The Glitter Dome Read Online Free PDF Page A

hands were trembling. He could hardly get his card back in the wallet. “Do you realize you were passed out? Your face looks like raw sirloin! If I hadn’t come in …”
    â€œYou have a flair for hyperbole, Al, my lad.” Martin Welborn grinned.
    It was always “my lad, my son, my boy,” though Martin Welborn was only two years older than Al Mackey. He removed his socks from the second drawer. The pairs of socks were stacked by color shades. It looked to Al Mackey as though Martin Welborn had segregated each stack with a micrometer. When did he start this shit? Marty was never this orderly. Nobody was this orderly. Eerie. It was all getting eerie .
    And it was affecting Al Mackey profoundly. Now he was getting drunk and even chewing on his gunsights! Al Mackey got a chill and shivered noticeably.
    â€œHow long you had that instrument of torture, Marty?”
    â€œIt’s a spine straightener, Al. They sell them to people with back problems.”
    â€œYeah, you said. I say they oughtta put them in the freak shops on Hollywood Boulevard, along with the leather masks, chains and thumbscrews. Goddamn, Marty, if I hadn’t come in …”
    â€œAl, I hang for exactly three minutes. I was watching the time on the clock by my bed.”
    â€œI was at the door for almost five minutes.”
    â€œYou look terrible, Al. Were you at The Glitter Dome again last night?”
    â€œJesus, your color’s just now coming back.”
    â€œYou should stay away from The Glitter Dome, Al.” Martin Welborn adjusted an impeccable knot in his paisley tie. “Can’t you find a happier place to drink?”
    So Al Mackey gave up. He knew the non sequiturs would continue until his surrender was inevitable. He went into the kitchen of the one-bedroom apartment and opened the refrigerator. He shakily withdrew a bottle of orange juice and three eggs. He wasn’t hungry but his vitamin-starved, whiskey-ravaged body demanded food. It was different from a feeling of hunger, this relentless demand. He cracked three eggs, lost one in the sink, but managed to get the other two into a glass of orange juice.
    Al Mackey pulled open the drawers looking for a spoon. Jesus! Each drawer was divided by plastic trays. Each spoon was stacked so that it could not stray from its assigned place. Ditto for forks and butter knives. Al Mackey opened the cutlery drawer: steak knives in a row pointed toward the wall. Larger cutlery pointed toward the gas range. Spoons and ladles toward the wall. Tiny blocks of wood kept every utensil in its assigned place.
    Al Mackey jerked open every cupboard in the immaculate little kitchen. Each glass was polished. Not a water mark anywhere. Each rested in a specifically assigned position, from the tallest water tumbler down to the stubby whiskey glasses. The spices in the cabinet were lined up by graduating height. The symmetry was perfect.
    Martin Welborn walked briskly into the kitchen. He wore a gray three-piece suit with black loafers and gray socks. Tiny patterns of red in the gray silk paisley were the only release of restraint. His heavy black hair was brushed back from a forehead not yet age-lined.
    â€œNew suit, Al. How do you like it? Do I glitter when I walk?”
    â€œYou glitter, Marty.” Al Mackey finished the glass of orange juice and egg, and studied the composure of Martin Welborn. I was watching the clock, Al .
    A drop of juice glistened on Al Mackey’s chin. Martin Welborn hurried to the sink, opened a drawer, and removed a paper cocktail napkin. The dinner and cocktail napkins were stacked and arranged by size and color.
    Martin Welborn dabbed the drop of juice from Al Mackey’s chin. Then he showed Al Mackey his handsome, boyish smile and said, “We’d better hurry, my lad. Captain Woofer’s just a wee bit testy these days.”
    Captain Woofer had reason to be testy. It had been a very bad year in many ways. One L.A. cop