No Such Creature Read Online Free Page B

you live in a pathetic little hole like this? Don’t you got any self-esteem?”
    “It isn’t that bad, man. Rent’s real low.”
    “Vegas ain’t New York, pal. You could do a lot better.”
    “I got room for all my stuff. I know one day I’ll need a bigger place, but this fulfills my needs right now.”
    “That would be your need for Elvis crap?” Clem said, picking up an Elvis mug from the row that lined one shelf.
    Zig looked around at the Elvis calendar stuck to the fridge, surrounded by a halo of Elvis magnets, and the life-size Elvis doll, if that was the right word, that stood in the place of honour under the window. “Say, what do they make these out of, anyway?” Zig asked, tapping the doll with a knuckle.
    “I don’t know. Zig, could you take the tape off me now? I don’t like this.”
    “I’ve never actually seen one before. I mean, I’ve seen one, it just wasn’t an Elvis. It was a Bogart.”
    “Yeah, I seen them too. But, you know, I prefer Elvis.”
    “No shit,” Clem said.
    “Tell me something, Melvin,” Zig said. “You still pulling that fake investigator shit?”
    “Not just investigator. Food inspector. Water department. I got a bunch of ’em.”
    “That’s something might interest me. You could possibly purchase some of my goodwill with one of those.”
    “Blanks are in the top drawer. You gotta put in the proper-size photo and get it laminated and stamped.”
    “Where do I do that?” Zig said, taking a couple of blanks.
    “Ben Ditmar. He’s got all sorts of seals: city, state, you name it.”
    “Ben Ditmar?” Clem said. “He’s okay. I beat the shit out of him once.”
    “What’s this here?” Zig said.
    “Autograph letter.”
    Zig peered closely at the item on the wall. Actually, it was two items. A nice picture of Elvis—not one of the ones you see everywhere—looking thoughtful and relaxed, sitting on a couch with an old beat-up guitar. Beside it was a letter on Elvis letterhead, not Graceland, typewritten to somebody named “Mr. Schmelling,” thanking him for his help resolving a real estate issue. It was signed, “Sincerely, Elvis Presley.”
    “This looks real,” Zig said. “I mean, to my untrained eye and all.”
    “Zig, could you take this tape off me now?” Melvin said. “It’s totally not necessary.”
    “I may take this home with me,” Zig said. “Depending.”
    “Sure, man, you can take it. It’s worth a few hundred at least. But let’s untape my hands now, huh? This ain’t the way to discuss business.”
    “Melvin, there’s only one question you have to answer: where is the take from the Discount Diamond job? Just tell me that and you’re free as a bird.”
    “I told you, man. I didn’t have nothing to do with that.”
    Zig didn’t answer. He opened up a pocket in his shoulder bag. It was hard to get a grip on the little zipper, wearing the latex gloves, but finally he managed to pull out a clear plastic bag that had a drawstring. It had actually taken a couple of days to come up with exactly the kind of bag he was looking for, and he’d finally found it at a shoe store. The salesman was happy to give him a couple of extras. Just the thing for when you’re packing a suitcase, the guy had said.
    Zig fitted the bag over Melvin’s head, not pulling the drawstring.
    “Aw, no, Zig, take it off, man. No joke, man, take it off.” Melvin’s voice was muffled by the bag. “Fuck this, man, get it off me.”
    “Take your time there, Melvin. Think it over. Simple question, simple answer.”
    “I ain’t got nothing to do with no Discount Diamond job.”
    “Don’t lie to us,” Clem said. “Honesty’s your best policy here.”
    “I ain’t got nothing to do with it. Fuck, man. Take this thing off me. Please, man.”
    “You know,” Zig said, “I can actually read your mind right now? I can actually hear what you’re thinking, Mel. You’re thinking, if I tell this asshole where the stuff is at, Conrad Moss is gonna kill me in