Read Online Melting Clock by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online Page A

go,” said Phil, folding his hands in front of him on the desk, his knuckles going white.
    “What?” asked Seidman.
    “Let him go,” Phil repeated. “Go downstairs with him and tell Liebowitz to let him go. Tell him I said so.”
    “Mike Liebowitz isn’t going to—” Seidman began.
    “Mike Liebowitz owes me his job,” said brother Phil. “If he gives you a hard time, tell him to remember the Pacific Electric case in ’36.”
    “Steve,” I said. “It’s a trick to get you out of the room.”
    “No trick,” said Phil with a laugh. “I’m not in the mood for tricks.”
    He turned the squeaky swivel chair so he was facing the wall, and Seidman and I exchanged what’s-going-on looks. Seidman shrugged first. Then he went out the door. Silence. The room needed a window.
    “Phil,” I said.
    “Ruth’s got a growth in her left breast,” he said. “The doctor says it doesn’t look good.”
    “Shit, Phil, I’m—”
    “Just shut up, Toby,” he cut in, holding his hammy right hand up.
    I shut up. More silence.
    “She needs surgery,” he said. “Day after tomorrow. The boys don’t know. Surgeons are fucking butchers. You know that?”
    “Some of them—”
    “They’re butchers,” he repeated.
    “I play handball with a surgeon,” I said. “Good one named Hodgdon. He’s kind of old, specializes in bones, but he’d know a—”
    Phil shook his head.
    “Found out Wednesday,” he said. “Hell of a New Year’s present. We haven’t told anybody, not even Ruth’s mother.”
    “I’m sorry, Phil,” I said.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Give her a call. Don’t let her know you know.”
    “I will,” I said. “Can I have Doc Hodgdon give you call?”
    Phil shrugged. “Ruth’s got great teeth,” he said. “The kids all have her teeth.”
    “Wouldn’t be so bad if they had our teeth,” I said.
    “You know how old mom was when she died?” he asked.
    “Forty-three,” I said. I wasn’t likely to forget. She died giving birth to me, which, I was sure, was one of the reasons Phil had decided before he even saw me that he would make my life miserable.
    “Ruth is forty-three,” he said.
    “Come on, Phil. It’s …”
    The opening door stopped me.
    Seidman. He looked at me and then at Phil’s back and then back at me. I shrugged.
    “You can walk,” he said to me, and then to Phil, “Liebowitz says he’s doing the papers and wants you to sign off. He says you answer to the D.A.”
    Phil laughed. It didn’t seem very important to him. I got up and moved to the door.
    “I’ll call Ruth,” I said.
    “Thirteenth Street, Town of the Spectator,” Phil answered. “You got till midnight.”
    There should have been more, but there wasn’t. Phil didn’t want more and I didn’t know how to give it.
    I moved past Seidman, went down the hall past the Coke machine and down the stairs to the desk to pick up my things. I signed for everything and got it all back except for the note to Dali. I didn’t complain.
    I took a cab back to Lindberg Park, paid with Dali’s advance and made a note of the payment and tip as an expense item in my notebook. Across the street a cop was standing at the door to Place’s place. He looked at me suspiciously. My khaki Crosley had been sitting there all night and was hard to miss. I got in the passenger side of the Crosley, which I had not locked the night before, and slid into the driver’s seat. I was halfway down the block before the cop got into the street. In the rear-view mirror, I could see him writing my license number. I hope he got a merit badge.
    It was Saturday. Kids were out playing. Lawns were being watered and I had till midnight to find a painting on Thirteenth Street.
    Manny’s was open for breakfast. Since it was a weekday and a little after eight in the morning, I had no trouble finding a parking space right on Hoover. Two days in a row. How lucky could I get?
    Manny’s Saturday breakfast crowd was there, including Juanita the fortune