Empire State (7 page)

  The phone kept ringing and Rad got out of bed. He was still dressed, although without his coat and jacket and shoes. He rubbed his bald scalp as he glanced around the room, and wondered where his hat was.

  The phone kept ringing and Rad stood up. He felt OK. It wasn't like drinking was a new experience. He was a regular at Jerry's. Jerry was a pal. But right now he needed coffee, black and strong and hot, by the pot. Rad shuffled in his socks over the floorboards towards the hotplate on the dresser. His kitchen was in his bedroom, as was his living room. Apartments in the Empire State didn't come cheap, which is why he didn't have one. The back room of his office did the trick. It was only him, after all, and he was lucky that his building had been a hotel once upon a time, as it meant he even had a basic washroom with a working shower.

  The phone kept ringing and Rad thought about answering it, but it was too early for a phone call, that was just rude. Unless it was four in the afternoon, in which case the phone call was polite and not answering it was rude. He found the coffee, but it was Wartime and it was rationed and there wasn't enough for the magic pot. If he eked it out, this week's ration would last a few more days. But this week was being interesting, so Rad threw caution to the wind and decided to use all the coffee right now. He knew he'd regret it later, but right at the moment he knew his head would thank him for it.

  Rad put a kettle on the hotplate and the phone stopped ringing. Rad started cleaning dried blood off his bottom teeth carefully with his tongue, and checked the grandfather clock sagging like an old man the corner. It was four in the afternoon and he'd been rude. Maybe it was a job? Maybe it was Kane? Maybe Kane had found out what was going on down at the docks with the quarantined ironclad. Dammit, he'd missed the phone call.

  The coffee was good. Making it stronger than usual seemed to improve it, as it was hardly the best money could buy, considering it wasn't bought with money but with coupons. He had it black, even though he normally took it with canned milk. But the milk ration was even smaller than the coffee ration, so he decided to save it.

  Rad still couldn't see his hat, but the coffee warmed him and began to clear his head as well as the bloody debris in his mouth. He thought about the phone call he'd missed and about the ironclad, and about where he'd left his hat. His shirt and pants had dried out as he slept, but the shirt was creased badly and the pants were still filthy from sitting in a puddle in an alleyway. He thought about the goons with gas masks and fedoras, and he wondered where he'd left
his
fedora.

  The office of Rad Bradley, Private Detective, was separated from the back room
cum
-apartment by the same kind of door that led into the office itself from the main building corridor. Half wood, half bubbled glass, thin and cheap, suitable for lowrent office space but not something you'd want in your home. His name wasn't stencilled on the inner door because it was just supposed to separate the big office from the small office.

  The bubbled glass offered enough privacy, but was clear enough for Rad to now see someone walking around his office. He checked the clock again. Four-ten. Technically office hours, although he didn't like the fact that his front door was unlocked. But he didn't remember locking it the previous night, so he only had himself to blame. Himself and Jerry and Jerry's magical moonshine.

  The hard soles of the person in the office hammered sharply on the wooden floor as they paced around. Maybe they'd been sitting in the chair in front of Rad's desk all this time, and now having seen Rad's shadow moving around decided to get his attention. Maybe they'd had just come in. Maybe it was a client? Maybe it was a burglar. Maybe it was a goon in a gas mask and a fedora, and Rad frowned as he still couldn't see where his hat was.

  There was no time to change. Maybe it was a client, a job, the first in a few months. Wartime was hard on a PI and he was now out of coffee rations.

  He opened the connecting door six inches. The shadow stopped walking around and resolved itself into a woman in a red dress and black hat, holding a black clutch. She was made up, the skin of her face uniformly powdered to a perfect matte finish, which only popped the glossy red of her lips out even more. She was wearing red heels, immaculate and loud against the wooden floor. Rad's socks were much quieter as he stepped into the main office and closed the inner door behind him with one hand, the half cup of coffee in the other. He smiled, nicely he thought, but the woman flinched and backed away. She raised the clutch bag in front of her in an instinctively defensive pose, and shook her head.

