Stone Kiss (16 page)

“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.

H
is 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.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re doing this to help out your brother.”

“Exactly.”

“Your
brother
?”

“Donatti, I know you’re an only child, but there are those of us who—for better or worse—have siblings.”

“You’re telling me that your brother needs
your
help?”

Decker scratched his head. “Why is this a problem for you?”

“Your brother has been in Vice for over twenty-five years in Miami. I would think he has his own connections on the East Coast.”

“Oh!” Decker sat back. “Now I understand. That’s Randy—my full brother—although he’s not my blood brother. We’re both adopted.
I met my birth mother about ten years ago. Her youngest son— my half brother—he’s the one I’m helping. He’s a rabbi.”

“You were adopted?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re a bastard.”

“Are you telling me something you didn’t already know?”

Despite himself, Donatti smiled.

Decker said, “How do you know Randy?”

“Florida is New York South. Things that happen up here often affect things down there and vice versa. My family’s always had
a vested interest in knowing who does Vice. So this guy who was cleaned… he’s your brother-in-law?”

“No. He’s my half brother’s brother-in-law. My half brother’s wife’s brother.”

“Got it. And you’re that close to him that you come out and eat your free time for him?”

Decker thought about it. “I like him. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him or his family because of his association
with the vic. Is that a possibility?”

“How the hell should I know?” Donatti drained his second scotch.

“It’s just that you’re a knowledgeable guy, Donatti.”

“You’ve got a bridge to sell me, Lieutenant?”

“So scornful at such a young age.”

“I’ve lived a hard life. Neglected and abused. You should know the story.”

Decker took up the scotch bottle and poured Chris another drink. “Did you happen to mention me to your lawyer, Donatti?”

“My
lawyer
?”

The surprise seemed genuine. Decker affected insouciance. “Maybe not.”

“You mean Hershfield?”

“Yes, Hershfield. I went to see him because he’s being retained for the family. I didn’t want the police questioning them
without representation.”

Donatti laughed. “There’s a switch.”

“Hershfield told me that certain parties resented my nosing around Ephraim’s death. I was wondering if that was you?”

Donatti glared. “Do I seem like the type who’d whine to my lawyer? Christ, Decker, I gave you more credit than that.”

“Well, someone isn’t happy.”

“Then I would suggest you find out who’s doing the bitching. It may help solve your problem.” Donatti frowned. “You didn’t
mention
m
e to Hershfield, did you?”

“No, I did not. Although if he’s your lawyer, I think he’d know that we have a history together.”

“He knows about your putting me in prison. He also knows that you reopened the case and got me out of jail. But he doesn’t
know about Teresa McLaughlin. And he certainly doesn’t know about the kid. I’d like to keep it that way.” Donatti swirled
amber liquid around his glass. “Being as you do know about them, I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise
me that if anything ever happens to me and Terry’s left out in the cold, that you’ll take care of her and the kid.”

“You mean your son, Chris.”

“That’s subject to debate.”

Decker fixed his eyes on Donatti’s face. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“No, I’m not kidding.”

“Well, you should be kidding.”

“Let me tell you something, Decker. I was married for three years and never came close to knocking up my wife.”

“That’s because you have to bed her to get her pregnant.”

Donatti laughed. “Man, ain’t that the truth. Being married to my ex-wife says a lot about the state of my hard-on. I can literally
fuck
anything. Problem is, I shoot blanks. I took tests. If there was one healthy little motherfucker swimming in my gonads, the
doctor didn’t find it. Needless to say, I’m skeptical about the kid.”

“We’re talking about Terry, Donatti.”

“All it takes is one little motherfucker from one other cock, Decker.”

“The boy is yours.”

“So she says.”

“C’mon! You’ve
seen
Gabriel, haven’t you, Donatti?”

“Of
course
, I’ve seen him.” Donatti scowled. “All that says to me is she probably fucked some guy who looks like me.”

“Take a paternity test. I guarantee you she won’t object.”

“True. She says anytime, and that’s worth something. She knows what would happen if I caught her lying.” Donatti looked up
at the ceiling. “Gabe’s a smart little motherfucker. Gifted too. He’s already playing several of Mozart’s piano concertos.
How do I know this? Because I not only paid for the piano, but also for the bastard’s lessons.”

“Good for you.”

Donatti looked up. “He has an ear, I’ll give him that much. So maybe he is mine. He certainly didn’t get that kind of talent
from his mother. Brains, yes, looks, yes, but not the gift. All that means is she fucked somebody who looked like me
and
who was musically tapped.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. Take the test, Chris. Then you won’t have to think about it.”

“But what if she’s lying?” He made a face. “Then I’d have to pop her. I don’t want to pop Terry. I
love
her.”

“You don’t have to pop her. And she’s not lying.”

Donatti kept his eyes on his drink. “This morning, you asked about my contact with Terry. It consists of my going out to Chicago
for a couple of days every other month. I spend time with the kid—pick him up from school, help him with his homework, sit
with him while he practices the piano, take him out to dinner, then tuck him into bed. It gives Terry some extra time for
her studies. Then after Gabe goes to sleep, I fuck Terry’s brains out. After we’re done, I give her
money.” He shook his head. “There are blue laws on the books against things like that.”

“It’s called supporting your child.”

“It’s called being a sucker.” Donatti plunked the glass down on the table. “I want to know that she’ll be taken care of in
case I get whacked.”

“I’d help her out even if you didn’t get whacked.”

“I know. You sent her money in the past.”

“She’s paid me back—”

“
I
paid you back.” He sat back in his chair. “After I reestablished contact with her, I paid off all her debts. They weren’t
extravagant, but they were sizable.”

“She wasn’t living the good life.”

“Actually, she was living in a slum, working two jobs, and trying to support Gabe and go to school at the same time. The girl
is industrious by nature. But I still rescued her even after she dumped me like garbage. I’m putting her through medical school;
I’m paying for the kid’s private education. I pay her rent, give her money for food and clothing and utilities and insurance
and books and whatever the hell else she needs. I’ve turned her life around, Decker. I’ve taken it from hell and morphed it
into something livable, and all I ask for in return is sporadic sex and an occasional ‘I love you, Chris.’ She fakes it well,
tries real hard to make me happy. And she does make me happy. She’s the only thing in the world that I’ve got—her and the
kid—and I’m totally obsessed with her. Look, Decker, I don’t want you to help her out of the goodness of your heart. I want
you to feel
obliged
to help her. That way, it’ll get done.”

“She’s on her way to becoming a doctor. Why all the concern?”