Aaron Conners - Tex Murphy 02

by Under a Killing Moon

  I removed my fedora. “Yes, ma’am. Is Mr. Percival in?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Percival won’t be in the office for several days. And he usually prefers that visitors make appointments.”

  “OK. Could I make an appointment?”

  “What is this concerning?”

  I smiled apologetically. “A personal matter.”

  The young woman returned the smile and looked at me as if she were trying to place my face. “Why don’t you leave your business card, and I’ll pass it along to Mr. Percival when he gets back.”

  I made the pretense of checking my pockets, knowing full well that I’d run out of business cards. “I don’t think I brought one with me. Could you just take down my name and number? The name’s Murphy.”

  The gorgeous woman smiled up at me, a clear look of recognition registering on her face. “Tex?”

  I was caught off-guard.

  “Tex Murphy?”

  “Uh…yes. Have we met?”

  The young woman extended her hand. It was soft and cool, just the way I liked it. We shook hands, and she didn’t let go. “Alaynah. Alaynah Moore. I knew you looked familiar.”

  I tried to place the name…desperately. I wished with all my heart that I could remember where we’d met. Studying her face, I decided she did look vaguely familiar, but that was about it. “I’m very, very sorry, but I’m not sure where I know you from. It’s my darn short-term memory. Shot to hell.”

  Alaynah laughed and released my hand. “It has been awhile. You used to go out with my sister Deborah.”

  Oh my God. Debbie Moore. Daughter of Satan. No wonder I hadn’t remembered. It’d taken months of therapy to suppress the memory.

  “So you’re little Ally Moore? I find that hard to believe. In fact, I don’t believe it. I think you’re lying.”

  Alaynah laughed again. Her smile was dazzling.

  “I see you got your braces off.”

  “About eight years ago. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up now.”

  Oh, I noticed, all right. She was wearing a black blazer over a cgarcoal knit shirt that fit like a coat of paint. Her complexion was flawless, and her features had come together nicely. Long, wavy brown hair lay silkily over her shoulders. Alaynah didn’t help things when she leaned forward and lowered her voice.

  “You know, I used to have quite a crush on you.”

  I felt a strong urge that made me feel ever so slightly dirty. I tried to contain myself by changing the subject. “Speaking of crushed, how’s Debbie?”

  “She got married a few years ago and moved to Seattle.”

  Alaynah didn’t seem to want the subject changed. “How about you, Tex? You married?”

  I shook my head enthusiastically. “Not anymore, thank God. And never again. I’ve been burned a few too many times, which brings us back to your sister. She was a real flamethrower.”

  Alaynah fixed her eyes on me like no receptionist had ever done before. “I’m not Debbie.”

  No she wasn’t. Unfortunately, I had a dual image blurring my vision. I kept seeing a gangly teenager with braces and a knack for showing up at inappropriate times. Of course, that was a long time ago. And maybe I was just imagining that she was coming on to me. “Are you coming on to me, Alaynah?”

  She gave me one of those looks that would peel paint. “I think you’ve been single too long. Why don’t you buy me a drink, and I’ll see what I can do about knocking some of the rust off.”

  If she only knew how rusty I was. I hadn’t had an offer like that in a month of Sundays.

  It just didn’t feel.. proper. Of course, there were certainly ways to get around that.

  Alcohol sprang to mind. If I’d had the cash, I would’ve jumped on her invitation like a bum on a box of chocolate. As it was, the only thing I could afford to buy was time, after which I’d go back to my office and see if I’d overlooked anything worth hocking.

  “Tell you what. I’m tied up at the moment, but I promise I’ll get back to you soon.”

  Alaynah trumped me. “I’m buying.”

  I suspected that Alaynah’s persistence came from some long-nurtured, post-pubescent fantasy, or possibly sibling envy. Motivations not withstanding, the opportunity was too ripe to pass up. Not only was a stunning woman asking me out, but she was volunteering to foot the bill. And she was just the person to help me get in to see Percival.

  “All right. I’ll let you buy me a drink, as long as you promise you won’t get me all liquored up and expect me to put out.”

