Day of Atonement (19 page)
Authors: Faye Kellerman
“You got ’em?”
“I got ’em,” Noam said.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Hersh leaped off the bed and pinned
Noam in a headlock. He punched him gently in the cranium. “Ya got somethin’ in there. I told you you could do it.”
Noam smiled but inside he felt like dying. What if the pharmacist had seen him? What if he was reporting him to the police right now? What if they threw him in jail and let him rot?
What if? What if? What if?
The whole thing started out like an exciting adventure story. It had turned into a nightmare.
Hersh said, “Where are they, Nick-O?”
Nick-O? That’s right. He wasn’t Nolan anymore. He was Nick-O. Noam liked Nolan better—like Nolan Ryan. But Hersh insisted on calling him Nick-O cause that sounded more tough.
“In my pocket,” Noam answered.
Hersh reached in and pulled out the condoms. “Did you get the extra large?”
Noam turned red. “I…I didn’t know they were sized—”
Hersh let go with a wicked peal of laughter. “You are so fuckin’ stupid. You really don’t know shit. But you still did good, Nick-O. You did good.”
Noam studied Hersh’s smile. He was genuinely happy.
Boruch Hashem
.
“You did good,” Hersh repeated. “Real good. Like a pro!”
Noam shrugged, embarrassed by the compliment. No one at home ever,
ever
complimented him. Criticizing him all the time. Still, all he could think about now was how to get home. How he could manage to call them. But if Hersh found out…His throat tightened, he began to feel weak inside as if the first bout of vomiting hadn’t emptied his stomach.
He felt a sharp rap on his head. Hersh had him in another headlock.
“You still up in there?” Hersh said, knocking on Noam’s brain.
Noam struggled until he was free from Hersh’s grip. “I had to wait a long time before the cashier left the checkstand.”
“That’s what took you so
long
?”
Noam nodded.
“You wouldn’t be thinkin’ about callin’ anyone, would you, Nick-O?”
Noam’s eyes widened. “Oh, no way, Hank. No way. Who would I call?”
“Liar,” Hersh said. But his voice was light. He grabbed Nick-O by the neck again. “You did good.”
“I didn’t call anyone,” Noam said. “I swear I didn’t.”
“I believe you,” Hank said. “Now shut up about it.”
Noam clamped his lips together.
Hank said, “You only took two packs. Why’d you only take two packs?”
“I just took what I saw—”
“You know, Nick-O, you do somethin’, you do it all the way.” Hersh slapped his cheek gently. “What you did is like robbin’ a bank for five bucks, know what I’m sayin’? But what the hey. You got time to learn,
capich
?”
Noam hated it when Hersh spoke Italian.
“Besides,” Hersh went on, “this is only the beginning. I was just checkin’ you out, seein’ what kind of balls you have. And they’re not too bad.”
Noam felt his stomach lurch. “What do you mean?”
“You think I sent you to the store just to swipe some skins?”
That was exactly what Noam thought.
“I got bigger things in mind,” Hersh said.
Noam paused, waited for Hersh to explain. But he didn’t.
“What things?” Noam asked.
And there it was. The weird, lopsided smile. Only it didn’t really look happy now. It looked scary and mean.
Hersh plopped back down on the bed. “Fold the laundry and start packin’. We’re movin’ on, Nick-O.”
Noam stared at him. “Where we going?”
“Does it matter?”
“No—”
“So what you askin’ me all these questions?”
“I’m just curious—”
Hersh sprang up, drew his neck in another headlock. But this one hurt.
“You shouldn’t be curious, Nick-O. It’s a very dangerous thing to do.”
“I just meant—”
“Shut up,” Hersh said, squeezing.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me—”
Hersh let go with a push. Noam fell against the bed.
“You bug me with your questions, know that, Nick-O?”
Noam felt the tears come back. He forced himself to blink them gone.
“Just pack and don’t ask questions,” Hersh said.
