Unlike the Greitzman boys, Yossie Weinstein seemed scared. He was a tall, slender boy, very pale with hazel eyes and ash-colored kinky hair. His features were long; two weals of pimples dotted his cheeks. He slept in a converted closet off his older brother’s room. He sat on his bed; Decker sat next to him. The boy’s breath smelled of garlic and onions. A protoplasmic grease stain decorated his shirt. Decker asked him if he knew who he was and Yossie identified him as Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad, the cop.

That seemed to be the official title—Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad, the cop.

That was fine with him.

He spoke to the boy about sports, about cars. Yossie was shy and Decker had a rough time establishing rapport. After ten minutes of discussing the Mets, specifically whether or not the Mets could beat the Dodgers should both teams be in the playoffs, the kid seemed to settle down. Decker eased into questions about Noam, taking guidance from his last conversation with the Greitzman boys. When he asked about dirty magazines, he thought Yossie would faint.

Decker said, “Did Noam ever show you dirty magazines, Yossie?”

The kid’s nod was barely perceptible.

“How many times did he show you the magazine?”

“Coupleoftimes.”

Mumble, mumble. We don’t want to talk about this at all.

Decker repeated, “A couple of times. You ever buy one from him, Yossie?”

The boy buried his head in his hands. Decker put an arm around his shoulder.

“Yossie, I’m not going to tell your parents anything. I promise you. They ask you what we talked about, you say a little about Noam, and a lot about sports. Tell them Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad—the cop—is a big Dodger fan, okay?”

Yossie nodded.

“I’m not here to get you into trouble,” Decker said. “I’m here to find Noam before he gets hurt. Please. Now, did you ever buy a dirty magazine off him?”

The boy shook his head.

“Then where did you get it?” Decker asked.

“Fromaguy.”

Hallelujah! Calmly, Decker asked, “Which guy?”

“Just this guy,” Yossie said.

“Does this guy have a name?”

“Hersh,” Yossie said.

“Hersh,” Decker repeated. “And does Hersh have a last name?”

“I don’t know it.”

“Hersh,” Decker said. “You know where Hersh lives?”

Yossie shook his head.

“No,” Decker said. “Then where did you meet Hersh?”

Yossie mumbled something. Decker asked him to repeat what he said.

“I met him at this liquor store,” Yossie said. “I thought I was going with Noam to buy a bottle of wine for his family. Then Noam introduces me to this Hersh guy. I didn’t even want the magazine, but I didn’t want to look like a dip and not buy it. So I bought it. Cost me ten bucks, too.” He looked down. “Boy, was I a jerk.”