Poor Butterfly Read Online Free Page A

Poor Butterfly
Book: Poor Butterfly Read Online Free
Author: Stuart M. Kaminsky
Pages:
Go to
was easy; all three turned their signs toward me. The closest, held up by an ancient rickety woman with a maniacal grin, read: NO WAGNER, NO JAP OPERA. The second old woman’s sign read: NO SYMPATHY, NO QUARTER FOR THE JAPANESE. The old man, in full suit and tie, a few wisps of unruly white hair dangling down his furrowed forehead, held up the final sign, which read: BUTTERFLY UNDERMINES AMERICAN RESOLVE. KILL JAPS, DON’T LOVE THEM.
    “Sir,” said the old man, “are you an American?”
    “I’m a private detective,” I replied, moving past them and up a few steps.
    “That is an evasion,” he shouted. “Reverend Souvaine says there is no room for evasion. Our nation is at war with a godless enemy.”
    “Amen,” chorused the old lady picketers.
    I went up the rest of the steps to the main door to the building. I stood for a few seconds trying to follow the twists and curls of the design covering the recently repainted wooden doors, then I went in.
    I’d spent the night in one of the shacks they called motels out on the Pacific Coast Highway. Hundreds of these motels with cute names had sprung up on California highways and back roads since the war had started up. The second little pig had built a more sturdy home than the cabin of the California Palms Motor Hotel I had slept in the night before. Even with the windows closed and my radio playing Horace Heidt, I couldn’t drown out the trio battling in Spanish in the next cabin. They fought till about three in the morning. Horace Heidt had long since put his baton away, and I had taken a shower in brownish, not very hot water.
    So, I’d had little sleep. When I’d shaved a few hours ago, I was reasonably satisfied. My hair was reasonably short, with just enough gray in the sideburns to suggest I had been around long enough to know what I was doing. The battered nose and worn face indicated my knowledge of life hadn’t come from books, and my new jacket with the zippered pockets suggested that, while I wasn’t in on the latest styles, I could afford to keep out the Northern California cold.
    I could tell as soon as I entered the dark entrance hall that the Opera building was bigger than it looked from the outside. I stood, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden change in light. Somewhere deep inside, far away, a woman’s voice echoed in song. An orchestra brassed behind her.
    “Like the sound of a finger run gently around the rim of a delicate English wineglass containing a perfect cabernet,” a deep voice said in the darkness.
    My eyes were adjusting, but I didn’t look around for him. Instead I examined the walls, the ceiling that went up four stories. There were windows, high on the wall. They were papered over but light was coming through. I began to make out corners.
    “Nice voice,” I said.
    “Hers or mine?” he said, stepping out of a deep shadow.
    He was big, rather overweight, maybe my age. His dark hair was long, almost to his collar, and combed straight back. He was wearing a pair of dark pants and a dark sports jacket. A yellow polo shirt added color to his outfit. As he stepped closer, his hands clasped together as if he were about to launch into a solo, I could see his dark, smooth face. The little black beard and thin mustache made him look a little like a pudgy Mandrake the Magician. There was something familiar about the face.
    “You recognize me perhaps?” he said.
    “You’ve been in the movies,” I said, putting my hands in the unzipped side pockets of my new jacket.
    “ A movie,” he said, stepping still closer, “and … shhh .” He held a ringed finger up to his lips to stop our conversation as the faraway voice of the woman rose, quivered. A smile crossed the man’s face. His eyes closed. His head weaved. He was a ham. The aria ended. The woman’s voice stopped.
    “A movie,” he resumed. “I’ll sing again.”
    “You will?”
    He chuckled. “ I’ll Sing Again was the name of the movie. I am Giancarlo Lunaire. Or at
Go to

Readers choose