Stone Kiss (20 page)

“You’ve got a real thinker,” Miller told Rina.

“She’s… unique.”

Decker succumbed and devoured another piece of bread. Rivka stared at the kids. To Rina, she whispered, “If the body language
was any closer, they’d be nose-to-nose.”

Rina said, “Wonder when they’ll work up the courage for eye contact.”

Rivka sighed. “I suppose it’s better than the
Shiddach
Directory. I’m surprised. Rachel is usually very reserved.” She looked at Rina. “How old’s your boy?”

“Almost twenty.” Rina looked at the girl. “She’s eighteen, nineteen?”

“Just turned nineteen. What yeshiva did he go to in Israel?”

“Gush.”

The mother nodded.

“And your daughter?”

“Midreshet Lindenbaum.”

“Oh. Bravender’s,” Rina answered. “Very progressive.”

“She’s got a mind of her own.”

“That’s good.”

Rivka asked, “How old were you when you got married?”

“Seventeen. And you?”

“Eighteen.”

Silence.

Rivka turned to her husband. “Shragy, enough with the questions. You’re driving the poor little girl crazy.”

“She’s very bright. She doesn’t mind.”

“How do you know?” She waved him off.

Finally, finally, the food came. By the time everyone had finished, they had twenty minutes to catch the first set. Rina regarded
Sammy. There was still a blush in his cheeks. His food was barely touched. She elbowed Decker and whispered, “You look a little
tired, Peter. How about we give the tickets away, and you and I take a nice romantic walk instead?”

Decker’s face registered surprise. “Are you sure?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He was thrilled with the idea. He had just demolished half a cow. A walk sounded good for the soul,
good for the waistline. And there was this part of him, this obsessive little voice that kept telling him to take one more
crack at finding Shayndie. Rina was giving him an out, and he took it.

“It’s absolutely fine with me, darling.” Decker took his wife’s hand. “We can make our own music.”

Rina offered the tickets to the parents. The rabbi said, “I’m not much for jazz—too many notes. How about if you give the
tickets to the boys?”

Jacob said, “I’ve got a train to catch.”

“I’ll go,” Reuven said.

Jacob kicked him under the table.

“On second thought, I’ve got to go pack.”

Sammy said, “I’ll take them if no one else wants them.” To Rachel, “Do you want to go?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Rachel blushed. “Why let the tickets go to waste?”

“You two better
bentsh
and get going,” Rina told them. “It’s late.”

“We have
mezumin
,” Rav Miller stated.

The three men necessary to say extra prayers before the Grace after Meals. Decker said, “Then let’s all
bentsh
and get going. Rav Miller, would you like to do the honors?”

“You do the honors.” Miller punted back to Decker.

“No, I insist.”

“But you provided the tickets for the children.”

Rachel was exasperated. “Somebody please start or we’re going to be late.”

Rav Miller led the group in the Grace after Meals. Afterward Decker turned to Jacob. “Do you mind taking Hannah and the packages
back to Brooklyn?”

Jacob held up his carry-on.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re leaving.” So much for his hunting down Shayndie. “Okay. So we’ll see Jacob off and go back to Brooklyn.”

Rina stepped in. “You look like you have a few pickup items to do here in Manhattan before you go back. I’ll take Hannah and
the packages back.”

“What about our walk?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Then she whispered, “We have our exercise later on tonight.” She turned to her daughter. “Come, Chanaleh,
let’s say good-bye to your brother.”

Everyone took turns saying good-bye to Jacob. By the time her younger son left, there were tears in Rina’s eyes. Then she
said, “Now the hard part. Finding a cab that’s willing to take us across the bridge.”

Rivka spoke up. “Nonsense. We’ve got a car. We’ll take you. Where are you going?”

“Boro Park. Where do you live?”

“Englewood.”

“It’s way out of your way.” “It’s fine. Shragy’s parents live there. We should stop by so Reuven can say hello. Shragy, help
her with the bags.” Rivka said to Rina, “We’ll go bring the car around.”

“Thank you,” Rina answered.

After the Millers left with Reuven, Decker held his daughter’s hand and smiled at his wife. “I’m not really doing anything
in the city. Just bumming around.”

