West 47th Read Online Free Page B

gloves, as did Floyd and Tracy. There’d be no fingerprints.
    â€œWho’s here in the house?” Floyd asked.
    Mrs. Kalali volunteered a bit eagerly that there wasn’t anyone else. Floyd made sure, went from room to room. Throughout, the interior was white and sheer, minimally furnished. There was a lot of mirror, chrome and glass. All the floors were bird’s-eye maple, fine-sanded slick and bleached pale. There were ten rooms in all, generous spaces with high ceilings. Off a wide entry hall was the living room and opposite that the library. One entire long wall there was bookcases with a sliding chrome ladder to help reach the volumes on the higher shelves. Every book was jacketed in identical white paper, its title and author noted in small lettering at the base of its spine.
    The library also served as a music room. A piano, a Steinway baby grand, stood isolated in the deepest corner. Its black, curved form was a dominant contradiction.
    Floyd didn’t like the house. It lacked comfort and there wasn’t a sign of joy anywhere. He thought if this was where he had to live he’d hang out elsewhere, hardly ever come home. Shit, he’d been in cozier bus stations.
    He assembled everyone in the library.
    Mr. Kalali plopped down onto the white leather couch.
    Floyd told him to get up.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI want you standing.”
    Mr. Kalali’s legs still weren’t with him. “I’d prefer to sit,” he defied. But there were the guns. He felt his torso sort of float up off the couch.
    Mrs. Kalali noticed how blanched her husband appeared. Anger normally caused his complexion to flush, so this, no doubt, was fear. She enjoyed telling him in Farsi to have courage.
    â€œNo talking in Hebrew!” Floyd snapped. It sounded like Hebrew to him, had that sometimes guttural, sometimes phlegmy, back-of-the-throat quality to it.
    Mrs. Kalali apologized.
    Floyd had to merely indicate her ruby and diamond necklace. She turned to allow him to get at its intricate clasp. He had trouble with it. She undid it for him.
    Floyd examined the necklace briefly. His expression didn’t change, no appreciation or approval. The necklace disappeared into one of the zippered pockets of his black, parachute fabric wind-breaker. Mrs. Kalali, without being told, also removed her earrings.
    Peaches had her eye on those. She stepped between Floyd and Mrs. Kalali, with her hand out and her fingers beckoning give .
    Mrs. Kalali looked to Floyd.
    He didn’t object. He was amused by what an aggressive swift this little white girl was turning out to be. Like she’d been at it for years.
    Mrs. Kalali gave the earrings to Peaches, who went with them to a nearby mirrored panel. Peaches held the Mach 10 pistol clamped between her thighs while she put the earrings on. She turned her head left and right, shook her head vigorously causing the earrings to articulate and throw red and white scintillations.
    Floyd expected Peaches would remove the earrings and hand them over to him. Surely she would know they belonged in his pocket. However, Peaches kept them on, as though they were now hers. Floyd decided for the time being he wouldn’t say anything about it.
    â€œNow,” Floyd said to the Kalalis, “your other jewelry?”
    Mrs. Kalali looked away.
    â€œThis ain’t all.”
    Nothing from Mr. Kalali.
    â€œThe stuff you got hidden someplace.”
    â€œWe have a safety deposit box at the bank,” Mr. Kalali said.
    Floyd did a dubious face, looked away impatiently.
    â€œYou think we’d be foolish enough to keep such valuables here?”
    â€œFuck yes.”
    â€œYou might as well take what you have and leave.”
    â€œWe’re the best at going through houses and finding what’s supposed to be in some fucking bank.” Floyd flicked his head in the direction of Tracy, who was standing off to the side holding a shotgun at the ready. “Right,