  Alaynah raised an eyebrow. “I promise.”

  @ @ @

  Alaynah got someone to cover the remainder of the afternoon for her. The special treatment was unexpected, but a welcome disruption of the routine. Twenty minutes later, we walked into Lindsay’s, a piano bar on the top floor of the downtown Hilton, which my escort said was her favorite. It was a swanky joint, where people like me would have to choose between an evening of cocktails and paying rent. The first thing that caught my attention was the sight of Nat King Cole at the piano. It was a holographic projection, but convincing enough to give me chills.

  As it turned out, not only was this Alaynah’s favorite watering hole, but she also had a favorite table, waiter, and beverage. It took out a lot of the usual guesswork, and since it was her party, I was just happy to tag along. Our table sat close to a window offering a majestic view over the heart of the metropolis, which probably figured heavily into the price of the drinks.

  Fat drops of rain ran down the window. In the distance, a brief flash of ruddy sunshine broke through the drizzling sky, like a flare from a sinking ship, and its last gasps played across Alaynah’s face like firelight. To avoid staring, I picked up a menu. The first item I noticed was foie gras. Oh, great. Vegetarian food. I decided to stick with liquor.

  Alaynah smiled at me over the top of her menu as the waiter appeared and asked what we wanted. My escort ordered a white wine spritzer and something French. I wanted to make a good impression and ordered a scotch. When the waiter left, Alaynah fixed her gaze on me.

  “A few wrinkles around the eyes…not quite so thin…for the most part, you haven’t changed much at all. That’s a compliment, by the way.”

  I glanced down at my rumpled overcoat and askew tie. I didn’t look good at all. Of course, love is blind, and so, apparently, is pure, wanton lust. I felt like a sex object, and I liked it. “Well, I’ve tried to take care of myself. I eat right, exercise, and take Geritol every day.”

  Alaynah giggled. I suspected that she would be fun to tickle. She leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin resting on her hands. “So…tell me what you’ve been up to all these years.”

  I shrugged. “Not much. Work. I got married and divorced. No kids. That’s about it.

  Nothing exciting.”

  Alaynah looked at me dubiously. “I find that hard to believe. What kind of work?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  My date flashed me another smoldering look. “What a coincidence. I’ve been looking for a good private investigator.”

  “No kidding.”

  Alaynah nodded playfully. “If you’re any good, I have a little something I’d like you to take a look at.”

  She wasn’t very subtle, but she certainly had grown up. A part of me was quickly forgetting the image of her as a gangly teenager. Unfortunately, that particular part of me was the one that usually got me into trouble.

  Like she was reading my mind. Alaynah sat back in her chair, a perfect picture of posture. She’d either shelled out for surgery or had blessed genes. “So what does a PI do for fun?”

  I felt like a little kid trying to stay awake - my eyes kept drifting down and snapping back up to her face. She might not have minded, but I was still trying to handle this situation with a bit of decorum. And don’t forget, I told myself, you hate women. With some effort, I focused on her eyes.

  “Oh, the usual…long walks in the rain…playing with puppies…badmint
on.”

  Our waiter arrived and deposited our drinks with a flourish. We raised our glasses, and Alaynah volunteered a toast. “To old acquaintances and new experiences.” I nodded and we drank. Things were looking much too promising.

  “Tell me, what’s it like to work for the richest man in the world?”

  Alaynah shrugged. “It pays well. I’m actually planning on going back to school, maybe get a doctorate.”

  “Really. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I haven’t decided. I think it might be fun to teach. Probably history. It’s always interested me.” Alaynah took another sip. “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I’m pretty much locked into the PI gig. This fedora was an occupational investment.”

  “OK, if you weren’t a PI, what would you want to be?”

  I considered. “A philanthropist.”

  Alaynah’s face lit up and, for a moment, I was again reminded of little Ally Moore. I glanced down briefly, and the image evaporated. Alaynah flipped her hair back and raised her glass again. “Here’s to us both being happy and getting rich.”

  It was a worthy toast, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. I took a long drink of scotch.

