The Golem of Hollywood Read Free Page B

should he be ashamed to look? He might as well take her in while he had the chance.
    He watched her reduce the
tallis
to the size of a placemat with three precise folds. She squared it over a chairback, kissing her fingertips when she was done—a Hebrew school habit.
    â€œJewish,” he said.
    Her eyes took on more green. “Just another
shiksa
.”
    â€œ
Shiksas
don’t call themselves
shiksas
,” he said.
    She regarded his straining boxer shorts with amusement. “Have you brushed your teeth?”
    â€œFirst thing I do when I wake up.”
    â€œWhat’s the second?”
    â€œPee.”
    â€œWhat’s the third?”
    â€œI guess that’s up to you,” he said.
    â€œDid you wash?”
    â€œMy face.”
    â€œHands?”
    The question threw him. “I will if you want.”
    She stretched lazily, elongating her form, unbridled perfection.
    â€œYou’re a nice-looking man, Jacob Lev. Go take a shower.”
    He was under the spray before it had warmed, vigorously scrubbing pebbled skin, emerging rosy and alert and ready.
    She wasn’t in the bedroom.
    Not in the kitchen, either.
    Two-room apartment, you don’t need a search party.
    His
tallis
was gone, too
.
    A klepto with a fetish for religious paraphernalia?
    He should have known. Girl like that, something had to be off. The laws of the universe, the balance of justice, demanded it.
    His head throbbed. He poured more coffee and was reaching into the cabinet for bourbon when he decided that it was, no question, time to cut back. He uncapped the bottle and let it glug into the sink, then returned to the bedroom to check the sweater drawer.
    She’d replaced the
tallis
, snugging it neatly between a blue cableknit and the thread-worn velvet
tefillin
bag. As a gesture, it seemed either an act of kindness or a kind of rebuke.
    He thought about it for a while, settled on the latter. After all, she’d voted with her feet.
    Welcome to the club.

CHAPTER THREE
    H e was still crouching there, naked and perplexed, when his doorbell rang.
    She’d had a change of heart?
    Not about to argue.
    He hurried over to answer the door, preoccupied with cooking up a witty opening line and hence unprepared for the sight of two huge men in equally huge dark suits.
    One golden brown, with a wiry, well-trimmed black mustache.
    His companion, squarer and ruddy, with sad cow eyes and long, feminine lashes.
    They looked like linebackers gone to seed. Their coats could have doubled as car covers.
    They were smiling.
    Two huge, friendly dudes, smiling at Jacob while his cock shriveled.
    The dark one said, “How’s it hanging, Detective Lev.”
    Jacob said, “One second.”
    He shut the door. Put on a towel. Came back.
    The men hadn’t moved. Jacob didn’t blame them. Guys their size, it probably took a lot of energy to move. They’d really have to want to go somewhere. Otherwise don’t bother. Stay put. Grow moss.
    â€œPaul Schott,” the dark one said.
    â€œMel Subach,” the ruddy one said. “We’re from Special Projects.”
    â€œI’m not familiar,” Jacob said.
    â€œYou want to see some ID?” Subach asked.
    Jacob nodded.
    Subach said, “This will entail opening our jackets. And offering you a glimpse of our sidearms. You okay with that?”
    â€œOne at a time,” Jacob said.
    First Subach, then Schott showed a gold badge clipped to an inside pocket. Holsters held standard-issue Glock 17s.
    â€œGood?” Subach said.
    Good
, as in, did he believe they were cops? He did. The badges were real.
    But
good
? He thought of Samuel Beckett’s response when a friend commented that it was the kind of day that made one glad to be alive:
I wouldn’t go that far.
    Jacob said, “What can I do for you?”
    â€œIf you wouldn’t mind coming with us,” Schott said.
    â€œIt’s my day off.”
    â€œIt’s