The Golem of Hollywood by Jonathan Kellerman Read Free Book Online Page A

bother him that he’d devolved into a cliché: the hard-drinking loner cop. It didn’t bother him, because it wasn’t
his
cliché.
    And even if he avoided the community, he felt comforted that it thrived.
    Someone had faith, relieving him of the burden.
    More important, he had his father to think of. Sam Lev would never leave, and by extension, neither would Jacob.
    A reason for staying, and an excuse.
    Their corner of the neighborhood had always been low-rent despite proximity to South Beverly Hills and Beverlywood, with their tony mini-mansions. His grade-school classmates engaged in an arms race over the latest Jordans or Reebok Pumps. Jacob got off-brand back-to-school Velcro specials, once a year, Memorial Day weekend. The Levs didn’t own a television until the Gulf War, when Sam bought a crappy black-and-white so they could keep count of the Scud missiles pelting Israel. As soon as the hostilities ended, the set went out on the lawn, for sale. Nobody wanted it. Jacob hauled it out with the trash.
    The mere fact that he was an only child made him an outlier. Free-spirited, deeply pious, his parents had met and married relatively late in life, raising Jacob in a kind of intellectual and social bubble, without the large extended family that swaddled his peers. The grandparents and  uncles and aunts and cousins who made sure you were never, ever alone.
    Jacob was often alone.
    Now, pushing through the doors at 7-Eleven, he thought about his TV, disconnected and slumped on the sofa. His father would be thrilled.
    The clerk greeted him by name. He did most of his shopping there.
    Bachelor’s diet.
    Bachelor
cop’s
diet. He needed to start living better.
    He bought two hot dogs and four bottles of Jim Beam.
    The clerk, whose name was Henry, shook his head as he scanned the liquor. “I say this as your friend. Go to Costco.”
    â€œDuly noted,” Jacob said. He dug out his wallet, started to give Henry a twenty—then reconsidered and handed him the Discover card.
    While he waited for it to ring up, he glanced at the ATM. He had the check in his wallet, too—he hadn’t wanted to leave it at home—and he smiled to himself, imagining the machine belching smoke and exploding as he tried to deposit a hundred grand at once.
    â€œIt’s not going through,” Henry said.
    No limit, my ass.
Jacob couldn’t pretend to be surprised. It was LAPD. Of course they’d use some company like Discover. He paid in cash, took his dinner, and left.
    He made this trip five or more times a week, and his pace was carefully calibrated so that he’d finish the hot dogs right as he reached his building. Two blocks shy, his pocket began to buzz. He crammed the remaining fourth of the second dog in his mouth and fished the sat phone out, hoping for Officer Chris Hammett.
    His father.
    Jacob tried to quickly chew a too-big bite, coughing as he answered. “Hello?”
    â€œJacob? Are you all right?”
    He swallowed, painfully. “Fine.”
    â€œIs this a bad time?”
    Jacob pounded his chest. “. . . no.”
    â€œI can call back.”
    â€œIt’s fine, Abba. What’s up?”
    â€œI wanted to invite you for Shabbos dinner.”
    â€œThis week?”
    â€œCan you come?”
    â€œDunno. I might be busy.”
    â€œWork?”
    Jacob assumed that his lack of observance was a disappointment to his father, for whom working on the Sabbath was inconceivable. It was to Sam Lev’s credit that he’d never showed outward disapproval. On the contrary, he expressed a shy but morbid fascination with the terrible things Jacob related.
    â€œYup,” Jacob said.
    â€œIt’s interesting, I hope?”
    â€œRight now there’s nothing much to discuss. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
    â€œAbout the case?”
    â€œAbout dinner,” Jacob said.
    â€œAh. Please do. I need to know how much food to