Death Will Get You Sober: A New York Mystery; Bruce Kohler #1 (Bruce Kohler Series) Read Online Free Page A

me than the fucking Jack o’ Diamonds of the Bowery,” he grumbled.
    He had simmered down some more by the time Sister Angel marched in with a fresh load of laundry. She opened up the washer as it ground to a halt, releasing a cloud of steam. It was like being in a Turkish bath. With a nun.
    “Come on, God—Godfrey,” I said. “Just forget it. Come have a cigarette.” Sister Angel cast a keen glance at his thunderous face and whipped out her pack. “Thanks, Sister.” I took two. I stuck one in my breast pocket and the other behind my ear. God took one. I told you he didn’t belong on the Bowery.
    At three in the morning, wide awake and restless, I decided to wash the street clothes I’d come in wearing. If I was a good boy, I’d be going out on pass on Check Day. I bundled up my things, which still smelled of my lost Christmas Eve, and made my way to the laundry room. Clutching the big mound to my chest with my chin and nose holding it in place, I tripped over what I thought was a heap of sheets and towels until my shins made contact with something solid. I stumbled and came down hard. What I’d taken for a pile of laundry was a human being. It startled me, but I didn’t freak out until I saw his face. His glazed eyes stared and his mouth hung open. He looked astonished and very dead.

Chapter Five
    I saw Barbara before she saw me. She bounced out of the elevator talking a mile a minute. I might have known she’d show up. I hung back behind a pillar, watching her.
    She had hit rush hour. The elevator was packed with guys coming back from pass. She stood out among them. The older white guys had bulbous red noses, broken-veined cheeks, and the filmy eyes that said cataracts. The black guys were mostly very street, with hairdos ranging from shiny bald to massive mats of dreads. Many of them carried the scars of knife wounds. The younger ones were pierced in a variety of interesting places. Not one man in the elevator had all his teeth. Barbara came from the kind of home Jimmy and I had seen only on TV, where all the kids had orthodontia. But she looked surprisingly comfortable. I suddenly remembered she’d done an internship here. Oh, I was in for it now.
    I had almost worked up to revealing myself when little Hieronimo appeared at her elbow.
    “Mees Barbara, Mees Barbara!” He jumped up and down trying to get her attention, his quiff of oily black hair bobbing.
    “Hello, Hieronimo. How are you doing?”
    She’d probably been his counselor at least once. She ran into former clients in alcohol and drug programs all over town. Hieronimo had been in detox sixty times. He helped keep the revolving door oiled and spinning. I’d heard him swear this was the last time. But we all said that. In the meantime, he lived on Social Security and some relatively harmless little hustles.
    “I am good, I am doing very fine.”
    Barbara sniffed the air like a bloodhound. Counselors never took your word for it. If anyone on that elevator had smelled of alcohol, she’d have known.
    “Mees Barbara, can I ask you a question?”
    “Sure, Hieronimo, how can I help you?”
    Hieronimo launched into a long story about his benefits. The bureaucracy had streamlined some procedure. As always, it improved nothing and confused the people it was supposed to help.
    “They give me the paper for the new program,” he told her in bewildered tones, “they say not to worry, they grandfather me in. Can you explain me thees, Mees Barbara? My understanding ees not good. I don’t even got a grandfather.”
    “Hey, lady.” I pushed myself off the side of the pillar. “My understanding is not good either, but don’t I know you?”
    “Bruce!” Barbara squeaked. She threw herself on me and gave me a rib-crushing hug. I was glad I had on my freshly laundered sweatshirt, though I wore the bottoms of the undignified detox pajamas.
    Barbara sniffed a couple of times. Checking for scent, damn her. She looked first at the pajamas, then down at my