Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary

“Tell me about it.”

“Sam, I don’t care what you call me. If you want to call me Dad, please, go ahead and call me Dad. But certainly don’t feel guilty if you’d rather call me Peter.”

“I think Yonkie would like to call you Dad. We were discussing—I don’t want you to think we talk a lot about you behind your back.”

“I talked a lot about my parents behind their backs.”

Sammy smiled. A genuine one this time. “Anyway, when you and Eema first got married, Yonkie was asking me, like what do we call him. And I … I knew I couldn’t call you Abba. And I felt weird calling you Dad. So Yonkie said, if I wasn’t gonna call you Dad, he wasn’t gonna call you Dad, either. But I think he wanted to.”

“Why don’t you—?”

“I know, I know. Talk it over with him. Talk, talk, talk. I don’t know.”

Decker stroked the boy’s hot check. “Do this. Call me Dad for a week. Better yet, call me Dad for a month. After a month, if you still feel more comfortable calling me Peter, go back to Peter. Or Akiva. My Jewish name’s pretty personal to me. It could be our special name, if Dad doesn’t seem to feel natural.”

“Akiva. That’s not bad. I didn’t even think about that. Okay, I’ll try Dad. If not … Akiva.”

“Great.”

Sammy looked at the half-eaten sandwich. “I ruined your appetite, didn’t I?”

“Nah …” Decker made himself pick up the sandwich and take a bite. “See?”

“Nice save … Dad.”

Decker laughed.

“You know?” Sammy turned serious. “Remember we were talking about how you were a little embarrassed about Eema looking so young?”

“I should remember it. The conversation took place about five minutes ago.”

Sammy punched his shoulder—his good one. “Sometimes—I mean this is gonna sound real weird. But a lot of times, Eema gets mistaken for my older sister. Even when she’s … even now.”

Decker nodded. Apparently the word pregnant didn’t come easy to him, either.

“I don’t mean this to sound like an insult,” Sammy said, “but I’m really glad you look old … older. When I’m around you, people know you’re my dad. We go to the baseball game, everyone knows you’re a dad taking his kids out to the game. I’m proud that Eema looks so young and pretty, but sometimes a kid wants his parents to look like parents, know what I mean?”

“You bet. Don’t worry, Sammy, no one is ever going to mistake me for your brother.”

“Well, I’m happy about that.”

“So am I,” Decker said. “Really.”

“I never told you this, Pete—Dad, but most of my friends’ fathers are, you know, like doctors or lawyers or businessmen.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The kids at school think it’s real neat that you’re a detective.”

“Real exotic, huh?”

“Yeah, exactly. Like you do what they do in the movies we’re not supposed to see. I tell them that it’s not like that … except for that one time …”

“That was an exceptional circumstance.” Chasing an errant teenager and a psycho cross-country. Do a favor for someone and get yourself shot. Still, he’d brought the teenager back to the family in one piece. That was worth it all. He shifted his weight again. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. You’re right, Sam. My job’s not like the movies.”

“Yeah, I tell my friends you mostly just investigate. Interview people and make a lot of phone calls … push pencils—”

Decker burst into laughter.

“Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Word for word.”

“I don’t think they believe me. Maybe it’s because they all know you were … you know, shot. Baruch Hashem, you’re okay. You are okay, right?”

“I’m great.”

“Were you scared?”

“I was scared when it was happening, sure. But I’m not scared now.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Not even a little?”

“Nope.” It was the truth. His concern was saved solely for the people he loved, not for himself.

“The kids at school …” Sammy fingered his covers. “They ask me about the incident. I wish they’d shut up about it.”

“It gets on your nerves.”

“Yeah, I don’t like to think about it. That’s why I tell them your job isn’t like that normally. But they still ask me questions. You have this kind of, I don’t know, mystic around you.”

Decker fluttered his fingers and howled like a ghost.

Sammy laughed. “Emes, I think it’s kind of neat what you do, too. Maybe one day you can take me to work with you.”

Decker felt his throat tighten. The kid was actually proud of him. “I’d like that, Sam. Pick a day, we’ll clear it with Eema, and you can be my partner.”

Impulsively, Sammy reached out and hugged Decker around the neck. Then, just as abruptly, he pushed him away. “Okay, I’m sick of talking. You want to play some cards?”

The detectives’ squad room at Foothill Substation was not the location of choice when the merc climbed past ninety. With dozens of men sweating into a confined area with no air conditioning and little circulation, the room became ripe very quickly. Some took it better than others, and although Mike Hollander was fifty pounds overweight, he took it better than most.

It just wasn’t his nature to get overly excited about things. Not that he was a jerk-off. But he was … relaxed.

Dunking his doughnut into his coffee, he had some spare time before court. He heaved his portly frame out of his wooden chair and lumbered over to Decker’s desk. Resting on the scarred wooden top was a manila evidence envelope, a couple of police sketches and a list of felons who physically matched the drawings. Hollander brushed crumbs from his walrus mustache, picked up the list, and planted his butt back in his chair.