Read Crooked for Free Online Page A

closer to the glass.
    â€œDon’t want
who
to see us?” Bruce said.
    â€œHer.” Amos stepped aside so Bruce could see, too.
    â€œIt’s the Brainette,” Bruce said, “Clara Something, the goofy newspaper girl. The one with the nose. And her best friend, Spot.”
    They both watched as Clara finally came to life. She tossed the MacKenzies’ paper onto the porch—plop—and then she and her stout black dog walked on.
    â€œGod, Amos,” Bruce said. “She was staring at your house. Do you think the Brainette wants to be your strumpet?”
    It took Amos a second to turn around. Then he said, “Oh, yeah. That’s likely.”
    In a girlish falsetto that grew breathier with each word, Bruce said, “Oh, Amos, Amos, sweetie, kiss me, kiss me, I know the capital of Sri Lanka.”
    Amos gave him a solid shoulder punch to snap him out of it. “Guess you forgot you’re running late.”
    Amos hid
Mademoiselle Fifi
in his shirt and followed Bruce up the stairs and out into the freezing night. The newspaper lay where Clara had thrown it, the small bundle of newsprint bound in a blue rubber band and ...
    An envelope.
    Amos stared at it, and Crook, sensing something, followed his gaze to the tidy white rectangle with the word AMOS on the front. They both grabbed for it at the same time, but Bruce had the angle. He plucked it neatly from its fastened place.
    â€œOh, my, fans, we’ve received a note,” Bruce said, screening the envelope from Amos. He ripped it open, stared at its contents, and couldn’t contain himself. “
Girl for rent!
The Brainette
does
want to be your strumpet!”
    Amos, flushing, said, “What is it?”
    Bruce grinned and went back to his falsetto. “Why, it’s a special girl-for-rent note for you and only you, Amos, precious. It’s got your very own name in extra-special cave drawings.”
    Amos grabbed the paper from Bruce’s hands, and his eyes swam over the symbols and letters. He was stunned, embarrassed, and strangely pleased.
    Bruce was already through the gate, making a point of laughing like a hyena, when Amos said, “It’s not cave drawings, you moron. It’s hieroglyphics.”
    â€œLove,” Bruce sang back. “I call it love.”
    Amos stepped back into the house. Liz was frying hamburger meat and leaning into the living room, where
Love Connection
was on.
    â€œHow come you’re cooking?” Amos asked. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
    His sister didn’t take her eyes from the TV screen. “They called. They’re still at the clinic and are going to be late. You’re getting hamburger and mushroom gravy. Except we’re out of hamburger, so I’m using Tender Vittles.”
    â€œMy sister, one of this nation’s truly gifted comedians,” Amos said, and moved on. He went into the backyard to check his pigeons’ food and water, then, back inside, climbed the stairs to his room. He pulled out the shoe box hidden in the antique radio cabinet behind his stacks of old comic books. He slipped the letter inside
Mademoiselle Fifi
and put the book into the shoe box, next to his signed Paul Molitor baseball, the Dr. Reuben sex book, the switchblade he’d found at Monument Park, and the condoms he’d bought at Pringle’s.

5
    THE NAKED AMOS
    On Sunday morning, Clara was awakened by the telephone. She let it ring because her mother was always up first, but when she didn’t hear footsteps, she raced to the hallway and picked up the phone to hear an old woman ask for Clara Wilson.
    â€œThis is she,” Clara said. In Civics, Mr. Duckworth made them answer roll call,
This is he
or
This is she
. But in real life, it sounded weird.
    â€œHello, this is Sylvia Harper on Kensington Avenue, and I received your notice in my paper last night.”
    â€œOh,” Clara said, picturing the old wrought-iron sign with two rusty