Except that Rina still ascribed to this outmoded concept of modesty as dated as Mayberry, USA. Over the last ten years, he guessed he had become an old-fashioned guy, and outmoded was just fine by him.
As requested, Buffy gave them a hidden booth in the corner, away from the flesh display, more like a peep show from where they were sitting.
“I’ll get you the coffee, Detective.”
And she did… right away. “Anything else?”
“Jon?”
The rabbi shook his head, keeping his eyes off Buffy’s ample bosom.
“A bagel if you have it,” Decker answered.
“We have a bagel, lox, and cream cheese platter.”
“That’s fine. And I’d also like a cup of ice and a napkin.”
Buffy nodded. “Does it hurt?”
“Not too bad.”
“I’ll place the order and get you the ice,” Buffy said. “Ambrosia will be your server.”
“Thank you.” When she was gone, Decker said, “Where do they come up with these names?”
Jonathan attempted a smile, but his eyes were glued to Decker’s bruises.
Decker ignored the unstated question mark. “When I worked Sex Crimes, I used to come to places like this all the time. Sleazier places, actually. Real down-and-dirty stuff. The girls were older, much more shopworn, perfect fodder for psycho bullies who liked to punch and rape. It was very sad.”
Jonathan nodded.
“These girls look healthier.”
“But for how long?” Jonathan asked. “They’re all under twenty-five, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
“It’s only a matter of time before their looks go. Then what?”
“Well, if they haven’t sucked it up their veins or blown it up their noses, they might be okay. There’s money to be made here. It’s not as if they lost their opportunities to become rocket scientists.”
Buffy came back with the ice and napkin. “I have some aspirin.”
Decker reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of Advil. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” He poured the cubes into the napkin and placed them on his face.
“What happened?” Jonathan finally asked.
“Some street psycho took an instant dislike to me.”
“That’s awful!” A hesitation. “He just punched you?”
“I probably shouldn’t have made eye contact. At least, he didn’t jab any lethal bacteria up my veins.”
“Good Lord, don’t say that!” Jonathan shook his head, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I am so sorry. Are you in pain? I could probably get you a prescription for something stronger.”
“I’m fine. How bad is it?”
“You haven’t looked in a mirror?”
“I’ve avoided it.”
“The entire right side of your face is reddish purple.”
“I’ll just tell people I got hit in the face with a blueberry pie.”
“This is all so horribly depressing!”
“We’ve both had better days… better years.” Decker poured two cups of coffee. “Anyone say how she died?”
“She was shot.” Tears in his eyes.
“Where?”
He shuddered. “Why?”
“I’m just curious to see if there are any similarities to Ephraim’s murder.”
“I would think it’s a given-the same people who murdered Ephraim murdered Shayndie.”
“That’s logical, but you can’t assume anything.” The ice felt soothing. “Are you ready to tell me what you were holding back this morning?”
The rabbi fiddled with his napkin and doused his coffee with cream and sugar.
Decker said, “Just start talking, Jon. It’s easier after you get the first few words out.”
“Chaim called me around seven, seven-thirty. He told me he needed to talk to me in person.”
“You came out to Quinton?”
“Immediately,” Jonathan answered. “His voice sounded agitated, but at least it was animated. As soon as I got there, he brought me into the basement so we could talk alone. He swore me to confidence. And that is why I didn’t tell you, why I couldn’t tell you.”
“I understand.”
“I’m only telling you now because you’ve threatened to go to the police. Not that I’d tell them anything-I’m entitled to claim pastoral confidentiality-but it would open up wounds. I thought it might be easier to deal with you than the police.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe not.”
“Believe it or not, my purpose is not to give people a hard time.”
“I know that.” Jonathan sighed. “Now that she’s gone, I suppose it’s all irrelevant anyway.”
“Talk to me, Rabbi.”
“Chaim told me he had reason to believe that Shaynda was still alive. He said he had heard from certain people that she was okay.” He blinked back tears. “Obviously, someone was mistaken. Perhaps Chaim misunderstood or it was wishful thinking on his part.”
“Or whoever Chaim talked to was lying. Who are these people?”
“At the time, Chaim couldn’t or wouldn’t say. He said he only confided in me because he knew I’d keep a secret. And secrecy was very important. If word got out, bad things could happen.”
“Did word get out?”
“I don’t know, Akiva. I know that Chaim told me, but I don’t know who else he told. At some point, when things are quieter, I’ll ask him.”
“And that’s all Chaim told you. That he had reason to believe that Shaynda was alive.”
“No. He also hinted that maybe there was some kind of ransom demand in the works. And if things went as planned, and someone needed to do an actual exchange of money for Shaynda, would I be willing to help?”
“What did you say?”
“I said of course I’d help. Anything.”
“And Chaim gave you no hints about Shaynda’s location?”
“No.”
“So let me make sure I understand.” Decker took the ice off. “Chaim heard from some anonymous source that Shaynda was okay.”
“Yes.”
“And he thought that there might be a ransom demand. And if that happened, he asked you to be a go-between.”
“Yes.”
“Did Chaim actually talk to Shayndie?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“So the source could have been lying or mistaken, or Chaim could have misunderstood.”
“Yes.”
“Is exchanging the money for Shayndie the only favor that Chaim wanted you to do for him?”
“No.” Jonathan rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “No, there was more.” Tension had crept into his voice. “It seems that you’ve become an obstacle-a sticking point.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know, Akiva. I do know that Chaim said that the kidnapper or ransom demander or whatever… that he wanted you out of the picture. As soon as possible.”
Decker raised his brow. “Out of the picture in what way?”
“That you should leave the city, of course.” Jonathan’s eyes got wide. “That’s what it means, right?”
Ambrosia-a robust blonde wearing a bikini top and broad shorts-served Decker a bagel and lox platter. He gave her a twenty. “More coffee; then we’re fine.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Ambrosia frowned.
“It’s nothing personal,” Decker said.
“Hey, you think I’m complaining?” Her accent was as broad as a flatiron. She stuffed the twenty into her shorts pocket. “So far today, this is my best tip for the least work. ’Bout a half hour ago, another gentleman tipped me a fifty. But I had to bend over a lot and pretend I didn’t know he was copping a feel.” She looked at Decker. “You’re a cop. Why do they call it ‘copping a feel’?”
Jonathan said, “ ‘To cop’ means to steal.”
“Heh-heh, that’s funny.” Ambrosia tittered. “That ‘cop’ means to steal.”
Decker and Jonathan sat stone-faced.
“You don’t see the humor in that?”
“You keep talking, I’m going to take back the twenty,” Decker said.