“You want to try one more time,” Rina said.

“You know me too well.”

He seemed so demoralized. Rina squeezed his hand. “You’re not responsible for saving the world, Peter.”

“Yes, I know. It only seems that way.”

H
eading downtown from
Forty-eighth Street, Decker started walking, hands in his pockets, coat wrapped tight around his chest. Twenty blocks later,
he was in front of the address of Ephraim Lieber’s chapter of Emek Refa’im. It corresponded to a basement somewhere in the
Garment District. During daylight hours, the area was teeming with people, many of them pushing steel racks of clothing from
one location to another. Blocks of stores and marts, showcasing one line after another, the rag reps promising their buyers
exclusives on the newest items in the fickle world of fashion. At this time of night, the streets were dark and quiet, its
huge monolithic structures casting shadows over the pavement, filmy moonlight breaking through the steel clouds. Artificial
lights illuminated an occasional window: Someone was working overtime, getting the jump.

With nothing to keep him in the area, he retraced his steps uptown. Maybe he could reach Sammy and accompany him back to Washington
Heights in a cab. Then, because he wasn’t too far away, he could swing by Donatti’s on the way back. He got to the hotel a
little after nine, but the jazz set still had forty minutes to go. Since there was a café nearby, Decker stopped in and ordered
a pot of herbal tea. He might as well keep warm.

Five minutes into his Lemon Zinger, he realized how ludicrous his idea had been. Sammy was on a date, for goodness’ sake!
Decker’s
was probably the last face he’d want to see. He took a final sip, then put down a fiver and left. At Forty-fifth and Eighth,
he hailed a cab.

“Share a ride?”

Decker whipped around.

The man was truly a phantom.

This time, Donatti was with a young girl. She appeared around fifteen, but knowing how careful Chris was, she was probably
eighteen. Donatti opened the door, and Decker got in. The girl slid in next. Last came Chris.

Her pixie face was painted with very little makeup and framed with dark hair. Innocent face, but the dress was anything but.
She had on a red tank top, a leather miniskirt, and fishnets. Around her shoulders was a feathered boa. No bra, her nipples
were big and erect. She must have been freezing in the getup.

Donatti gave the driver an address. No one spoke.

As the blocks sped by, Decker felt something against his leg. He moved closer to the door, but the child was persistent, nuzzling
her limb against his. It was only after her hand had brushed against his thigh and had come to rest on his knee that he had
had enough.

Fury welled inside of him. He shot Donatti a hateful look so filled with venom that even Chris’s stone demeanor cracked around
the eyes. He pulled his charge’s hand off Decker’s thigh.

Donatti said, “Switch places with me, honey. You’re bothering him.”

With one swift motion, he lifted her across his lap, swatting her fanny as he put her on his right side.

“Ooh, do it again,” she purred.

“Behave yourself,” Donatti told her. “We’re in public.”

“Never stopped you before.”

This time, he gave her the force of his eyes, and she slumped back in the seat, hands in her lap.

“Pull over here,” Donatti told the cabbie. “Keep the meter running. Wait for me.”

The driver nodded.

Donatti said, “Get out. I’ll walk you to the door.”

The girl said, “He’s not coming up?”

“No, he’s not coming up.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not.”

“Well, maybe he’d like to come up.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Are you coming up?”

“No. Get out.”

“Why not?”

“Out
.
”
This time, Donatti didn’t wait. With his long arms, he reached over and opened the passenger door, then pushed her out of
the hack. She fell on the sidewalk, but before she could get up, Chris was on her, yanking her to her feet, then dragging
her to the front door of an apartment building.

Decker swallowed his wrath as he watched the abuse. Shaynda was still missing. As soon as Donatti and the girl were out of
earshot, the cabbie said, “The company don’t like us waiting for fares.”

“If you want to take off, it’s fine with me,” Decker said.

The driver chuckled. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. You know who that is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Decker said.

“You sure you know?”

“Christopher Donatti.”