Noam didn’t answer. The tears kept coming so he buried his head in his hands. Then he felt an arm pat his shoulder.
That was the thing with Hersh. You never knew.
“Don’t ask me no questions,” Hersh said, softly. “I don’t like it.”
Noam nodded.
“Now pack,” Hersh said.
“Okay.” Noam’s voice was barely audible. He sat down in the corner and began to fold the laundry.
“We’re movin’ to someplace better,” Hersh said.
Noam nodded.
“I mean, you don’t want to stay in a dump like this, do you?”
Noam shook his head no.
“So we’ll go someplace better.”
“Okay.”
“I mean I got plans, Nick-O. You gonna be able to handle my plans?”
Noam forced out, “I can handle your plans.”
“Good,” Hersh said. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.”
“I can handle them,” Noam said. Trying to say it with more confidence.
“So then I’ll tell you part of the plans.”
Noam waited and folded a shirt.
“Plan number one,” Hersh said, “I get laid tonight, Nick-O. I’m gonna order up a broad. Now if you want a piece of her ass, hey, it’s on me. You don’t, you wait in the bathroom. Understand?”
Noam nodded.
“Think you might want some action?” Hersh said.
Noam shook his head.
“Hey, it’ll put hair on your face,” Hersh said.
Again, Noam shook his head.
“Fine,” Hersh sulked. “Suit yourself.”
Noam didn’t answer. He resumed folding the laundry.
“Hey, aren’t you gonna ask what the rest of my plans are?” Hersh said.
Noam closed his eyes. Just a minute ago, Hersh had almost bitten off his head for asking too many questions. Now he was all mad at him for not asking enough questions.
“What are the rest of your plans?” Noam whispered.
Hersh said, “My dickhead old man’s inheritance should be cleared any day now. I’m gonna give the insurance company a call this afternoon. I got it all planned out.”
Noam nodded.
“But we need to do somethin’ for money in the meantime, know what I’m sayin’?”
Noam stopped folding laundry. His stomach…boiling acid. He swallowed the bilious taste down.
Hersh went on. “Look. We’re almost busted. I mean your old lady’s cash didn’t exactly go too far. And the jewelry?” He shrugged. “I don’t got a good fence yet. What we need is ready bread, know what I’m sayin’?”
Noam looked at him—at that scary lopsided smile. Hersh got off the bed and went over to the suitcase. He rummaged through the contents, then pulled out something metallic. He explained that it was the same kind of weapon used by the LAPD—a Beretta semi-automatic. He’d bought this one from a buddy of his back in Hackensack, New Jersey—an ex-con who dealt in firearms.
“Cons can’t own guns legally, you know,” Hersh said.
“But that’s all shit. You can get anything you want if you have enough money and know who to ask.”
He petted the gun gingerly.
“You think I had you rip off some skins, just to get some skins? Huh?
Huh?
”
“I don’t know,” Noam whispered.
“I was just givin’ you a trial run,” Hersh said. “Figurin’ out if you could handle bigger assignments. Testing you for the next time around, know what I’m sayin’?”
Noam felt nauseated.
“Now, I’m not sayin’ we’re gonna take anybody out,” Hersh said. “But sometimes…you know me, I love knives. But knives don’t always do it. People just don’t take knives seriously and that can be messy. I mean, you do something, you want it clean, not messy, right?”
Noam didn’t answer. Hersh went on.
“Knives are great for a surprise attack. Some joker wants to fight you off, you just get in there and stick ’im. Right between the ribs. You go up on it and move it around—well, never mind. See, I love knives but guns get attention.”
Noam remained silent.
Vey is mir. What did Hersh have in mind now?
Hersh said, “You did good on the skins. See, I was testin’ you. Well, congratulations, Nick-O.” He shoved the gun into Noam’s hands. “You aced the test.”
