The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel (4 page)

My knuckles popped as he shook my hand. I wouldn’t be shuffling cards for a while.

“Sit anywhere you like. I’ll send the waitress right over.”

We opted for a corner table. There were only five other people in the club, and we barely beat the waitress to our seats. Chelsee asked for a Cape Codder. Feeling playful, I ordered Scotch. Chelsee excused herself, leaving me to survey the surroundings. The Flamingo’s interior was a shrine to bad taste on an epic scale, an unparalleled mish-mash of exotic things, neon, and garage sale oddities. The baby grand and a microphone stand were on a stage at the far end of the room. In the centre of the club, a small, unused parquet dancefloor sparkled under a giant disco ball. Chelsee and the drinks arrived simultaneously.

“This is quite a place. Interesting decor.”

Chelsee smiled and stirred her vodka and cranberry juice. “I like it. But then, I’ve always been secretly attracted to blatant tackiness.” her eyes locked on to mine as she leaned forward and sipped through the straw in her drink.

“Should I take that personally?”

She shrugged coyly. “Take it any way you want.”

My right foot spontaneously started tapping like a machine gun. For over a year, I’d pursued Chelsee shamelessly — without her ever giving me the slightest bit of encouragement. Rejection fit into my image — the lone wolf. Besides, it was one thing I was good at. Now she was turning the tables on me, or so it seemed. The hunter had become the hunted. My mouth suddenly dry, I grabbed my Scotch and gulped it. Chelsee raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, pressing her chin on the back of her hand. I smiled nervously and turned to find the waitress.

“Do you want to know what I was going to tell you last night?” Chelsee’s voice had slipped to a throaty whisper. God, I needed another Scotch. I signalled to the waitress, then turned back to Chelsee, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Sure.” my voice was cracking slightly. I fumbled with my pack of Lucky Strikes.

“I was gonna tell you that I’ve been thinking… you know… about me and you.”

The match shook slightly as it wandered toward the end of my cigarette.

“I have to admit… I used to think you were just another smug, insensitive back of hormones, going through a midlife crisis. Now that I know you better, I realise this isn’t a midlife crisis at all.”

The cigarette was calming me down. “Thanks… I think.”

Chelsee smiled down at her drink and slowly stirred it with her forefinger. I just decided that, underneath it all, you’re really a nice guy. And I’ve always thought you were quite attractive.”

She lifted her finger out of the drink and ran it like a cross her lower lip. Lord, she really knew how to pitch my tent. Moving her drink to the side, she again leaned forward and placed her chin on the back of her hand. It looked like it was my turn to talk. I sent a stream of smoke off to the side; I’d regained control.

“This sudden interest… seeing me in a new light — I mean, I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, if you’ll pardon the expression, but this isn’t connected in any way to, say, someone’s recently celebrated birthday?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I think that made me take a look at myself, look at what’s important. For a long time now I’ve been on my own. I’ve decided that independence is overrated. I want to be with somebody. Have someone need me.”

“I was married once, you know.”

Chelsee nodded.

“It was miserable. Whenever someone tells me to go to hell, I tell him I’ve already been there.”

“Would you ever try it again? With someone else, I mean.”

I took a long sip of Scotch and thought it over. The implications of our conversation were making my head swim. Suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Ladies and gentlemen. The management of the Fuchsia Flamingo is proud to present this evening’s entertainment. Please give a warm welcome to Luscious… Lucy… Lust!”

A pitiful smattering of applause accompanied the opening bars of “I’ve Got You Under My skin.” A slicked back middle-aged man in a powder blue tuxedo sat at the baby grand. A woman stepped into the spotlight and undulated to the microphone. Her ruby red sequinned dress look like it had been painted on. It wasn’t low-cut — it didn’t have to be. From forty feet this woman look perfect. She curled her fingers around the microphone and began to sing. I was spellbound. She didn’t just sing a song — she made love to it.

I glanced over at Chelsee. She was looking directly at me, not smiling. “Did you forget the question?”

I had. I’ve got you deep in the heart of me. With some effort, I pulled my attention from the stage and tried to remember where we’d left off. “Let’s see. Marriage. I don’t know. I guess I could… if it seemed like the thing to do.”

