The Complete Matt Jacob Series by Klein Zachary;

Author:Klein, Zachary; [Klein, Zachary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Polis Books
Published: 2016-03-12T05:00:00+00:00

I gave up trying to sleep and settled for The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Fritos, marijuana, and diet Coke. I was just getting couch-comfortable when the telephone rang. I automatically began my neurotic do-I-or-don’t-I, but was too damn tired for the debate.

“I just spoke to Rabbi Sheinfeld.” Simon’s sleep-thick voice barked over the wire. “He thought you were pretty interesting.”

“‘We are all interesting in the eyes of the Lord.’ Or is that ‘sinners’?”

“I was certain you’d have the phone off the hook. Instead, you’re up and running your mouth. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“Me asleep? When there are Rabbis to question? God to investigate?”

Simon grew suspicious. “Have you been burying your nose in the rest of that sugar? Shit, Matt, I can’t have you on a binge and crash routine. This case is important to me.”

“What the hell are you complaining about? You gave me the coke.”

“I gave you a toot, Matt. You walked off with the bottle.”

“Always a lawyer, aren’t you?”

“Not always. Now. Do I have to get Lou to baby-sit?”

Lou was my dead wife’s father who had recently moved into the building from Chicago after his wife, Martha, died. Though both our names were on the six-flats’ title, Lou was the real owner. After the accident he bought the original building and hired me to manage it. He wanted to give me something to do while I theoretically pulled my life back together. Since that time, Lou had bought the building next door and I’d stopped superintending. These days he talked about adding to the empire. As far as me getting it together, well, theories are, sometimes, just theories. And reality had me forgetting about Simon’s little glass bottle. Now that was a surprise.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Boss,” I growled. “Lou knows better than to take that gig. Anyway, I’m not fucked up; some of us don’t sleep real good during the day.”

“Some of us don’t speak English real good either.”

“But I understand it well enough to know I don’t belong pulling on earlocks. What are you dragging me into? I was there when Sheinfeld made the calls. Hasids prefer to speak Yiddish!”

“Look, I’m not really concerned about the drugs, you have a fucking hollow head,” Simon said, oblivious to my remark. “It’s your attitude that has me worried.”

“Say what?”

“Your attitude,” he repeated. “I know it pisses you off that I’m involved with a Temple. But I want you to keep that separate. This case is important for a lot of reasons. If you keep your nose to the highway and away from the coke, I’ll be better off.”

I lifted my Diet Coke can, sniffed loudly, and released a deep sigh.

“I heard that, smartass. Try to pay attention, will you? I know you have to speak with the Hasidim to get started—but that’s it. Your job is Sean Kelly and the White Avengers. You work the Hasidim once then be done with them, capiche?”

“Capiche my hindquarter. I don’t need you to tell me how to work.

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