From the airplane
window, disks of white cloud looked like lily pads floating in a pond. Decker leaned his seat all the way back and stretched his legs. He wore a kelly-green knit shirt, faded jeans, and a new pair of Reeboks—first time all week he’d dressed in casual clothing. Rina had upgraded their tickets to business class—an absolute necessity for anyone six-four. For just a moment, he let himself relax.
Rina pushed her seat back until it was level with his, then slipped her arm around his neck and started massaging the tightened musculature. Though dressed as simply as he, Rina still personified regal beauty. Decker felt a swell of pride every time he thought of her as
his
wife.
“Feels nice,” Decker said.
“Am I hitting the right spot?”
Decker smiled. “You don’t
really
want me to answer that.”
She laughed. Decker took her hand away and kissed her fingers. “It was nice of you to come out with me.”
“I wouldn’t think of
not
coming out with you, Peter.”
“Well, thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome anyway.” She chucked his chin. “The color has returned to your cheeks.”
“It’s the western climate,” he said. “I just think of all that L.A. sun and I get a burn.”
“You’re happy to be going home, no doubt about that.”
“I’m not
really
going home,” Decker said. “Not with the boys still in New York and this case hanging over my head.”
“At least you’ll see Cindy before she goes off to college.”
“True,” Decker said. “A wonderful side benefit.”
Rina sighed. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“You didn’t make the kid run away,” Decker said. He smiled at her. “Now that I’m a little distanced from all the people…” The
family
, he thought. “I can approach the whole thing more professionally. It’s okay, Rina. I’m in control.”
“It’s good to hear you so full of confidence.”
Decker paused. “Any reason why I shouldn’t be confident?”
“None at all.”
“This is my business, Rina,” Decker said. “I’ve been a cop for twenty years.”
“You’re the best—”
“I’m not the best, but I’m good.”
“You’re very good.”
“Damn good.”
“Damn good,” Rina repeated.
Decker broke up. “I’m still wired, I guess.”
Rina said, “Would you like to talk about the case?”
“You know I don’t like to talk about my cases.”
“I just thought it might help you get some of the tension off your chest.”
“I’m fine, Rina. Tension and I have become good buddies over the years.”
Rina said, “You know yourself better than I do.”
“Of course, if
you’re
curious…”
Rina smiled to herself. He was dying to talk to someone, but didn’t want to burden her. She took his hand and said, “Maybe I am a little curious…”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Decker gave her the low-down.
Hersh Mendel Schaltz—currently twenty-one—was the only child of Peretz and Bracha Schaltz. He grew up in Kew Gardens, Queens, living in the same apartment house until he was eleven years old. The family then moved to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. A year later, the parents were divorced, Hersh staying with his mother, the father leaving the community. After that, it was almost impossible to trace Hersh’s life. He and his mother seemed to have moved dozens of times, often living in apartments for only a few months at a time. Then, the big news. Peretz Schaltz remarried—a Gentile woman.
“My own interpretation about her religion,” Decker said. “The second wife’s name was Christine McClellan.”
“Obviously Hersh’s father wasn’t Orthodox,” Rina said.
“Apparently at one time he was,” Decker said. “A former neighbor told me he’d been a Satmar Chasid, one of the reasons the family moved to Williamsburg.”
“Then why did he live in Kew Gardens all those years?” Rina asked.
“Beats me,” Decker said. “Hersh was well remembered by his teachers because he stood out. He spoke more Yiddish than English when he first came to school. He dressed differently. Apparently he went to a religious day school, but it was considered modern Orthodox.”
“I grew up modern Orthodox,” Rina said. “We were indistinguishable from the rest of the neighborhood kids except that we kept kosher and observed Shabbos. Most of us had American names, grew up on cartoons, TV sitcoms. We rode bikes and skateboards and went to the movies and rock concerts. Our mothers didn’t cover their hair.”
She paused a moment.
