Stone Kiss

Decker didn’t answer.

Randy brought in the heavy ammunition. “Peter, you made me look especially good. I’m going to get a promotion because of you-D-three. You know how long I’ve waited for this?”

“I’m happy for you.”

“So stop sulking like a paddled schoolboy. You think Donatti used you? You used Donatti. The psycho was finally good for something other than popping wiseguys and pimping girls.”

But Decker wasn’t buying the rationalization. His expression spoke of his skepticism.

“You’re still thinking like a Homicide dick,” Randy told him. “You want Donatti, you gotta think like Vice. You need informants. You need the bad guys to get other bad guys.”

“Donatti’s a real bad guy. The bastard shot me.” Decker’s jaw became a ball of tension. “Worse than that, he humiliated me.”

“Fucking easy for him to make you dance with a gun to your head. Peter, he didn’t humiliate you; he played a crooked game. That’s being a coward. I’d like to pit the two of you together without the Beretta in his hand.”

The image made Decker smile. “I should have turned him in.”

“Pete, he ain’t worth ruining your life for.” Randy gulped down his lemonade. “Yeah, it would have been great if you could have taken him under, but the timing wasn’t right. The main thing is you’re breathing, and that gives you plenty of time to set him up. You want to get Donatti, you need to sting him. You need informants and anonymous tips and wires and videos and surveillance and someone who’ll rat him out. That kind of setup takes time… maybe years.”

Decker nodded, still consumed with thoughts of revenge. Bastard probably figured the slate was clean for what happened eight years ago. Not so, baby. Now, there was a bigger score to settle. And Randy was right. Maybe it would take years. That was okay. Decker was mature: He was a very patient man.

“Donatti will get his,” Randy repeated. “In the meantime, look around. It’s a beautiful day. Not so bad, huh?”

“No, not so bad.” Decker finished his lemonade.

Randy laughed out loud. “Just like when we were kids, Peter. I’d screw up and try to convince you why it wasn’t all that terrible.”

“You didn’t screw up this time.”

“Neither did you.”

Decker didn’t answer.

Randy switched gears. “You’re just about healed up and you still got four weeks’ disability left. What are you going to do with it?”

“Right now, I’m mellowing out. In a few days, Rina and I thought we’d take Ha

“Oh God no!”

“What’s wrong with Epcot?”

“Why don’t you leave Ha

“No thanks. Maybe another time.”

“If not now, when? Isn’t that a Jewish proverb?”

“It means the study of Torah.”

“Well, you can’t study your holy Torah unless your mind is in a spiritual place. In the meantime, the Caribbean is nice.”

“I don’t want to go to the Caribbean. I hate beach vacations. I don’t tan; I just burn. And I can’t think of anything worse than sitting in the hot sun, sweating my ass off.”

Randy exhaled in disgust.

“Rina was also talking about going to Europe for a week to ten days. Mom said she and Dad would look after Ha

“I wonder why,” Randy quipped.

“Gotta live your life,” Decker answered.

“Exactly, Peter. Listen to your own advice,” Randy told him. “Hey. How about if Sheryl and me and the kids come down on the weekend and give Mom and Dad an extra pair of hands?”

“Randy, you’ve been a peach.”

He smiled. “I was a pain-in-the-ass little brother, but you treated me okay. Now I’m rewarding you. Where you two going? Paris?”

“Paris and possibly Munich of all places. Rina has a close childhood friend who moved with her husband to Germany to start a yeshiva there.”

“Go figure.” Randy slapped him on the back. “Do it, Peter. Have a good time with your wife, and thank whatever God you believe in that you’ve got another day with a heartbeat.”

It came in the afternoon, the day before she and Peter were to leave for Paris, a plain white envelope with a stuck-on, pretyped label made out to MRS. RINA DECKER C/O LYLE AND IDA DECKER, followed by her in-laws’ address.

She turned it over. The return address was the same as the front label. Another flip back. The postmark told her it was mailed from New York City. Immediately, she grew suspicious, but who on earth would be sending her biological warfare in the mail. Still, she took care when she opened the envelope.

No powder of any kind.

No letter, either.

Only a small single-column newspaper article that had been neatly trimmed-razor cut rather than scissors. There wasn’t any mention of the paper’s name. Nor was there a date. Rina read the headline.

MAN SLAIN, FOUND ON STEPS OF CHURCH

On a routine patrol, Officer Willard Greaves discovered a grisly corpse sprawled across the front steps of Medford Methodist Church. The victim, sustaining a single shot to the head, was identified as Steven Gilbert, a computer teacher at the local community college…

The article fell from Rina’s hands and fluttered down to the floor. She could feel her heart pumping blood clear up to her brain. Her voice escaped her for a moment; then she called out his name.

“Peter?”

No answer.

She picked up the article and tried to control her shaking hands. She cleared her throat and tried again, a little louder. “Peter?”

Nothing.

She went into the kitchen, the center of her in-laws’ house. Mama Ida had just baked a ci

“Out back.”

She took in a deep breath, exhaled, then went into the backyard. Peter was grilling their di

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.” Decker kept his concentration on the grill. “What’s up, beautiful?”

Peter was wearing an apron. He looked so relaxed and homespun.

“This came in today’s mail.”

Peter looked up. “What’s wrong, Rina?”

“Wrong?”

“You’re white.” His face was filled with concern. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really. Well… nothing bad.” She secured the spatula from his hand, and offered him the article. “Trade?”

Warily, Decker took the clipping. Within seconds, he was aware of his heartbeat. “Oh my my…” Excitement soared through his veins. He couldn’t help himself. A smile worked its way to his lips. “Son of a gun. Where’d this come from?”

“I told you. It came in today’s mail. It was addressed to me care of your parents. The return address was your parents’ house.”

“Did you look at the postmark?”

“Yes. It was mailed from New York.”

“New York?”

Rina nodded.

“Not Indiana?”

“No, not Indiana. New York.” She showed him the envelope.

He stared at the envelope, a bit deflated. “It could be a hoax.”

But Rina knew it was no hoax.

“Well, there’s one way to find out.” He looked up from the article. “You’ll watch the fish?”

“I’ll watch the fish.”

“Son of a gun. If it is true, we’re going to have to tell the boys.” Decker’s smile returned. “Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I think you should do it. I’m…” Heat from the grill was baking her face. She suddenly felt faint. “I’m…”