The hunt, p.45
The Hunt, page 45
Decker laid a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “I am so sorry.”
Donatti didn’t respond. He put the letter in his pocket. Then he took out a vial of medicine. “Sleeping pills. You want one?”
“I’m okay.” Decker paused, then said, “You shouldn’t be taking meds, Donatti. You drank a lot.”
“That was nothing. Right now, you’d need an elephant tranquilizer to knock me out.” Donatti shook out two tablets and swallowed them dry. “These should kick in within a couple of hours. I’m going upstairs to sleep … to Gabe’s room. I just can’t … There’s still too much of her in my bedroom.”
“You can use the bedroom down here,” Decker said.
“No. Gabe’s room is comfortable. I’ll be fine.” He pointed to the office bedroom. “You should sleep there. It’s way more comfortable than a couch.”
“I may take you up on it.”
“There’s coffee and juice here. Will that hold you until I wake up?”
“As long as I can get to the police station by two.”
“I’ll be up before then.” Donatti paused. “How’s she doing? Talia.”
“She’s behind bars. I want to keep her that way.”
He exhaled. “You know … it pains me to say this … but … if I was in her position, I would have done exactly the same thing.”
“She’s a nasty one,” Decker said.
Donatti said, “She learned from the best.”
CHAPTER 34
THEY TOUCHED DOWN at Ben Gurion Airport at two in the afternoon. By four-thirty, they had dragged four suitcases and two carry-ons up three flights of stairs. The sun was low in the sky, and they were exhausted. The last thing they wanted to do was unpack, but since this apartment was going to be their home in Israel for the next several months, they figured they should settle in. Decker had a slew of appointments with craftsmen and building supply companies next week, and he couldn’t wait to start the remodeling. The weather had turned cool, and the days were shorter. The progression of the seasons never stopped.
He put the key into the lock and turned the bolt. He flicked on the lights.
The apartment was stone gorgeous. Two stories with high ceilings and marble floors. It was open plan with a front terrace that spanned the length of the living space. Since the unit was on the fourth floor, there was a view of beautiful old stone buildings to the north and a hint of city center. Electric lights were beginning to twinkle as the sun dipped below the horizon. The entire experience was magical.
Rina said, “Not bad, huh?”
“How did you find this?”
“I told you it belongs to one of my best friends, Rosie, and her husband, Ben. He went to yeshiva with Yitzchak. We haven’t seen each other in decades, but we’ve always kept in touch. Rosie was delighted that we bought in Jerusalem. Lovely people. They won’t be here until Pesach, so we’ve got around five months before we have to vacate.”
“I don’t know about that, Rina.” Decker looked around. The furnishings were posh, the carpets were brilliant in color and texture, and the artwork was fabulous. “Squatter’s rights.”
She smiled. “I could get used to this.”
Decker dragged the suitcases into the bedroom, which was actually a suite. “My goodness. We each have our own bathroom and closet!”
Rina joined him. The bedroom had hardwood floors, a king-size bed, and a big desk situated under a stone arched window. All the windows in the bedroom were arched. “This is palatial.”
Decker said, “What’s this costing again?”
“They’re giving it to us at cost—utilities and maintenance. I’m going to hire a cleaning service once a week. I want to return this in pristine condition.”
“I would say so. What does he do to be able to afford this?”
“Hedge fund.”
“Ah.” He walked back out to the living space and opened the double doors to the terrace. He stepped out and tightened his jacket. He looked east. “Good Lord. There’s a view of the Old City!”
Rina joined him. She had taken off her coat and was shivering. Decker held her in his arms, and together they regarded the crenellations of the Old City’s walls. Inside the stone confines was the mount where the holy temple had once stood. The rock barriers were lit from below, casting shades in yellows and gold. “Wow, that’s beautiful.” Tears formed in her eyes.
Decker took off his jacket and laid it over her shoulders. “So here we are.”
“And I couldn’t be happier,” Rina said. “We need a little breathing room after all that’s happened.”
