weak smile. Decker opened his arms, and they gave each other a bear hug.
“Good to see you, Doc.” Abel broke away. “Though I wish the circumstances were a tad better.”
“You have a lawyer?”
“I thought maybe you could help me out.”
“I haven’t practiced law in twelve years.”
“Do you know anyone?”
“Not offhand,” Decker said. “I do most of my work with district attorneys. Who’s your PD?”
“Some incompetent with a perpetual allergy. Nose is running all the time.” Abel pinched off a nostril and sniffed deeply with the other. “Know what I mean?”
“I’ll ask around,” Decker said. “We’ll dig up someone.”
“Appreciate it. Preferably someone without a habit.”
“That’s not so easy.”
“I know. I wasn’t being facetious.” Abel looked at the sky and squinted. “Hot one, ain’t it?”
Decker didn’t answer.
“Not interested in the weather, huh?” Abel said. “Well, how ’bout them Dodgers?”
“Abel, have you eaten anything today?” Decker asked.
“Some swill for breakfast. Amorphous goop that doubles for Elmer’s in a pinch.”
“Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’ll check my finances.” Abel took out his wallet. “Damn. Forgot my platinum card. We’ll have to forego Spago.”
Decker looked at his watch. “Let’s fill our bellies. It’s late and some of us have a long drive home.”
Decker swung the unmarked onto the Santa Monica Freeway west. When he hit the downtown interchange, the traffic coagulated. Vehicles burped noxious fumes into a smoggy sky. At least the air conditioner was working, sucking up stale hot air and turning it to stale cool air. They rode for a half hour in silence. When Decker exited on the Robertson off-ramp, Abel spoke up.
“Where are we going?”
“Does it matter?”
“Nope.”
Ten minutes later, Decker pulled up in front of the Pico Kosher Deli, turned off the motor, and got out. Abel followed.
“You like corned beef?” Decker asked, popping dimes into the meter.
“At the moment, I’ll take anything that’s edible.”
Decker placed a crocheted yarmulke atop his hair and secured it with a bobby pin.
“What’s with the beany cap?” Abel asked.
“I’ve become a little religious in my old age.”
“Religious I can understand,” Abel said. “But since when have you become Jewish?”
“It’s a long story. Best reserved for another time. Let’s go.”
The place was half full. Out of habit, Decker chose a back table that afforded privacy. Off to the left side was a refrigerator case loaded with smoked fish—metal trays piled high with lox, cod, and whitefish chubs. Decker looked at the plastic laminated menu.
“What’s good?” Abel asked.
“Everything,” Decker said. “One of the few haunts left that serves an honest meal.”
A waitress came over. She was very young, wide-hipped, with blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Abel winked at her.
“What’s the story, sugar?”
She smiled uncomfortably.
Decker said, “I’ll have a pastrami on rye with a large orange juice.”
“Make mine a salami and cheese on rye with a Bud. If you can’t find a Bud, I’ll take you.”
Decker rolled his eyes. “You can’t have cheese here, Abel. The place is kosher. They don’t mix meat and dairy products.”
Abel said to the girl, “Then just give me you, honey.”
“Give him a salami on rye and a Heineken,” Decker ordered.
The waitress nodded gratefully and left them. Abel bit his lower lip and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“Want to tell me about it?” Decker asked.
Abel rubbed his face with his hands. “She was a hooker, natch. She called herself Plum Pie. I don’t know her real name—”
“Myra Steele,” Decker interrupted. “She’s eighteen, which makes her an adult. Thank God for small favors, otherwise you’d be in the can for statutory rape even if you didn’t coerce her. She’s from Detroit, has three priors for soliciting—two when she was still a juvenile, the last one three months ago. She used to work for a pimp named Letwoine Monroe—he was the one who posted bail for her after her last arrest—but I found out he bit the dust a month ago in a drug deal that went sour. I don’t know who she’s peddling her ass for now.”
There was a brief silence.
Abel said, “Why didn’t my lawyer tell me all of this?”
“He probably didn’t know,” Decker said. “It’s all incidental to your case. I just like details.”
“Incidental? The bitch is a hooker with three priors—”
“For God’s sake. Lower your voice, Abe.” Decker sighed. “What she does to earn a buck is irrelevant. If you forced her to have intercourse, it’s rape.”
“I didn’t force her to do anything. It was a mutually agreed-upon business transaction. And I certainly didn’t beat or slice her.”
“Abe,” Decker said, “if you’ve got to go to hookers, you go to hookers. But why didn’t you wear a condom, for chrissakes? In case you haven’t heard, there are nasty viruses floating around. What, Nam wasn’t enough? You’ve got a death wish?”
“She didn’t have AIDS.”
“And how do you know that?”
“She’s got one of those cards from a laboratory certifying her clean.”
“Abel—”
“Yeah, cards can be forged,” Abel broke in. “I’m well aware of that, Doc. But we believe what we want to believe. And condoms don’t fit my fantasies.”
“You’re a first-class ass.”
“Tell me something we both don’t already know.”
“Where’d you find this babe?” Decker asked.
“Strutting up the boulevard. My nest isn’t too far from the garden spot.”
“Go on.”
“We made arrangements, and she took me up to her place. Jesus, what a sty! Place was redolent with foot odor and other rancid—”
“Get to the point, Abe.”
“Okay, okay. We fucked. She was good, and I wanted more. So I paid for another round.” His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on bringing back the memory. “I was feeling really virile. I hadn’t felt like that in a long time, Pete. This one … I don’t know … she was really good. I paid for a third time—”
“Where’d you get all this bread?”
“From good old red, white, and blue Uncle Sam. I’m part of the national debt, Pete. Sammy owes me forever for my leg.” He wiped his forehead with his napkin. “Also, I pick up spare change from odd jobs. My needs are simple, and sex is cheap.”