Abel dabbed his brow with a tissue. Despite the long, untrimmed beard and the unkempt dress, he smelled freshly scrubbed. He’d always been meticulous about his hygiene, Decker remembered. Used to groom himself like a cat. When the rest of the platoon was covered with caked-on scum, Old Honest Abe Atwater would be spitting into his palm, trying to wash off the grime.

“Thanks, big man,” Abel said. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

“S’all right.”

“I really mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Abel threw him a 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.”