“I’ll say.”
“Think he’ll be okay? Our boy?”
“Gabe?” Decker said. “It won’t be easy, but he does have our family’s support and Yasmine has a big family as well. I think they’ll both be busy planning the wedding for this upcoming summer.”
“It’ll be hard for him,” Rina said.
“It will be. He hadn’t much contact with Terry in the past eleven years, but she was still his mother. It’ll be painful. But lucky for Gabe that he’s used to having another wonderful mother in his life.”
“It’s not the same.” Rina sighed. “But I do my best.” A pause. “What about Chris?”
“He’s a survivor,” Decker said. “He’ll be fine.”
“He did love her.”
“He did … Whatever that means to a guy like Donatti.”
“Do you think he’s capable of love?”
“In his capacity, yes. But I think his ability to self-preserve is much stronger.”
“I hope you’re right.” Rina looked around, breathing in the fresh, crisp air of Jerusalem. She smiled. “Should we unpack?”
“It’s so gorgeous out here. Let’s wait a little bit longer.”
“You’re right,” Rina said. “We’ll start our new adventure by living in the moment.”
“Darling, that’s all we’ve got.”
THE ANNUAL HALLOWEEN Spectacle was canceled this year, as was his birthday party. When Thanksgiving came, there wasn’t much to be grateful for. But as November led to December and the holidays, Donatti felt … well, he felt okay. He hired on a new assistant—a man named James who’d been working at the place for two years. He was bisexual, which made him useful, but it turned out that he was even better behind a desk than in the rooms. James was efficient, had a great organizational mind, and got along well with both men and women. He did everything from brewing coffee to executing the payroll. Donatti wondered why it took him so long to find someone who was pleasant and friendly but professional.
Gabe flew in for his annual Christmas bash, which took their minds off the elephant in the room. Since his son was his only living relative, Donatti finally put him into the system, gave him all the keys to the locks and the code numbers to his vault. Gabe was reluctant, but Donatti insisted. After his son left, Donatti didn’t have much time to mope because the New Year’s all-night rave needed to be planned. And there were also slews of new girls to hire on.
Since Donatti hadn’t been with a woman except his late wife in the last five months, he forgot how exciting it was to have sex with different people. Some were good, some not so much, but the novelty was uplifting and pushed him back into a routine. He was no longer a “I/we/you” or even an “I/we.” He was just an “I,” and he enjoyed getting his kingdom back. The sole monarch. No one else to please, no one else to consider, just him and whatever he wanted.
January came and went, usually a slow time for business as everyone was winding down from the festivities of December. February was cold and cruel, but business began to resurge as word went out for his post–Valentine’s Day party. While the actual date was reserved for the wives and girlfriends, the postdate was reserved for the real fun. After that came the St. Pat’s gastropub extravaganza. Then it was quiet until after Easter. He took advantage of the lull to do what he needed to do but dreaded doing.
He hadn’t slept in his bed since she died. But he was ready to take his room back, to rid himself of the last painful reminders and move on.
First on the list was getting rid of the gym equipment he had bought for her. He took it into the hallway and told the movers to take it to the gym used by his workers. Next, he took a big empty box and filled it with the decorative pillows and blankets she had purchased to soften the room. After he was done with that, he went to the vault and took out all his drawings and sketches of her. Dry-eyed, he sorted through them one by one. The ones that she had posed for when she was sixteen, clothed and naked, hunched over and protected. The ones he had done when he had tied her to his bed. Staring at them, he reached for the recent ones that he had sketched around six months ago. With his finger, he traced the outline of her body and then her face.
With an exhale, he dumped them into the box with the pillows and blankets. He’d store them for another time, when he could remember without so much pain. On to the last and hardest chore. From the upper cabinet of his closet, he took down a large duffel. First, he took the framed portrait he had done off the wall and placed it on the bottom of the bag. Then he threw her clothes on the bed and began to fold them neatly.
