“I’ll be sitting at another table,” Decker said. “Whisper if you don’t want me to hear. Go ahead. We’ll meet you there.”

Donatti rolled his eyes. “Do I get my steel back?”

“Eventually,” Decker said.

“You can keep the ammo, just give me the pieces.”

“Eventually.”

“What do you think I’m going to do? Coldcock you?”

“I wasn’t even thinking along those lines, but now that you mention it, you are unpredictable.”

He turned to Terry. “Do you care if I pack?”

“It’s up to him,” Terry said.

“They’re worthless without ammo.” When Decker didn’t reply, Chris said, “C’mon. It would show good faith. All I’m asking for is what’s mine.”

“I hear you, Chris.” Decker opened the door. “But you can’t always get what you want.”

The two men faced off. Then Donatti shrugged. “Whatever.” He swaggered through the door without looking back.

Decker shook his head. “That’s one icy dude.” He regarded Terry. “You handled him very well.”

“I hope so. At the very least, it’ll buy me some time to think.”

Decker noticed she was shaking. “Are you all right, Terry?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little…” Perspiration dripped from her forehead. She wiped her face with a tissue. “You know what they say, Lieutenant.” Nervous laughter. “Never let them see you sweat.”

CHAPTER THREE

AS LONG AS Decker was in the city—about twenty miles from his front door—Rina made reservations to meet for dinner at one of the many kosher restaurants along Pico Boulevard. They left her parents’ house at six, and a half hour later, they were in a booth, sipping glasses of Côtes du Rhône. Although Peter wasn’t a big talker, tonight he seemed unusually subdued, so Rina was happy to carry on the bulk of the conversation. Maybe Peter was hungry. She figured he’d join in when the mood hit. But even after polishing off his rib steak, fries, and salad, he remained quiet.

“What’s going on inside that cranium of yours?” Rina finally asked.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“See, that’s where you females mess up. Whenever we men don’t talk, you ascribe it to some deep inner meditation we’re having with ourselves. In my case, I was thinking about dessert—whether it was worth the calories.”

“If you’d like, we can split something.”

“Which means I eat ninety percent.”

“How about we forgo the desert and just have some coffee. You look a little beat.”

“Do I?” Decker stroked his red-and-gray mustache as if he was thinking of something profound. While his facial hair still retained some of its youthful, fiery color, his head hair was more white than orange, but there was still plenty of it.