? How much did Decker know so he could figure out how to cover his ass? Some kind of truce, maybe? That was probably wishful thinking. In the end, Decker went with the truth because it was the easiest.
“I’m doing a favor for my brother.”
Donatti’s eyes never wavered. “Your brother?”
“Yeah, my brother. I’m helping him out. The victim was a relative of my brother.”
“The vic was your relative?”
“No, my brother’s relative. He was my brother’s brother-in-law.”