Here was the black dress he had given her when they went to the lounge to meet Mike Badger and company. Her body had been smoking hot, but her face was still bruised. He had done her makeup to soften the impact of the beating she had taken. She had cried tears of joy when she saw how beautiful she looked, had kissed him like she meant it.
Here was the black dress she had worn for his Labor Day party, when he had raped her and sodomized her in one of the brothel rooms. He knew it was an idiotic thing to do, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was so gorgeous—a magnet for the men at the affair—and he was burning with lust and jealousy. Afterward, when they went back to the bedroom, he was drunk and said horrible things to her. Still, she had helped him through his DTs, but not without looking at him with contempt. She felt sorry for him, but equally she despised him. It killed him, almost as bad as when she turned down his advances. All he wanted was to make up, but he wouldn’t apologize. Not that she would have forgiven him right away. That kind of sadistic thing wasn’t immediately forgivable.
Here was the red dress he’d bought for her for his end-of-summer party in his office. It took a while, but finally, she did forgive him. The makeup sex was mind-blowing. He was so turned on and in love with her, his body filled with coursing hormones and pheromones. He had wanted to consume her.
Here was the cream-colored Chanel suit that she had worn for their wedding ceremony. She had bought the outfit with Guy’s wife while he and his ex-brother-in-law had done business that had taken up the entire afternoon. Then the four of them had gone out for dinner and a show. By the time Terry and he had returned to the hotel suite, it was after eleven. She was tired, but he was wired. She had taken one look at his face and had asked him what he wanted.
He had taken her outside onto the balcony. And when she objected because the terrace light was on and there was no switch to turn it off, he had taken out his gun and pistol-whipped the fixture. Glass flew everywhere. In the dark, he brought her to her knees. He stood and gripped the balcony railing, staring out at the lights of the strip while she brought him to climax. She had cut her knees while doing it—not badly, but enough to warrant a few bandages. He didn’t like her in serious pain, but the scratches she had sustained for him were kind of sexy.
Afterward, he said it was her turn. Whatever she wanted.
“Why does it have to be you and then me?” She placed a bandage over a cut on her knee. Her voice wasn’t hostile, just curious. “Why can’t it be a we? Why can’t we compromise?”
“Sometimes we compromise,” he had told her. “Sometimes it’s a we. But I find it better if it’s a me and then you, because each one of us gets exactly what we want.” He looked at her. “There’s a twenty-four-hour pawnshop a couple of blocks away. It’s huge and has nice stuff. Let’s get you some bling to wear for the ceremony tomorrow.”
She was tired, but she agreed to go. The emporium was brightly lit and surprisingly busy even at midnight. The jewelry section was enormous. There were dozens upon dozens of diamond necklaces, bracelets, earrings—not the crown jewels, but good quality. She looked into the glass cases, and each time he suggested a piece, she shook her head. Finally, she announced that she didn’t want jewelry. Instead, she pointed to his wrist and said, “But I’ll take something like that.”
Meaning his Rolex.
He raised his eyebrows. Then he laughed. He wound up getting her a pre-owned, certified Tourneau Rolex Lady-Datejust automatic in yellow gold with diamond numbers. It set him back around twenty grand, which was cheap compared with his eighteen-karat gold, black-face Sky-Dweller, but it still qualified as the most expensive blow job he had ever received.
Into the duffel went the Chanel suit, along with her heels, shoes, ordinary street clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, hair dryer, makeup, perfume, and any other sundry items. He worked until the closet, dresser, and bathroom had been purged of her belongings. Then it was the home stretch.
Her nightstand.
On the top were around two dozen paperbacks, books that she had read to pass the time when she had been alone. They went into the garbage. Below were two drawers. In the top, she had kept her panties and bras. He thought about keeping a set, but decided that it would be a little weird. Not that he minded being pervy, but it was better to make a clean break. He started folding the underwear, then decided to dump it all into the garbage. Underneath all that cotton and lace were several jewelry boxes, including one with the diamond necklace he had given her. She had never worn it. Still, she had accepted it as combat pay for being raped and sodomized.
