Smoked Out (Digger) by Warren Murphy Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t. Mr. Stevens does."
    "Good. Then why don’t you call the L.A. office and that Landfill character and tell him if they really want to get rid of me, they should just cooperate and I’ll be gone quickly."
    "Just don’t go throwing your weight around," Brackler said.
    "What weight? Would I do that?"
    "Lightweight. Yes, you would. That would be the first thing you did."
    "Look, Kwash. I don’t know anybody out here. If I did, I’d make my own contacts. I don’t have that kind of time. You want me to buy a house here? I’ll stay forever. The climate’s nice. If I’m going to get anything done, I need help from the L.A. office. I’m not asking for much, but any much is too much for that lazy slug you’ve got running it. He can’t even follow instructions. I told him if he had any questions to call Mr. Stevens. Instead, he called you, which, as everybody knows, is a total waste of time."
    "I told him to cooperate. Try not to get everybody upset," Brackler said.
    "All I want to do is finish here and go home."
    "How are you doing?"
    "I’m keeping the expenses down so far. That’s the good news."
    "Big deal."
    "Goodbye, Kwash." Digger depressed the receiver button, then called the desk.
    "Front desk."
    "If I get any calls from New York from a Walter Brackler, I’m not in."
    "For the evening, sir?"
    "Forever and a day," Digger said.
    He hung up, then called his apartment in Las Vegas. Koko did not answer. He let the phone ring fourteen times before he hung up.
    "Damn it."
    He sat on the sofa and smoked a cigarette. Where was Koko, for Christ’s sake? Probably working. She was probably back at the blackjack table in the Araby. He would try her later. He had no reason to think she was anywhere else. These were her normal work hours and she would be working. Where else would she be? And besides, he wasn’t her keeper. She was free, saffron and twenty-one. She could do whatever she wanted. She didn’t have to report to him. It wasn’t as if they were married. She would be working her shift as a blackjack dealer.
    Sure.
    Shit.
    He called the number of the Occidental Gift Shop. Lorelei Church answered.
    "Occidental Gift Shop."
    "This is Tim Kelp. Remember me?"
    "Sure. The public relations man. You were here before," she said, as if imparting a confidence.
    "Right. You want to-hear some Hollywood talk?"
    "Sure."
    "Take dinner with me tonight?"
    "Yes. I love to eat."
    "What time?" Digger asked.
    "Can you dance?"
    "If nobody’s watching."
    "Nobody watches. I’ll meet you at the Golden Goose. That’s on Sunset Strip. Seven-thirty. I live right near there."
    "Golden Goose, Sunset Strip, seven-thirty, got it."

    At 11:45 P.M., Digger and Lorelei returned to his room. Lorelei was drunk.
    They sat on the bed and she slipped her hand inside Digger’s shirt and felt the wires of the tape recorder.
    "What’s that?"
    "A pacemaker for my liver," he said. He gently moved her hand.
    "Oh, sick, huh?"
    "I’ve got a misnomer."
    "Aw, that’s too bad. I hate sickness. I’m like never sick. I don’t know what it’d be like if I had to deal with being sick all the time, like some people. I get that from my mother. She was never sick, right up until she died. But my father is always sick. He drinks. But not me. Is that catching or anything?"
    "Only if you eat my liver."
    Lorelei giggled, took her hand out of Digger’s shirt and let herself fall back onto the bed. Her breasts shook under her thin blouse.
    "I don’t give liver," she said. "I only give head. I give good head. I’d rather give head than fuck. Maybe I can start giving liver. All kinds of freaks out there."
    "Leather, latex and liver," Digger said.
    "You can be my manager."
    "I’ll handle the finances," Digger said.
    "Yeah. You handle the money and I’ll handle liver." She paused a moment. "That’s like hand-deliver. Handle-liver, get it? I’ll give you head, save liver for customers. ’Cause I’d rather give head then fuck. Did I tell you that? That’s