Decker patted her hands and gave her a warm smile. She was disappointed but trying not to show it. The glamour of detective work was fading fast.

That was good.

17

Decker took off his yarmulke, then walked into the Empire Liquor House. The same thin black man was at the register. He was reading a magazine and looked up when he heard the Doberman grumble.

“I was hopin’ for someone like you. I could use some more pocket change.”

“Then it’s your lucky day.” Decker flipped out a twenty, held it between his first and second fingers. “You don’t know any kid named Hersh, how about a kid named Tony?”

Thin smiled. “They’s all named Tony.”

“Do these Tonys have a last name?”

“I don’t pay attention,” Thin said.

Decker leaned over the counter until he was almost nose to nose with Thin. “Well, maybe you should pay attention, buddy, because some of these Tonys are dealing. Now it may seem like nothing to you to pass a little weed back and forth, but man, if these rabbis find out you’re polluting their kids—”

“Who said I was pollutin’—”

“Let alone having minors hang around your store—”

“What!”

“These hymies have tempers,” Decker said. “But hell, with a dump like this, a smashed window isn’t going to make much of a difference—”

“You tryin’ to muscle me, man?”

“God forbid,” Decker said. “I’m just trying to jog your memory.” He smiled. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to tell me all your Tonys’ last names.”

Thin just glared.

Decker threw up his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He headed for the door, then turned around. “Does the word chaptzum mean anything to you?”

Thin screwed up his face. “I know what you’re sayin’.”

“Then why don’t you give yourself a break?”

“Hmmmmm.” Thin pondered a moment. “Maybe I can come up with a name or two.”

Decker walked back to the counter and waited.

“They’s a Tony Madiglioni,” Thin said. “He’s ’bout twenty-six or -seven—”

“Too old. I’m looking for a Tony who sells weed and brings along thirteen-year-old boys for gofers.”

Thin thought a moment. “Yeah, that’d be a Tony. ’Bout twenty, maybe twenty-one. Never said his last name—”

“Cut the shit—”

“I’m tellin’ it straight, Mr. Heat. But for your twenty…” Thin snapped the bill away from Decker. “I will tell you something of in-te-rest. This Tony—no last name—once crashed with a kid named Ernie Benedetto in Flatbush. Now I haven’t seen Ernie in a long time. Could be the kid got busted, could be the kid took a hike. But the two of them—they used to live together.”

Decker asked, “Did Tony and Ernie do more than room together?”