Chapter One
Brooklyn.
Not the honeymoon Decker had imagined.
Twelve grueling months before he'd rack up another two
weeks' vacation time and here he was, alone in a tiny
guest bedroom, his long legs cramped from having slept on
too small a bed, his back sore from lying on a wafer-thin
thing that somebody had mislabeled as a mattress. He'd
bunked up in foxholes that had been bigger than this
place. Most of the floor space was taken up by the pullout
sofa bed. The rest of the furnishings were worn pieces old
enough to be antiques, but not good enough to qualify. A
scarred wooden night-stand was at his right, the digital
clock upon it reading out ten-forty-two. The suitcases had
been piled atop an old yellowed pine bureau adorned with
teddy-bear appliquรฉs. The sofa pillows had been stuffed
into the room's only free corner. On the east wall, two
wee windows framed a gray sky.
The honeymoon suite.
Trรจs charmant.
Two days ago, he'd danced blisters on his feet, whooping
his voice raw, carrying his stepsons around on his
shoulders. It had been a wild affair -- the drinking and
dancing lasting until midnight. Now his body was paying
overtime for his exuberance.
Of course, the undersized sofa didn't help.
He chewed on the ends of his mustache, then pulled the
sheet over his head.
They say Jews don't drink much, but they've never seen
ultra-Orthodox rabbis at a wedding. The men downed
schnapps like water. Decker had thought his father had a
large capacity for booze, but Dad was a piker compared to
Rav Schulman.
Dad and Mom. Sitting in the corner, wondering what the
hell was flying. Cindy trying to coax Grandma to dance.
Rina did get Mom to dance once. Even Mom couldn't turn
down the bride. But that one time had been the only time.
Well, at least they came. A big surprise and a step in the
right direction. They liked Rina, he sensed that
immediately. Rina could charm anyone and she was truly a
nice person. But his parents couldn't come out and tell
him they liked her. Mom did admit that if he had to marry
another Jew, Rina seemed like a decent woman. Very high
praise. Then she added that Rina seemed sincere in her
beliefs even though they were dead wrong.
Randy had liked Rina, too. Baby Bro liked all beautiful
women, but he wasn't what you'd call a picky sort. Decker
wished he could have spent some more time with Randy --
shoot the bull about the job -- but he and Rina just had
to rush off. Had to make it to Brooklyn before the holiday
of Rosh Hashanah started.
What was he doing, honeymooning in Boro Park of all
places? He and Rina should have been in Hawaii, making
love in the moonlight on the beach. Hell, he would have
settled for staying back home on the ranch -- just him and
her. Send Sam and Jake off to visit Grandma and Grandpa in
Brooklyn for the holidays.
But no, no, no. Rina had to visit her late husband's
parents. His luck: to inherit not one but two sets of in-
laws.
Decker stretched, his feet falling over the edge of the
mattress.
At least her ex-in-laws were nice people.
So happy you joined us for the holidays, they had said.
Rosh Hashanah will be a wonderful New Year's with Rina and
the boys and you as guests in our home. Thank you so much
for allowing us the pleasure of being with you.
But Decker hated looking into their eyes. He could tell
what they were thinking.
Why couldn't you be our son, Yitzchak?
He ran his hands through damp ginger hair.
It had to be tough on them. Their only son gone, he the
stepfather of their boy's children.
He wished he was back home. Too many ghosts here.
The clock glowed ten-forty-five. He hadn't heard Rina wake
up, but he knew she wouldn't dare abandon him. She was
probably in the kitchen helping her ex-mother-in-law
prepare for the big holiday meal.
His clothes weren't visible. They'd been thrown off in the
heat of passion last night, both of them stifling
laughter, hoping the flimsy bed could take all the weight.
Afterward, Decker wondered if Rina had made love with her
late husband in this very bed. But he had kept his
thoughts to himself.
Finding the energy to rise, he immediately tripped on his
shoes, stubbed his toe, and cursed silently. He stripped
off his pajamas, went over to the bureau and found that
Rina had unpacked, his clothes neatly stowed in the first
and second drawers. She'd put his Beretta under a pile of
undershirts, the clips all the way in the back under his
pants. God bless an efficient woman.
He attempted to open a door on the west wall. It came out
about halfway before it hit the bed frame. He squeezed
himself inside the cell and found a munchkin-size
bathroom -- sink, shower, and toilet. The water closet was
done in old white tile and reeked of disinfectant, but
someone had laid out clean towels. He took a quick
lukewarm shower (others had gotten to the hot-water tank
before him), his elbows hitting the walls as he soaped up.
He had to duck a good foot to get his head under the
shower tap.
He dried himself off and dressed, his skin prickly with
goosebumps. There was no room to stand and dress with the
bed unfolded. He straightened the sheets and pushed the
mattress inward until it slid down into the sofa frame,
then put the pillows on the couch ...
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