The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(47)
“Traffic, detours?” said Coolidge. “Give me forty. I’m late, order me a pastrami on rye. Don’t trim the fat.”
* * *
—
Milo said, “More bodies in a car,” stood and stretched and rubbed chin stubble. “Gonna be a long weekend, time to change my shirt and shave. You have something to keep you occupied while I’m nice to myself?”
“Always.”
“Yeah, yeah, active mind.”
When he was gone, I dialed Robin’s cell.
She said, “Hi, darling.”
“Hi. Still working?”
“Just stopped and ran a bath. About to step in.”
“The image will sustain me.”
“Will it? Okay, I’m loosening my hair and bending and…”
I said, “Now you’re endangering my health.”
She laughed. “Would a discussion about nutrition be apropos?”
“If you’re up for a late dinner, I am, too.”
“How much later?”
“Hard to say.”
“Something came up with the Big Guy.”
I said, “Two more bodies. He’s meeting with another detective.”
“Over food.”
“What else?”
“What kind of food?”
“Deli. I’m not hungry, can last till I get home. But if you are, don’t wait.”
“Two more bodies,” she said. “Similar to the other one?”
“Inglewood, a smaller car. The female victim took care of Benny Alvarez.”
“Oh. I can see why he’d want you there. Deli, huh? Haven’t had that for a while. Bring me home a pastrami on rye and get something for yourself, we’re running low on leftovers.”
“With or without the fat?”
“However it comes off the slicer,” she said. “Too much I can trim, not enough’s a drag. Besides, I like mapping my own destiny.”
* * *
—
As we walked to Maury’s, Milo smoked a cigar and blew perfect rings up at the darkening sky. Not a word uttered.
We passed a grizzled, legless man holding a hand-lettered cardboard Help Me sign. Amputation mid-thigh.
Milo stopped, fished a ten out of his wallet. “Here you go, amigo.”
“God bless you, sir. There’s a mansion awaiting you in heaven.”
“Great, I’m ready for an upgrade.”
“A big mansion with a swimming pool.”
“How about a pool table?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Let me ask you a question, compadre. Ever hear of someone named Mary Jane Huralnik?”
The man’s face screwed up. “Mary? Is she a saint?”
“Who knows?” As Milo turned to leave, I added my own ten.
The man said, “Bless everyone! We’ll start a celestial suburb.”
Three steps later, I said, “Good karma.”
“Don’t know your motivation but mine’s not cosmic, it’s simple gratitude.”
“For what?”
He tapped both his knees. “For these.”
CHAPTER
22
Maury’s Deluxe Delicatessen was a generous, glass-fronted room, dill-and-salty aromatic. A clutch of people waited to be seated. I’d never been there but Milo had because we were pulled ahead of the queue and given a corner booth by a jubilant hostess who said, “Great to see you again!”
Cops tip generously; my friend kicks up the average.
* * *
—
Familiarity didn’t stop him from studying the menu as if it were an arcane shred of papyrus.
A waiter, white-haired, paunchy, and hunched so severely he resembled an angle bracket with shoes, shuffled over. “The chief of police graces us with his presence, the world is safe.” Heavy lids, phlegmy, bored voice.
“Chief’s a crap job, Mel. Thought you liked me.”
“I love you. Not that way, but we could be brothers.” Mel gave a wheezy laugh. “If Mama had a lo-ong gestation history. Okay, I’ll settle for you’re my large, Gentile nephew. Who’s this?” Wink wink. “The guy?”
“A guy,” said Milo. “Dr. Alex Delaware.”
“Isn’t the guy a doctor?”
“He is. But he’s not this guy.”
Mel looked at me. “By any chance do you shave bunions and take Medicare?”
“He’s a shrink, Mel.”
“Okay. You do neuroses and take Medicare?”
“Coffee, please, Mel,” said Milo. “The usual.”
“Strong and black, Mr. Macho. You?”
I said, “The same.”
Mel said, “So decisive, Dr. Freud. Shouldn’t someone of your training be hinting, not delineating?”
I said, “If you brought coffee, it could theoretically be beneficial.”
Another wheeze. “Not bad, Doc, but don’t give up your day job. So we’re two for dinner?”
Milo said, “Three.”
“A crowd.” The old man braced himself on the table and leaned in close. “So. An ISIS guy is crawling through the desert. He sees another guy off in the distance and heads for him. Turns out to be an old Jew selling neckties. ‘Gimme water,’ he screams. Jewish guy says, ‘Got no water, just neckties. Good-looking silks, designer labels, terrific prices.’ ISIS guy goes nuts, threatens to cut off the Jewish guy’s head. Jewish guy says, ‘My fault all I got is ties? By the way, there’s a few rayons left, they look like silk and are even cheaper.’ ISIS guy is going crazy, now. Reaches for his knife to cut off the Jewish guy’s head and realizes he doesn’t have it. Doesn’t have nothing. Plus, he’s weak and tired and thirsty. Jewish guy says, ‘I also got some knits, very Ivy League, but if you want water, there’s a place a mile up.’ ISIS guy takes off. An hour later, he crawls back to the Jewish guy, looking even more shtupped up, tongue out, panting, he’s a mess. Jewish guy says, ‘What, you couldn’t find it?’ ISIS meshugenah—he’s barely talking, now, more like croaking—he says, ‘I found it all right, but they require a tie!’?”