The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel (7 page)

With no small effort, I pulled myself up into the water tower. I made a mental note to ease up on the Coffee Mate and get back on my Bullworker programme. I laid flat on my back on the reservoir floor, catching my breath and hoping I wouldn’t be too sore the next day. After a short rest, I pulled a flashlight from a trench coat and checked out my surroundings. The fall was composed of wooden planks, walked and stained and loaded with splinters. The sides of the tank were copper, rusted to blue-green. The flashlight beams circled the innards of the tank until it crossed the legs of a tripod. I moved the light up the legs until the beam rested on the point where the the three supports met.

A camera.

It was an expensive piece of equipment. The lens pointed toward a small hole that had been cut in the wall. I leaned over and put my eye to the viewfinder. Couldn’t see a thing. I removed the lens cap and checked the viewfinder again. Still dark, though not lens cap dark. Pushing a small button popped open a door, revealing a number of switches and knobs. Looking again through the viewfinder, I began to flip switches randomly. The third or fourth switch did the trick. My vision suddenly turned green, giving me a blurry view of Emily’s unlit apartment. Careful to leave the last switch in place, I played with the other switches and knobs until the picture became clear. With a few minutes of experimentation, I was able to get unbelievable detail. I could read the title of a magazine from a distance of at least 30 metres.

I pulled the view back far enough so I could get a good look through all three windows in Emily’s apartment. A slight movement caught my eye. Trying not to blink, I concentrated on the spot where I’d seen the movement. Minutes passed. Suddenly, a figure emerged from Emily’s bedroom. It appeared to be a man, dressed in black and masked. He was carrying an object under his arm. The mysterious figure walked toward the door that led out of the apartment, but didn’t open it. Instead, he moved to his right and disappeared behind a dresser. I watched for several minutes, but the masked man didn’t show himself again.

I straightened up from the camera. The man was waiting for Emily. I needed to move quickly! I lowered myself to the roof and hurried toward the trapdoor. The faint sound of applause and whistling came from the direction of the Flamingo. Emily had finished her set. The man was going to kill her. I stumbled down the ladder and ran to the hole in the wall. Dropping onto my belly, I wriggled through the opening, struggled to my feet, and ran for the door. Bursting through Rusty’s front door, I sprinted across the street. I wasn’t going to get there in time. The bouncer had no time to react as I raced past him. Heads turned as I sped towards the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Gus Leach moving to intercept me. He was a step behind — I vaulted up the stairs. Gus was swearing a blue streak, his pounding footsteps at my heels.

I reached the door to Emily’s apartment. My hand had just curled over the doorknob when I was spun around and hit by a large rock. As I crumpled, Leach grabbed me by the lapels of my overcoat and slammed me into the door.

“I told you not come back here.”

“There’s someone in Emily’s apartment. He’s gonna kill her!”

Leach raised his fist.

“I swear to God, Leach! Someone’s in there!”

The Mutant hesitated, then pushed me aside. His hand went to the doorknob. It didn’t move. Leach glanced down at me, then back at the door. Taking a step backward, he lowered his shoulder and smashed through the door. A gunshot. Still dizzy from Leach’s right hook, I braced myself and started to stand up. A figure in black burst through the doorway and hurdled me. I staggered to my feet and followed the man down the stairs. At the base of the stairs, the emergency exit door slammed shut. I reached the door and flung it open. Ducking my head out and back, I caught sight of a man racing out of the alley, an object cradled in the crook of his left arm.

I followed the fleeing man onto Chandler Avenue, then back into the alley where the fire escape leads to my office. He ran down to the end of the alley and turned left. I followed and looked down the long passage that runs behind the Electronics Shop and the Brew & Stew. He was increasing his lead. Instead of following him, I doubled back and ran out to the street. I headed for the newsstand and dove for cover. Peering over the counter I saw nothing. I waited a minute, maybe two, then decided to move. As I straightened up I saw the killer come up from behind the Brew & Stew and dash across the street, toward the fence between the pawnshop and the Slice O’ Heaven. Without much effort, he scaled the fence and dropped into the alley beyond.

I moved as quietly as possible toward the fence. The sound of clanging footsteps was barely audible. He was climbing the ladder to a roof over Rook’s pawnshop. This guy obviously had done his homework in getting around the neighbourhood. I couldn’t understand why he wanted to be on the roof, but it was my neighbourhood, and I did know a way to cut him off.

