Twist Read Online Free

door, like all the others, on a catwalk that looked down on a swimming pool where four or five teenagers were frolicking. Sal had only a quarter tank of gas, so they didn’t want to roll the windows up and idle the engine so they could use the air conditioner. They sat with the windows down and were grateful for a slight, hot breeze moving through the car.
    A short man but powerfully built, Sal had been Harold’s partner in the NYPD for twelve years, where he’d fallen into the habit of looking out for the weak-stomached, sensitive Harold. The other thing about Harold was that he could be obtuse as well as brilliant, and damned aggravating. But the two men were close, like dogs that had for years gotten each other’s backs in a kennel full of biters. They were stuck with each other. Harold didn’t mind. Sal did, but he was resigned.
    The teenagers, along with Harold, were making the bored and jumpy Sal nervous with their noise. That was why Sal had parked the Taurus here, under a shade tree, still with an unbroken view of room 256, but with greatly reduced noise from the pool area. Now Sal had only Harold to endure. That was enough.
    They’d both gotten tired of listening to music on the radio, and besides, that was running down the battery, so Sal switched off the radio and they simply sat and watched and prayed for the door to 256 to open.
    “Whaddya suppose they’re doing in there?” Harold asked.
    Sal sighed. “Scrabble, most likely.” He had a voice like stones rattling around in a drum.
    “I think our client’s nuts,” Harold said. “His wife is twice the looker of that accountant chick.”
    “They work together,” Sal said. “Office romance.”
    “Both accountants.”
    “Go figure.”
    “Figure what?
    “Never mind.”
    Sal thought that might be the end of conversation for a while, but he heard a loud ripping sound.
    “Thought I might show you this,” Harold said. “My cousin Sedge, the one in advertising, gave me a tip, and I’m passing it on to you.”
    Sal looked over to see that Harold was wearing what looked like a black Velcro glove.
    “New product,” Harold said. “Sticky Hand. Sedge has the advertising account, and they’re going to do the stigma act on this and sell millions of them.”
    Sal said, “What in the hell is it? And what’s the stigma act?” He looked hopefully at 256. It didn’t move.
    “Sticky hand is for people with HSS.”
    Sal yawned. “Which is?”
    “Hair-shedding syndrome.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “You will soon. After the stigma campaign.”
    Sal had to admit this sort of interested him. “There’s going to be an HSS campaign?”
    “Certainly is. TV, radio, newspapers. Attractive women won’t get dates because men will notice the hair on their shoulders or arms. Hair from their own heads. They’re shedding. The guy says to his guy friend, ‘I like her, but she doesn’t turn me on. Not with that HSS.’ ”
    “Then what?”
    “Then somebody tells her about Sticky Hand and her troubles are over.”
    “My God,” Sal said.
    “But Sticky Hand has other uses. Like with Larry.”
    “Who is?”
    “Sedge’s dog. He’s a collie. Now, Larry sheds—”
    “They’re out,” Sal said. He handed the camera to Harold, who had the better angle. Joan Plunket was standing on the catwalk outside 256, which was still open. Joan made sure her blouse was tucked in, smoothed her slacks. “Get that shot,” Sal said, “when she’s rearranging her clothes.”
    “That dog sheds all over everything—”
    Foster Oaks appeared and closed the door to 256 behind him. His suit coat was tossed over his shoulder, like he was Frank Sinatra. He impulsively leaned down and kissed Joan Plunket on the lips. Used his free hand to caress her breast.
    “Get that!” Sal said. “Get that one, Harold!”
    “The average person sheds eighty hairs per day,” Harold said. “Everyone will be ashamed to have HSS. Everyone will shed approximately eighty hairs per day.