Aaron Conners - Tex Murphy 02 (4 page)

After this cup of coffee, I’d get back on the road. I was looking forward to getting the statuette into the countess’s hands. The retainer she’d given me was almost gone. When she paid me the rest of the finder’s fee, my first stop would be Louie’s place.

He’d been running me a tab for almost three months and hadn’t said a thing about settling up. Plus, it was Louie who’d been at least partially responsible for me getting this case in the first place. I’d been so busy drinking myself into oblivion that I’d let trivial matters slide - my vid-phone bill, for example. From what I could gather, Louie had tried to call me sometime during my month-long Festival of Blurred Vision and found out that my vid-phone had been disconnected. An anonymous payment was made to my account, and like it or not, I was back in business. Louie professed complete ignorance about the matter, but I knew. It was soon afterward that the countess had called.

The case was a godsend. After the Colonel’s visit, I’d decided it was time to crawl out of the gutter. Solitary agonizing and drinking to excess make for good film noir, but there’s no satisfaction in it without an audience. I’d put the bottle away and put myself in the capable caring hands of Mr. Coffee. The transfusion took several days to complete, but when it was over, I was grimly determined and sober, not to mention a little wired.

Despite good intentions, sobering up had its downside. Taking stock of my situation, I’d been stunned to find that my liquid assets amounted to less than three figures, with my net worth solidly in the red. To the best of my recollection, I owed two months’ rent, some unjustifiable alimony to Sylvia, the bar tab to Louie, and several IOUs to Digby, my bookie. I reminded myself to stop taking betting tips from my personal psychic.

When Countess Renier called and asked if I was available for a job, I was prepared to do anything up to and including scrubbing public urinals. Well, maybe not public urinals, but I was desperate. Luckily, the countess’s case turned out to be more than I could have hoped for.

The countess lived in an especially affluent section of the new city, where the mortgage payments were more than I’d paid for my speeder. I floated down Filmore until I found 2429. The place looked just like my dream house, only bigger. I landed my speeder, walked to the front door of the mansion, and rang the doorbell. After a short wait, the door was answered by a nattily dressed butler who looked like a tall Hume Cronyn and sounded like Katherine Hepburn after an all-night kegger.

He said I was expected and led me through a pitch dark entryway into a softly lit sitting room just slightly smaller than a regulation NBA court. Despite an ambient temperature ideally suited for growing cacti, there was a blazing inferno in a large fireplace on the far side of the room. The place was sparsely, though expensively, furnished. The butler cleared his throat, and I noticed a slight movement from a chair by the fire. An older woman sat in an overstuffed, high-back chair with a shawl around her shoulders and a blanket over her legs. She motioned for me to come closer. I removed my fedora, more for ventilation than good manners, and crossed the room. Behind me, the butler excused himself discreetly. I approached the old woman and extended my hand, which she took limply.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Murphy. I know you must be very busy this time of year.”

I had no idea what she meant by that. The PI business isn’t seasonal. But I nodded agreeably and smiled. “It’s my pleasure, Countess Renier.”

The countess released my hand and motioned for me to sit in a chair across from hers. A bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. I wiped it away as politely as possible. The countess tucked her hands under the blanket. “I hope this heat isn’t too oppressive for you. I’m afraid I need to maintain this temperature, otherwise my joints become quite painful.”

The countess gave me just enough time to nod before she continued. Her voice had been as feeble as her handshake, but it suddenly shifted into business mode.

“Your services have been recommended to me by a trusted friend, who prefers to remain anonymous. Suffice to say that your unique abilities are what I need right now.”

She didn’t waste any time. For an instant I thought about asking her who’d referred me, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t tell me. “Which of my unique abilities are you referring to?”

The countess didn’t smile. “I’m sure you have many unique abilities. The one I would hire you for is your knack for locating people and things. I understand that this knack has made you some friends - and more than a few enemies.”

I crossed my legs nonchalantly. “Well, wasn’t it Roy Rogers who used to say you can’t please all the people all the time?”

The old woman turned her gaze toward the fire. “It’s good to hear you say that, Mr.