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you. I'm fine, thanks," she said as she took two steps backwards,
bang bang
, then turned and took another two,
bang bang
, towards the closed but unlocked main door.

  Rad slid over to his desk, and the woman turned. Her eyes were grey, part of the monochrome of her powdered face. She looked expectantly at Rad, clearly afraid and wanting him to make the first move, to take charge. It was obvious she was out of her depth, in unknown territory. But Rad was one of the good guys, he liked to think, licensed and everything. Then he realised it was nearly five in the afternoon and he was standing in his socks, and a creased shirt, and dirty pants, holding a half mug of coffee. He smiled broadly, then shrank it a little as he remembered his blood-blackened lower teeth. His desk was near the inner door, so he slowly reached over and put the mug down.

  "Well, ma'am, I wasn't expecting you but that doesn't mean you're not welcome," Rad began, turning at the corner of his desk. His prospective new client was pretty and nervous. He smiled again, keeping his lips tight. He needed to get paid and, looking at her attire, her makeup, and hat, she looked like she could provide handsomely.

  "I, that is, well, I..." The woman didn't move any closer, but instead waved the clutch purse around with each syllable spoken. Her eyes were on Rad most of the time, but spent a good while flicking to the corners of the room, checking the office out, making sure she'd made the right decision and come to the right place.

  "Ma'am, take a seat." Rad gestured to the chair in front of the desk, and the woman hesitated only a moment before taking two steps and sitting down. She perched on the edge, as you did in that kind of dress in this kind of office in that part of town, sitting across from a dirty man in old white socks. The clutch was now pressed firmly to her chest.

  Rad took a slow sip of his coffee, letting his eyes drift from the woman to show her he was relaxed. "My name is Rad Bradley, but I'm guessing you know that thanks to the fancy sign outside, and I'm a private detective, licensed by the Empire State. But I'm guessing you know that as well, because that's why you're here. How you got my name, address and occupation is none of my business. What
is
my business is your problem, because clearly you have a problem." Rad spread his hands out, palms out. "You're free to tell me about it, and I can let you know if it's the kind of difficulty I can assist with, and it won't cost a dime." And then he shut up, and wondered whether he'd blabbed at her for too long and put her off.

  The woman didn't move on the edge of the chair, but as Rad swigged from the mug again he saw her shoulders drop an inch. Whoever she was, she'd be lousy at poker.

  She ran the fingers of one hand along the top of her purse, and when they stopped at the edge she pinched the black leather hard enough to push the blood out of her fingertips. Her lip gloss was as thick as house paint, and when she opened her mouth to speak Rad saw a set of perfect white teeth. She wasn't from this end of the city, that was for sure. Not that this end of the city was bad. Rad knew there were a hundred worse places, dangerous places even, you could find yourself in on the island of the Empire State. But for a woman like her, Rad's office was practically in the middle of a warzone.

  "You are correct, Mr Bradley," the woman said slowly and clearly, taking care with each word and speaking them with a voice that only came from an expensive education in an old family pile on the Upper East Side.

  "You have a problem?" Rad's voice echoed in his coffee mug.

  "I have a problem." Her voice was tight. She was trying to hold it in, to stay calm and poised, but as she spoke her wordsper-minute started tracking upwards. Rad was used to nervous clients and people in trouble, so he sat back and said nothing, and let her spill it out.

  "I really don't know quite who to turn to, Mr Bradley. The police don't want to know. Worse than that, in fact. They've told me not to call them again. They're not interested in the slightest. I guess what with it being difficult for everyone, being Wartime."

  Rad nodded. "Being Wartime," he agreed, but he wasn't really sure and didn't say any more.

  "I want to employ you, or hire you, whatever the right word is for a private detective, to find my partner. Sam has been missing for three days now."

  The woman's grip on her small bag increased. She tried to moisten her lips before she continued, but the scarlet gloss proved an impenetrable, waterproof barrier. Rad coughed and cut in quietly.

  "Your partner, he's missing? Are you married, or is it something else?"