“I remember thinking my parents were just a little hypocritical. Keeping kosher in the home, but eating fish in non-kosher restaurants. We wouldn’t turn on the TV, but it was on a time clock so Papa didn’t miss
Sanford and Son
. One of
the things I liked about Yitz was his consistency.” She smiled. “I felt very righteous back then. Now I’m much more tolerant.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Rina regarded the gleam in her husband’s eye. She kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re a keeper.”
“Aw shucks. Anyway, from what you described, Hersh wasn’t modern Orthodox. His grammar-school teachers remember him dressed like a little rabbi, always wearing long sleeves, black coat and hat, even in the summertime. Plus he had the earlocks. One teacher described them as long sausage curls.”
“He must have had to put up with a lot of teasing.”
“Think you’re right,” Decker said. “Seems Hersh was always scrapping with someone, a real troublemaker. But the teachers I talked to felt sorry for him. He didn’t have any real friends and wasn’t real swift in his English studies. His parents spoke to him only in Yiddish. Oftentimes, his parents weren’t even around. His sixth-grade teacher said whenever she had a problem, she dealt with the grandfather, who also spoke more Yiddish than English. She said Hersh seemed very attached to him. It was very traumatic for Hersh when he died. He didn’t return to school for almost a month.”
“Where’d you get all this information?”
“Once you know the person’s full name, all the rest is easy,” Decker said. “You go backward. Get the name, get the birth certificate, then the parents’ names, then their addresses. You canvass the old neighborhood, talk to old teachers, shopkeepers, friends. The family didn’t have any close friends as far as I know. Neighbors describe the Schaltzes as people who kept to themselves. Hersh never played with the kids on the block—probably one of the reasons why his English was so bad when he started school. Had he been sociable, he would have picked up English even if his parents spoke only Yiddish.”
“Sad.”
“Yeah, it’s sad. If you’re lucky, that kind of loneliness can spawn creativity. But in most of us, it does strange things to our heads. Anyway, I figured it was worth spending an extra day in New York discovering what makes this guy tick. Besides, Marge volunteered to do a lot of preliminary footwork in L.A.”
“Nice of Marge.”
“We’ll owe her a good dinner,” Decker said.
“Anytime,” Rina said. “So what makes Hersh tick?”
Decker shrugged. “His religion made him an outsider. I don’t think there’s any love lost between him and Judaism.”
“That’s a shame,” Rina said. “There must have been some sort of conflict for them to live in Kew Gardens when they were Satmar Chasids. Maybe the mother wasn’t as religious as the father. Maybe she insisted they live there. Even among the Orthodox, there can be splits within families.”
“Just like with Eli Greenspan,” Decker said. “His father working in North Carolina, his mother insisting the family stay in New York.”
“Exactly,” Rina said. “How’s Eli doing, by the way?”
“Jonathan found him somebody to talk to, God bless the dear rabbi.” Decker paused. There were aspects of Jonathan that reminded him of his own baby brother. Jonathan and Randy were almost the same age, both of them sensitive beneath a facade of misanthropism. Decker wondered if they’d get along, then, realizing the stupidity of the fantasy, he turned his attention back to Rina. “The counselor Jonathan found isn’t
frum
, but he’s Jewish and works only a few blocks from Greenspan’s house. Eli did show up for his first appointment. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
Rina said, “You know, as naïve as it sounds, I always thought we were immune to worldly problems. Silly, huh?”
“No community is
immune
,” Decker said. “But I’ll tell you this, darlin’. Most of the kids I met in Boro Park seem very well adjusted. Well-mannered, respectful of their parents, nice to their friends. The religious schools don’t have truancy problems, big drug or alcohol problems. Almost all
the families are intact. Hey, if you don’t mind living in a big insulated box, it’s probably a great place to bring up your kids. It’s just that when there
is
a problem, you people don’t want to admit it.”
“Here you go again with ‘you people.’”
Decker smiled. “Okay, we don’t want to admit it.”
“Much better,” Rina said.
Decker said, “Seems to me that Hersh was that kind of a problem child.”
