Her vulnerability felt authentic. I realised once again that she was just a kid, caught up in something way over her head. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was nervous and needed to know she wasn’t alone in the world. “Of course I am.”
Her smile returned. “All right. When are we going to get together?”
“It depends on the others. I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll wait for your call.”
As soon as I was off the phone, I grabbed my hat and hoofed it over to the Fuchsia Flamingo. Gus and Emily had just as much stake in this thing as anyone else and deserved to be there at the unveiling. I walked through the front door and scanned the joint for Gus, but he was nowhere to be seen. A young mutant approached me and asked for my membership card. I told him I’d just come by to talk to Gus and/or Emily. The mutant said that they’d gone out of town two days ago, and he didn’t know when they be back.
Of the eight people mired in this scenario, one was dead, one was out of the country, and three others were unaccounted for. That left me, Regan, and Fitzpatrick. I returned to my office and called to tell Fitzpatrick what had happened. He told me to come over anyway. I then talked to Regan, who said she could be ready by the time I got there.
I picked up Regan at the Imperial Lounge, then flew to the Savoy. We didn’t say much on the way. My gut squirmed like a chump wrestler caught in a stranglehold. Regan was tough to read, but her eyes were bright, which usually meant her mind was running in overdrive.
I landed in front, where the valet service was waiting. Regan and I walked into the lobby and took the elevator up to the eighteenth floor. I leaned against the elevator wall and assessed my companion. She was looking anxiously at the LED display. God, she was beautiful. I hadn’t been close to her for awhile. I’d forgotten how appealing the view was. Her lips were parted slightly. My mouth was suddenly very lonely. It was either kiss her or talk.
“Nervous?”
Her eyes stayed glued to the changing floor numbers. “There’s a better word for it.”
“I didn’t bring my thesaurus.”
Regan didn’t respond immediately. My eyes drifted up to the display. When she spoke, her voice was like velvet. “I feel like I’m about to make love to someone I’ve wanted for a long time.”
“We’ve only known each other a few days.”
The flawless profile smiled. “Not you. Yet.”
The number eighteen flashed in unison with a muffled chime, and the door slid open. We turn to the right and walked down the hall. Reaching the door to 1813, I raised my hand to knock. Regan’s hand went to my cheek and turned my face toward hers. Suddenly her lips were on mine. It was a deep, wet kiss that felt like a rich appetiser, with the promise of a full dinner to follow shortly. She pulled away and slowly opened her eyes. “For luck.” She patted my cheek and stepped back.
I took a moment to compose myself, then knocked. After a few moments, Fitzpatrick opened the door. “Hello, Mr Murphy.”
I doffed my fedora. Fitzpatrick’s gaze turned to Regan. “Please come in.” We stepped into the hotel room.
Across the room, seated in an overstuffed chair, was Elijah Witt. “We meet again, Murphy.” Witt folded his hands over his round stomach and smiled at me like an elementary school principal who’d just caught a truant. I wasn’t sure what to say. Fitzpatrick spoke from behind me.
“Mr Witt tells me that the two of you have already met. I don’t believe, however, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your lovely friend.”
I turned back to Fitzpatrick. “This is Regan Madsen. Thomas Malloy’s daughter.”
Regan smiled pleasantly and extended her hand. Fitzpatrick looked her over as they shook hands. “The plot thickens.” the old man motioned toward Witt. “Ms Madsen, this is Elijah Witt, a long-time friend of your father’s.”
Witt made no move. “I didn’t know Thomas had a daughter.”
Fitzpatrick looked toward Regan, then me, and gestured toward two chairs. We sat down. Fitzpatrick walked toward an end table, and picked up a smouldering Cubana from an ashtray.
“I remember Regan from China. Of course, that was many years ago.” He looked toward Regan, appraising her again.
“I must say, you’ve become a very beautiful woman. Luckily, you took after your mother, though I see some of your father in you. Especially in the eyes.”
Witt shifted in his seat. “How do we know she is who she says she is?”
Regan crossed her legs and responded coolly. “Maybe you’d like to see a copy of a birth certificate.”
“Documents can be faked.”
“Well, then, I guess you just have to take my word for it.”
I interjected. “She’s on the level, Mr Witt. I can vouch for that.”
Witt turned his professional gaze in my direction. “Is that so? I suppose I should blindly believe you, especially after you came into my home under false pretences, then proceeded to rob me. I think not.”
Fitzpatrick turned toward Witt in a cloud of smoke. “Mr Murphy and I have been working together in this situation since the beginning. He has demonstrated his commitment repeatedly. If you cannot trust him in these matters, then you cannot trust me.”
Witt harrumphed. “I’ll defer, if you insist. But I don’t like it.”
Fitzpatrick ignored the postscript and turned toward me. “Since you bought Ms Madsen, I’ll assume that she has earned your confidence.”
I nodded, but inside I was asking myself a few questions. What if, after everything that happened…? It seemed impossible, but it had happened before. I turned to Regan, who gave me a wink. It didn’t help.
Fitzpatrick blew out a puff of smoke. “Well, then, that’s settled. We should get on to business. Would either of you care for a drink?” We both declined. “Mr Witt, why don’t you tell our friend Murphy your part in this matter.”
Witt glanced at Fitzpatrick impatiently, then turned to me. “I met Malloy years ago. I’d written several books that touched on certain theories which Malloy had experienced first hand. Some people consider me something of an authority in the field of UFOlogy. Malloy arranged to meet me. After we got to know each other, he showed me the alien hieroglyphs. I provided Malloy with copies of other writings, supposedly of alien origin, hoping that they would help him in the deciphering process. From that time on, we stayed in contact.” Folding his arms again over his girth, Witt turned his eyes toward Fitzpatrick.
Fitzpatrick flicked the ash of the end of his Cubana and looked at me. “As you can see, Mr Witt is on our side. It turns out that there was no reason for you to steal the box from him, though it may have sped up the process. Mr Witt can be quite stubborn.” From the corner, Witt snorted. Fitzpatrick continued. “I believe we have come to the proverbial moment of truth. It seems that what we’re about to learn will prove to be of great importance. Thomas went to great lengths to make certain that no one person had all the information. I believe he intended for this reunion to be a council of sorts, attended by the people he considered most trustworthy, including myself, Mr Witt, Ms. Madsen, and Mr Murphy, who is representing Emily Sue Patterson, Thomas’s widow. It is regrettable that two others, Oliver Edsen and Archie Ellis, cannot be here with us.”
After an appropriate moment of silence and a puff on the cigar, Fitzpatrick spoke again. “Thomas feared the intervention of several powerful groups. We have reason to believe that one of these is the NSA. Mr Murphy, why don’t you tell Mr Witt what has happened.”
Witt seemed at least mildly interested. “The first box I found had been delivered to Malloy’s wife. After some ugliness, I got the box, and an NSA agent ended up dead. I got pulled into an NSA office and met with a man named Jackson Cross. He wanted the box and seemed to have no compunction about killing for it. Well, I ended up with the box after all and expected to catch an agency bullet in the brain for it. But for some inexplicable reason, the NSA backed off.”