“What do you mean?”
“That this punk Caldwell was roughing up one of his girls?”
“He didn’t find out about it until way later… when he reviewed the tapes. Mr. Donatti doesn’t like problems. That’s why we’re here. So he doesn’t have to deal with problems.”
“I see. What about Anderson? Ever come across him?”
She thought a moment. “If I did, I don’t remember. They’re all the same, these rich-kid brats. All swagger, all bravado. Each one thinking they’re the biggest, baddest dude on the block. They deal in drugs; they show off their guns and knives; they think they’re real tough. They think they know what it’s like on the streets, but they don’t know shit. They don’t know how good they have it. They don’t know what’s important. They have it all, and yet they have nothing.”
The tears had come back in slow, steady droplets, but she didn’t appear to notice.
“Sometimes… sometimes God is just so unfair.”
33
He had about fifteen minutes to kill before Angela from Tattlers was done with her “massage” client. Stepping outside into the bracing air, Decker tried to clear his mind. The slashing rain had turned to steady globules of water, the woodland foliage melding into a thick curd of grays and browns as the daylight dimmed. He tightened the scarf around his neck and dug his hands into his pockets, feeling the jolt of iced steel on his fingers. He had forgotten about the snub-nose. He took it out, opened the chamber, and peeked inside. Four bullets. He snapped it shut, then secured the safety latch.
It would have been a perfect time for a smoke and a shot of scotch. He was cold and thirsty and could have used a kick to the system. He was sure that the place had a stash of stag toys, and with Rina absent, he didn’t have to worry about his breath or his bad behavior. That was the attraction of whorehouses. Guys could be swine and that was not only acceptable but also expected. Donatti was a down-and-dirty psycho, but the bastard understood married men. It wasn’t just a sex issue-though that played a big part-it was a control issue. Men prized freedom. Married men got tired of dealing with their wives because wives were constant reminders of their lost liberty.
In this seedy house of ill repute, he wasn’t as alienated as he should have been. In ’Nam, he had frequented brothels, but once he returned to the States, he didn’t need to pay for it. It was the 1960s and he was working in a college town. Free love was plentiful, although he frequently lied about his job when he went to bars. Cops were part of the military-industrial complex (whatever that was), pariahs with the flower-power generation. So instead of telling the girls that he was a vet and a cop-hence the short hair-he told them that his hair was short because of lice he had picked up in the Amazon jungle. They bought it hook, line, and sinker.
Sometimes, after he screwed them, if he was feeling particularly mean-and back then he often felt very mean-he told them what he really was. Far from being turned off, the women were excited by his profession, as if they were cavorting with the enemy. Jan had been one of those types. He had arrested her at an antiwar demonstration. Two nights later, they were humping like rabbits. Three months later, they were married. Six months later, Cindy was born.
Yadda, yadda, yadda.
Then there was that interim period after the divorce. Five years of being single before he had met Rina. The first couple of years were heaven-lots of sex with no emotional entanglements. The years that followed were absolutely dreadful-lots of sex with no emotional entanglements. Somewhere between the job and the sheets, he realized that the good life wasn’t endless sexual encounters and a fourteen-hour workday. He knew he was in serious trouble when he preferred his horses to his dates.
Thank God for Rina.
He suddenly missed her terribly, missed her and Hannah Rosie and his routine back in L.A. He wanted to go home. Instead, he was out here, freezing his balls off, trying to help a family that despised his intrusion. But it was too late for him to backtrack. He thought of the Liebers, of the hell they were going through. He wondered if Jonathan could be objective enough to give them pastoral comfort…
Jonathan…
He’d been out of contact with him for the past hour. Maybe it would be a good idea to touch base. He turned on his phone but couldn’t bring up a dial tone. He walked back inside, shaking the cold from his bones.
Jen looked up, then at her watch. “Shouldn’t be too long now, Lieutenant.”
“Could I borrow your phone?”
She pushed it toward him, her chest stretching over the desk, giving him a full view of cleavage. Maybe Donatti had instructed her to give it one more try.
Decker averted his eyes. “Thanks.” He dialed up Jonathan’s cell phone. It connected but was full of static. “Jon! Can you hear me?”
“Where the hell are you?”
Through the electronic noise, Decker could tell his brother was yelling. “Is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong? Everything is wrong! I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past half hour! I’m driving through the woods here, getting lost-”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Akiva!” he said sharply. “Where… are you?”
He turned to Jen. “Could you give my brother directions to the place?”
“It’s off the highway between Quinton and Bainberry.”
“I know that. What street does he take?”
“I don’t think it has a name.”
“Well, can he look for a landmark?”
She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
Decker was miffed. “How do you know how to get here?”
“I just know it.”
His irritation turned to frustration. “Jon, where are you?”
“I’m about a mile before the Bainberry Mall.”
“You’re too far.”
“Far from what!”
“From the access road.”
“What access road? I didn’t find any access road.” The tension cut through the line. “We have an emergency situation, Akiva. I need to find you now!”
Decker felt his pulse rising. “What emergency?”
“Chaim’s missing-” Crackle bit through the line. “I’m losing you!” Jonathan screamed. “It’s raining, the visibility is poor, and it’s getting dark. Give me something to go on!”
“Hold on.” He put his palm over the receiver. “Jen, can someone drive me down to the highway?”
“Not now. Everyone’s busy.”
“How about Angela? You said she’d be done in a few minutes.”
“She doesn’t have a car. She gets picked up.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t have a car. I usually get picked up also.”
She wasn’t being helpful. Decker wondered if that wasn’t the idea. “Jon, I’m going to walk down to the highway. I’m closer to Quinton than to Bainberry, but I don’t know how much closer-”
“You can’t walk down!” Jen interrupted.
Decker ignored her. “It’ll probably take me a good twenty minutes or so-”
“You can’t walk down in the dark!” Jen reiterated. “One wrong turn and you’re lost.”
“It’s not completely dark yet.”
“I’ll look for you,” Jonathan said.
“Bye.” Decker hung up.
“You can’t walk down the road,” Jen insisted. “I’m telling you, you’ll get lost.”
“I don’t have any choice.”
“What about Angela? Didn’t you want to see her?”
“She’ll have to wait.”
“You’re going to get lost-”
“You’re repeating yourself.” He started toward the door.
“Wait!” She kneaded her hands several times, then opened a drawer and pulled out a storage-size flashlight, a battery-size square with a strong white beam on one end and a blinking red flare on the other. “Take this. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Thanks.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded. She wasn’t happy about this turn of events. Maybe she was enjoying his company. He smiled at the ridiculous thought. “Bye, Jen. Good luck.”