I followed the hidden trail through Rusty’s and climbed the ladder to the roof. I opened the trap door slowly, fully expecting a bullet in the face. With a level of stealth that surprised even myself, I slipped out of the trap door and closed it behind me. Hunkering down behind a large swamp cooler, I listened for the sound of footsteps. I heard nothing, except the distant city sounds and excited voices drifting up from the direction of the Flamingo.

Until I heard the speeder. It had to be a Black Avatar. It sounded nothing like my little Lotus model. The engine had a deep throb of staggering power. Only the government and drug lords owned speeders like that. I searched the night sky. It took several moments to locate the speeder — it was flying with the lights off. The Black Avatar was no more than a hundred metres away, moving slowly, headed straight toward me.

Suddenly, I saw my quarry jump up and wave his arms, his back toward me, facing the oncoming speeder. He was on the sunken section of road between Rusty’s and the pawnshop, maybe ten metres from me. The speeder was closing in. I got my feet and ran toward the man. As I leapt towards him, he saw or heard me, but had no time to dodge or fire his gun. I hit him square, and we fell in a stunned heap. He was the first to recover and planted a fist into the left side of my head. As I reeled back, I saw the speeder hovering a short distance away. I managed to unleash a kick into the man’s ribs, which left him gasping for breath. Then I got to my feet and lunged, but he avoided me neatly and jammed an elbow into the space between my shoulder blades. I dropped to my hands and knees. A boot slammed into my ribs, rolling me onto my side.

The man moved away from me, toward the edge of the roof overlooking the street. His gun had been thrown clear, three of four metres from where he’d left me. I grabbed a handful of loose gravel. As he bent to pick up his gun, I gathered the last of my strength and jumped to my feet. Everything shifted into slow-motion. I started to run toward the man. He looked up, saw me, raised his gun. I threw the gravel. He flinched and threw his left arm up to cover his face. The gun went off. I lowered my shoulder, felt it hit his chest. Another gunshot. He staggered backwards, hit the barrier at the edge of the roof, and toppled over the side. The gun went off again. A scream, the fall, the horrible sound of crushing bones.

The Black Avatar shifted down and sped off into the night.

“Coffee, wheat toast, eggs over easy.”

Mac Malden leaned way back in his chair and pulled a Merit out from under his moustache.

“What do I look like, Murphy? A damn waiter?”

“Okay, then, a cup of coffee and a doughnut.”

“There’s nothing here to eat.”

He reached around his gut and stuffed the cigarette butt into the hollow centre of a ceramic dog. Slumping back in his chair, he folded his hands atop the lumpy dome that ran from his sternum to well past his belt. No shame, no attempt to camouflage. Oh, they warned him about high cholesterol, a heart attack risk. He even cut back on a few things, like pastrami, egg rolls. But Mac loved his gut and was damn proud of it. Never in a million years would he turn his back on his gut.

“No doughnuts?”

Mac shook his head and reached for another cigarette.

“You’ve got to be yanking me. A huge building, full of cops… no doughnuts?”

“You know, Murphy, I get so damn tired of those half-ass doughnut gags, I could puke. I’m not serving breakfast here. All I wanna do is ask you a few questions, listen to some of your stupid jokes, maybe get a couple coherent statements out of you, and kick your but out of my office. Then you can buy your own breakfast.”

He stared at me, looking for all the world like a Basset hound, she exhausted from a trip to the slippers. “What d’ya say?Are you gonna play along?”

It was late, at least 10:30am it had been five or six hours since Emily’s would-be murderer hit Chandler Avenue. I was still on the roof in mid-lucky when the cops showed up. They called me down, and I got a look at the face of the Black Arrow Killer. It was the same mug I’d seen in the photo at 771 Santa Cena, shaking hands with President Linderman.

The cops took a statement, then asked me if I’d like to come with them and try the new coffee blend down at the station. I happen to know that the coffee tasted like camel spit — they were just being civil. At the SFPD complex, I was politely asked to take a seat and enjoy one of the many fine magazines available. Some of them were no more than two years old.

