The Golem of Hollywood

Chapter thirty-two

Loud pounding dissolved the gold-green of Jacob’s dream, bringing his cheap room to the fore.

He sat up, the splayed paperback sliding from his stomach as he knuckled the crust from his eye. His phone, charging on the bureau, said 6:08 a.m.

“Come back later, please,” he yelled.

But the knocker kept knocking, and Jacob angrily pulled on jeans and a shirt. He put on the chain and squinted out at a man with a shaved head and a lean but soft body. Early twenties, at most. Red-eyed, wheezy, he wore shin-length denim shorts and a brown DKNY shirt. His thin goatee looked like mascara, and as he twiddled it, Jacob half expected it to smear.

“Can I help you?”

“Jacob,” the man said.

“Yeah?”

“I am Jan.”

The mismatch between Jacob’s mental image and the man-boy before him spurred rapid revisions. Screaming kids became kid brothers. Smoker’s hack became asthma.

“Can I come in, please?”

“ID first.”

Jan grimaced. “You also, please.”

They traded cards through the gap, each of them pretending to verify the other.

“All right.” Jacob undid the chain, and Jan sidled inside, taking stock of the room before settling on the edge of the chair.

“I waited for you for two hours,” Jacob said.

“I apologize.”

“What happened?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Jacob held out his arms. “Happy?”

“Yes, okay.”

“Look, forget it. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

But Jan had fixed on the manila envelope nosing from Jacob’s bag. “Your photos?”

Jacob nodded.

“Can I see, please?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Jacob watched Jan’s fingers struggle with the clasp, watched the evolution of understanding in his face: horror to disbelief to resignation.

“Look familiar?”

Jan nodded.

“The neck.”

“The neck, and the vomit.”

“The arrangement? The Hebrew?”

“It’s the same.”

“You never found a body.”

Jan said, “I am not supposed to discuss this with anyone.”

“Why not?”

Jan did not answer.

“Who said you couldn’t discuss it?”

Jan said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Jan shook his head.

“What’s that mean, you don’t know.”

“I never saw them before.”

“Who’s they? Your boss?”

“Him also.”

“Did he say why?”

“This was like a very unusual occurrence.”

“I’m sure.”

“No,” Jan said, regaining some spine, “you don’t understand what I’m saying to you. In Czech Republic we don’t have murders. We have, okay, people get drunk, they fight, sometimes there can be like a bad accident. But this? Never. My boss, he said, ‘Jan, this could cause very big problems. People will feel scared.’”

“He told you to bury it? A homicide?”

“Not to bury. To be quiet.”

“But some other guys came to talk to you, too.”

Jan hesitated, then nodded.

“Before your boss spoke to you, or after?”

“After. I went to United States, and when I came back men were at the airport.”

“They were tall,” Jacob said.

Jan started.

“Like, really tall.”

Jan stared, egg-eyed.

“They claimed to be from some department you’d never heard of. Friendly enough, but there was something weird about them, and they made you promise you’d never discuss what you’d seen, or else you’d be transferred out, or some other bullshit.”

Jan said, “I can lose my job.”

“That’s what they told you?”

Jan nodded.

“The same guys came to see me,” Jacob said. “They didn’t threaten me. The opposite: they claimed to be helping me. But actually, they’ve been cockblocking me left and right. Then when I said I wanted to come here, they approved, so I don’t know what the hell’s going on. Maybe they’re happy to get me out of town. The whole thing’s weirder than shit.”

A silence.

“What is ‘cockblocking’?” Jan asked.

Jacob broke up laughing, and for the first time, Jan grinned, and then they were two cops laughing together, bound by resentment of superiors.

“In this — in this context, uh — like, stalling. Like, they’re blocking my, uh. Cock.” Jacob pointed.

“Yes, okay. I like this word. I, also, am cockblocked.”

Jacob said, “That’s why you wanted to see me. To see how tall I was.”

Jan nodded.

“You were at the bar last night.”

“My sister.”

Jacob smiled. “Tatjana.”

“This is what she told you? Her name is Lenka.”

“Well, whatever. She found me.”

“She said, ‘Jan, don’t worry, he is like a nice guy, he bought for me a beer.’ She wants to be a policewoman, too. I told her it’s not a good job for her. I said, ‘You are young, be happy.’”

“Says you. What are you, twelve?”

“Twenty-six.”

“How in the hell are you a lieutenant?”

“After the Revolution...” Jan whistled and made a wiping motion. “We begin again.” He sighed. It turned to a cough.

“Lenka,” he said. “Lenka, Lenka.”

He slapped his thighs. Stood up.

“Okay, let’s go.”