“ ‘Defusing’ is the right word,” Rina said. “The man’s a bomb!” She shook her head and turned on the tap. Silently, she handed Decker the first dish.
“Thanks for brunch. The salmon Benedict was a real treat.”
“Every man deserves a last meal.”
“That’s not funny.”
Rina gave him another dish. “If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Understood.”
“I don’t care what happens to her. I’m sure she’s a nice woman, but she got herself into this mess.” Rina felt anger rising. “Why do you have to get her out of it? Her asking you for help is chutzpadik.”
“It’s like she’s imprinted on me.” Decker put the dish away and put his hands on her shoulders. The tips of her black hair brushed against her shoulders, giving her face a breezy look. Rina was anything but. Intense, focused, task-oriented…those were the appropriate adjectives. “I’ll call her and tell her no.”
“You can’t do that now, Peter. He’s due to show up in a couple of hours. Plus if you backed out, you’d look like a wuss to Chris and that’s the worst thing you can do. You’re stuck.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. He was tall and big, but so was Donatti. “I think I should go with you.”
“Not a chance. I’d rather back out.”
“He likes me.”
“Precisely why he’d be tempted to shoot me. He has a crush on you.”
“He doesn’t have a crush on me—”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Well, then at least let me ride over with you into the city. You can drop me off to visit my parents.”
“I can do that.” Decker looked at the kitchen clock. “Leave the mess. I’ll get it when I come back.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“I want to set up the room before he arrives.”
“Fine. I’ll go get my purse. Call me when you’re done and everything’s okay.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rina brushed him off. “Isn’t marriage about promising to love, honor, and obey?”
“Something like that,” Decker told her. “And if I must brag, I’d say I’ve been pretty good with my vows.”
“Pretty good at the first two,” Rina admitted. “It’s the third that seems to trip you up.”
STRAIGHT OUT OF a Diego Rivera painting, he showed up with an enormous bouquet of calla lilies that took up most of his upper body. Size for size, Decker matched every inch of Christopher Donatti’s six-foot four-inch frame.
“You shouldn’t have.” Before Chris could register surprise, Decker took the flowers, tossed them on the marble counter near the door, and then turned him around, pushing him until he was flat against the wall. Decker’s movements were hard and rapid. He pressed the nose of his Beretta into the base of the man’s skull. “Sorry, Chris, but she just doesn’t completely trust you right now.”
Donatti said nothing as Decker patted him down. The man was packing good-quality pieces: the tools of his trade. He had an S&W automatic in his belt and a small .22-caliber Glock pistol in a hidden compartment in his boot. With his own standard-issue Beretta still at Donatti’s neck, Decker picked his pocket, tossing his wallet on the counter. He told him to take off his shoes, his belt, and his watch.
“My watch?”
“You know how it is, Chris. Everything these days is micro-mini. Who knows what you’re hiding inside?”
“It’s a Breguet.”
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds expensive.” Decker relieved him of the gold timepiece. It was incredibly heavy. “I’m not stealing it. I’m just checking it out.”
“It’s a skeleton watch. Open up the back and you can see the movement.”
“Hmm…it’s not going to explode on me, is it?”
“It’s a watch, not a weapon.”
“In your hands, everything’s a weapon.”
Donatti didn’t deny that. Decker told him to keep his hands up and his body against the wall. He slowly backed up a few inches to give himself some room. With an eye on his hands at all times, Decker began to remove the ammo from Donatti’s guns.
“You can turn around but keep your hands up.”
“You’re the boss.”
He rotated his body until they were face-to-face. Stripped of his weapons, Chris seemed impassive. There was flatness in his eyes; blue without any luminosity. It was impossible to tell if he was angry or amused.
One thing was certain. Chris had seen better days. His skin was patchy and wan and his forehead was a pebble garden of pimples. He’d grown out his hair from the crew cut he had sported a half-dozen years ago; the last time Decker had seen him in the flesh. It was brushed straight back, Count Dracula style, and trimmed to the bottom of his ears. He was still built lanky but with bigger arms than Decker had remembered. He had dressed up for the reunion, wearing a blue polo shirt, charcoal gabardine pants, and Croc boots.
“I’m starting to get a little pain in my arms.”
“Lower them slowly.”
He did. “Now what?”
“Take a seat. Move slowly. When you move slowly, I move slowly. If you rush me, I shoot first and ask questions later.” When Donatti started to sit on the chair, Decker stopped him. “On the sofa, please.”
Donatti cooperated and plopped down on the cushions. Decker tossed him his watch. He caught it one-handed and placed it back on his wrist. “Is she even here?”
“She’s in the bedroom.”
“That’s a start. Is she coming out?”
“When I give her the okay, she’ll come out.”
“Where’s Gabe?”
“He’s not here,” Decker said.
“That’s probably better.” Donatti dropped his head in his hands. He resurfaced a moment later. “I suppose your being here makes sense.”
“Thanks for your approval.”
“Look. I’m not going to do anything.”
“Why the armory, then?”
“I always pack. Can I talk to my wife now?”
Decker stood at the marble countertop of the hotel bar, the Beretta still in his hands. “A couple of ground rules. Number one: you stay seated the entire time. Don’t approach her in any way, shape, or form. And no sudden movements. It makes me jumpy.”
“Agreed.”
“Mind your mouth and your manners and I’m sure everything will go swimmingly.”
“Yeah…sure.” His voice was a whisper.
“You look a little pale. You want some water?” He opened the bar. “Something stronger?”
“Whatever.”
“Macallan,