GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

Standing up now to answer the door, he wondered who was there. Flannery couldn’t think of anyone in particular. Leni didn’t know about this apartment and besides, she was dead. Flora was at home. It was too late in the day for the postman to be delivering the mail. Maybe it was religious fanatics going from door to door selling their always engaging version of God. He always enjoyed zealots.

The dog was blocking enough of the door so that there was no way Flannery could open it. This had happened before. It was almost like the animal was mocking him with its size. He longed to kick the damned beast in the ass to get it to move out of the way but knew if he did, that juicy piece of information would get back to his boss and only cause more trouble.

“Could you move?”

They locked eyes but the dog did not move.

“Please?”

Luba moved just enough inches for him to maneuver.

“Thank you.” He opened the door. Vincent Ettrich was standing in the hall. Still dressed in his funeral suit and tie, he could easily have been mistaken for one of those religious nuts. Flannery was genuinely startled.

“Mr. Flannery or Mr. Pegg—which would you prefer I call you?” Vincent’s voice was relaxed and secure, not the slightest trace of fear in it.

A big smile grew on John Flannery’s face. What an impressive opening line! He had never imagined Vincent Ettrich would be so collected when they first met, but bravo. It made things much more engaging than if this man had only been a cowering little mouse.

“I prefer Flannery, if you don’t mind. Will you come in?”

Ettrich strode into the apartment, took one look at the large black and white dog, and kept moving into the living room. Flannery was again surprised. When most people saw Luba for the first time they either hesitated or grinned uncertainly at the behemoth. Ettrich did neither. He looked at the dog as if it were a side table and walked past it.

In the living room he went to one of the windows and stared out at the impressive view. Flannery came in and stood behind him but said nothing. He was fascinated to see how Ettrich was going to play this one. If he knew that John Flannery and Kyle Pegg were the same person then Ettrich knew a great deal, yet he showed no fear.

“Did you get my address from Flora?”

“Yes. I just spoke with her,” Ettrich said without turning around.

Which was seriously rude. Flannery’s smile fell. He didn’t like that. Ettrich should have turned and faced him, answered his question, and then turned back to the nice view. This was Flannery’s home and Vincent Ettrich was an uninvited guest.

“Did Leni ever come here, Mr. Flannery?”

“No.”

“Only Flora?”

“Yes.”

Ettrich reached forward and with two fingers touched the brass turn on the window. For a moment Flannery thought that he was going to open it.

“You killed Leni.” It was a statement, not a question.

There was no reason for Flannery to lie or be evasive. “Yes. I suppose you could say I did. Yes.”

“Would you have killed Flora too to make Isabelle go over there?”

Flannery answered cheerfully, “Maybe, but I never really thought about it.”

Luba walked into the room and over to a large foam-rubber bed made up for it on the floor below one of the windows.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Ettrich’s voice was still easy and conversational. There was no anxiety in it, no desperation.

“Not at all. Would you like something to drink? Coffee?”

“No thank you. I’d just like to sit.” Vincent moved from the window over to a slinky black leather couch Flannery loved. It was one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. He had searched for months and only found what he wanted at a showroom in Udine, Italy. It had cost seven thousand dollars. It was beautiful and sexy and comfortable and perfect. He almost hit Luba the day he came home and found the dog stretched out asleep on it. When he pushed it off, there were white spots on the couch from its dried drool and (he assumed) urine that had to be carefully scrubbed off.

Sitting down on it now, Ettrich said, “I want to talk about cancer.”

The statement was so bizarrely out of context that Flannery stopped and stood there, thoroughly confounded. “Cancer?”

“Yes.” Vincent put both hands flat on the couch.

This was getting more interesting by the moment. Flannery sat down on the other end.

Ettrich continued, “Tell me something. You should know about this; it’s right up your alley.”

Their first meeting wasn’t turning out the way Flannery had planned, but it certainly was different.

“I don’t understand cancer.”

Flannery looked to see if Ettrich was putting him on. Was there a catch in his voice or a smile in his eye to indicate he was bullshitting?

“What’s not to understand?” Flannery tried to modulate his voice so that it sounded serious but not too serious, just in case.

“Whenever cancer destroys a body it also destroys itself.”

Flannery nodded.

“Which means that cancer is either suicidal or suicidally stupid. Because the result is the same—it dies when the body it attacks dies.” Ettrich’s voice rose in annoyance.

“I never thought of it that way but you’re right, Vincent.”

Luba came over to the men and laid its big head on Ettrich’s lap. He didn’t appear to mind. But did he know this dog was cognizant? Did he know it understood everything he said? Flannery looked at Ettrich and wondered just how much he did know and why he’d really come here today.

“Chaos is like cancer, isn’t it, John?”

Head still on Ettrich’s lap, Luba shifted its eyes to Flannery.

“Why do you say that?” John’s voice remained neutral.

“Because whenever chaos comes, it destroys and then disappears too. It doesn’t have much of a half-life. Disease, asteroids hitting the earth, plane crashes… You kill things and then you die, or whatever happens to chaos after it’s finished. Like cancer.”

Flannery shook his head. “Those were