Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection. Faye Kellerman
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pissed at myself. I should have pulled him for a composite when I had the chance.”
“He’ll show up eventually unless he’s running from something.”
“My informants tell me no one is after him as far as they know,” he said.
“Then he’ll turn up.” Marge paused, then asked: “What happened with Rina?”
“Cultural differences,” he said.
“I thought you liked being Jewish?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wasn’t aware of how involved it got. Now I am. Judaism is a hands-on religion. It takes over your life. There are dietary restrictions, sexual restrictions, drinking restrictions, clothing restrictions … restrictions know you’re not even allowed to wear a garment made of wool and linen.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. No one does. It’s just a law.”
He paused a moment, then said, “Over there, I’m an alien. But I’ve been a stranger in a strange land before, and I consider myself very adaptable. But adaptation is empty unless you believe in what you’re doing. I know that and so does Rina.”
“I think about God once in a while,” Marge said.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I think about the size of His penis.”
Decker burst into laughter.
“Must be a humdinger, don’t you think?” she said.
“That’s blasphemous.”
“Yeah, it is,” she said. “I was raised an Episcopalian, but I stopped going to church the day I sprouted pubic hairs. I don’t believe in it at all. But every once in a while, when I’m all alone in bed—a rare occasion if I can help it—I get to thinking, what if I’m wrong? What if all that crap they fed me at Sunday school turns out to be right? Then I get real spooked.
“Rina has it made,” Marge went on. “Even with all the restrictions. If she’s wrong and there’s no one up there, she’ll be dead anyway and won’t know the difference. But if she’s right … right, she’s hit the jackpot.”
“Do you want to come in for a nightcap?” Hennon asked, flicking on the lights to the apartment.
“Sure,” Decker replied.
Her condo was comfortable, full of soft colors, a pillowy sofa and plants sprouting from terra-cotta pots.
“Have a seat,” Hennon said. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee’s fine,” Decker answered.
“Take off your jacket. Make yourself comfortable.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
He removed his jacket and holster and stretched. Looking around he saw the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out to find her pointing his .38 at one of her Boston ferns.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked irritatedly. She lowered the gun.
“I just wanted to see what it felt like being behind one of these.” She smiled. “God, you feel so invincible.”
He didn’t smile back. Walking over to her, he gingerly took the revolver from her hands.
“It’s loaded, Annie. You shouldn’t be fooling around with a loaded gun,” he said, placing the gun back in the shoulder harness.
“Sorry,” she shrugged. “Coffee’s ready.”
He sank into a brown chair, irked. Not only had she done something dumb, she’d violated his personal property.
Returning with a tray, she set it on the coffee table.
“Cream or sugar?” she asked.
“Black.”
“That’s right,” she said. Handing him a mug, she parked herself across the table.
“You use your gun a lot?” she asked.
“As little as possible.”
“It gives you a sense of power, doesn’t it?”
“Not really.” He forced a smile. “Can we change the subject?”
She frowned.
“Okay. What’s the weirdest case you ever were on?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Annie, but I don’t want to talk about my work. If you want to talk about dentistry—”
“God, no.”
“So you understand—”
“Yeah, but my work is so damn boring.”
“So’s mine. Believe me.”
“The bones case is boring?”
“The bones case is frustrating!” He lit a cigarette. “Do you have an ashtray handy?”
“Not really. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.”
“You didn’t say anything at the restaurant.”
“I was trying to be polite.”
Decker stared at his smoke.
“Where can I throw this?”
“Toss it down the sink.”
He got up, did it, and came back.
“So what happened with your girlfriend?” she asked.
“I don’t want to talk about that either.” He sipped his coffee. “So you like to ski and play tennis.”
“We exhausted that over dinner, Pete.”
Decker smiled.
“Yeah, we did.”
“Come to think of it, I did most of the talking.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“So I’m getting a little tired of hearing myself blabbing.”
“I’m a little quiet tonight,” he said.
“True. And it makes it mighty hard to get some snappy banter going.” She chuckled. “Most of the men I date … date can’t shut them up. Always chewing your ear off about the latest hustle they have going. Trying to dress up their essentially lackluster lives. Now I get hold of a cop who works in the blood and guts of the city—who does something primal—and he doesn’t like to talk.”
He shrugged.
She shrugged.
“Wanna fuck?” she asked.
Decker burst into laughter.
“No, I don’t wanna fuck.”
“What kind of a girl do you think I am?” she mocked, crossing herself. “Jesus, it was just a thought. And not that unusual a question. Where have you been for the last fifteen years, Kiddo?”
“I like you,” Decker smiled. “You make me laugh.”
“I like you, too,” she answered. “You make me horny.”
“Thanks.”
“Thanks?”
“Yes, thanks. Would you have preferred my ripping off your clothes in mad lust?”
“That sounds good.”
“You try to be a gentleman …” He laughed. “Famine to feast.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
“You’ve got your ex-friend on your mind, don’t you?”
“She’s