back into bed. He thought about it for a moment. Kinfolk. A mother, grandparents, five half brothers and half sisters. God knew how many nieces and nephews … He closed his eyes, felt any remaining energy drain from his body. He dozed until awakened by a hard rap on his door. It startled him and his heart raced inside his chest. Rina’s voice announced her name.
Decker answered a groggy yeah and unlocked the door, then fell back into bed.
“I woke you up.”
He didn’t answer.
“Peter, you look so wan.”
“I’m just tired,” he said. Tired was the polite word. Fucked-up was the accurate description. But his olfactory nerve began to spark. He sat up and said, “What’d you bring me?”
“All sorts of goodies.”
She set plates before him.
There was roasted rack of beef sitting on two bones, cooked crispy brown on the outside, juices sizzling and dripping. There was a separate dish of vegetables—browned potatoes with onions and green peppers, a carrot pudding topped with brown sugar and raisins, breaded cauliflower, steamed asparagus, zucchini in tomato sauce, a sweet noodle pudding topped with pineapple and macadamia nuts. And a traditional plate of sliced apples nesting in a pool of honey.
Food, food. Copious amounts of food.
“I think you’ll need a tray or something,” Rina said.
“Good idea unless you like gravy on your sheets.”
She grinned. “Love the feel of a greasy bed. I’ll get a tray for you and something to drink.” She looked him over. “You need another pot of tea.”
“While you’re down there, how ’bout fetching some silverware and a couple of napkins?”
“Didn’t I bring …? I’m so absent-minded. Just snarf it down through your nose.”
“Get out of here,” Decker said.
She laughed and left. Decker couldn’t wait for utensils. He ate a slice of apple and honey, then peeled a rib bone from the meat and took a big bite.
Words wouldn’t do justice to the taste. He ate one bone and polished off the next. Picked up the breaded cauliflower and ate that, too. Then the asparagus spears, bending them in the middle and popping them whole into his mouth.
There was a knock at his door, then it was pushed open.
Decker looked up expecting to see Rina.
Instead what he saw was Mrs. Lazarus—and her.
Decker felt his eyes widen, his mouth open.
Too surprised to look down, too surprised to refrain from reacting.
She was smiling, her lips painted bright red, a spot of lipstick on her front tooth.
A toothy smile.
Not like his at all.
A stranger.
The two of them standing there, holding a silver tray of sweets—cakes, cookies, strudel, brownies …
He caught her eyes.
Smiling eyes.
But only for a moment.
Then came the confusion, the recognition, the shock, the plunge into despair.
With plates of food on his lap, there was nothing he could do, nowhere to run.
He turned his head away but he knew it was too late. He heard the gasp, the tray tumbling onto the floor. He looked up and saw her hand fly to her chest, her body staggering backward. Her eyes were fluttering, her pale lips were trembling.
Mrs. Lazarus yelling Frieda!
Rina screaming out What are you doing here!
Mrs. Lazarus shrieking Call a doctor!
Rina shoving her mother-in-law out the door, ordering her downstairs.
Frieda Levine hyperventilating.
Rina trying to catch her.
Mrs. Lazarus still shrieking to call a doctor.
And Decker sitting there—an army vet, a cop for twenty years, having served three different police departments, an expert with firearms, the perfect point man for any operation because he was always cool, calm, rational, stoic, so goddamn unemotional. Just sitting there, paralyzed by the sight of his mother falling.
The time has come.
The time is now.
Just go, go, go, I don’t care how.
You can go by foot.
You can go by cow.
MARVIN K. MOONEY will you please go now!
Hank closed the dog-eared children’s book and packed it inside his suitcase. Zeyde used to read it to him when he was just a little kid. Then they’d laugh together …
Marvin K. Mooney was one stubborn sucker. Everyone in the book against him, telling him to get the hell out, but he don’t care one single bit. He goes by his own time when he wants to go.
And no one was gonna tell him different.
He thought for a moment.
The time had come.
The time was now.
Do it, do it, I don’t care how.
Go by foot, go by cow.
Just get the hell out, it don’t matter how.
But you need someone to carry the bags.
Need someone to beat up the fags.
Need someone to wash your feet.
Need a wuss to take the heat.
Just look around, it’s there for the takin’.
Your little boys willing to … willing to … willing to …
He stopped, unable to think up the rhyme.
What the hell. Poetry was for faggots anyway.
But there was truth to what he was sayin’. He had a faithful following of true believers. Little dummies just waiting to follow orders. Errand boys. And one of them would do.
The apartment was closing in on him.
Do
