Three Twisted Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

leaving?”
    Charlie crossed his ankle over his knee. He was getting hard. Why hadn’t this happened ten minutes ago when he could do something about it?
    “Mr. Lam?”
    He shifted on the couch. “No. Parking lot was empty.”
    “Well, that’s funny, because not long after my partner saw you there, she got a call that a man had stabbed himself to death with a knife.”
    Charlie put his hand to his mouth. It was a stupid thing to do, like someone had yelled “Action” and his direction was to act like a scared broad.
    The cop rummaged around in her purse. “His name was Melvin Finkelmeyer. Left a wife and six kids.”
    Charlie laughed because the name sounded like a joke.
    “What?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Funny name for a black man.”
    Her eyebrow went up, but she didn’t ask how he knew the victim was black when he claimed not to be there in the first place. Instead, she pulled a Polaroid out of her purse and showed it to Charlie. “This is the man.”
    Charlie didn’t take the photo, which showed a middle-aged Jew with a comb-over. “What man?”
    “The man who killed himself outside Salmeri’s.”
    Charlie scowled, because he thought even a lady cop would be smarter than to play this kind of trick. Besides, she’d already caught him in a lie. He’d all but admitted he was there.
    She said, “Finkelmeyer’s wife took that picture five years ago before it all went to hell for him. Look at his eyes. Maybe that’ll jog your memory?”
    Charlie gave a perfunctory glance, then he did a double take. The eyes were startlingly blue. The same blue as the homeless man’s.
    He leaned closer.
    Finkelmeyer’s jawline was hard and clean-shaven, but Charlie could easily imagine what he’d look like with a full beard, his hair grown wild, his skin unwashed.
    He would look exactly like a white version of the homeless man.
    Charlie said, “That can’t be right.”
    “Not surprised you didn’t recognize him.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “After what happened to him.” She tapped the pack against the heel of her hand. “Five years ago.”
    Charlie could hear the blood pulsing through his arteries. “What happened?”
    “Not sure. Something bad. He went from being a successful businessman to living on the streets.”
    Charlie got a lump in his throat.
    You’re gonna end up just like me
.
    The cop lit her cigarette. She dropped the match into the ashtray on the coffee table. She blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “We looked into it. Don’t worry, the fact that he was keeping books for Mike Thevis had nothing to do with his downfall. I’m sure you know that people who screw over Thevis end up dead in the gutter, not living on the streets.”
    The lump in Charlie’s throat turned to sand. He coughed around the fine particles.
    “You’ve heard of Thevis. He did that movie. What’s it called?”
    The first cop provided,
“Deep Throat,”
and Charlie startled. He had forgotten she was standing by the door.
    “Deep Throat.”
The woman sucked on her cigarette. “You seen it?”
    “No,” Charlie lied. He put his hand to the back of his neck like he could stop the sweat. “This homeless guy—Finkelmeyer. He was a successful businessman before?”
    She smiled, obviously pleased with his reaction. “That’s right. He had a bunch of fleabag motels, rented rooms by the hour. Girls in and out all the time, if you get my meaning.”
    “He was a pimp?”
    “Only black men are pimps. Finkelmeyer was a slumlord. He rented to hippies and students, but his big business was giving the pimps a place to do business.” She shrugged. “Worked out fine until he got greedy. Crossed the wrong people. Bunch of pimps got together and burned down all his motels. He ended up homeless. Kind of funny when you think about it.”
    Charlie didn’t see what was funny.
    “Slumlord ends up homeless.”
    Charlie realized he was sitting on the edge of the couch. The photograph was in his hand,