  It was silky smooth, with a peaty nose and a long, oaky finish. Between the scotch and the company, I was happy for the time being.

  Alaynah set her glass down and glanced away. When she turned back, an expression of disgust was on her face. She leaned forward and whispered, “Who let the goyles in here?”

  I turned to see a young couple entering the lounge. There was no mistaking that they were Mutants. I picked up my drink and saw Alaynah staring in the direction of the couple. Her reaction to the Mutants left me stunned. Goyle, short for gargoyle, was an extremely derogatory term, coined by Norms. I’d heard it used before, but not by anyone I knew personally. Of course, most of my friends were Mutants, but that didn’t matter. I glanced at Alaynah, and she looked different to me.

  She leaned forward again, her voice low. “I can’t believe they’d come in here. This is almost embarrassing.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I drank the rest of the scotch. “Listen, I’ve got to get going. Thanks for the drink.”

  Alaynah stared at me, a confused look on her face, as I stood up and put on my overcoat.

  “Is everything OK?”

  I didn’t feel like climbing onto a soapbox. “Everything’s fine. I just forgot about an errand I have to run. I’ll see you later.”

  The Mutant couple were seated nearby, and I nodded to them as I passed. They were holding hands and looked like they were in love; the girl smiled back at me. It made me glad. I turned toward the door and almost bumped into a waiter carrying a tray with something on fire. I was reminded of Louie’s special spicy chili. The carnal pangs I’d experienced earlier suddenly gave way to the more conventional form of hunger. I hadn’t eaten anything worthwhile for a couple of days, and I was hankering to find a menu with items I could pronounce. Visions of a steaming bowl brimming with chili and a slab of corn bread with honey butter appeared before me. My bar tab and I were about to get a little fatter.

  UAKM - CHAPTER SEVEN

  The rain had let up, and clouds the color of fresh bruises mottled the cold, bloody sky. It was late afternoon, and the daylight was fading quickly as I flew home. It was December 7, and the days were getting shorter and grayer. I’d read somewhere that, at this time of year, primitive cultures had feared the sun was dying. For weeks prior to the shortest day of the year, the people would exhort their deity du jour to spare them and bring back the sun. Then the days would start to lengthen again, and everyone would celebrate (generally with some type of orgy), eat and drink to excess, and maybe sacrifice a few virgins for good measure. New Year’s celebrations hadn’t changed much.

  The only difference was that now we knew the sun wasn’t dying - it was killing us.

  Between the eroded ozone layer and the radiation-saturated atmosphere, we were all helpless chunks of stew meat in a large, toxic Crock Pot. I heard rumors that the government was going to enact a “time reversal,” switching business hours from A.M. to P.M. It seemed like a healthy idea to me, having people sleep through the most hazardous part of the day, but it wouldn’t affect me like it would most people. I’d always been a night person.

  As I started my approach to Chandler Avenue, I saw that the unmarked police speeder hadn’t moved. I circled around and landed on the other side of the Brew & Stew. If the cops happened to see me in the diner, so be it. I was ravenous to the point of apathy. I climbed out of the speeder and locked it up.

  It was almost dark now, and the street was quiet, except for the sound of occasional raindrops plopping into greasy puddles. The air was wet, and the smell of damp earth was thick. Ahead of me, the warm light from Louie’s café reflected off the slick pavement like a welcome mat. The wind picked up, and I raised my collar. I was glad for the warmth of my overcoat. I’d had it for a long time and wore it wherever I went. It was my big, khaki-colored pal who never asked stupid questions or wanted to leave until I was good and ready.

  I felt a pleasant anticipation, like I always did when I went to the Brew & Stew. Louie LaMintz ran a joint that wasn’t for everyone, but it suited me fine. There was always some savory aroma billowing in from the kitchen, maybe a lamb stew or a batch of spicy chili. Almost any time of day or night, there were at least two or three loyal patrons bellied up to the bar, arguing some topic with beery breath. Everyone had their own reason to love Louie’s diner. The beer was always ice cold, and as for the Armageddon blend…well, it was the kind coffee that would’ve made Juan Valdez cry for mercy. You couldn’t help but feel welcome in the diner. It didn’t matter that Louie and most of the regulars were Mutants.

