AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Where …?”
“I been expecting you!” said the mummy. “What year is it? 1932? 1946? 1950?”
“You’re getting warmer.”
“1960. Howzat?”
“Bull’s-eye,” said Crumley.
“I’m not all crackers.” The old man’s dry dust mouth quavered. “You bring my vittles?”
“Vittles?”
“No, no, couldn’t be. It’s a kid, totes the dog food through that Grub Street newsprint alley, can by can, or the whole damn thing falls. You’re not him—or he?”
We glanced behind and shook our heads.
“How you like my penthouse? Original meaning: place where they used to pent up people so they couldn’t run amok. We gave it a different meaning and raised the rent. Where was I? Oh, yeah. How you like this joint?”
“A Christian Science reading room,” said Crumley.
“Darn tootin’,” said Ramses II. “Started 1925. Couldn’t stop. Smash and grab, not much smash, mainly grab. It all started one day when I forgot to throw out the morning papers. Next thing there was a week collected and then more Tribune/Times/Daily News trash. That there on your right is 1939. On the left: 1940. One stack back: ’41. Neat!”
“What happens if you want a special date and it’s four feet down?”
“I try not to figure that. Name a date.”
“April ninth, 1937,” leaped off my tongue.
“Why the hell that?” said Crumley.
“Don’t stop the boy,” came the whisper from under the dust blanket. “ ‘Jean Harlow, dead at twenty-six. Uremic poisoning. Services mañana. Forest Lawn. Nelson Eddy, Jeanette MacDonald duet at the obsequies.’ ”
“My God!” I exploded.
“Pretty damn smart, huh? More!”
“May third, 1942,” popped from my mouth.
“ ‘Carole Lombard killed. Air crash. Gable weeps.’ ”
Crumley turned to me. “Is that all you know? Dead film stars?”
“Don’t fret the kid,” said the old voice six feet under. “What you doing here?”
“We came—” said Crumley.
“It’s about—” I said.
“Don’t.” The old man whirled a dust storm of thoughts. “You’re a sequel !”
“Sequel?”
“Last time anyone climbed Mount Lowe looking to jump off, he failed, went back down, and was hit by a car that cured his living. Last time someone really came was … noon today!”
“Today!?”
“Why not? Come find the old crock, drowned in dust, no rolls in the hay since ’32. Someone did come a few hours ago, shouted down those tunnels of bad news. Recall that fairy tale porridge mill? Say ‘go!’ it made hot porridge. Kid got it started. Forgot the ‘stop’ word. Damn porridge flooded the whole town. People ate their way door-to-door. So I got newsprint, not porridge. What did I just say?”