There was no smoking allowed in the waiting room. Instead, they had a TV. It was a crappy trade-off. I made one attempt to step outside for breath of unfilled refreshment, but the sergeant assigned to keep an eye on me didn’t like the idea much. Damn nonsmokers.

After what seemed like an eternity in cold turkey/ Network TV purgatory, I was escorted to Mac Malden’s office. By the time the sergeant closed the door behind me, I had my Lucky Strike in hand, already half smoked. Two other men were in the room, nice suits, standing in the corners. Being outnumbered always brings out the antagonist in me.

It turned out that Mac had been investigating a homicide all morning and it was now almost 11 a.m. — way past his bedtime. He always did the questioning whenever I got pulled in. Threatening with me with jail time always seemed to cheer him up, but now he was too sleepy to enjoy it.

Mac planted his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Okay. Let’s forget about breakfast and get this over with. Take it from the top. And for God’s sakes, not too many details. I should be in bed, dreaming of egg rolls.”

I recounted my story completely, leaving out any minor details, like Fitzpatrick, Malloy, the mysterious Vid-phone call, and the jaunt through 771 Santa Cena. After I finished, Mac didn’t seem to be satisfied with my version of things. The two suits didn’t move.

“So that’s the whole story.”

“Yup.”

“You’re sure.”

“Absolutely.”

Mac burned another Merit. I glanced down and saw that he’d left another one half smoked in the ceramic dog. Poor sap. Obviously a helpless slave to nicotine.

“Did you know the victim?”

“Who, Emily?”

“No, the one you threw off the roof. The girl’s gonna be fine.”

“Good to hear. What about Leach?”

“The big mutant? I guess a slug nicked him, nothing serious. Now answer the damn question — did you know the guy you threw off the roof?”

“I didn’t throw anyone off the roof. Like I told you, we were rollerblading… things got out of hand. He jammed his front wheel, and… well, you know the rest.”

“Knock it off, Murphy. You seemed to forget I’m a cop. A tired, hungry, pissed off cop. If you don’t get off my nerves, I’ll toss you in the drunk tank, and we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Lord, he was a grouch at this hour of the morning, and the well-tailored statues in the corners didn’t seem to be helping his disposition. To ease the tension, I proceeded to tell him what actually happened on the roof. Mac glanced through a sheaf of papers, then waved his hand toward the door.

“Okay, get outta here. Your story matches up.”

I got out of my chair. “Matches up? With what?” Fife

Mac looked up at me wearily. “We have a witness. You’re clear… hey, Robinson!”

The door opened, and the young cop who’d kept me from losing at least another seven minutes of my life poked his head into the office. “Yes, sir?”

“Escort Mr Murphy out of my office. He’s free to go.”

The young cop nodded. “Oh, and while you’re at it, find Ms Madsen and tell her she can go, too.”

I started after Officer Robinson.

“By the way, Murphy! Don’t go on any sudden trips for a few days. We may want to ask you some more questions.”

“Why would I take a trip, Mac? Around here, every day’s a vacation.”

Mac waved me out. I stopped by a vending machine and spent $2.50 on a cup of hot camel spit. As I passed the waiting room, Officer Robinson was speaking to an extraordinarily attractive woman. The young cop tipped his hat and walked away, leaving her to gather her coat and purse. According to Mac, this woman had been my star witness. It was fate. I moved in. Destiny had a smell; it was warm and musky. I doffed my fedora.

“Good morning.”

“Hello.”

My future partner in eternal bliss seemed to be uninformed of, or at least oblivious to, the aura of destiny that surrounded us. Laying her coat gracefully across her arm, she prepared to walk off with my heart crammed into her handbag.

“I hope you won’t think I’m being forward.”

She glanced up at me with clear eyes. “I won’t. Excuse me, please.”

She glided past me. I move quickly to intercept her before she could reach the automatic doors. “Listen. My name’s Tex Murphy, and I understand that you just did me a real big favour. I’d like to, you know, repay the debt.”

“Thank you, but I’m really not interested.”

She was cool. Very cool. Charm was exuding from every pore. Yet somehow she resisted. It was only a matter of time.

“You want to have dinner tonight?”

“I was planning on having dinner, just not with you.”

Ouch. Deep in my Psyche, Commander Hormone called for a retreat. I moved aside. The beautiful woman swept through the sliding doors, down the steps, out of my life and into the shuttle entrance.