I really didn’t mean to sound distracted. Chelsee didn’t respond. The waitress stopped by and confirmed that we did, indeed, want two more drinks. I lit another smoke and looked back toward the singer. I was willing to bet that if I got within ten feet of the stage, I’d catch the scent of the purple scarf. Luscious Lucy — alias Emily — and I needed to talk.

“Do you know her?” Chelsee was still watching me watch the singer.

“No. But I think she’s tied up in the case I’m working on.”

“Really.”

“Seriously. I can’t give you all the details, but I’m looking for a guy. I think this dame used to see him. I’ve got to talk to her and find out what she knows.”

Chelsee picked up her purse and stood up. “Well, I’ll leave you to your investigative work. Thanks for the drink.”

She turned and headed for the exit. I jumped up and almost body slammed the waitress who was arriving with our drinks. I quickly pulled out my wallet and threw a fifty on the table. “Leave the drinks. I’ll probably be back in a minute.”

I caught up to Chelsee just outside the front door. “Where you goin’?”

“Home. I’m tired.”

“Look, Chelsee. Don’t get me wrong… I care about you — a lot. I just get a little uncomfortable whenever I hear the ‘M’ word.”

“Tex, you don’t need to humour me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She crossed her arms and looked intently at the sidewalk. “I’ve had an offer to sell the newsstand. I think I’m gonna take it. Like I told you the other night, I think I’ll try Phoenix on for size.”

For some reason, I felt a twinge of panic. “Are you sure about all this? I mean, moving is kind of a big thing. Nothing you want to rush into.”

She looked up. “I’ve been thinking about it for months. I guess I haven’t done anything because I want to see if we could give it a try. But I don’t think it’s going to happen. You’re probably right — I’m just getting panicked because I’m thirty and there’s no one in my life. I like you a lot… I should probably leave it at that.”

She turned away and spoke over her shoulder. “I’ll walk home. I could use the exercise.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I felt like I should say something. “Chelsee…?”

She stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

I wanted to, but I didn’t. “Come see me before you go anywhere.”

She nodded. I watched her until she was gone. What a schmuck.

Back inside the Flamingo, I drained both glasses. The beautiful woman was getting friendly with the piano and singing a smoking version of “Love for Sale.” the thrill had left with Chelsee. I packed another cigarette and called for a double Scotch. Scratch that. Make it bourbon.

The singer’s act went on for forty-five minutes. She was too good to be playing this section of town. I wondered what her story was, how she’d ended up in a dead-end lounge like this one. The last note of “Misty” faded into sparse, though enthusiastic, applause. With a graceful curtsy that completely contradicted the slinky gymnastics she displayed earlier, the young woman made her exit. Draining my bourbon, I casually made my way across the room. To the left of the stage, a doorway led to the restaurant and an ascending stairway. As I stepped through the doorway, a flash of red caught my eye from the top the stairs. I darted after the girl.

Reaching the top, I turned to my right and saw the singer standing at a door, searching through a full key chain. I approached slowly, to avoid startling her.

“Excuse me. Can I talk to you for a second?”

The girl jumped. She turned to face me and retreated several steps. She was clearly frightened. “One step closer and I’ll scream! I mean it!”

I stayed put. My hands were extended with palms out — the universal sign for “nothin’ up my sleeve.” “Whoa… no need for that. Okay? Just hear me out. I promise… I’m not a pervert. Well, hardly ever. And only with women I know really well.”

The girl seemed less scared but didn’t relax her defensive stance. “What do you want?”

The sound of heavy footsteps came from the stairs behind me. I talked fast. “I’m a friend of Thomas Malloy’s — I need to find him.”

“What the hell are you doing up here?!” Leach pushed past me and stood between me and the girl. I didn’t answer; it was up to Emily — I figured the odds were split. I could get her to talk or I could be beaten to a pulp by the big mutant. Leach took a step toward me, fists clenched.

Emily scrutinised me, obviously trying to determine if I was on the up and up. She turned out to be an excellent judge of character. “It’s OK, Gus. He just wants an autographed picture. I’ll come down in a minute.”

Leach looked back at the girl, then at me, clearly irritated. Reluctantly, he moved toward the stairs, his eyes burning a hole in me. As he walked by, he dipped his shoulder slightly, knocking me off balance. I resisted my instincts and kept quiet until Leach was out of earshot.

