The Golem of Hollywood Read Online Free Page B

all reason to enjoy the ride, he eased back in his seat, nudged his mind toward Mai. He put her in street clothes, then removed them, piece by piece. That body, injection-molded, freakishly proportional. He was about to rip the
tallis
off when the Crown Vic made a sharp turn and Jacob swerved after it, hitting a pothole.
    The sign said ODYSSEY AVE , an ambitious name for a grimy, two-block afterthought. Wholesale toy dealers, import-exports with Chinese signage, a shuttered “Dance Studio” that looked as if no feet, agile or otherwise, had crossed its threshold in ages.
    The Crown Vic pulled over outside a set of rolling steel doors. A smaller glass door was inscribed 3636. A man in the dress of LAPD brass stood on the sidewalk, shading his eyes. Like Subach and Schott, he cut an imposing figure—towering, gaunt, pallid, with two frothy white tufts over his ears, suggestive of wings. He wore ash-gray pants, a luminous white shirt, a service firearm in a lightweight mesh holster. As he approached the Honda and bent to open Jacob’s door, the gold badge around his neck swung forward, clicking against the window, COMMANDER in blue enamel
.
    â€œDetective Lev,” the man said. “Mike Mallick.”
    Jacob got out and shook his hand, feeling like a different species. He was six feet tall, but Mallick was six-six, easy.
    Maybe Special Projects was where they put the freak shows.
    In which case, he’d fit right in.
    The Crown Vic honked once and drove off.
    â€œCome on in, out of the sun,” Mallick said, and he glided into number 3636.

CHAPTER FOUR
    M ike Mallick said, “Lev, would you say times are good or bad?”
    â€œI’d say that depends, sir.”
    â€œOn what?”
    â€œIndividual experience.”
    â€œCome on, now. You know better than that. For us, the creatures that we are, times are always bad.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œHow’s life in Valley Traffic?”
    â€œCan’t complain.”
    â€œSure you can. Basic human right.”
    The room was, or had once been, a storage garage. Concrete walls breathed acrid, nose-pinching mold. It was icy, cavelike, windowless save the glass door, free of furniture but for a crooked halogen lamp turned a quarter of the way up, its cord snaking off unseen.
    â€œWhat’re you working on?” Mallick asked.
    â€œFifty-year citywide data analysis,” Jacob said. “Car versus pedestrian accidents.”
    â€œSounds stimulating.”
    â€œWithout a doubt, sir. It’s a regular diamond mine.”
    â€œMy understanding is you needed a break from Homicide.”
    This again? “As I told Captain Mendoza, I was speaking out of frustration. Sir.”
    â€œWhat’s his beef with you? You steal his lunch or something?”
    â€œI like to think of Captain Mendoza’s style as a form of tough love, sir.”
    Mallick smiled. “Spoken like a true diplomat. Anyhow, you don’t have to justify yourself to me. I get it. It’s natural.”
    Jacob wondered if he’d been picked for some sort of experimental psychobabbly program; a puppet to trot out for the press, help dispel LAPD’s well-earned reputation as an orgy of paramilitary machismo.
And we gave him a bag of kittens, too!
“Yes, sir.”
    â€œI hope you don’t plan on making a career of it,” Mallick said. “Traffic.”
    â€œCould do worse,” Jacob said.
    â€œActually, you couldn’t. Let’s not kid ourselves, okay? I talked to your superiors. I know who you are.”
    â€œWho am I, sir?”
    Mallick sighed. “Turn it off, would you? I’m here to do you a favor. You’ve been temporarily reassigned.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œWrong question. Not where, who. You’ll report directly to me.”
    â€œI’m flattered, sir.”
    â€œDon’t be. It’s got nothing to do with your skills. It’s your background I’m interested