“Just thought I’d say something, in case you didn’t know. Cause I heard him ask for you twose to share the cab. So maybe you
didn’t know.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Decker peeked out the window. The girl had thrown her arms around Donatti, was in the process of trying to kiss him. He recoiled
from her face and shoved her away. To mollify his rough behavior, he gave her another playful swat on the butt. Then he walked
back and gave the cab his loft address.

Donatti threw his head back and closed his eyes. Acting so casual while Decker was still nursing resentment. The more he thought
about it, the angrier he became. Just what was Donatti trying to pull? He couldn’t have been that moronic as to give that
girl—that
child
—an order to seduce him. So what was the point? Just a little head trip to see Decker squirm?

Enough was enough. Donatti might have information, but right now, Decker was too damn furious to be with the bastard. To deal
with Chris, Decker needed to be calm and nonjudgmental. He had to walk it off.

He blurted out to the driver, “Just pull over here.” A good two dozen blocks shy of Donatti’s digs.

Chris opened his eyes, looked at him.

“This is my stop,” Decker insisted.

“Here?” the driver asked.

“Here. Pull over now!”

The cabbie did as told.

Decker threw half the fare in Donatti’s lap. “Hey, thanks a lot, buddy.” He threw open the door and stormed out.

It took over twenty minutes of marching uptown on Riverside Drive for Decker to steady his rapid heartbeat. As he trod down
the near-empty street, the Hudson River looking black and endless, he couldn’t erase the image of that pathetic little girl,
shoved and demeaned, yet she was trying so hard. It saddened him—all these broken souls—but what was the sense of bleeding?
Even if Decker had had the capacity to redeem her, there were hundreds of others waiting to take her place.

It was cruel outside, a hard, malodorous mist pricking his face. He was fast approaching 135th, and was at a juncture. Jump
or cut bait.

Shaynda was still missing.

Like a cat to his piss, he navigated his way toward Donatti’s building, reaching it, but hesitating before pressing the bell.
There was a better than good chance that by now Donatti was equally as pissed, meaning that Decker had blown his one chance.
Just terrific!

Suddenly, the buzzer sounded without Decker’s finger on the button.

The video monitor in the office: Donatti had been watching for him.
Waiting
for him.

Decker went inside the lobby, and this time took the elevator up. The cage was slow and bumpy. He was buzzed into the anteroom
and
went through the metal detector, but he didn’t set it off probably because Chris had turned it off. The door to the loft was
open. Chris greeted him with two glasses of scotch, holding one out to Decker.

“Pass.”

Donatti didn’t move, his arm still extending the cut-crystal glass. Their eyes locked. Decker knew that if he didn’t take
the booze, he might as well pack it up. If Donatti was sitting on something, Decker might as well find out what it was. Give
the bastard this little victory. He took the glass.

Chris clinked it with his own, then took up the bottle and opened up his office. Without a word, Decker went inside. Chris
followed, locked the door, and flipped the antibug switch. He sipped the booze while he and Decker did a staring contest.
This time, Decker wasn’t going to give ground.

Donatti went first. “She improvised. You’ve gotta know that wasn’t my idea.”

Decker continued to make eye contact. “Then what was she doing with you in the first place?”

“I was helping her out of a jam.”

“Which you put her into by pimping her.”

Donatti seemed amused. “If I were pimping her, she wouldn’t have been in a jam.” He drained the scotch. “Can I help it if
she’s a bad judge of character?”

Decker didn’t answer.

Donatti said, “I usually make it a point to stay in good standing with my former models.”

“Former?”

“Yeah, she’s nineteen now. Can’t use her anymore. Too exposed and too old.”

“At nineteen, she’s too old.”

“One year, Decker,” Donatti said. “Eighteen to nineteen. Men have an infinite appetite for pussy as long as the flesh is fresh.
We’re talking a high-turnover business.”

“Where do you get them from?”

“That’s my specialty. Which leads us to the point of this meeting. What I say can’t go beyond these four walls. Not to your
wife, to
your lawyer, to your rabbi, even to yourself when you sing in the shower. The results of a slipup can be very deleterious.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Silence isn’t good enough. I’ve got to have your word.”

“You put an awful lot of trust in my word, Donatti.”

“Is it unfounded?”

Decker hid his expression behind the glass.