Single Jeopardy Read Online Free PDF

often happens in real life, the law doesn’t really govern everything. I’ve eaten in that local Chinese restaurant enough times to realize that the little girl obviously has a connection with the place. All the local cops eat there and treat her like their mascot, so she shouldn’t have to worry about ever getting a traffic ticket in this neighborhood. Come to think of it, I never saw any cop in uniform ever getting charged full price there. Maybe that’s why like clockwork, they’re in there every day at the same times: Noon for the morning watch’s lunch and four-thirty in the afternoon for the day-watch’s lunch time. There are also second-Tuesday-of-the-month interagency luncheon meetings of all the local police authorities to discuss their new policy of cooperation and sharing of intelligence and computer files. The lunch checks all get paid in full on those days, and from what I’ve seen, the brass is allowed to drink while on duty.
    The restaurant doesn’t have too much competition in the neighborhood. There’s an Italian place across the street, and a seafood place a couple of doors west, but they don’t compete for customers. No-one can eat Chinese food or Italian food every night of the week unless they’re Chinese or Italian, and then it’s not Chinese food or Italian food: it’s just food.
    The real competition between them is for parking spaces on the two city-owned empty lots on both sides of the restaurants. The other two eateries are both owned by some rich old guy who lives in a penthouse down the street at the Marina City Club, so the fighting is left to the operators of their two car-parking valet companies.
    This evening I’m considering allowing myself to be invited onto Laverne’s houseboat for a drink. I’m rationalizing this daring move as an attempt to get some information from her about Melvin’s small cadre and that fifty-foot Grand Banks, the new love of my life.
    Right on cue, after the gangway gate slams loudly behind me, Laverne appears at her window. As I walk by she smiles and holds up two elegant plastic wine glasses. She gives me a wink, and clicks the glasses together. Once before in my life this phrase passed over my lips and it caused me quite a bit of trouble over the years. My wife and I had been living together in her house for over a year and one night she gave me the dreaded ultimatum that every man will probably hear at least once in his life: “either get married or get out.” It was then that I said those romantic words of acceptance: “aw what the hell, I might as well.” I hope that this time it’ll lead to nothing more than a glass of wine and some information.
    Laverne’s metallic houseboat is furnished rather interestingly. For lack of a better description I guess you could call the décor ‘early whorehouse.’ There’s a lot of gaudy red velvet wallpaper and a framed picture on one wall of some dogs playing poker. Another wall has a picture hanging there that looks like a sober Laverne. It’s one of those phony oil-painting-type of prints that’s really just a touched-up enlarged photograph. Some cheap imitation fringed Tiffany lamps are lit. One of them is a hanging ‘swag’ model. This is probably the first residence she’s ever lived in that doesn’t have wheels. I guess you would expect Tonya Harding or Paula Jones to have decorating styles not much different. Also not too surprising is what’s playing on her television set: one of those crappy reality shows, but with the sound turned off. When I ask her how she can enjoy it without the sound, she tells me not to worry, because she’s taping it. What a wonderful videotape library she must have. All that her living room lacks now are some vibrators mounted on the flocked wallpaper. I’ll have to remember to leave a couple of twenties on the dresser when I leave.
    Aside from the gaudy trappings, Laverne is pleasant enough, and when she sits down, her housecoat momentarily opens to reveal