“Dare I hazard it?”
“Chasidic Jews,” Randy answered. “They used couples, young married couples barely out of their teens. Some of the women were pregnant. The dealers stuffed the pills in socks and told them they were carrying diamonds. That went bust, too. But there is a point to all of this.”
“I’m listening.”
“This is still an ongoing case. When the cops took those two clowns outta the loop, other Israelis moved in and took over, but this time the ports changed-Miami/Dade. Narcotics has warrants out for several of them-Shalom Weiss, Ali Harabi, and Yusef Ibn Dod-”
“Last two sound Arabic, not Israeli.”
“They’re Israeli Arabs. There is peace in the Middle East, but not the kind that the world has in mind. I found out from one of our Jewish Narcs that the Israelis and the Arabs do business together in three black markets: drugs, sex, and-I kid you not-watermelon.”
Decker laughed. “Do you have any idea where these guys are hiding out?”
“No. We hauled some of the local dancers. One of them had a bad jones, and when she got desperate enough, she ratted out aforementioned names. But they rabbited as soon as they heard we had the girl in custody.”
“This is all very interesting.”
“Okay. It’s your turn now, Pete. What in particular is interesting?”
“I’m wondering if Lieber knew Shalom Weiss.”
“Me too. You have some suspicions you want to share with me?”
“I found out something that didn’t make much sense to me. Now maybe it does.”
“Go on.”
“Quinton Police chief Virgil Merrin. I met up with him at Tattlers-”
“What the fu-what were you doing there?”
“It’s a long story. Why I was there is immaterial. I was wondering why Merrin was there. Why would he be in such a politically incorrect place right near his hometown?”
“Maybe he’s a horny guy who doesn’t like to travel too far.”
“Or maybe he was there for business, Randy. Think about the pieces of information you just gave me. Kids in Quinton arrested for possession of ecstasy in Miami. The Israeli Mafia using erotic dancers to smuggle in ecstasy. The Quinton Police chief in a restaurant specializing in erotic dancers. Three Israelis at large wanted for ecstasy imports. The girl who was murdered, Shaynda Lieber. She used to hang around some of the local Quinton kids… around six months ago, actually.”
“Interesting.”
“Too many connections to be coincidental,” Decker said. “Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. Randy, could you fax me a picture of Weiss? Actually, all three of them-what were the others’ names?”
“Harabi and Ibn Dod.”
“Yeah, right. All three of them, if you have them.”
“Absolutely, I have something I could fax you. But first, you’ve got to level with me, Pete. If you have a fix on them, you have to tell me.”
“Of course I’d tell you, Randy. Do you honestly think I’d hold back?”
“No comment.”
“I’m wounded,” Decker answered. “I don’t have a fix, but I do have ideas. Because I’m asking myself where could these guys hide and not stick out.”
“In any Arab or Israeli community.”
“Or in any Chasidic community.”
“Arabs?” Randy was skeptical. “Especially now?”
“If they’re true Israeli Arabs, they probably speak Hebrew and have seen enough black-hatters to play the part. And if other New York Chasidim had done some transporting, maybe these jokers had made prior connections.”
“You’re thinking Quinton.”
“If they were supplying the town, why not?”
“I’ll come up-”
“Not yet, Randy. If they’re here in Quinton and you come up, they might jump again. This time, who knows where? Sure, maybe it’ll come to that, but first let me do some groundwork since I’m already a known quantity. Also, I’m still not sure how Merrin fits in, and if it has anything to do with the murders of Ephraim and Shaynda Lieber. Let me poke around a bit.”
“Just a little legwork, right?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Nothing confrontational, Peter, because these guys are dangerous fugitives. Weiss was in the Israeli army. He knows how to shoot a gun.”
“I hear you, Randal, and I thank you for helping me out. Also, I’ve got a pretty good working relationship with the detective in charge of the Lieber case. Mick Novack of the two-eight in Manhattan. He’s a capable guy. All I’m doing is maybe speeding things up a little because I’m working one file and he has fifty.”
Randy said, “It’s good to hear that you’re not being stupid.”
Decker was offended. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that you can’t do this by yourself, Peter. There’re too many people and too many possibilities. You need a partner-someone you can trust.”
“In theory, you’re right. I could use you up here. But just as important-if not more important-I need someone in Gainesville to watch over the family. Who better than you?”
Randy thought about what Rina had told him this morning, about how she was sure that someone had been after her, after both of them. She had described Peter’s face in detail, but was vague with the specifics about herself. Definitely holding back, probably because she was too confused or too scared to tell him what really happened. So maybe Peter’s request about taking care of the family held some real weight. In the end, Randy acquiesced.
“You’ll call me as soon as you start putting the pieces together.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll keep researching from this end,” Randy said.
“Good idea.”
“Peter, please don’t muscle it on your own. You know what we’re working with.”
“Randy, I value my life.”
“That’s very good, bro. It’s good to hear you say the words out loud.”
27
He insisted that he wasn’t living like a king, and by his choice of lodging, I suspected that, for once, he was telling the truth. The building looked a hairbreadth short of dilapidated in an area gone of its glory days. But this was New York City, and I knew that here space was king: Real estate was judged by different standards. Columbia University was encroaching and, somewhere along the line, the land would be valuable. I rang the buzzer and a very sexy voice asked who I was. I gave her my name, which meant nothing to her. But she let me in anyway.
The place was on the fifth floor, number thirteen, and if that was significant of anything, I didn’t know about it. I had to walk through a metal detector, and then a young guard checked my purse. The receptionist, a pretty girl who looked in her teens, asked if I had an appointment. When I told her that I didn’t, she said I’d have to wait.
“He’s in the middle of a shoot. It’s going to be a while. Why don’t you come back in an hour?”
“It’s important,” I told her.
“It’s always important.” A roll of the eyes. “You’ll have to wait, ma’am.”
“It’s very important,” I insisted. “I’m from out of town. If Mr. Donatti finds out that I was here and you didn’t let me in-or even that you made me wait-I guarantee you he’ll be very angry.”
She didn’t answer right away. There must have been something in my voice-calmness and authority-a rarity for me.
“I’ll take the heat,” I assured her. “I know what he’s like when he’s angry. I’m not worried. Page him, please.”
She hesitated, but then she picked up the phone. I heard him screaming.
“What!”
“Sir, there’s a woman-”
That was as far as she got. The slam of the receiver was so loud that even I recoiled. He flew out of the door, his face as red as the blood that had seeped into his cheeks. “Who the fu-”