Faye Kellerman - Hangman

“Make sure I do something before you thank me.” Decker checked his watch. He was due home a half hour ago. “Okay, Terry, I’ll come on Sunday. But you’ve got to do it my way. I’ve got to think of a plan, how I want this meeting to take place. First and foremost, you have to wait in the bedroom until I’ve cleared him. Then you can come out.”

“That’s fine.”

“Also, you have to tell Gabe not to come home until you’ve given him an all-clear signal okay. I don’t want him popping in the middle of a sticky situation.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

The room was silent for a few moments. Then Terry stood up. “Thanks so much, Lieutenant. I hope the payment is okay?”

“It’s more than okay. It’s very generous.”

“One thing about Chris—he’s very expansive. If I offered you anything less, he’d be insulted.”

DECKER SAID, “LOOK,if you don’t want me to do it, I won’t.”

“Of course I don’t want you to do it,” Rina answered. “He shot you, for God’s sake!”

“So I’ll call her up and say no.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think.” Rina got up from the dining-room table and began to clear the brunch dishes—two plates and two glasses. Hannah rarely ate with them anymore. She’d be starting seminary in Israel in the fall. With three months left of high school, she was as good as gone.

Decker followed his wife into the kitchen. “Tell me what you want?” When Rina turned on the faucet, he said, “I’ll wash.”

“No, I’ll wash.”

“Better yet, why don’t you use the dishwasher?”

“For two plates?”

Counting all the glasses, utensils, and pots and pans, it was a lot more than that, but he didn’t argue. “I should have consulted you before I agreed. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for apologies. I’m concerned for your safety. He’s a hit man, Peter.”

“He’s not going to kill me.”

“Don’t you always tell me that domestic are the most dangerous situations because emotions get hot?”

“They do if you’re not prepared.”

“You don’t think your presence will inflame the state of affairs?”

“It could. But if she doesn’t have anyone around, it could be worse.”

“So let her hire some other body. Why does it have to be you?”

“She thinks I have the best chance of defusing Chris’s temper.”

“ ‘Defusing’ is the right word,” Rina said. “The man’s a bomb!” She shook her head and turned on the tap. Silently, she handed Decker the first dish.

“Thanks for brunch. The salmon Benedict was a real treat.”

“Every man deserves a last meal.”

“That’s not funny.”

Rina gave him another dish. “If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Understood.”

“I don’t care what happens to her. I’m sure she’s a nice woman, but she got herself into this mess.” Rina felt anger rising. “Why do you have to get her out of it? Her asking you for help is chutzpadik .”

“It’s like she’s imprinted on me.” Decker put the dish away and put his hands on her shoulders. The tips of her black hair brushed against her shoulders, giving her face a breezy look. Rina was anything but. Intense, focused, task-oriented…those were the appropriate adjectives. “I’ll call her and tell her no.”

“You can’t do that now , Peter. He’s due to show up in a couple of hours. Plus if you backed out, you’d look like a wuss to Chris and that’s the worst thing you can do. You’re stuck.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. He was tall and big, but so was Donatti. “I think I should go with you.”

“Not a chance. I’d rather back out.”

“He likes me.”

“Precisely why he’d be tempted to shoot me. He has a crush on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me—”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Well, then at least let me ride over with you into the city. You can drop me off to visit my parents.”

“I can do that.” Decker looked at the kitchen clock. “Leave the mess. I’ll get it when I come back.”

“You’re leaving now?”

“I want to set up the room before he arrives.”

“Fine. I’ll go get my purse. Call me when you’re done and everything’s okay.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rina brushed him off. “Isn’t marriage about promising to love, honor, and obey?”

“Something like that,” Decker told her. “And if I must brag, I’d say I’ve been pretty good with my vows.”

“Pretty good at the first two,” Rina admitted. “It’s the third that seems to trip you up.”

S TRAIGHT OUT OFa Diego Rivera painting, he showed up with an enormous bouquet of calla lilies that took up most of his upper body. Size for size, Decker matched every inch of Christopher Donatti’s six-foot four-inch frame.

“You shouldn’t have.” Before Chris could register surprise, Decker took the flowers, tossed them on the marble counter near the door, and then turned him around, pushing him until he was flat against the wall. Decker’s movements were hard and rapid. He pressed the nose of his Beretta into the base of the man’s skull. “Sorry, Chris, but she just doesn’t completely trust you right now.”

Donatti said nothing as Decker patted him down. The man was packing good-quality pieces: the tools of his trade. He had an S&W automatic in his belt and a small .22-caliber Glock pistol in a hidden compartment in his boot. With his own standard-issue Beretta still at Donatti’s neck, Decker picked his pocket, tossing his wallet on the counter. He told him to take off his shoes, his belt, and his watch.

“My watch?”

“You know how it is, Chris. Everything these days is micro-mini. Who knows what you’re hiding inside?”

“It’s a Breguet.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds expensive.” Decker relieved him of the gold timepiece. It was incredibly heavy. “I’m not stealing it. I’m just checking it out.”

“It’s a skeleton watch. Open up the back and you can see the movement.”

“Hmm…it’s not going to explode on me, is it?”

“It’s a watch, not a weapon.”

“In your hands, everything’s a weapon.”

Donatti didn’t deny that. Decker told him to keep his hands up and his body against the wall. He slowly backed up a few inches to give himself some room. With an eye on his hands at all times, Decker began to remove the ammo from Donatti’s guns.

“You can turn around but keep your hands up.”

“You’re the boss.”

He rotated his body until they were face-to-face. Stripped of his weapons, Chris seemed impassive. There was flatness in his eyes; blue without any luminosity. It was impossible to tell if he was angry or amused.

One thing was certain. Chris had seen better days. His skin was patchy and wan and his forehead was a pebble garden of pimples. He’d grown out his hair from the crew cut he had sported a half-dozen years ago; the last time Decker had seen him in the flesh. It was brushed straight back, Count Dracula style, and trimmed to the bottom of his ears. He was still built lanky but with bigger arms than Decker had remembered. He had dressed up for the reunion, wearing a blue polo shirt, charcoal gabardine pants, and Croc boots.

“I’m starting to get a little pain in my arms.”

“Lower them slowly.”

He did. “Now what?”

“Take a seat. Move slowly. When you move slowly, I move slowly. If you rush me, I shoot first and ask questions later.” When Donatti started to sit on the chair, Decker stopped him. “On the sofa, please.”