Murphy, because this errand may make you unpopular with some people.”

I studied the countess’s face, trying to guess where this was headed. She stared impassively into the dancing flames, which threw shadows across her ancient profile.

“What exactly do you mean by unpopular?”

The countess pulled her eyes from the fire and looked back at me intently. “Let me give you some background information; then you can decide for yourself.”

I nodded as she pulled the shawl closer around her slumped shoulders.

“Some time ago, a family heirloom was stolen from this bungalow. I keep most of my valuables on my estate in Europe, but on this visit, I brought the item to show to a friend. I have made extensive inquiries trying to retrieve it, but have found out very little.”

Bungalow. That was rich.

“Pardon my ignorance, Countess, but I’m guessing that you have the resources - cash, I mean - to buy all the information you need. What makes you think I can help you?”

The old woman didn’t bat an eye. “I don’t, though you shouldn’t take that personally. I have others working for me on the same matter. My friend recommended you, and I’ve exhausted every option, without success. I’m afraid you’re something of a last resort.”

I wasn’t certain if I’d been insulted or not. “Referring to me as a last resort could double my fee.”

The countess sighed, as though the subject of money was distasteful. “I’d already planned on paying you much more than your usual fee. I’m a wealthy woman, Mr.

Murphy. To give you an idea, the stolen artifact alone is worth more money than most men could earn in ten lifetimes.”

These jabs were putting me on the defensive. Keeping in mind my destitute

circumstances, I tried to be pleasant. “Well just see about that when I win the Clearing House Sweepstakes.”

“How quaint.” The old woman didn’t seem amused. “Let’s not waste any more time. I need some work done, and I’ll pay you well for it.”

“In my experience, getting paid well is a relative term.”

The countess’s distaste was now fully apparent. “Is this the way you negotiate your fee for every job? I find it appalling.”

I shrugged. “I have any number of appalling traits… but I am a good PI.”

She looked at me appraisingly, her eyes squinting slightly. After a few moments, she turned her gaze back to the fire and spoke.

“If you prove to be as good as you think you are, I will pay you a thirty-thousand-dollar finder’s fee.”

Thirty thousand clams. Hmmm. That was a lot of seafood - a good bit more than I would have asked for. “Let me think about it… OK, I’ll do it.”

The countess nodded and turned toward me. “I thought you might. I’ll expect you to focus all your energies on this. The methods you use to retrieve the artifact are of no interest to me. But as more time elapses, the less likely it is that the item will be found.

For that reason I must require you to find it and return it to me within ten days. After that, the value of the artifact will decrease significantly, as will the finder’s fee.”

Ten days wasn’t much time, but this appeared to be a no-lose situation. I nodded to show that I was following along. The old woman narrowed her gaze. “I should also warn you against any thoughts of double-crossing me. The statuette is valuable to only an obscure handful of collectors. If you were to find it and try to sell it on your own, you would certainly fetch less than the fee I have offered.”

I’d never double-crossed a client, but the countess couldn’t know that, so I didn’t take offense. “I understand. Now, what exactly am I looking for?”

“The artifact is a statuette made from a rare crystalline substance. It is shaped somewhat in the form of a bird in flight. It is unmistakable and extremely rare - there is no other piece like it in the world. It has been in my family for countless generations and, as I said, it is extremely valuable. There are many collectors who would stop at nothing to own it. Whoever stole the statuette would likely have gone to the black market and offered it to the highest bidder.”

The countess produced a photograph from under her blanket and handed it to me. It was a poor-quality print, like a copy of a copy. She wasn’t giving me much of a head start.

“Is there anything else you can tell me? I could use a little more to go on. For starters, do you have any idea who stole it?”

The countess shook her head impatiently. “No, no. I’ve told you all I can. As I said, I don’t expect you to succeed in finding the statuette.”

That qualified as a double-dog dare in my book. I stood up, still holding my fedora, eager to get to work. “I’ll see what I can do. Pleasure to meet you, Countess.”

The old woman looked up at me, no expression on her face.