Donatti fished it from the drawer and opened the hinged top. Talia had picked it out. The woman had good taste. Then he reached in his pocket and took out Terry’s engagement ring—also picked out by his former assistant. He had buried Terry with her wedding band, but for some reason he had wanted to keep the diamond ring. No more. He put the ring inside the necklace box, shut the lid, and threw it in the duffel.
The watch box contained her Rolex, her diamond studs that she adored, the pearl earrings that he had bought her when she was sixteen, and his mother’s cross. Each piece was a slice of his life. But instead of dwelling on the past, he shooed the memories from his mind. He stared at the cross, then he took it out and put it around his neck. Some of the girls saw Terry wearing it at the end-of-summer party. They’d like that he kept it as a memento of her, wearing it like he wore his wedding ring. It made him a sympathetic figure. And when the ladies felt sorry for him, they worked harder. He closed the watch box with the Rolex and the two sets of earrings and dumped it into the duffel. He was almost there, just the bottom nightstand drawer left.
He opened it up.
It was empty except for one item stuffed inside: a jumbled mess of fabric.
It was her Manson girl dress.
Suddenly, he felt faint. Panting, he sat on his bed, and when he finally caught his breath, he took it out and unfolded it. It was now a single piece of cloth, since he had split it down an entire seam. He had ripped it the morning before he left for India. He had felt as mean as a hornet and had wanted her in an unhealthy way. Because of her, he was doing something dangerous. Because of her, he had forked over millions of dollars to redeem two people he didn’t give a shit about. And what was his thanks? She had chosen to live in Las Vegas instead of Reno, putting her children’s needs ahead of what he had wanted. Man, he was pissed. He wanted to hurt her in every way.
She complied, dropping to all fours without a whimper as he tore the dress off her body. But seeing her bent over, the bones of her spine sticking up through the thin skin of her back, and realizing what she had gone through in her life, knowing that he had been a big part of her misery, he felt his insides melt.
He took the dress, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. She hadn’t washed it. It still smelled of her. It smelled of her perfume, her sweat, and their sex. It evoked a thousand images and a longing so deep and wide that he felt eviscerated—a gutted fish.
This wasn’t an interim.
She wasn’t ever coming back.
He held the dress to his cheek and collapsed backward onto the newly laundered bedding, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and wet, his heart racing and broken. He didn’t move for a good while. Then, swallowing back lumps in his throat, he got up from the bed. He threw the duffel back into his closet, but took the dress downstairs to his office, folding it neatly and putting it in the drawer with his heroin kit.
Things you love but can’t have.
But as time crawled by, the rip in his heart grew bigger and bigger, until it turned into a gaping hole. And at that point, he knew he needed help. He’d take out the dress every day and smell it. And when he did that, he took out his kit. A small shot in his veins and he’d sit back, clutching her dress and letting the warmth wash over him.
He could see her face.
He could feel her touch.
He could hear her sexy, throaty voice.
Her breath on his neck … she would talk to him.
You wouldn’t like it here, baby. It’s all souls and no bodies. There’s no sex.
He’d smile and tell her, Where I’m going, there’s going to be lots of ass fucking by little red men with horns. Your ultimate revenge, angel.
Then he’d hear her laugh. And he’d laugh too.
Her last words to him played over and over in his head.
I love you, Christopher.
Whispering back, I love you, too, Teresa. Forever and ever, baby doll. For all eternity.
And then nothing.
Time passed and the days grew longer and warmer. He realized that her aromas were fading from the material, until one day, all he could detect was the faint odor of old cloth. And on that day, he knew there was nothing left.
Sitting at his office desk, he took out his kit, warming the usual dose of powder with an extra couple of doses thrown in for good measure. He took out the rubber hose and made a tourniquet on his arm. He took the syringe and sucked up the liquid.
