“Yeah, I guess it’s pretty weird.”

“Pretty weird?”

At least he didn’t hurt anyone, Decker thought. Except the fish. But he was assuming the fish was dead. But maybe not. If Hersh dissected a live fish while getting a blow job—now that would be really disgusting.

Rina was looking out the window.

“How about you staying home tomorrow and resting?” Decker said.

“Sounds good to me.”

Decker couldn’t get his mind off the fish. What had Hersh done with it after he had butterflied it? He thought of the fried fish found in Hersh’s New York apartment. Could he and Noam have eaten it? Hersh and fish. The connection was eluding him.

It was almost six-thirty. By the time he took Rina back home, he’d have just enough time to shower and eat and be ready for Marge by eight.

“I feel like doing something productive,” Rina said. “Maybe I’ll bake a cake while you’re gone. A cake can be very life-affirming.”

“I can think of other activities that are life-affirming,” Decker said.

“You have time?” Rina said.

“For you? Always!”

“I can’t do it,” Noam insisted. “I won’t do it.”

“Will you keep your trap shut?”

“I can’t do it—”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Hank told him.

Jesus M. Christ, the kid was having another shit fit. Just what he needed. Here he was in another sleazy hotel room with the kid having a shit fit. What did it take to get something done around here?

He took a deep breath. The heater was bad, but it wasn’t that cold outside. He could live with a faulty heater. What pissed him off were all the bums downstairs. Who wants to look out the window and see bums pissin’ on the sidewalk? Even the first dump didn’t have bums.

But the room was cheap and they were within walking distance to the place. He’d staked it out and it was perfect. Queer businessmen meeting after hours at a secret fag bar. Great targets ’cause they were all in the closet. Churchgoing men. Married with kiddies, some of them even grandfathers.

Rocky John had told him about the spot. Hank remembered him grinning when he explained the deal.

Think they’d ever admit they were rolled by a hustler?

Last Hank heard, Rocky had been busted for multiple B and Es. Hank had learned a shitload from him. He wondered if he’d ever see Rocky again.

A Wall Street fag bar, Rocky had called it. Hank had sneaked out last night when Nick-O was asleep. But he had taken all of Nicky’s clothing just in case. He had found several marks that looked good. The one he had in mind had an office right near the bar. Perfect setup—if the mark would show up tonight. If not, well, he’d just find someone else and wing it.