Chelsee looked all the way into my eyes. My knees wobbled. “Both.”
As I stood at the ATM, waiting to see if my cheque would get eaten, I filed Chelsee way for later (with some difficulty) and tried to devise a plan of action for locating Dr Thomas Malloy. With the little Fitzpatrick had given me to go one, I figured the best starting point would be back at the Ritz. Somehow, I’d need to get into Malloy’s former room. Unfortunately, getting information would involve talking to Nilo Paglio, the owner/landlord/extortionist, and I wasn’t his favourite tenant at the moment. It was the second week of April, and I was a little late on my February rent payment. I’d usually been able to hold Nilo at bay by doing the occasional house-detective job, but he’d run out of things for me to do. The Ritz hadn’t had the No Vacancy sign on for a while, and Nilo was breathing down my neck like a dancing sailor on the last night of leave.
For the first time in weeks, I entered the Ritz through the front door and stepped into the lobby. I had four five-hundred dollar bills in my hand and two in my shoe. As usual, Nilo was behind the front desk, sprawled over a chair in the corner, reading a skin mag. A soggy cigar stub smouldered between clenched jaws and cracked lips. It wasn’t a Cubana. He looked up, his eyes bulging out, and he almost swallowed his stogie as he struggled to his feet. “Hole it right dere, ya sneakin’ piece of snot!” Spittle flew everywhere.
“Calm down, Nilo. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Damn straight ya ain’t goin’ anywheres! Where’s my damn money?”
I pulled out the four McKinleys and held them up in front of Nilo’s red-scarred eyes. “I’ve got it right here. I just need to ask you about something before I hand it over.”
Nilo quit spitting on me, but his eyes didn’t leave the bills. “Wha ya askin’? Maybe I ain’t talking.”
I waved the cash slightly, letting Nilo get a good whiff of it. “Tell me about Thomas Malloy.”
“Never heard of him.” Nilo’s unblinking eyes remained focused on the money. It looked like he was still counting. Keep the bills in full view, I pulled out the copy of the newspaper photo Fitzpatrick had given me and pointed to Malloy.
The slug prised his eyes off the cash in my hand and glared at the photograph. “Used ta live here. Gone now.”
“Which room was he staying in?”
Nilo hesitated, then glaring up at me, hissed like a cornered alley cat. “Six.”
“Anyone else stayed there since Malloy left?”
“No!” the word was forced out like an abscessed molar. I moved the greenbacks tantalisingly close to the landlord’s snout.
“Give me the security code to apartment six, and these’ll be all yours.”
Nilo didn’t answer. I waved the bones around. The effect was Pavlovian. “Awright, damn ya! Four-eight-two-seven! Now gimme those damn things!”
Apartment six was on the second floor. I punched in the numbers, heard a click, pushed open the door, and stepped into the room. It looked like just the other rooms at the Ritz: ratty bed, lopsided dresser, nightstand, scratched-up desk. The place looked as empty as a politician’s campaign promise, but it was all I had to go on. I walked to the desk and grabbed one of the drawer handles. As I pulled the drawer open, I heard a floorboard squeak. It didn’t strike me as odd until I heard the whooshing sound. A blinding flash of pain seared through my skull as someone turned out the lights.
Chapter Three
It felt like I was swimming to the surface of a pool of molasses. My eyes focused on what looked like a massive spider web. As the fog rolled off to sea, I realised I was staring at the cracked plaster ceiling in the Ritz Hotel, apartment Six. I rolled over and spend the next five minutes attempting to stand. A brighter shade of red light was seeping through the window. I checked my watch — it was 12:03pm I’d been out for more than sixteen hours.
The room looked the same as it had yesterday, except all the drawers had been opened and emptied. Looked like whoever thumped me had given the place a once-over. Maybe he’d missed something.
I was right. The desk contained an empty book of matches and two paperclips. In the dresser I found a black sock. An empty beer bottle had been left in the closet. For Holmes, this might have been a bonanza of clues. For me, it was diddly. I got down on the floor and peered under the bed. I detected a faint odour. Pawing through a pile of dust bunnies, my fingers touched something soft and smooth. It was a silk scarf, bright purple and oozing the cheap scent of department store perfume. Judging by the smell, it hadn’t been there long. I pocketed the scarf and stumbled back to my office.
The Colonel, my mentor in the PI biz, had taught me long ago the proper cure for a goose egg: a double bourbon with an ice-pack chaser. As I underwent treatment, I leaned back in my chair and tried to think clearly. Who had jumped me, and why? Whoever it was had done a thorough job. I thought about checking around, but anyone good enough to put me out for 16 hours wouldn’t be sloppy enough to be seen. I pulled the scarf out of my pocket and examined it.
There was no label, no identifying marks of any kind. I assumed that the scarf belonged to a woman, but I’d been wrong before. Either way, I was optimistic that finding its owner would put me on Malloy’s trail. The question was how. Nilo would certainly have noticed any woman who’d come into the Ritz, though I doubt if he’d remember anything about her from the neck up.
The scent on the scarf was memorable, if nothing else. Unfortunately, it was probably available at every discount department store in the city. I looked the scarf over. The purple shade was shockingly bright. The scarf would almost certainly have caught someone’s attention. Chelsee was always good with details maybe she could…
Chelsee! Oh, Lord! I checked my watch for no good reason. She was gonna kill me. She’d never believe that I’d been out cold straight through dinner. I jumped out of the chair and caught the corner of the desk, bruising my thigh and upsetting my already unsteady balance. As I stumbled toward the floor, my forehead hit the rim of the metal wastebasket. I spun away, the back of my head slamming onto the hardwood floor. As I waited for the room to stop spinning, I thought that at least now Chelsee might find it easy to believe that I’d been jumped.
With some effort, I got my feet and made my way down to the street. I’d forgotten that it was midday. Chandler Avenue looked like a ghost town. This time of year, the radar meter was off the scale during daylight hours. Chelsee wouldn’t open the newsstand until around 7pm she was probably at her apartment, asleep. I looked up and down the street. Even the Brew & Stew was closed. Then my ears caught the faintest strain of bluesy piano coming from the alley that separated the Ritz and the Fuchsia Flamingo Club. The Flamingo had just opened in the old bijou building. The marquee up front trumpeted: “Tonight! Don’t miss Luscious Lucy Lust!” I walked to the end of the alley. A door was propped open. I stepped inside.
As my eyes adjusted to the cool darkness, I made out a broad back hunched over a baby grand. The playing was sloppy, but sincere. This was my first time in the Flamingo, primarily because of the requisite membership fee. I looked around the dark interior. The design staggered back and forth between eclectic and tasteless. The overall feel was a blend of Mayan myth and Vegas vamp, all set to be lit up in pastel neon. But someone loved this place — there was almost as much heart and soul here as bamboo and Naugahyde.
I approached the broad-backed Gent at the Larsen grand. He spoke over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake ya, Emily. I’ll knock it off if it’s bugging ya.” A sour-looking mutant with a large moustache, he swung his girth around and looked me up and down with a stunningly blank expansion. I was clearly not Emily. He stood up. He was huge. “We’re closed.” the tone implied something closer to “any last words?” Immediately, I broke into my special “Howdy! I’m Tex! I’d like to be your friend!” smile. “Yeah, I know. I came through that door every yonder. I heard ya playin’ that there piano. Sounds mighty fine!”