Read Online Tongues of Fire by Peter Abrahams - Free Book Online Page B

right to the office. Since he was up for the day, he lay prone on the floor, dug his toes into the broadloom, spread his hands, and pushed his body up until his arms were fully extended. He did this ninety-nine more times, counting in a grunting whisper. The last dozen grunts grew louder and further apart. Krebs put it down to lack of sleep.
    Upstairs he quickly shaved and showered. He went into the bedroom and found what clothing he could in the dark. He carried it into the hall, closing the door behind him. He knew Alice was awake because he heard the little sound she made between her teeth.
    As he drove into Manhattan the sky became lighter: a gritty colorless budget-priced dawn with no extra-cost options. As morning seeped through the clouds the wind began to die, as if there was a fixed supply of energy to power the atmosphere, and all the elements had to share it.
    A city patrolman stood in front of the Sheba cinema. His face was oily and needed a shave. He looked at Krebs suspiciously the way policemen do after a crime has been committed. Krebs identified himself and went inside.
    Yellow overhead lights had been switched on in the theater. They exposed it mercilessly, like a cop’s flashlight on the face of an old whore. Three men stood near the front, two wearing uniforms, one a duffle coat. Krebs joined them.
    â€œYou Krebs?” the one in the duffle coat said. He had a bad cold. Krebs nodded. “Christ, you took your time getting here. They said we couldn’t move anything until you showed up.”
    â€œI live in New Jersey,” Krebs said.
    â€œChrist,” the man in the duffle coat said again.
    Krebs looked down at what was wedged between the seats. The three men watched him look. “Had his throat cut from ear to ear. First time I’ve really seen it,” one of the uniformed men said. “Course I’ve seen plenty of throats cut,” he added quickly. “Plenty. But not like this. Ear to ear.”
    But Krebs saw it wasn’t like that at all. The point of a sharp and narrow knife had been stuck deeply into the side of the neck, then the edge of the blade had sliced forward through the front. The throat had been cut from the inside out by someone who knew how.
    They waited for him to say something.
    â€œAny witnesses?”
    â€œNot so far,” the man in the duffle coat replied. He pulled a dirty Kleenex from his pocket and blew his nose, making a little explosion that the big empty room blew back at them. “The manager didn’t see this until the show was over. He says he always checks that no one’s passed out on the floor or something like that.”
    â€œHow many customers were there?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œWhere’s the manager?”
    â€œGot him in the car.”
    â€œI’d like to talk to him. First get him to count the take.”
    â€œFerguson,” the man in the duffle coat said to the cop who was seeing his first ear-to-ear. Ferguson started walking up the aisle. “And bring me some Kleenex,” he called after him. “There’s a box under the seat.” They watched Ferguson go through a soiled red curtain. “One other thing,” the plainclothesman said to Krebs. “There was a girl. Sucking him off. She was kind of trapped under the body.” Mention of the word drew their eyes back down to the fact on the floor. “She wasn’t hurt or anything. Shock, maybe.”
    â€œShe’s in the car too?”
    â€œYes.”
    Ferguson returned with the Kleenex and a fat man. “Nine tickets sold,” he said to Krebs. He handed the Kleenex to the plainclothesman.
    â€œI’m tired. I want to go home,” the fat man said in a self-pitying tone.
    â€œShut your mouth,” the plainclothesman said. He blew his nose.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Krebs asked the fat man.
    â€œMelvin.”
    â€œI just want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Melvin. Then