“That was exciting.”

Emily found the correct key and inserted it into the door lock. “We’ll have to hurry. Gus doesn’t like me talking to guys.”

I followed her into her apartment. A quick look around gave the impression of being in a wild teenage girl’s room. The smell of cheap perfume mingled with stale tobacco smoke. An open bottle of tequila, half full, sat on the table of a brightly-lit vanity. One shelf was lined with stuffed animals.

Emily sat on the edge of her bed and clumsily lit a long, thin cigarette. She was younger than I thought she’d be. Under all the make-up, she was probably twenty-two, no older than twenty-four. A hard twenty-four.

“You’re Tex Murphy, aren’t you?”

I was caught off guard. It never occurred to me that she’d know who I was. “Yeah. Have we met?”

She shook her head. “No. I just heard about you… that you’re a PI, that you can help people.”

I knew I had a reputation. I’d always thought it was less than flattering. It made me wonder who she been talking to. “People usually hire me to do their dirty work. Most of my clients seem satisfied with my work.”

“I need you to help me.” Emily looked me straight in the eyes. She sounded desperate.

“What kind of help are you looking for?”

“I think someone is going to murder me.”

I could see she was trying hard to stay under control. I found my pack of smokes and drew one out. “Why?”

Emily stood up and began to pace. “It started right after Thomas left. About a week ago… he just disappeared — without a word. A couple nights later… I found a note in my room. After I read it, I was so scared… I told Gus, and he said not to worry about it… then I got another note… I want to call the cops, but Gus won’t let me… he keeps saying its nothing, just some freak who gets off on scaring woman.”

She dropped back onto the bed and took a long, shuddering breath. I didn’t like the idea of someone murdering her. “This is really the sort of thing the police should know about.”

She took a jittery drag of a cigarette. “Gus says he will make sure no one hurts me. He doesn’t want anyone else taking care of me. I know he means well, but sometimes I just want to… but he’s always been so good to me… I don’t know what to do.”

I’ve never really believed in coincidence. The timing of Thomas Malloy’s disappearance and the arrival of the notes seemed too close to be unrelated. Emily was a strong kid, but she was almost hysterical with fear. I probably would have helped her anyway. It was an added bonus that her problems might give me a lead to Malloy.

I went over to Emily’s bed and sat down next to her. My voice was as gentle as brushed cotton. “I’ll do what I can to help… Gus doesn’t need to know.”

She turned toward me, look for an hesitant at the same time. “I don’t have a lot of money… but I be so grateful.” her hand brushed my thigh, almost accidental. I stood up and moved away.

“I’ll need to look at the notes you got — if you still got them.”

“I do. I saved them to give to the police.” She crossed the room to a desk and pulled out two pieces of paper. I looked them over. “When did you receive these?”

Emily sat back down on the bed. Last week, maybe two nights after Thomas disappeared, and then the night before last. They were slipped under my door.”

“Has anything else happened, other than the notes?”

“No, not I can think of.” I slipped the notes into the pocket of my overcoat. “Incidentally, what is your full name?”

“Emily Sue Patterson.”

“Listen, Emily, like I told you, I’m looking for Thomas Malloy. If I can find out who’s hassling you and get them to stop, will you tell me everything you know about him?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I guess so. I think I can trust you… why are you looking for him?”

“An old friend of his hired me to find him. He might be in danger.”

“I’ll do what I can. I didn’t know him that well, but he was very good to me. The last time I saw him…”

The door burst open. Leach looked from me to Emily and back to me. He seemed almost disappointed that he hadn’t caught us in a compromising position. He pointed a cigar sized finger at me. “You! Get the hell outta here! Emily, you’re on in five minutes!”

I tipped my hat to the young lady and walked out the door. Leach followed me, slamming the door behind him. He whispered menacingly at me as he followed me down the stairs.

“Leave her alone, Murphy. Take her away from me, and I’ll kill you. Don’t you ever forget that. I’ll kill you.”

Discretion being the better part of valour, I didn’t reply. Leach followed me to the bottom of the stairs, grabbed me by the arm, and pushed me toward a side door.