  The woman shook her head. "My partner. We're not married... it's something else. I have a photo." She looked down to unclip her bag, and her face vanished behind the broad rim of her black hat. When it reappeared there were trails under her eyes where tears cut through the powder foundation, and when she handed Rad the half-letter card photograph her hand was shaking.

  The photo was blank-side-up, so Rad took it and flipped it over. The photo was of another woman, impeccable and porcelain and just as monochromatic as her partner.

  Rad raised his eyebrows. He couldn't help it. It was unusual, to say the least, but that was all that crossed his mind. It was perhaps no wonder that the police didn't care.

  "Sam?"

  "Samantha." The woman nodded. "Samantha Saturn."

  "And you are?"

  "Katherine Kopek." Ms Kopek lowered her head again, hiding her face.

  "And Ms Saturn is missing, and the police don't care, so you came to me?"

  The hat moved. "We live in the nature of a marriage, if that's what you're wanting to ask," came a small voice from under the brim.

  Rad leaned forward, tossing the photo onto his desk and putting his shirtsleeved arms on his dirty but unused blotter.

  "Ms Kopek, it's none of my business. What is my business is that you've got a missing person. Someone important, and you've got nobody else to ask. Let's be clear. What would you like me to do?"

  Ms Kopek raised her head sharply, causing the hat brim to bob when it stopped moving. She looked surprised again, frightened. Rad frowned, realising that the police had probably asked the very same question, maybe not so politely.

  "Find her!" said Rad's new client, too loud and too quickly. She glanced down with embarrassment, but another tear streaked through her makeup. "I'd like you to find her, Mr Bradley."

  Rad smiled, but Ms Kopek wasn't looking.

  "I can certainly try, ma'am. So let's go back to the beginning. If I'm going to make a job of this I need data, information. Times and dates, people and places, that kind of thing." He stopped as Ms Kopek raised her head at last. Their eyes met, Ms Kopek blinked, and then she smiled. Just a little, just an upturn at the corners of her mouth.

  Rad tapped his fingers on the blotter. "I'd offer you a drink, but I'm out of coffee. Unless you'd like a shot glass of canned milk?"

  Ms Kopek's smile widened and she laughed. "I could use something stronger."

  Rad shook his head, smiling. "No can do. Prohibition, remember?"

  "I could use a smoke."

  Rad leaned back and put his hands behind his neck. He gazed up at the ceiling of his office.

  "Oh, I remember cigarettes. Sweet, sweet elixir."

  Ms Kopek laughed again. Her mood lifted, and then she whispered: "Wartime."

  Rad nodded. "Wartime."

 

It was dark when Ms Kopek finally left, but then the dark came early in the Empire State at this time of year and Rad had only been up since four, anyway.

  He sat behind his desk, regretting he'd used up his coffee ration earlier. He'd have to swing by Jerry's and see if he could wheedle anything out of the old bootlegger. He'd heard he dealt a little in ration book fraud. Rad frowned. Maybe not. It was only coffee, and ration book fraud was a capital offence in Wartime.

  There was a large window behind Rad's desk. It was not quite square, wider slightly than tall, but still took up most of the wall. It was one of the reasons – scratch that, the
only
reason – Rad had taken the office in the first place. Uptown you'd kill for a window like that in an office half the size. Here, nobody was interested much in views. But Rad was. He liked light, and views, and the window gave the small office a much needed sense of space.

  Not that Rad had spent that much time in the office of late. The blinds were closed and they were dusty. Reaching forward from his creaky chair, he twirled the wooden rod that hung by the window and the slats twisted open. Rad spent a few minutes looking at his own reflection in the dark glass. As he shifted in his chair, the office stretched behind him, wobbling slightly thanks to the old runny glass. It was too late for any views, too dark. Rad promised himself he'd open the blinds tomorrow.

  He leaned forward to close the blinds but stopped, arm outstretched towards the rod. He'd been looking at his own reflection, checking on the fat lip, thinking that he needed to shave and wash and get into some clean clothes. Behind him the office was reflected clearly, the dim yellow bulb hanging on a bare wire from the ceiling providing ample illumination.