04 Four to Score Read Online Free PDF

any criminals today?”
    “Not yet, but I'm working on it.” I handed him the airmail message. “Can you unscramble this?”
    Mr. Kleinschmidt shook his head. “I do crosswords. This is a jumble. You have to go ask Lorraine Klausner on the first floor. Lorraine does jumbles.”
    “Everyone's a specialist today.”
    “If Mickey Mouse could fly he'd be Donald Duck.”
    I wasn't sure what that meant, but I thanked Mr. Kleinschmidt and I tramped two flights down and had my finger poised to ring Lorraine's bell when her door opened.
    “Sol Kleinschmidt just called and told me all about the jumbled-up message,” Lorraine said. “Come in. I have cookies set out.”
    I took a chair across from Lorraine at her kitchen table and watched her work her way through the puzzle.
    “This isn't exactly a jumble,” she said, concentrating on the note. “I don't know how to do this. I only do jumbles.” She tapped her finger on the table. “I do know someone who might be able to help you, but . . .”
    “But?”
    “My nephew, Salvatore, has a knack for this sort of thing. Ever since he was little he's been able to solve all kinds of puzzles. One of those freak gifts.”
    I looked at her expectantly.
    “It's just that he can be odd sometimes. I think he's going through one of those conformity things.”
    I hoped he didn't have a tongue stud. I had to struggle not to make guttural animal sounds when I talked to people wearing tongue studs. “Where does he live?”
    She wrote an address on the back of the note. “He's a musician, and he mostly works nights, so he should be home now, but maybe it would be best if I call first.”
    *    *    *    *    *
    SALVATORE SWEET lived in a high-rise condo overlooking the river. The building was sandblasted cement and black glass. The landscaping was minimal but well maintained. The lobby was newly painted and carpeted in tones of mauve and gray. Hardly a nonconformist's paradise. And not low-rent, either.
    I took the elevator to the ninth floor and rang Sweet's doorbell. A moment later the door opened and I found myself face-to-face with either a very ugly woman or a very gay guy.
    “You must be Stephanie.”
    I nodded my head.
    “I'm Sally Sweet. Aunt Lorraine called and said you had a problem.”
    He was dressed in tight black leather pants held together at the sides with leather lacing that left a strip of pale white flesh from ankle to waist, and a black leather vest that molded around coneshaped, eat-your-heart-out-Madonna breasts. He was close to seven feet tall in his black platform pumps. He had a large hook nose, red roses tattooed on his biceps and—thank you, Lord—he didn't have a tongue stud. He was wearing a blond Farrah Fawcett wig, fake eyelashes and glossy maroon lipstick. His nails had been painted to match his lips.
    “Maybe this isn't a good time . . .” I said.
    “As good as any.”
    I had no idea what to say or where to look. The truth is, he was fascinating. Sort of like staring at a car crash.
    He looked down at himself. “You're probably wondering about the outfit.”
    “It's very nice.”
    “Yeah, I had the vest made special. I'm lead guitar for the Lovelies. And let me tell you, it's fucking impossible to keep a good manicure through the weekend as a lead guitarist. If I'd known how things would turn out for me, I'd have taken up the fucking drums.”
    “Looks like you're doing okay.”
    “Success is my middle name. Two years ago I was straight as an arrow, playing for Howling Dogs. You ever hear of Howling Dogs?”
    I shook my head. “No.”
    “Nobody fucking heard of Howling Dogs. I was fucking living in a fucking packing crate in the alley behind Romanos Pizza. I've been punk, funk, grunge and R&B. I've been with the Funky Butts, the Pitts, Beggar Boys, and Howling Dogs. I was with Howling Dogs the longest. It was a fucking depressing experience. I couldn't stand fucking singing all those fucking songs about fucking hearts fucking