Page 64 - The Myth and the Moment

Evening

for him. Where’s that note? I’ll hide it in my shoe, just in case. The
coroner will find it, blow the case wide open. Vindicated from the
grave, Phil in chains, death-row confessions, more publicity. But no
help for The Myth and the Moment! Think I’ll just take a look in the
driveway first. What kind of car did he have? Two, at least, right? So,
there’s a Porsche under wraps, definitely Phil’s kind of ithyphallic
conveyance. Aha! Next to it, a large grease-spot. The second car.
Nothing proved by all this; back to the yard. Must be something to
eat in the house. Not a sound.
“Phil.”
Nothing.
“Phil!”
Okay. Do it. But be cool, Nathan, be cool.
Slides right open; a well-oiled portal. Nate Evangelino,
international manuscript thief, gains entry to the imperial
scriptorium. No electronic alarms—unless they’re silent. Maybe I
should have cut the phone and power lines first. Ah, well, I’ll just
have to sign up for that second correspondence course in breaking
and entering; no reason I couldn’t enroll from prison. Don’t they
have P.O. boxes for inmates’ mail? Come on, Nate: squelch thy
flippancy. Too late now to go back. The die is cast. Only one? Is a
single snake-eye disaster? Stop already. Put your reptilian gaze to
work on this house: it could be hidden in plain sight, like the
purloined letter.
All this furniture and decorator art on the floor: must be a
California syncretism of her Asian heritage and his nouveau-riche
faddism. Would he bury it under one of these squishy deerskin bean-
bag pseudo-sofas, like a dog would a bone he’d snatched from his
master’s kitchen? Mmm, food! Got to look, leave no bean-bag
unturned. Nope. Nope. What about this—this construction, this
demented art therapy project? Nope. The horripilating carpet?
Tacked to the floor, no way. Onward. Which way? Kitchen ahead,
bedrooms to left. No. Got to find Phil’s secret hideout. Dark in hall:
don’t turn on the light, stupid!
And here it is: the den, last bastion of male privacy in the gynifocal
domain. A desk to match the ego, a Porsche in rectilinear mahogany.
Adult toys on top: fit for teaching toddlers the wonders of
Newtonian physics, done up in chrome and brass and polished

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