3 Strange Bedfellows Read Online Free PDF Page A

anyway, I tend to have a sievelike memory for faces. Yet another bad trait for a murder investigator. Ah, well.
    The unctuous, bushy-eyebrowed minister droned through a long routine about what a great man the Hack had been. If you bought his shpiel, the Hack was a loving son, husband, and father who went to church every Sunday and devoted his life to serving others. He always obeyed the speed limit, put fallen baby birds back in their nests, and never picked his nose in public.
    Okay, maybe the minister didn't quite say all of that, but he came darn close. He was from the Henry James school of literature, never using one word when one hundred would do the job just as well. Even worse, he had a habit of lingering over the "s" sound when it came at the end of a syllable, so a word like "consciousness" took him about ten seconds to spit out. "Consciousssssnesssss." It was excruciating. When he sputtered to a halt at last, and the organ churned out a sad ditty, all of us "mournerssss" hightailed it out of the church as fast as we politely could.
    I decided to skip the cemetery, out of fear that the minister might show up with new gas in his linguistic tank. Instead I went to my home away from home, Madeline's Espresso Bar on Broadway, for a cappuccino. Thus fortified, I then crashed the wake at the Hack's house.
    The Hack had lived rig ht in Saratoga Springs, like myself. But whereas I lived in a small colonial in a working-class neighborhood, he lived in a two-story brick affair on Fifth Avenue, one of Saratoga's priciest streets. As I stepped past the Corinthian pillars on the porch and opened the solid oak front door, I felt utterly out of place, like I always do in fancy houses. I got rich so suddenly, even now I don't feel rich. I still pick up dirty pennies from the sidewalk.
    The Hack's living room was full of forty-something white men wearing suits and ties —in other words, guys who looked just like me. But still, to my eyes they were creatures from another planet. I wonder, do other men feel like they're donning some bizarre alien raiment when they put on a suit and tie, or is it just me?
    When I'm ill at ease socially I always gravitate toward the other misfits, and that's what I did now. I ambled over to the one guy who stuck out like a Tibetan lama at a Burger King. He looked about eighty-five, by far the oldest guy there. His suit hung too loose, and was probably three times cheaper than any other suit in the room —even mine, and that's saying something.
    Most striking of all, the man had the grizzled, careworn face, rough, calloused hands, and sinewy arms that shouted, "blue collar." No one else at the wake had any of these characteristics.
    Nor did anyone else have anything resembling his facial expression. It was an unfocused sneer, like he was disgusted with something but wasn't quite sure what.
    His sneer was so off-putting that I paused before reaching him, planning to turn back. But then he glanced up and saw me, and I couldn't figure out a graceful way to retreat. "Hi," I said nervously.
    He nodded suspiciously. Who was this strange old bird? Maybe the Hack's lawn care guy or something.
    "It's a sad day, huh? Were you a friend of Jack's?" I ventured.
    "Not exactly," he rasped in a scratchy voice. "I'm his father."
    I gulped with surprise. Nothing about this man's blue-collar look or edgy attitude reminded me of the smooth, dull politico I knew as the Hack.
    The old man's eyes crinkled with bitter amusement. "What's the matter, I don't look the part?"
    "No, you do," I stuttered. "Actually, you look just like him."
    "Bullshit," he snarled. But then, out of nowhere, he started to cry. That got him coughing, and soon his whole body was racked by a ferocious coughing spasm.
    "Are you okay?" I asked, rather stupidly, because he obviously wasn't okay. "Can I get you something?" But he was coughing and shaking so hard, he couldn't answer.
    I looked around the room for help, but none of the suit-and-tie guys were