These days, I dunno, businessman types wearing this new footwear — what do they call it? — active dress shoes, or something’ like that. Who are they kiddin’? Sneakers are sneakers. Now those wing tips of yers, that’s a shoe. Am I right? Sure I am.”
He took a quick drag from his smoke, then extended his hand. “Sorry if I’m talking yer ear off. Name’s Gabby. Not my real name, of course, but my friends call me that, and anyone who smokes Luckies is a friend in my book, sight unseen.”
We shook with our free hands. “My name’s Murphy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gabby.”
Gabby stubbed out his smoke and returned to ladling. “Murphy, eh? Good, solid name.
Suits ya. So, what can I do for ya, Murphy? Pack of Luckies?”
“Sure.”
Gabby turned and stood on his tippy toes to reach a pack of smokes. He rang it up, and I handed him a fin. He forked over my change and smiled. “Anything else I can getcha?”
“Actually, there is. Could you look at something for me?” I pulled the envelope from my coat pocket and passed it over the counter. Gabby picked it up and took out one of the cigarette butts. He looked it over carefully, then put it back into the envelope.
“Gitanes Specials. French cigarettes. Not bad… a little on the harsh side.”
I replaced the envelope in my pocket. “Do you sell a lot of these? I’m trying to find someone, and all I know about them is they smoke Gitanes Specials.”
Gabby didn’t reply for a moment and busied himself with expertly rolling another cigarette. After he’d run his tongue across the Zig-Zag paper and sealed it, he looked back up at me. “You a gumshoe?”
I nodded.
“That’s kinda what I figured. When you walked in, I thought to myself, this guy looks like he stepped right out of that Bob Mitchum movie… what’s it called… Farewell, My Lovely. Not like a costume or anything, just got the feel, if ya know what I mean.”
I was pleased and didn’t mind saying so. “I know what you mean. It’s an image thing.
Good for business. And I also happen to prefer the style. I guess I’m just old fashioned.”
Gabby lit his smoke. “Nothin’ wrong with that. No, sir. Like I say, just because it’s new don’t mean it’s better. People these days just don’t know the meanin’ of style. Now you take yer Bill Powells, yer Don Ameches — those guys knew how to dress. Yessir. Nothin’ wrong with a sharp fedora and a shiny pair of wing tips.”
He took another short drag. “But I’m getting’ off the beaten path. So, yer a PI, and yer looking’ for whoever smoked those Gitanes. Well, I can tell ya a couple of things. First, I don’t got ‘em here in my shop, and that means they ain’t real easy to find… unless you live in France, that is. I don’t stock ‘em because they don’t sell like yer Marlboros or even yer Dunhills. If I was you, I’d be looking for someone French, or someone who mighta been to France in recent memory. Sorry I can’t help ya more than that.”
I left the shop a little disappointed but not surprised. The woman I was looking for (or maybe the man who’d posed as the butler) might have been French or visited France, and that meant my list of suspects had narrowed down from hundreds of millions to tens of millions. Maybe Malden and his boys would find something at the mansion, but even in the unlikely case they did, that wouldn’t happen for awhile. I had only one other lead to pursue. Back in the speeder, I set course for Lowell Percival Enterprises.
UAKM — CHAPTER SIX
The Lowell Percival Enterprises building protruded from the chest of downtown New San Francisco like a massive piece of shrapnel. The structure was composed primarily of steel and tinted glass and avoided using right angles wherever possible. Critics hailed it as the premier example of the new neo-anarchic form of architecture. I’d always thought it looked like what you’d expect to get if you gave a couple of ten-year-old kids fifty million dollars to build a clubhouse.
I could’ve called instead of making the trip to LPE, but people like Percival are inevitably surrounded by concentric rings of red tape-spewing personnel. I figured I had a better chance to get an audience by going in person. I’d never been inside the LPE building, but I’d met the man it was named after. It had been years ago, in the Martian colonies. I was working on a big case, and a number of unusual circumstances resulted in me doing a modestly unethical errand for Percival. Now, another technically illegal operation was prompting me to renew our acquaintance. The fact that his name had been on the list in Eddie Ching’s apartment might have been meaningless and unrelated to the countess and the statuette, but I felt it was worth looking into.
I parked my speeder and walked to the irregularly shaped revolving doors. When I came out the other side, I stepped into a militarized zone. The security check would’ve made a proctologist proud. Feeling violated and slightly tender, I made my way to the large directory in the center of the vast foyer.
After consulting the directory, I crossed to a set of four elevators and waited patiently with six or seven executive types. My worn overcoat and unorthodox tie made me stand out like a rodeo clown at midnight mass, and several corporate sharks looked me over distastefully. One of the elevators opened up, and we climbed aboard. When I reached out and pressed the button for the fifty-first floor, I noticed several pairs of eyes widen.
After two stops, I was alone in the lift and continued my ascent in peace. The doors slid open, and I stepped out into a lavishly furnished hallway. I turned right and walked several hundred yards to a receptionist’s station. A beautiful woman in her mid-twenties sat behind the desk and looked up as I approached. Her voice was low and silky. “Can I help you?”
I removed my fedora. “Yes, ma’am. Is Mr. Percival in?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Percival won’t be in the office for several days. And he usually prefers that visitors make appointments.”
“OK. Could I make an appointment?”
“What is this concerning?”
I smiled apologetically. “A personal matter.”
The young woman returned the smile and looked at me as if she were trying to place my face. “Why don’t you leave your business card, and I’ll pass it along to Mr. Percival when he gets back.”
I made the pretense of checking my pockets, knowing full well that I’d run out of business cards. “I don’t think I brought one with me. Could you just take down my name and number? The name’s Murphy.”
The gorgeous woman smiled up at me, a clear look of recognition registering on her face. “Tex?”
I was caught off-guard.
“Tex Murphy?”
“Uh… yes. Have we met?”
The young woman extended her hand. It was soft and cool, just the way I liked it. We shook hands, and she didn’t let go. “Alaynah. Alaynah Moore. I knew you looked familiar.”
I tried to place the name… desperately. I wished with all my heart that I could remember where we’d met. Studying her face, I decided she did look vaguely familiar, but that was about it. “I’m very, very sorry, but I’m not sure where I know you from. It’s my darn short-term memory. Shot to hell.”
Alaynah laughed and released my hand. “It has been awhile. You used to go out with my sister Deborah.”
Oh my God. Debbie Moore. Daughter of Satan. No wonder I hadn’t remembered. It’d taken months of therapy to suppress the memory.
“So you’re little Ally Moore? I find that hard to believe. In fact, I don’t believe it. I think you’re lying.”
Alaynah laughed again. Her smile was dazzling.
“I see you got your braces off.”
“About eight years ago. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up now.”