False Allegations Read Online Free PDF Page B

it,” I said. “I don’t know. And I don’t know if it’s worth a look to find out.”
    “Run it,” the little man said, lighting a smoke.
     
     
    T he Prof listened close the way he always does. The way he taught me to. It only took a few minutes.
    “Schoolboy, you know how some fighters, they just wave the right hand at you? Like they loading up, gonna drop the hammer? And all the time it’s the left hook that’s coming, okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Some of them, the real good ones, it’s the right hand that’s coming. They one step ahead of where you think they gonna be, understand? Sugar Ray— I mean the real Sugar Ray now— he could do that, double–fake quicker’n a snake. Bite you twice as deep too.”
    “So you mean…”
    “Yeah. Whoever’s in it— and no way it’s just the broad— they got to be smarter than they showing. They got to figure you gonna come looking for answers.”
    “Only place I can go is back to this Bondi girl.”
    “The ho’ don’t know, bro. And a trick can’t play it slick.”
    “Then who?”
    “This accountant, right? Michelle’s pal?”
    “He doesn’t know anything about me, Prof.”
    “You believe that, you might just be as big a chump as that broad’s playing you for. You scan the plan, you know he’s the man. It don’t play no other way.”
     
     
    M ichelle was a vision as she walked purposefully past the stanchion with the tasteful lettering saying: ALL VISITORS MUST BE ANNOUNCED. The uniformed guy sitting behind a counter had been watching a propped–up little TV, but he snapped to attention when he heard the click of Michelle’s spike heels across the black–and–white tiles. And one look at Michelle was all that he needed— he was skewered. Michelle doesn’t do that swing–the–whole–thing, pelvis–out model’s walk— she moves like the sorceress she is, with that muted tick–tock that tells you the motor’s heavy on horsepower but not every key fits the ignition. I was a step behind, standing just to her right, but far as the uniformed guy was concerned, I wasn’t in the lobby at all.
    “Can I help you?” he asked her hopefully, his eyes wobbling between Michelle’s perfect face and her slashed–silk pink blouse with its little white Peter Pan collar.
    “I know you can, honey,” she purred at him, red–lacquered talons splayed on the countertop, big azure eyes holding his. Just in case he decided to look anywhere else, she took a deep breath, let it out in a faint shudder.
    “Uh…I mean, you wanna see somebody?”
    “That’s right, handsome. Can you just ring twenty–one G for me?”
    “Sure! I mean, who should I say— ?”
    “My name’s Michelle, baby. What’s yours?”
    “Manny.”
    “Manny? I know that’s not it. That’s a nickname, isn’t it? What’s your real name?”
    “Emanuel. It’s a family name, like. But I don’t— “
    “Oh you should ,” Michelle assured him. “It’s a very strong name. Suits you much better than ‘Manny,’ don’t you think?”
    “Well…Yeah, I guess I do. But the tenants here, they like— “
    “Emanuel is a man’s name,” Michelle cooed at him. “Maybe you should just save it for grown–ups.”
    “I…”
    “Can you push that button for me, honey? Tell him I’m on my way up?”
    “Sure!”
    Michelle twirled slowly, then started for the elevator. Old Emanuel’s jaw dropped— up to then, he thought he’d been staring at the best part.
    We got on the elevator together. But if a cop came around later, Emanuel would swear that it was only Michelle. And he’d be telling the truth.
     
     
    M ichelle disdained the discrete little black button set into the door jamb of 21G, rapping lightly with her knuckles instead. The guy who opened the door was in his late forties, taller than me, with a pale, jowly face and a droopy mustache. His too–black hair was done up in an elaborate comb–over. His eyes had that intense look you see in guys who should be wearing