Manitou Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

woman sitting opposite me was wearing a bright pink straw hat covered in china cherries and a multilayered pink organza dress that looked as if she were all dressed up for a children’s birthday party. And pink knee-high socks. And two-toned cheerleaders’ shoes, custom-made, also in pink.
    â€œYou have a weekend of very heavy financial losses ahead of you,” I told her. “By Monday, you’re going to be $17,480 poorer, with nothing to show for it.”
    Mrs. Teitelbaum gnawed at her lip. She didn’t say anything, but I could tell by the hunted look in her eyes and the way she was clutching the strap of her purse how anxious she was. Mrs. Teitelbaum’s money was dearer to her heart than her grandchildren. If there was any legal way that she could have married her deposit account at Chemical Bank, she would have done it, and she would have taken it on a honeymoon to Jamaica, too.
    â€œTomorrow—let’s see—tomorrow you’re going to drop your purse.”
    â€œYou’re sure? That’s terrible!”
    â€œOh, it’s worse than that. Your purse is going to be picked up.”
    â€œPicked up? Surely that’s good?”
    â€œNot if the person who picks it up is a manic depressive who uses your credit card to buy 300 challah loaves from Eli Zabar’s.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œThat’s not all, by a long shot. Friday, your late husband’s portrait is going to fall off the wall and break one of Widdly’s hind legs, which costs you more than $800 in veterinary bills.”
    â€œI can’t bear it!”
    â€œIt gets worse, believe me. Saturday, a distant relative is going to call and ask you to make bail for a trumped-up charge of insurance fraud—which, out of the goodness of your heart, you do, especially since he offers you his Mercedes as security. Unfortunately, he disappears and you never hear from him again, and it turns out that his Mercedes has already been repossessed.
    â€œSunday, while you’re out having lunch with your friend, Moira, Mr. Polanski upstairs leaves the water running in his bathroom. Your apartment is flooded and all of your Persian rugs are ruined. While you’re clearing up the mess, somebody sneaks into your bedroom and steals your best pearls.”
    Mrs. Teitelbaum leaned forward and peered through her gold-rimmed spectacles. “This is what it says in my cards? For real?”
    â€œThere, look,” I told her. “The smiling fool, with armfuls of bread. The man in prison, with his horse-and-carriage being taken away. The rainstorm, with the drowning woman underneath. And the beach-comber, stealing pearls from the oysters. It’s all there, Mrs. Teitelbaum, as clear as the nose on your face.”
    Mrs. Teitelbaum prodded her nose as if it were somehow to blame for what was going to happen to her. “So how do you know seventeen thousand and what’s it, so exact?”
    â€œMrs. Teitelbaum, that’s what you
pay
me for. My psychic numeracy. I count the number of cards and multiply them by the number of times you’ve come here to ask my advice, plus Mr. Teitelbaum’s age when he passed away, which was seventy-six, and the twelve tribes of Israel, that’s twelve. Then I deduct your age and the last two digits of your cellphone number and that’s the exact figure.”
    â€œSeventeen thousand and what?”
    â€œSeventeen thousand four hundred and eighty.”
    â€œSo what can I do?”
    â€œI don’t think there’s anything you
can
do. Fate is fate. Destiny is destiny. The cards don’t make the future, they only warn you what to expect.”
    I pushed back my chair and stood up, accidentally stepping on the hem of my dark green robe and tearing the stitches. “At least none of this will come as a shock, will it? I mean, you’ll be well prepared for it.”
    Mrs. Teitelbaum’s cherries rattled. “But, I don’t want to