The clerk looked embarrassed and tried clearing his throat. "Oh, yes, sir. Please don't think I was suggesting something untoward here. I apologize." Money was money and, in fact, the clerk probably didn't give a damn if Murphy was a dirty old man and the father of all three forthcoming children. Barnum's World was used to the unconventional; indeed, it had been settled by and, outside the more structured city environment, still was inhabited by some of the least conventional people humanity had left. So unconventional that if the old man had introduced them as his wives or companions there would have been less of a surprise. There was always a kind of reaction to robbing the cradle, though.
"Luggage, sir?"
Murphy chuckled. "We was just dropped here cold by them damned navy tax police. They even charged us for the clean clothes! It's only good luck that I have credit accounts here that them bums can't touch! No, no luggage. But I hope to heaven we'll have some goin' out! Me, I'll be here only a few days, until me daughters' families come pick them up."
"They are local here, sir?"
"No, but they're here now. Nosy sort for a spaceport concierge, ain't you? Are ye a hotel man or a cop?"
The hotel rep was looking nervous and uncomfortable. "Oh, I work for the hotel, sir! Just making idle conversation while the room is checked." He looked down at a panel in front of him and seemed visibly relieved. "Ah, yes! It's ready now, sir. Just a moment and I'll take you up to your room and show you the features."
"No, I know the features. Just tell me which room and we'll go up and let you know if it ain't suitable," the captain told him. The fellow probably was just hotel personnel, but he wouldn't blink twice at feeding some tidbit of information to the local cops or maybe even the local crooks if it was worth his while. Murphy knew the type. All the fancy clothes in the world couldn't disguise a grifter. In some ways he preferred this type. More his kind of people, and sure a lot better than the ones who were part of some damned religious group. Those types made him nervous.
They went up to the room, which was also keyed to his right index finger and right eyeball patterns, and it was a very nice room. Almost too nice, Murphy thought, looking around. With a bedroom and spacious furnished parlor, he felt that a level of privacy might be maintained here while not interfering much with comfort. Even the couch seemed luxurious when compared to those shuttle hammocks.
The women, too, seemed to like the look of the suite, and investigated every square millimeter of the place and all the buttons and voice command gadgetry available. Most popular was the huge bathroom, with its whirlpool-style tub and huge well-stocked vanity. He let them have their fun; he suspected that soon they'd find things more drudgery and sleepless nights, and they might as well enjoy this while they could.
For some reason, he felt tired, almost drained of energy, in spite of having spent so many days doing nothing at all. Some might have suggested that it was the copious amount of whiskey he'd consumed during that period that might have been catching up with him, but his old Irish soul rejected that as somehow unmanly. Still, this pretty room was costing a fortune and it seemed criminal not to use it, particularly since he was stuck until he could unload the girls. In the meantime, they seemed so taken with the bath and such, and so lively and awake, he thought he could take the opportunity to simply crash on top of that big bed with the satiny spread while they played their games. Kicking off his shoes, he went into the bedroom and plopped down on top of it. The sensation was so wonderful he was asleep in less than a minute.
He didn't know how long he slept, but he awoke suddenly, sitting up on the bed wide awake as if cold water had been splashed on his face. He was surprised to find that he was actually in the bed, and that the covers had been pulled up over him, but he was much more startled to see that it was almost dark.
And silent.
Pushing off the covers, he got up and walked out into the parlor, suddenly worried about what those girls were up to while he'd slept. The lights came on as he walked through, and what was most disturbing of all was the fact that nothing seemed to be out of kilter. Everything was as fresh and undisturbed as when they'd entered, and although the sumptuous bath had been clearly used, there was no sign of the ones who'd used it.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" he swore aloud. "Them girls is out in this town in nothin' more'n bathrobes and sandals and no experience with the denizens of civilization at all!"
He immediately left the room and took the lift down to the reception area. No sign of them there, either, nor of the concierge who'd checked them in, but hotel reception people were there. None could remember seeing three young women of those descriptions or any other descriptions pass through the area since they'd been on duty, and some had been there all afternoon.
Damn them! They pulled another one of them witch vanishing acts again!
He started to go out into the shopping district, which was just coming to life with its lights and glitzy signs and exotic smells, when he suddenly stopped and just stood there in the hotel entrance, staring.
What the hell could he do? He had no more chance of finding them than anyone else, and if they were in that invisible mode or whatever it was they could pull, then nobody else would have noticed them, either. At least that situation would help defend against the nasty people and things around the city, and they were unlikely candidates for much in the sex side of things right now, so he couldn't do much except sweat a bit and wait them out and hope that they came back.
He turned, went back up to the room, cleared off the parlor table, and called room service for a good dinner. While waiting, he decided to see if anyone of interest might be in the city directory.
Computers were very good at figuring out what you wanted and finding it for you, but he hated having a dialog with a machine. He called up a holographic screen with a print listing and sought some information.
Phineas… Phineas… Nope. Wait! Not Phineas! Saint Phineas, wasn't it? Yes, let's see…
There was nothing in the commercial or institutional directories that seemed to fit what he was looking for, but the plain contact listings, without the three-dimensional super ads and special effects, did show an Order of Saint Phineas. Not much of a description, but it was in the southwestern suburbs, a residential area mostly, but easily reached by mass transit.
"Research," he said to the screen floating in front of him. "Expand on any cross-references on directory entry highlighted."
"St. Phineas, Order of, rel., frat., priv. Chapel, grounds, residences. Members only. No visitors unless invited. Strictly enforced. Security A five."
That was interesting. A security level like that might be expected at banks and dealers in art and precious gems or the like, and higher-level government offices. Rather unusual for a religious order, which is what the thing also said. Of course, if the girls really meant it when they said they were Satanists, then any such order might well have that kind of security and more.
He sat up, frowning. "Information, can you find me anything on Saint Phineas?"
"No information on Saint Phineas is in my records," responded a pleasant and human-sounding female voice. "However, there is an Order of Saint Phineas listed in the communications directory."
"Never mind." That was going in circles.
He probably was one of those obscure Catholic saints, of course. There was one for just about every name or combination of syllables in the known universe, or so it had seemed when the religious calendars came out when he was growing up. Not likely to bother having all of those on a secular world's directory like this one. Not much of Vaticanus here, that was for sure. More likely here would be Buddhists, Hindus, Moslems, Baptists, that sort of thing.