The Straight Man - Roger L Simon Read Online Free PDF Page A

course. It's no secret. I've told the
police and now I've told you, Mr. . . ."
    "Wine. Moses Wine."
    "Yes. Mr. Wine . . . good night." She
started off again.
    "Wait a minute."
    "I really need some Certs, Mr. Wine."
    "I'd like to see you again."
    "What for?"
    "I don't know. The usual thing. Single divorced
male seeks attractive redhead with sense of humor and checkered
employment history for fun and—"
    "Oh." She looked disappointed. "I
thought it was because you might need help with your case. I was
serious about being a private detective. I'm even taking a course at
the Learning League. Good-bye."
    She disappeared into the club.
    I decided to extend Sonya's comedy education a bit
longer and pay a visit to the Albergo Picasso.
    I entered through the front door and crossed directly
through the main lobby, past some imitation African masks and a
full-size reproduction of Guernica, to the concierge's desk. A tall
blond guy in his late twenties wearing a dark suit with the
traditional crossed keys was standing behind it with a bored
expression. He looked like a surfer who went to finishing school.
    "How do you do? My name's Mark Burg," I
told him.
    "I'm co-owner of Second Skin Leathers down in
Redondo Beach. Do you know it?"
    He didn't open his mouth.
    " I guess you don't. Anyway, we specialize in
quality leathers like this." I gestured to my own jacket, which
I had picked up on sale in the Mexico City flea market. "Also
lizard skins, ostrich, and other endangered species. Did you ever see
an anaconda belt?"
    "No." He seemed slightly more interested.
    "They look great with our skintight virgin fawn
pants. Some people get their own turquoise Navajo buckle to go with
it, but I think they're a little passé. Don't you agree?"
    "Yeah."
    "Anyway, we've got some very important vendors
coming in from Milan with all the latest styles and—you know
Redondo Beach—it's not exactly happening down there. So we
naturally thought of a bungalow at the Beverly Hills, but my partner
said I just had to see the penthouse at the Picasso."
    " The penthouse is closed."
    " Really? Until when?"
    "Further notice."
    "Remodeling?"
    "Police matter."
    "Ah-ha. Well, look, these guys are gonna be here
in six weeks. Surely it'll be open by then. And they need a nice
large suite. Somewhere they can keep all their samples. They always
have a lot of extras lying around. And they love to give them away to
the staff. It makes them feel like big tippers. And you know
Europeans—they think the concierge is a big deal." I let that
sit there, but not too long. "What's your name, sir?"
    "Edward Lomax."
    "Do you think I could have a look at the
penthouse, Mr. Lomax? If the police have it locked up, there's no one
in there now."
 
"Yeah, I
suppose," he said, trying to suppress a smile at all the great
gear he'd be collecting. First Koontz, now this one. Everyone in Los
Angeles had gone berserk for clothes or food.
    He rang for the bellhop. "Nastase!"
    A squat man with a shaven head and a mottled body
alternately layered with muscle and fat instantly materialized from
behind a pillar. A crucifix dangled from his neck and his breath
smelled faintly of garlic, giving him, despite the requisite "Blue
Period" tunic, the appearance of a refugee from a photograph of
some old Greco-Roman wrestling competition. He seemed so outrageously
out of place in this determinedly with-it environment that I had to
be careful to restrain myself from laughing.
    "Show Mr. Burg the D'Avignon Suite," said
Lomax, handing him the key.
    Nastase didn't say a word until we were halfway up in
the elevator. "Is you a religious gentleman, mister?" He
had a thick Eastern European accent.
    " Funny, you're the second guy to ask me that
tonight. No, I'm not particularly religious but I see you are."
I nodded to his crucifix. "I bet you're Romanian Orthodox."
    " Yes, yes!" he said proudly. "How you
know that, mister?"
    "Nastase, like Nastase, the great Romanian
tennis player."
    "Yes, yes. Very great. He