Loverboy by r g. belsky

Author:r g. belsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 34

Norm Malloy told me someone was waiting for me when I got to work in the morning.

“See that guy standing in front of your desk?” Malloy said in between answering phone calls.

I nodded.

“His name is Elmer Lutz.”

“So?”

“He says he’s Loverboy.”

I was—to put it mildly—a tad skeptical. Elmer Lutz was a short, pudgy man of about sixty. There was almost no hair on his head. He spoke with a stutter and in a high, squeaky voice. He didn’t look like Loverboy to me. Actually, he looked more like Elmer Fudd than an Elmer Lutz.

I walked over, introduced myself to him and listened politely to what he had to say. Then I went back to Malloy at the city desk.

“You don’t seem to be in mortal danger,” Malloy said.

“I face death in the eye every day.”

“Did this guy really confess to all the killings?”

“Among other things.”

“Huh?”

“He also confessed to kidnapping Jimmy Hoffa, bombing the World Trade Center and helping Charles Manson kill Sharon Tate.”

“Oh, Christ!”

“No kidding. You think the authorities want to clear up any other unsolved crimes on the books? How about the Kennedy assassination? I don’t think he’s got an alibi for that.”

Malloy shook his head.

“Whenever a mass killer gets a lot of publicity, this kind of thing happens.”

“Yeah, the fruitcakes really come out of the woodwork.”

“What do you want to do with him?”

“Let’s call the cops.”

He made the call. While I waited for them to show up, I gave Elmer some coffee. He was very polite.

A short time later, two EMS cops came to get him. A young guy who looked like he didn’t need to shave yet and a woman with long blond hair she bundled up inside her hat. The older I get, the less cops look like cops.

They started to lead him away, but he suddenly began to protest violently. He said they were supposed to put handcuffs on him.

“Other people get handcuffs,” he said in a whiny voice. “Why can’t I?”

The two young cops looked at each other and shrugged. Then the blond-haired woman took a pair of handcuffs out of her belt and cuffed Elmer’s wrists behind his back. Then they took him away.

He looked happy.

It was definitely becoming crazy season in New York City.

A midsummer heat wave had settled in, and the near-one-hundred-degree temperatures—plus the daily headlines about a mass killer roaming the streets again—turned the town into a tinderbox ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

There were some like Elmer Lutz who wanted to take credit for the murders. But most wanted to put the blame on somebody else. It didn’t really matter on whom: ex-boyfriends; bosses who’d fired them; neighbors they didn’t like; loan sharks they owed money to. The police department’s files were soon bulging with reports from people who claimed they knew who Loverboy really was. None of them did. But the cops checked everyone out.

Meanwhile, all the people who weren’t claiming to be Loverboy—or trying to say someone else was—were worried about becoming the next victim. The same pattern as last time was happening all over again.

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