Requiem for Moses Read Online Free PDF

thumbnail sketch then,” Cameron offered.
    “As much as you can tell me in the time we’ve got,” Koesler said.
    THE PAST
    The year was 1974.
    Jake Cameron managed a topless bar and restaurant on Michigan Avenue in Dearborn. Ford Country.
    One of his regular customers was seated near a slightly raised stage on which a curvy young woman wearing a G-string, pasties, and, oddly, shoes, was writhing. Most of the lunch-hour crowd was gone.
    That the customer was alone surprised Cameron. In his reckoning, this was the first time the man was not accompanied by at least one other diner. Cameron knew this because he knew his customers, at least the regulars. He paid attention to them.
    He approached the table. “Another martini?”
    The man looked up, appraising the manager for the first time. Previously there had been no need. This manager—a glorified waiter really—was not a subject to be manipulated. Just a server of food and drink. But now, with no one else to take advantage of, he took stock of the manager. “Okay … provided you join me.” Pause. “On me, of course.”
    The manager quickly surveyed the room. Not many left. A couple of men at one table, an unaccompanied man at another. All absorbed in voyeurism, they gave no indication that they had any further interest in food or drink. “Okay.”
    He went to the bar and built a martini precisely as this customer had initially described months ago. For himself, he filled a cocktail glass with water and added a twist. Tending bar was a downhill ride to alcoholism unless one was abstemious. Besides, he would bill the man for two drinks. One would be pure profit.
    The customer observed and fully understood what Cameron had done. No problem there; greed was good.
    Cameron placed the glasses on the table and sat down opposite the man, who extended his hand. “Green. Moe Green.”
    Cameron shook hands. “I know who you are, Doctor. I read the papers. I’m Cameron … Jake Cameron. Get stood up today?”
    Green hesitated. He hadn’t realized that Cameron was aware he never dined or drank alone here. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “His problem. A big problem next time he needs a favor. This is a seedy place,” he said without preamble. “You own it or manage it?”
    Cameron snorted. “You skip the fine print, don’t you, Doc? I’m the manager.”
    “Who’s the cashier?”
    Weird , thought Cameron. Nonstop entertainment by dancing girls who might just as well be wearing nothing. And Green gloms on to the cashier, who is fully dressed at all times. The doc showed good taste; she was worth all the dancing girls. “That’s Margie. Real name is Margaret. She likes Margie.”
    “Mmm. Margie married? Got a significant other? Anything like that?”
    “Yeah. Me.”
    “Married?”
    Cameron shook his head. “We don’t want to spoil a good thing.”
    Green nodded.
    Somehow Cameron interpreted the nod to be an entry on an adding machine. “If,” Cameron said, “you think this place is seedy—and I’m not arguing the point—why come here? You been here once, maybe twice a week for the past couple, three months.”
    “That’s about when I discovered this place. Why? There’s a certain kind of mark who fits into a place like this. He doesn’t want to meet at a better place for fear he’ll be recognized. But he’s crazy for naked broads. This place is ideal for this kind of guy. And there’s no limit to what you can slip by him while he’s distracted by an undulating bare bottom.”
    It was Cameron’s turn to nod.
    “But how about you?” Green asked. “You look sort of out of place in a joint like this. Is this it for you? Or are you on your way somewhere else?”
    Cameron saw a glimmer of hope he dared not believe in. This guy was a doctor. Doctors made big money. This one made very big money. On top of that, the papers, TV, radio reported high-profile deals he was constantly striking. And the media hinted at much more.
    Could this guy be Cameron’s