Free Book of Nathan by Curt Weeden, Richard Marek Page B

watching predators stalk their quarry
in the inner city and these men moved like hunters. Maybe it was my
imagination, but I had an uncanny feeling I was their prey. The pair got into a
nondescript black Toyota Camry. I could only see the three numbers on the car’s
Florida license plate: 489.  

 
    A
while later, when we pulled into the Universal parking lot, Twyla came
barreling out of the Human Resources office. “Bullet, I got the job! I got the
job! Yiggy. Doc. Can
you believe it? ”
    “That’s wonderful,” I replied, trying to act surprised.
    “I start in two weeks!” Twyla cried. “Can you imagine me
working right here in Florida? And they said someday I might even get to sew
things. Imagine that!”
    Yigal wasn’t imagining Twyla working a needle and thread,
that was for sure. The lawyer was all teeth. He sputtered an offer to help
Twyla find a place to stay.
    “Oh, thank you, Yiggy.”
    With Twyla now gainfully employed, I was one night and an
early morning flight away from fulfilling my obligations to Doug Kool and the
mob. I told my crew to climb into the Mitsubishi because we were heading back
to the Wayside for a quick pit stop, and later, a cheap dinner. If Yigal was
expecting an invitation to tag along, he didn’t get it. There was a limit to
how much hyperactivity I could handle in a day. We left the forlorn lawyer
vibrating in the parking lot and headed to our motel.
    Back at the Wayside, I found the Kyzwoski room vacant.
Seemed my least favorite neighbors had checked out. I had parked the Mitsubishi
in the spot previously occupied by Conway Kyzwoski’s truck-log cabin combo,
gave my crew a ten-minute bathroom break, and then marched them two blocks away
to one of Florida’s five million Waffle House restaurants.
    Over dinner, Doc asked to see the Quia Vita emblem we found earlier in the day.  
    Doc pointed to a dark smudge on one side of the medallion
after I removed it from my handkerchief. “Looks like blood.”
    Assuming Doc was right, Maurice’s discovery could be more
than just a lucky find. If the blood belonged to someone other than Zeus or
Kurios, it could support the defendant’s claim that there was someone else on
the scene the night Benjamin died. Although reluctant to call Yigal Rosenblatt,
I needed information only he could give me. The lawyer picked up after the
first ring.  
    “Is there a way we can find out if the cops took any blood
samples after they found Kurios’s body?”
    “Already know the answer. They sent blood to the lab.”
    “You’re certain?”
    “They took blood off my client’s wooden cross to match it
with Kurios’s blood. Part of the prosecution’s evidence. I know that for a
fact.”
    I didn’t hide my skepticism. “You know this for a fact?”
    “Yes. And you want to know why?”
    I took the bait. “Why?”
    “My cousin, Binyamin Saperstein, works at the lab that’s
doing the blood analysis. In Tampa.”
    I blinked in disbelief. “Your cousin’s doing the lab work for the prosecutor?”
    “Some of the work. Binyamin is a chemist.”  
    I could have asked what might happen if Zeus were
miraculously handed a not guilty verdict—wouldn’t
this incestuous family connection spell mistrial? Instead, I gave in to a more
pressing question. “Doesn’t anyone in your family have a regular Jewish name?
You know, like Irving or Mo?”
    “My cousins, Yehuda and Zelig live in Miami. My sister’s
name is Hava.”
    Question answered.
    “Could you ask your cousin, Bin Yahoo, for a favor—”
    “Binyamin. It means son of the south.”
    “Could you ask Binyamin if he could run a test on the
medallion we found earlier today?”
    “Test?” Yigal’s voice took on a seriousness I hadn’t heard
before. “What kind of test?”
    “Doc Waters thinks there’s a blood stain on the medallion.
If it matches up with Kurios or Zeus—”
    “I see where you’re going. Yes, Binyamin might do it. It’s
possible. But—”
    Uh-oh. “But