Torpedo Juice полностью

Serge turned to the captain. “I was just telling my friend about your hanging tree.”

“Almost cut it down,” said Tony.

“What!”

“Didn’t know what it was. This was decades ago. The thing was wrecking my roof. And this old-timer says, ‘You can’t cut that down. It’s the hanging tree.’ He tells me that when he was a little kid, he saw them lynch a woman. Except she didn’t die right away, tongue sticking out and wiggling and everything…”

Walter made a butter pool in his grits, then pointed at his partner’s textbook with a fork. “You still on that psychology garbage?”

“I’m telling you, the test works.”

Walter salted his hash browns. “It’s a stupid test.”

“What’s a stupid test?” said Serge.

“We’ve been having an argument all night,” said Gus. “Maybe you can help us.”

“Name it. Always ready to help the police.”

“It’s not a big deal. Just a riddle.”

“Tell me.”

“A woman goes to her mother’s funeral and meets this hunk, and she’s smitten. The next week she kills her sister. What’s the motive?”

“What else?” said Serge. “She wanted to meet him at the next funeral.”

“There!” said Walter. “There’s your great test! You’ve asked one person so far. One hundred percent failure rate.”

“I don’t understand it,” said Gus. “They backed it up with all kinds of research. Less than one percent false results.” He looked at Serge. “How on earth did you know that answer?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That answer is supposed to indicate someone who thinks like a serial killer….”

Serge laughed unnaturally. “Ha, ha, ha… Oh! Those tests!…”

“But how did you get the answer?”

“Well, I, uh… read a lot of murder mysteries,” said Serge. “That’s it. It was in one of the plots.”

“I rest my case,” said Walter. “Unless you want to arrest Serge…”

37

Captain Florida’s log, star date 736.973

Molly! The woman’s driving me crazy! Remember those tiny little doubts about marriage I mentioned? They’re now a full-blown crisis of faith! To the news: I leave the apartment to go see Coleman, minding my own business and checking what’s in the Dumpster like I always do. I notice trash from our apartment, and I can’t believe my eyes. She’s thrown out my favorite tennis shoes! There they are, under the Maxi-pads. I fish ’em out with a stick and the poor things are full of soggy corn flakes. I’m on the verge of tears. I march right back upstairs and confront her. I figure this time she’s the guilty party so I’ll be in control of the debate. Know what I learned? Women are ninjas! Suddenly I’m back on defense! Says she’s

embarrassed

to be seen with me in those shoes. I say, “But they’re my favorite shoes.” The silent treatment again except for all the slamming. I didn’t know the apartment had that many doors. I call my married friend in West Palm again, and he says, “Are you crazy? You have to

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