The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove by Christopher Moore Read Free Book Online

the Slug, half wereexperiencing some sort of withdrawal from their medications. There was a self-pity contingent at the bar, staring into their drinks and rocking back and forth to the Delta rhythms. At the tables, the more social of the depressed were whining and slurring their problems into each other’s ears and occasionally trading hugs or curses. Over by the pool table stood the agitated and the aggressive, the people looking for someone to blame. These were mostly men, and Theophilus Crowe was keeping an eye on them from his spot at the bar.
    Since the death of Bess Leander, there had been a fight in the Slug almost every night. In addition, there were more pukers, more screamers, more criers, and more unwanted advances stifled with slaps. Theo had been very busy. So had Mavis Sand. Mavis was happy about it.
    Estelle came through the doors in her paint-spattered overalls and Shetland sweater, her hair pulled back in a long gray braid. Just inside, she paused as the music and the smoke washed over her. Some Mexican laborers were standing there in a group, drinking Budweisers, and one of them whistled at her.
    â€œI’m an old lady,” Estelle said. “Shame on you.” She pushed her way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a white wine. Mavis served it in a plastic beer cup. (She was serving everything in plastic lately. Evidently, the Blues made people want to break glass—on each other.)
    â€œBusy?” Estelle said, although she had nothing to compare it to.
    â€œThe Blues sure packs ’em in,” Mavis said.
    â€œI don’t much care for the Blues,” said Estelle. “I enjoy Classical music.”
    â€œThree bucks,” said Mavis. She took Estelle’s money and moved to the other end of the bar.
    Estelle felt as if she’d been slapped in the face.
    â€œDon’t mind Mavis,” a man’s voice said. “She’s always cranky.”
    Estelle looked up, caught a shirt button, then looked up farther to find Theo’s smile. She had never met the constable, but she knew who he was.
    â€œI don’t even know why I came in here. I’m not a drinker.”
    â€œSomething going around,” Theo said. “I think maybe we’re going to have a stormy winter or something. People are coming out of the woodwork.”
    They exchanged introductions and Theo complimented Estelle on her paintings, which he’d seen in the local galleries. Estelle dismissed the compliment.
    â€œThis seems like a strange place to find the constable,” Estelle said.
    Theo showed her the cell phone on his belt. “Base of operations,” he said. “Most of the trouble has been starting in here anyway. If I’m here already, I can stop it before it escalates.”
    â€œVery conscientious of you.”
    â€œNo, I’m just lazy,” Theo said. “And tired. In the last three weeks I’ve been called to five domestic disputes, ten fights, two people who barricaded themselves in the bathroom and threatened suicide, a guy who was going house to house knocking the heads off garden gnomes with a sledgehammer, and a woman who tried to take her husband’s eye out with a spoon.”
    â€œOh my. Sounds like one day in the life of an L.A. cop.”
    â€œThis isn’t L.A.,” Theo said. “I don’t mean to complain, but I’m not really prepared for a crime wave.”
    â€œAnd there’s nowhere left to run,” Estelle said.
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œPeople come here to run away from conflict, don’t you think? Come to a small town to get out of the violence and the competition in the city. If you can’t handle it here, there’s nowhere else to go. You might as well give up.”
    â€œWell, that’s a little cynical. I thought artists were supposed to be idealists.”
    â€œScratch a cynic and you’ll find a disappointed romantic,” Estelle said.
    â€œThat’s you?”