  I paused just outside the double doors and thought about the nearly empty wallet in my back pocket. Louie never seemed too concerned about running me a tab - he said he knew I was good for it - but it didn’t make me feel any less parasitic. Rationalization had always been one of my dominant traits - the others being a lack of patience and inappropriate spasms of sarcasm - but there were no two ways about it: I was

  freeloading. For an instant, I considered going back to my office and toughing it out.

  As I turned away, I spotted a shiny penny lying on the sidewalk, a few inches from the toe of my wing tip. I bent down and picked it up. I was hungry, thirsty, and a stone’s throw from being utterly destitute, but now I had a lucky penny.

  The door burst open, and I heard raspy, drunken laughter over the smooth sounds of Mel Torme crooning The Christmas Song. A warm gust of air escaped from the brightly lit café as a young couple walked past. The mouth-watering smells of hot chili and corn bread, mingled with icy-cold beer and after-supper cigarettes, cut through my resolve like a hot knife through butter. I caught the door and stepped aside.

  The diner wasn’t full, maybe twenty people, but it was lively. Glenda, Louie’s only employee, was making the rounds with a serving tray the size of a manhole lid, heavily laden with full plates and mugs. She was no LaDonna, but she was good. Louie looked up from behind the bar and waved. I took off my hat, noticing a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door, and walked to the bar stool at the far end of the counter. Louie gave me that warm, ugly grin and leaned forward, round belly pressed against the bar and meaty paws splayed on the countertop. With his Kiss the Cook apron tied over a tight, white undershirt, and a disposable paper food-services hat perched on his battered head like a cupcake wrapper on a cantaloupe, Louie cut quite a dashing figure.

  “Take a load off, Murph. What can I getcha?”

  I slid onto a shiny vinyl-colored counter stool and pulled out my crumpled pack of Luckies. “A tall beer and the love of a good woman.”

  Louie winked at me, reached for a frosty stein, then drew the draft with a fluid ease I could only admire. Louie elevated the simple act of dispensing beer to an art form.

  “Don’t know if I can help ya with th
e woman, Murph. He turned and slid the nectar in front of me. “Though, I don’t know if you noticed - Chelsee’s over there in the corner.

  And she’s alone.”

  I turned and saw Chelsee sitting sideways in a booth with her legs up on the seat, reading a paperback. Her wavy blond hair just reached the shoulders of a thick, cream-colored pullover sweater. With her dark brown Levis and high-top hiking boots, she looked soft and warm and rugged, all at the same time.

  There would be time for rejection later. I turned back to my mug of beer and pried a Lucky Strike out of the pack. As I reached for my lighter, Louie struck a match and held it to the battered end of my cigarette. The Brew & Stew had a No Smoking section. It was just outside the front door. Louie believed that the air outside would kill you just as fast and wouldn’t provide any of the pleasure. As Louie blew out the match, I picked up the icy glass in front of me and drank deeply. Louie watched happily as I set the beer down and took a deep drag on the Lucky Strike.

  “Thanks, Louie. I should have some work soon, and I’ll settle up with you first thing.”

  It sounded optimistic, but I’d been saying the same thing for weeks. Louie just grinned and shook his head. “How many times have I told ya, Murph. You don’t gotta worry about it. Pay me when you can.”

  The big Mutant reached under the bar and set a menu in front of me. “Now, you look like you need somethin’ substantial, you know, stick to your ribs, and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”

  A sudden bellow from the other side of the café forced Louie to excuse himself. I glanced down at the menu, but remembering my earlier vision, I already knew what I wanted. I took another drink and noticed a face staring back at me from behind the bar.

  For a moment I wondered who the old guy was. Then, with all the grace of tumbling down a flight of stairs, I realized it was me. I was not aging well. And it was probably too late for Oil of Olay to have any real effect. I peered over my shoulder at Chelsee. No wonder she always shot me down whenever I asked her out. I looked old enough to be her…older brother.