okay,” Benko said. “I just don’t want you to overexert yourself, you know? C’mon, Dot. I’ll help you stand up.”
“Thank you very much, Ms. Rawlings,” Marge said. “I appreciate your help.”
“You tell Detective Decker that I’m taking Baby Sally to the doctor’s tomorrow,” Sophi said. “And I’ll get what he asked for.”
“I’ll do that,” Marge said. “Let me help you, Mrs. Palmer. Lean on me.”
Benko whispered into Marge’s ear, “Please, Detective. Please! Find me that sunnabitch!”
Decker woke up at six, let the dog out, showered, shaved, dressed, then said an abbreviated version of Shacharit—the morning prayers. He’d once recited the entire service and had even wore phylacteries, but lately that seemed like an awful lot of bother for very little spiritual enhancement. So he settled on saying the Shema—the essence of Judaism—and eighteen verses of silent devotion. When he finished, he put down his siddur, then studied himself in the mirror. He patted his flat stomach, flexed his biceps. The body wasn’t the problem, it was the face. Those bags! It made him look like the big four-oh had stepped on his face years before. A pisser, since he just entered his fifth decade of life a year ago.
What would Rina think?
Shit.
Gorgeous Rina. Gorgeous young Rina. Not yet thirty, she could still pass for a high school student if she dressed simply. As Decker stared at his face, he knew he looked old enough to be her father.
“Fuck it,” he said.
He went to the kitchen, slipped four pieces of bread into the toaster, and pulled out a quart of milk. The kitchen window faced his back acreage—flat dirt fields that disappeared into mountainside. The morning summer sun was strong, pouring its thick honey into the crags and rocky crevices. The window was open, the air was dry and dusty. As he drank from the carton, he heard Ginger yapping excitedly. The barking was followed by the steady blows of a hammer, and the noise was coming from his property. From his barn.
“What the hell?” Decker said. He went out the back door and stopped short at the entrance to the barn. Abel was in the middle of the room, kneeling on his prosthesis, ripping up a rotted plank of flooring. At his side were a tool chest and a box of nails.
Ginger barked at the sight of a stranger. Decker quieted the dog and said, “Abel, what are you doing?”
“Your barn and stable are a stack of cards, Doc,” Abel said. “Floorboards warped, the stalls are coming apart at the seams. The beams weren’t fit properly. Y’all put ’em up yourself?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Decker said.
“Getting sloppy, Doc.”
“Abel—”
“And your barn wall is Swiss cheese,” Abel said. “Full of bullet holes. Shoot-out time at the O.K. Corral, Pete?”
Decker ignored the remark. “How’d you even get here?”
Abel pointed to a motorcycle leaning against the wall.
“You biked here?”
“No, Doc. I carried it on my shoulders.”
“Don’t be cute,” Decker said. He petted Ginger and walked over to Abel, stood over him. “Let me see your driver’s license.”
Abel looked up. “What?”
“Let me see your driver’s license.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“The license?”
Abel hesitated, then reached in his pocket and threw the license on the floor. Decker picked it up, looked at it, and handed it back to him. Abel pocketed the card.
He said, “You know, I once had a good friend, but he turned into a cop.”
“Yeah, well, yesterday, you didn’t call the friend, you called the cop.”
“Well, maybe it was my mistake to call him at all.”
Neither one spoke for a moment. Abel continued tugging up on the floorboard.
“Your ceiling don’t look that hot, either,” he said. “You can see daylight through the rafters.”
“You’re going to roof my barn, Abe?”
“All I have to do is screw my leg into a scaffold jack, and a tornado couldn’t dislodge me.”
“Abe, you don’t have to do this …”
“Yes, I do, Doc. Yes, I do indeed have to do this. It serves a right fine purpose for me.”
“I never expected you to pay me back.”
“Well, you see, Pete,” Abel said, “that’s where you and I differ. I always intended on payin’ you back in one fashion or another. Ain’t got no money on me. But I sure as hell have time.”
“Let me ask you this, Abe,” Decker said. “What if I find proof-positive evidence that you did what you’re accused of doing?”
“What if?”
Decker chewed the corner of his mustache. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and kneaded it. He said, “I’ll nail you, buddy. I swear to God, I’ll nail you.”
“You find any evidence that I hurt that lady, and I’ll give you the hammer. So do your job. It don’t worry me any.”
Ginger jumped onto Decker’s chest again and panted.
“I think the critter’s hungry,” Abel said.
“Yeah,” Decker said. “C’mon, girl. Let’s eat breakfast. Are you hungry, Abe?”
“Nope.”
“Look, don’t be shy—”
“I ain’t hungry.”
“You want some coffee? I always make extra.”
Abel said, “If you come back out, you can bring me a cup.” He looked at Decker’s cigarettes. “You gonna smoke them, or just giving the cellophane a massage?”
“Take the whole fucking pack,” Decker said, tossing them over.
“No need for profanities,” Abel said. “Got some matches, or should I eat them raw?”
Decker gave him a book. “Don’t burn the place down.”
“Depends how much it’s insured for.”
“Not enough,” Decker said. He went inside and fed the dog. He fixed two more pieces of toast and brought them along with two cups of black coffee. “Just in case you changed