“I’d prefer that you not contact me until you have the statuette in your possession. I am not fond of receiving visitors under normal circumstances. But thank you for coming, Mr. Murphy. My valet will give you a retainer of one thousand dollars on your way out.

I assume that will be enough to get you started. Goodbye.”

I’d gone straight to work, looking up all my old connections in the seamy underbelly of the city. The countess had said that whoever had stolen the statuette would have gone to the black market. It sounded logical to me - the buying and selling of hot property was one of Old San Francisco’s leading enterprises. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the statuette had been heard of by even the low-grade parasites, who comprised most of my underworld contacts.

After spending three sleepless days and half of the M note, I met up with a small-time gangster named Franco Franco, who gave me a fair amount of information in exchange for a favor to be cashed in later. I wasn’t altogether comfortable with the arrangement, but I had twenty-nine thousand good reasons not to worry about it at the moment.

Franco passed along a name: Eddie Ching.

I asked around and found that most people experienced a strange form of amnesia when Ching’s name was mentioned. Luckily, there are plenty of cutthroats willing to do anything for money. Eventually, I got a lead and followed my nose to Mexico City.

Now here I was sitting pretty with the statuette in the bag and two days to spare.

“You all finished, honey?”

LaDonna had refilled the mug in my hand as stealthily as a pickpocket. My usual limit was three cups, but it would’ve been a shame to squander such stellar service. I took a sip as LaDonna removed my plate and silverware, then wiped down the table in one motion, leaving it as clean as it could ever hope to be. A bill lay damage-down in front of me with LaDonna’s loopy signature and a smiley face scrawled on it. I picked it up, pulled a twenty out of my wallet, and tucked them both under my mostly filled mug. I reached for my backpack and slid out of the booth. LaDonna smiled and waved busily as I pushed open the door and stepped out into the warm Brownsville night.

My speeder was still parked outside, which was good. I crossed the parking lot and beeped my alarm off. Gripping the door handle, I pulled up. Suddenly, a white flash blinded me as something smashed into the back of my head.

“My God, Murphy. You look like hell.”

With some effort, I pushed myself up from a puddle of drool and slumped back into my chair, struggling to focus. The Colonel stood across the desk from me, slowly shaking his head. I hadn’t seen Colonel Roy O’Brien since he’d kicked me out of his detective agency. I’d been one of his young, star recruits, and he’d been my mentor. I owed a lot of what I knew to him. We’d parted on bad terms, though, and had avoided each other since.

Fifteen years later, he was standing in my office, unexpected and uninvited, and I was seeing three of him. The three Colonels had lost the remaining color in their hair and looked a little thicker through the waist. Their faces had acquired a few dozen additional wrinkles, but the jaws were still firm and thrust forward. The deepset blue eyes hadn’t lost any of their malicious glint, and the acid smiles were every bit as smug and infuriating as I’d remembered them.

I watched through horribly pulsating eyes and mirage-like waves of nausea as the three old men merged into one. “You caught me on a bad day. I forgot to take my

Flintstones.”

I was slurring, damn it. And probably talking too loud. The Colonel stepped around to where I was slumped precariously and sat down with one leg up on the desk. “Looks like I caught you in the middle of a bender.”

“This isn’t a bender. This is nighttime.” Without warning, my chair lurched to the left, forcing me to grab for my desk and severely disrupting my already impaired

equilibrium. With no small amount of effort, I forced the room to stop spinning and stretched myself. The Colonel’s proximity wasn’t helping the unsettled feeling in my stomach. Maybe a drink would calm things down. Two bottles floated around my desk. I guessed right and unscrewed the cap. “Wanna drink? This stuff isn’t bad once you get used to it.”

The Colonel smiled and looked piously toward the floor, his hands folded serenely on his thigh. “No thanks, I haven’t had a drink in eight years.” He glanced back up at me, too quickly. “Yeah, one day I looked in the mirror and decided I needed to make a few lifestyle changes. Quit drinking, quit smoking. Now I’m looking forward to a nice long retirement on a tropical island with a tribe of beautiful young women.”