Secret Light by Z. A. Maxfield Page B

outside until he was invited.
    “Jack. Come in.” Rafe backed away from his desk and indicated that Jack should
    take a seat. “How are Dorothy and the kids?”
    “Fine, just fine. That’s what I’m here about. You probably aren’t aware that tonight
    is the first night of Hanukkah.”
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    “Is it?” Actually, he had been aware, but only peripherally. He was aware of most
    Jewish holidays from the signs on the restaurants and businesses of the Fairfax district
    where he shopped for guilty pleasure foods that reminded him of home and the time
    he’d spent on the East Coast.
    “We light the first candle at sunset tonight. Dorothy wants to make a big deal for
    the girls, but it’s the Sabbath, so we’re having a party tomorrow night. We didn’t really
    plan ahead or send out invitations, but she asked me to talk something up at the office.
    You’re invited, of course.”
    “Really, for Hanukkah?”
    “Like I said, Dorothy’s idea is to make it a big deal. The kids want Christmas. That’s
    all they’re talking about. They see the hoopla in stores and on television, and they feel
    cheated. One of the girls asked Dorothy if we could get a Christmas tree and call it a
    Hanukkah bush , and she just went up in flames.”
    “I—”
    “You don’t have to bring anything. We just want the girls to feel like our holiday
    is…festive.”
    “I’d be pleased to come.” On the whole, Hanukkah wasn’t a very important
    holiday, traditionally, but it could be fun. “I have an appointment in the afternoon
    tomorrow which will hopefully lead to a listing. I probably won’t be there by sunset
    or—”
    “No. Just come when you can. We won’t light the candles until after Shabbat ends
    at nightfall. I promise, it won’t be a big deal. Just some food, some friends, and we have
    gifts for the girls.”
    “I am honored,” Rafe said. “How old are your girls again?”
    “Rachel is nine and Karen, twelve, but there’s no need for you to bring gifts.”
    “They’re young ladies already.” Rafe smiled. “Time flies.”
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    “That it does.” Gold got up and went to the door. Once there, he turned back. “I-I
    should tell you that a couple of the guys won’t be coming. They’ve said they don’t want
    to be part of some Jewish holiday thing—”
    “That means more fun for us, eh?” Rafe clutched his pen where Gold couldn’t see.
    “Bunch of spoilsports, if you ask me.”
    Gold smiled for the first time since he’d come in. “More for us. That’s right.”
    “I must work now, though, so I can be free to spend tomorrow evening with
    friends.”
    “Right. Thanks. I appreciate this.”
    “Me too. Thank you.”
    Gold ducked out the way he came, headfirst, and Rafe was left to his thoughts
    again.

    Ben watched Jim Calhoun as he got his food. After their bout in the ring at the gym,
    the man was a walking cautionary tale. His face bore the unmistakable imprint of Ben’s
    fury, and his nose sat at a jaunty new angle, its tip about a quarter inch to the left—
    looking straight on—of the cupid’s bow of his lips.
    Jim probably hadn’t entirely forgiven Ben, and forgetting was out of the question.
    At least now he knew who would take the brunt of things in a fight. As painful a lesson
    as it had been, Ben hoped he’d learned it. Or he hoped at the least Jim had learned Ben
    would administer the lesson as many times as it took for him to show some damned
    respect.
    They’d stopped at a hot dog joint where Ben had ordered a stretch dog with chili,
    no mustard. Calhoun joined him, leaning against the hood of the patrol car, balancing
    his usual chili dog and fries.
    “We going to be okay?” Ben asked him.
    Calhoun turned a cool eye his way. “Yeah. Sure.”
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    “’Cause I don’t have a beef with you as long as you understand we’re here to serve
    the citizens of LA.”
    “I get that.” Calhoun