“The family must have had its own problems,” Rina said. “First to divorce. Then for the father to marry a shiksa. He couldn’t have been that committed a Jew.”
“You’re being judgmental.”
“When it comes to intermarriage, I’m judgmental.”
“There were a lot of people who were judgmental when you started dating me.”
Rina bristled. “You were willing to convert, Peter. Besides, you were Jewish.”
“But you didn’t know that at first.”
“Are you going to start a fight?” Rina asked.
“Not intentionally,” Decker said. “And who knows? Maybe Christine McClellan converted.”
Rina said, “I imagine a swift detective such as yourself could find that out.”
“Not so easy a task, Holmes,” Decker said. “And unless we find Hersh, we never will know. Seems Dad and new wife have met their maker. Apparently they were chemists, working for the Darrick-Bothhell lab in Connecticut, and died in a freak accident about a year ago. Their laboratory blew up.”
Rina stared at him. “
That
gives me shivers.”
Decker said, “Their field of expertise was stabilizing volatile cleaning solutions. Accidents
can
happen. I’ve gone through all the reports. There were stacks of them. No indication of arson or foul play.”
“But?”
“How do you know there’s a but?”
“Your tone of voice,” Rina said. “Am I right?”
“Yep,” Decker admitted. “During the day the lab was very well populated. When it blew, Dad and Christine were working alone at night.”
“Did the father have a life-insurance policy?”
“You’re thinking like a pro,” Decker said. “You bet he did. Christine was the primary beneficiary, but old Hersh was Number Two on the list. Insurance has been dragging its feet because we’re talking about a policy of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars owed to a young man with a police record. Insurance has managed to stall Hersh, but it can’t last much longer. Pretty soon, Hersh/Tony/Heinrich/Hank is going to be a rich kid.”
“And Hersh was cleared of wrongdoing?”
“Well, he wasn’t anywhere near the place when it blew,” Decker said. “That was checked out first. Whether he hired a firestarter or not, who knows? Hersh dealt a little, knew disreputable people. He could have hooked up with a bomber or an arsonist. The company tailed him for a while, never came up with anything incriminating. And Hersh hasn’t pushed for the money. He keeps in contact with them, asking when are they going to deliver. But he hasn’t hired any legal mouthpiece to pour on the heat.”
Rina was silent.
“Maybe it
was
an accident,” Decker said. “Or maybe the motive was revenge rather than money. Hersh’s life seemed to fall apart after the father left. People who knew the family said after the divorce Hersh and Mom were the proverbial wandering Jews.”
“Is Mom still alive?”
“I think so,” Decker said. “Jonathan went poking around Williamsburg for me yesterday—”
“You enlisted Jonathan in this thing?”
“It’s his nephew, Rina.” Decker smiled. “And I needed somebody who could speak Yiddish. Jonathan was happy to help out.”
“You two seem to be building quite a relationship,” Rina said.
Decker tossed her a look that told her to drop the subject. Quickly Rina asked, “So what did Jonathan come up with?”
Decker said, “A few former neighbors have reported seeing Mrs. Schaltz in Williamsburg from time to time. Apparently, she’s become a bag lady.”
“That’s awful,” Rina said. “I’m beginning to see where the present Hersh came from.”
“Yep,” Decker said. “Although sometimes rotten kids come from nice homes and loving parents.”
“Look at it from Hersh’s point of view,” Rina said. “His mother’s a bag lady, his religious father deserted the family to marry a Gentile. I talked about the hypocrisy I felt in my home—it wasn’t really hypocrisy, just little inconsistencies. I can just imagine how Hersh might have felt.”
Decker nodded.
“Still,” Rina said, “a normal person doesn’t blow up his father just because he’s a hypocrite.”
“Who said Hersh blew them up?” Decker said.
“What do you think?” Rina said.
“I think…” Decker paused. “I think it’s not a good idea to make Hersh mad.”