Soma Blues Read Online Free PDF

landlord nor any of the people here have anything to do with this.”
    “You’re getting in your cop-out a little early,” Gherig said. “I don’t think nobody’s accused you of nothing yet.”
    “Not yet,” Lee said, with a sigh. “But you will.”
    Gherig walked through the doorway of number 15A into somebody’s idea of paradise. There was a red-and-blue Turkish rug on the floor. The walls were covered in brocaded wallpaper showing Oriental sages in tall hats crossing a bridge. There were low settees against two walls. A chandelier hung from a hook in the ceiling; it diffused its beam through a faceted crystal, throwing bright moths of light on the walls. Although the room was not large, it contrived to grow in size through the wall-length mirror on a third wall. There were two low tables, highly carved, of glossy walnut. There was a magazine stand beside one of the settees. It contained two recent issues of Playboy , thus answering the urgent question, What do you do while taking a new drug?
    “Well, this is a real cute place,” Gherig said. “How many more you got like it?”
    “This is the only one,” Mr. Lee said. “But there’s no crime to a man furnishing his place as he sees fit, is there?”
    “This place belonged to the deceased?”
    “He rented it from Mr. Ahmadi, the owner.”
    “Ahmadi? What’s that, Italian?”
    “Iranian.”
    “And he owns a building in Chinatown?”
    “Nothing unusual in that,” Mr. Lee said. “Foreigners own everything in America these days.”
    Gherig asked for the spelling and address and wrote the owner’s name in his notebook.
    “Did you look at the deceased?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Was that Mr. Ahmadi?”
    “No, sir. Definitely not. He was the leaser.”
    “You got Mr. Ahmadi’s home phone number?”
    “Of course. But you won’t find him there now. He’s off on a business trip.”
    “To Iran?”
    “To Switzerland.”
    “Give it to me anyway.” Gherig wrote it down, then said, “So that leaves you holding the bag.”
    “Come on, Lieutenant. I’m the agent for the building. No one put me in charge of having anyone killed here.”
    “The deceased, what is his name?”
    “Irito Mutinami.”
    “Iranian?”
    “Japanese.”
    “What is a Japanese doing living in Chinatown?”
    “A lot of people think it is chic to live down here.”
    Gherig was prowling around the apartment. The place had been gone over already, but there was no harm in checking it out again. In the wastepaper basket he found a square of bright blue cellophane, twisted as if it had been wrapped around something about the size of a golf ball. Was it some kind of chocolate thing? It looked like what they wrap fancy chocolate balls in. He put it in an evidence bag and went on looking.
    In one corner there was a fireplace with an artificial fire glowing in it. Gherig reached in and poked at it, felt something smooth and cool, and lifted it out. It was a bottle of a green substance that looked a lot like jade, about four inches high, uncorked and empty. Gherig lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The odor that came from the bottle was musty and sweet, utterly unfamiliar.
    “What’s this, some sort of Chinese incense?” he asked, holding out the bottle to Lee.
    Lee sniffed. His smooth face turned quizzical. “That’s a new one on me, Lieutenant. Never smelled anything like that before.”
    “Is this jade?” Gherig asked him, holding up the bottle.
    Lee shrugged. “Beats me. My hobby’s baseball. I know a guy I could ask, though.”
    “I know somebody, too,” Gherig said. “How long had”—he referred to his notebook—“Mutinami been living here?”
    “Less than a year,” Lee said. “I’ve had him on the books since early February.”
    “You happen to know what he did for a living?”
    “Student. That’s what it said on the form.”
    “What friends did he have staying?”
    “I have no idea,” Lee said. “It is my job to collect the rents and effect repairs. I do