Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

Bram said, “Actually, the one thing I wished we would have incorporated into our memorial service was a recitation of Kaddish. It’s a very beautiful prayer.”

“I didn’t realize that priests studied Jewish liturgy.”

“In general, we don’t give it more than a superficial glance.”

Decker met the priest’s eyes. “Perhaps you learned it at the shivah of an old friend.”

“Perhaps.” Bram cleared his throat. “From the sublime to the ridiculous. Let’s go find Grease Pit.”

The man was pushing three hundred pounds with an enormous gut and a face as large and round as a globe. Tanned skin with noticeable pores and a sweeping black mustache that topped his lip like a boa. His hair was straight and black, and fell halfway down his back. Tall sucker, too. Almost Decker’s height. He had on a black shirt, too-tight black jeans that exposed a crescent of hairy belly, and scuffed riding boots. He held a spangled leather jacket. He pumped Decker’s hand.

“Manny Sanchez, Lieutenant. Call me Grease Pit. Or call me Manny. I don’ care. Good to meet you, good to meet you. I wanna tell you somethin’ right off the bat, right off the bat, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I know what you’re saying.”

Bram said, “If you two would please excuse me, my attention is needed elsewhere.”

“You bet, Father.” Sanchez grabbed the priest’s hand and shook it vigorously. “You take care of your family, take care of your mother, you know what I’m sayin’.”

“Yes. Thanks for coming down and giving us your support.”

“For Granddaddy, you bet I came. That was one hell of a man, your daddy. Now you go and take care of your mamma. ’Cause that’s what family’s for, know what I’m sayin’. To take care of each other.”

“Absolutely.” Bram extricated his hand. “Lieutenant.”

“Father.”

After Bram left, Sanchez hitched up his pants and said, “One hell of a guy, that Father Bram. Granddaddy loved him, I can tell you that. Loved his boy, loved his kids. But it’s good that he left. ’Cause what I gotta say isn’t for God’s ears, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Tell me.”

Sanchez jabbed the air with his index finger as he spoke. “Because I’m talkin’ to you right now. Man to man. Know what I’m sayin’? Man to man, not pussy to pussy. And I’m tellin’ you this. Asshole who did this to Granddaddy should be stringed up by the cojones, you know what I’m sayin’.”

“I know what you’re saying, Mr. Sanchez. But that isn’t how we operate under American law.”

“Fuck American law.” Sanchez realized he was talking too loud. “Fuck American law,” he repeated softer. “I mean not fuck it…but you know, like…fuck it. I mean like you gotta job to do. And I can unnerstan’ that. And I don’t want to fuck you up-”

“That’s very wise, sir.”

“But sometimes it just don’t work the way it should. You know what I’m sayin’.” Again his finger started poking air. “Now, I’m not sayin’ I’m gonna break the law or anything-”

“That’s very good thinking. Because breaking the law can get you into serious trouble.”

“I’m just sayin’ that if you can’t get it done, then I can get it done. Now I’m talkin’ man to man, unnerstan’. You get it done. Or I get it done.”

Decker said, “Mr. Sanchez, do you have any idea who might have done this?”

“An asshole.” Sanchez tugged up on his waistband. “That’s what you gotta look for. An asshole. A punk. Someone who rips for the fun of rippin’. And that means an asshole. Probably one of these gang-bangers. Did you look at the gang-bangers?”

“We’re looking into everything and everybody.”

“That’s good. Hey, Sidewinder!” Sanchez shouted out. “Sidewinder, come on over here.”

Sidewinder was slightly smaller than Sanchez-less gut but more bottom heavy. His face, eroded by acne, held a weak chin and a mouth of crooked front teeth. He had dishwater hair tied up into a ponytail. His garb was almost identical to Grease Pit’s-black T-shirt over black jeans. His boots held tips and spurs-great accoutrements for kicking recalcitrant motorcycles.

“Sidewinder Polinski, this is…”

“Lieutenant Decker.” He proffered his hand. Polinski turned it into a high-five handshake.

Sanchez said, “Sidewinder, this guy here, he’s in charge of Granddaddy’s bump. We gotta cooperate with him. Find the asshole who did this.”

“Absolutely,” Polinski said. “Anything we can do to help. Not just me, any one of us. We all loved Granddaddy.”

Sanchez said, “One hell of a guy. I was just tellin’…tellin’…”

“Decker.”

“Yeah, the lieutenant here that either he finds the asshole. Or we find the asshole. Don’t make no difference to me. Just so long as someone finds the asshole.”

“Sir, it does make a difference to the law.”

“Aw, fuck the law-”

“I know, Mr. Sanchez. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Grease Pit’s just frustrated,” Polinski said. “We all are. I mean look at it from our point of view. The tax dollars wasted on OJ’s trial. And then the Menendez mistrial…more tax dollars wasted. Then the retrial. More tax dollars. That’s a lot of money. So you see what he’s saying about taking the law into his own hands. I mean it’s wrong. But it’s efficient.”

“It will land you in jail.”

“More tax dollars wasted,” Polinski said. “But that’s what this society has come to. Lots of waste.”

Decker stared at the biker, took out his notepad. “Any idea who might have bumped Granddaddy, Sidewinder?”

“Me?” Polinski scratched his head. “No. No ideas.”

“Nah, we don’t know assholes who do this shit,” Sanchez said. “We don’t believe in random violence.”

Decker managed to keep his face expressionless.

Sanchez said, “You shoulda seen Granddaddy on a bike, Lieutenant. Man, he was somethin’. Burnin’ the tar, smokin’ dirt through his tailpipes. And he put his money where his mouth was. Came through when it counted.”

“How so?”

“In the cause, man.”

“What cause?”

“He means,” Polinski said, “that Granddaddy came through when you needed him.”

“Fucking-A right!”

“What cause?” Decker repeated.

“Like when Benny got wrecked.” Polinski scratched his head again. Flakes snowed from his scalp. “Man, did he get wrecked!”

Sanchez said, “Yeah, man, that was somethin’. He really got wrecked, man.”

Decker said, “What happened to Benny?”

“Asshole was skunk drunk.” Sanchez adjusted his pants. “Went flyin’ head first into the ground. Blood squirtin’ all over the fuckin’ place. Granddaddy sprung into action. Man, it was somethin’ to see that guy in action when Benny got wrecked. Old guy like him.” He snapped his fingers. “Moved like that.”

Polinski said, “He had him bandaged up and ready to go way before the medics came tooling by. It was something to watch him. We were all in awe.”

“What happened to Benny?” Decker asked.

Sanchez said, “He died, stupid fuck. Massive brain injuries.”

“Not that he had much brains to start with.”

Decker said, “He wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

Sanchez sneered. “We was playin’ around in the desert. You don’t expect to get wrecked playin’ around in the desert. Besides, helmets are for pussies.”

Too bad Benny wasn’t around to offer a rebuttal. Decker said, “How did Dr. Sparks come to join your group and ride with you?”

“I asked him,” Sanchez said. “I fell in love with the old guy, know what I’m sayin’. He comes into the lot with his sons, I thought, Shit, another stupid fuck. Turns out the guy wasn’t a stupid fuck. Knew what he wanted, knew what he was talkin’ about. I asked him…I said…hey, Granddaddy, want to ride with us on Saturday. I kinda threw it out like a joke. But he said, Yeah, I’ll come ride with you on Saturday. And you know what? He came and rode with us.”