I slipped off my overcoat and tossed my fedora on to the counter. “I only drink brandy when I play bridge. That is to say, never.”
Louie laughed. “Okay, sue me for trying to introduce some culture into your life.”
He reached under the counter and presented me with a full bottle of bourbon and a fancy crystal sipping a glass. I grabbed the top of the bottle and twisted, hearing the faint popping sound and the sigh of virgin whisky ready to fulfil his destiny. A glass of bourbon and a well packed Lucky Strike. Throw in a good night’s sleep and a decent haircut, and I’d be in bliss.
Louie reached over and lit my cigarette. “Looks like you had a long day.”
I carefully blew a long stream of smoke away from his big, lumpy face. “How can you tell? Don’t I usually look like this?”
“Pretty much. Your eyes are just real bloodshot.”
“You think they look bad. You should see them from this side.” It must have been all the damn incense. And Ellis didn’t want me smoking in his place.
Louie and I sat drinking in silence for a few minutes. I was dog-tired. When we finished our drinks, Louie turned out the light, and we headed up to hit the hay. This time, I got to sleep in the torture device. After a surprisingly decent sleep and a double Armageddon, I went to work on Louie’s Vid-phone. Checking in with Fitzpatrick, I learned that he hadn’t had any luck opening either of the boxes. I then called Regan and arranged to meet her at the Imperial Lounge. She seemed to have recovered from our previous conversation and was back to her former self. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
I returned to my seat at the counter and picked up the first edition of the Bay City Mirror. It was still pretty early, and I really wasn’t in a hurry, so I decided to do the crossword. I took a sip of Armageddon and found the puzzle. After twenty minutes, three cigarettes, and a refill on the Joe, I filled in a grand total of five answers. I don’t know why I like puzzles. All they ever do is make me feel like an idiot.
My eyes wandered over the page. Below the crossword was an anagram puzzle. I never did those — they were too much work. Suddenly, I remembered what Ellis had said about Elijah Witt, how he always used an anagram as a pen name. I pulled out the paperbacks from my overcoat pocket. Sure enough, the author of There are Messages from Outer Space was J.I. Thelwait. The letters could be rearranged to make Elijah Witt.
Immediately I was curious. I picked up the second book, Puzzles to Amuse and Challenge, and looked in the table of contents. Finding a section devoted entirely to anagrams, I saw that Malloy had solved all of them. I flicked through the rest of the book; he’d skipped everything else.
I had a hunch. According to Ellis, Witt and Malloy were in touch with each other. Both were interested in anagrams. I opened the cover of Witt’s book. The inside title page had been torn out. I ran my finger over the first page and felt some markings. After getting a pencil from Louie, I lightly traced over the first page. Letters began to appear, some in words, others in apparently random order. When I finished, there was no complete answer, but it was obvious that Malloy had been attempting to make an anagram out of the title There are Messages from Outer Space.
With reckless optimism, I tried my hand for awhile, but I realised within minutes that I was accomplishing nothing. I put the paperbacks away and turned back to the newspaper. Lucas Pernell’s byline caught my attention. The piece dealt with the history of local government corruption. An idea hit me like a blind-side haymaker. The Bay City Mirror produced its own puzzles. I was willing to bet that they were generated by some kind of computer program. I also had a gut feeling that Malloy’s anagram of There are Messages from Outer Space was going to end up being important. And I just happened to know someone who worked at the Bay City Mirror.
I fished out Lucas Pernell’s card and punched in the number. After several minutes, I got Pernell on the line. “Just read your article in today’s Mirror. Good stuff.”
He sounded equally annoyed and flattered. What’s up, Murphy? I’m pretty busy.”
“Can we talk? I mean now, over the phone?”
Pernell gave me a scrutinising look. “Important?”
“I’d like to think so.”
He checked his watch. “You know where. The first place. Half an hour.” I beat Pernell to the Twilight Lounge by five minutes. On the flight over, I’d thought of something else I needed to ask about. I didn’t know how often he spoke to Mac Malden, but I needed to contact Mac as discreetly as possible and find out what he knew about the NSA — specifically, what they were doing about me.
Pernell threw his hat and coat into the booth and slid in. “Got an extra bad boy?”
I pushed my pack of Lucky Strikes across the table. Pernell pulled one out and leaned over as I lit my ex-cigarette. He slumped behalf against the back of his seat and exhaled through his nose. “What’s up?”
I packed a smoke of my own. “You want a bourbon?”
Pernell flashed a hint of a cynical smile. “Oh, this must be good.”
I caught the waitress’s eye and signalled for two bourbons. It was still pretty early, but I figured it was happy hour somewhere.
“So… spill it.”
I smoked a cigarette and waited for our drinks to arrive. “You still working on the Black Arrow Killer story?”
Pernell nodded in mid-gulp. “Why? You got something?”
“I do. Maybe enough to help you wrap up the details.”
The reporter reached into his frayed sports jacket and pulled out a pen and notepad. He opened the pad, licked the tip of the pen, and looked up at me expectantly. “Let’s have it.”
I buried my cigarette stub into the ashtray. “Hold on. I need two favours. I’ll trade.”
Pernell was leery. “How good is your information?”
I smiled. “Remember the best sex you’ve ever had? This is better.”
The reporter grinned fiercely and drained his bourbon. “What do you want me to do?”
I pulled out There are Messages from Outer Space. “Ever heard of this?”
“Sure. It’s like a bible for UFO nuts.”
Everyone except me knew about this book. “I have reason to believe that someone made an anagram out of the title. I need to find a computer program that will check for all the possible anagrams.”
Purnell shrugged. “That’s easy enough. I know the guy who does the anagrams. I’m sure he can take care of things for you. I’ll give you a call when he’s had a chance to check it out. So what’s the other thing?”
“I’d need to contact Mac Malden.”
Pernell gave me a dopey look. “Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Look, I’m in a little trouble with a certain powerful government agency. As far as I know, they’re staking out my office, and Mac seems to think his transmissions are being monitored. I haven’t slept in my apartment for two days. I have to contact Mac and see if he’s heard anything new.”
Pernell considered for a few moments. “That second thing, I’m not too excited about that. Tell you what — you give me some of the dope, and I’ll decide whether I want to shake on it.”
It seemed reasonable, and I didn’t really have much choice. I told Pernell about tracking down the Black Arrow Killer, up to the point where I followed him to the roof. I left out Emily’s name at the part about the box. When I finished, Pernell looked up at me like I was a ten-thousand dollar hooker who just said “Time’s up.”
“So then what happened? Did you find out who it was?”
I lit up a smoke. “Shall we give Malden a call?”
Clearly frustrated, Pernell reached into his jacket and pulled out a cellular vid-phone. He pressed a rapid dial button.
After a few seconds, I heard Mac’s familiar rasp. “What?”