Baltimore Noir - Laura Lippman [69]
“Not like it hasn’t happened before,” I pointed out. “Look at the guy in New Jersey.”
“He was not a real man or a good Jew. No, this is what I want: Follow Moshe around. Find out what he does. Find out if the rumors are true and do so before he marries my daughter.”
What Rabbi Brenner proposed shocked me more than if he’d asked me to kill his future son-in-law. “You want me to play private investigator?”
He smiled. “If that’s how you want to think of the task, then yes, I do. You already know how to blend in, else how would you have worked here so long?”
“Good point,” I acknowledged. Blending in was a talent I’d developed when I was little. I’d never looked stereotypically Italian, thanks to a smattering of Irish inherited from my maternal grandmother and some stray Scots ancestry on my father’s side. Instead, I grew up to look like a taller, stockier absentminded professor. Granted, one who could alter his perceived appearance depending on whether the situation was benign, neutral, or dangerous. I’d harnessed the ability even more when I’d taken up space in certain city corners to deal, and it was even more of an asset in prison.
I was good at fading into a crowd. And this, in a perverse way, sounded like a fun thing to do.
“I’ll do it, but are you sure Sam will let me take so much time off the job?”
“I’ve already procured a substitute: my youngest daughter, Sara.”
That was easy. “Fine, but I’ll warn you, I might be good at the chameleon business, but I’ve never followed anyone around before.”
“You could always find a mark, correct? Someone to whom you could sell your wares?”
Rabbi Brenner had an interesting way with words, and as soon as those were out of his mouth, he winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to remind you of your past.”
I shrugged it off. “That’s why it’s the past. I’m trying to move on, but I guess I’ll never leave it behind.”
We quickly negotiated payment and a next meeting, scheduled for a week before the wedding. I only foresaw one major problem.
“What if I don’t find anything out before the wedding takes place?”
The rabbi fixed me with a look that chilled me. “Then we’ll figure out something else.”
With Sam’s blessing, I spent the next three weeks tailing Moshe Braverman from Rabbi Brenner’s home to wherever the boy—because he wasn’t more than about twenty-one—went to. When I followed him to a religious neighborhood, I wore clothing similar to my Pern’s uniform. If it was an area I knew better, like Baltimore Highlands or the Northwest sections, I ditched the white dress shirt and glasses and opted for all black. And if I happened to be in a nicer part of town, closer to the downtown core, a quick trip to a restaurant bathroom to change into jeans usually did the trick.
Except all that clothes-switching didn’t amount to anything at all, because from what I could see, Moshe was clean. When he was with his bride-to-be, he was the epitome of the lovesick suitor, telling Beryl whatever she wanted to hear without ever breaching the social codes of where to touch and how much distance to keep. Because of their engagement, the couple was allowed to go around town unchaperoned. An irony, then: Maybe all Rabbi Brenner wanted was a glorified bodyguard for his daughter, the last vestige of an overprotective parental instinct.
When I asked my mother, whose illness was worsening, she seemed to agree.
“Some parents just don’t know how to let their children go, to be adults,” she declared between hacking coughs.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m still here with you, Ma,” I said, mopping her brow. I didn’t like that her fever kept spiking, but any time I brought up the idea of admitting her to the hospital, or even a nursing home, she refused.
“Danny, in spite of everything, you’re a good son. A good man. Even for this crazy, overbearing rabbi, you’ll do the best you can.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course I do. You think other people would have been so determined to look for a decent job when they left prison? Would they have spent weeks driving up and down the city looking at