A sudden bellow from the other side of the café forced Louie to excuse himself. I glanced down at the menu, but remembering my earlier vision, I already knew what I wanted. I took another drink and noticed a face staring back at me from behind the bar.
For a moment I wondered who the old guy was. Then, with all the grace of tumbling down a flight of stairs, I realized it was me. I was not aging well. And it was probably too late for Oil of Olay to have any real effect. I peered over my shoulder at Chelsee. No wonder she always shot me down whenever I asked her out. I looked old enough to be her… older brother.
Louie returned, wiping his hands on the apron around his ample waist. “What’ll ya have?”
“How’s the chili tonight?”
Louie grinned maliciously. “This batch turned out real good. I’m serving it with a side of Rolaids. I can get ya a nice big bowl in two shakes of a lamb’s tail… if you’re up to it, that is.”
Them were feudin’ words. “Bring it on, Louie. Make it a double. And be sure to scoop it off the bottom. I don’t want any of the watered-down stuff on top.”
Chuckling, Louie waddled through the swinging doors into his laboratory of culinary wonders. He popped back out thirty seconds later, balancing a salad bowl full of chili, a piece of cornbread the size of Gideon’s Bible, and a teacup full of whipped honey butter.
Setting the food in front of me, he reached under the counter for a spoon, a knife, and a stack of napkins. Then, with a flourish, he reached into a pocket in his apron, pulled out a half roll of antacid tablets, and tossed them onto the counter.
As Louie watched attentively, I picked up the spoon and dipped it into the steaming hot chili. The concoction was loaded with chunks of tender beef, peppers, and tomatoes. I lifted the spoon and, after blowing on it for a few seconds, took a hearty bite. The chili was thick and tasty. As I savored the rich texture and blend of flavors, a tingling sensation began to swell at the back of my mouth, and then, without warning, it erupted into flame and blazed across my tongue like a storm-blown prairie fire. As I lurched forward and grabbed the glass of beer, Louie chortled and poured me another draft. “I told ya it was a good batch.”
After draining the first beer, I picked up the fresh one and drank half of it. I broke off a piece of cornbread and dabbed honey butter on it. Partial feeling returned to my mouth.
“Bravo, Louie. I think you’ve outdone yourself this time.”
Louie nodded happily and motioned for me to eat, eat. More cautiously now, I returned to the chili. It definitely pushed the limits of my spicy threshold, but I managed. It certainly was delicious. Louie poured himself a mug full of Armageddon and leaned against the counter. “So, where you been?”
I took another gulp of beer. “Mexico City. I thought I had a case, but all I ended up with was a goose egg and another four thousand miles on my odometer.”
Louie nodded sympathetically. “Sorry to hear that, Murph.” He paused to sip his coffee.
“You sure missed some excitement around here.”
I looked up, my mouth full of chili. Louie took another sip.
“It’s this damn crusade. Got everyone all worked up. I had a couple windows busted out and some graffiti. Rook got it worse. Had someone break into his pawnshop and mess the place up a bit.”
I didn’t bother to ask if anyone had called the police. The cops didn’t concern themselves much with what happened in the Old City, especially in the Mutant sections.
Louie took another sip of java and shrugged. “But it ain’t nothing’ we can’t handle. We set up a neighborhood watch, so I’m hopin’ it ain’t gonna be a recurrin’ problem.”
I blew lightly on a heaping spoonful of chili. “As long as those cops are parked outside, you shouldn’t have any trouble. Speaking of which, you have any idea what they’re doing here?”
The big Mutant shook his head. “Nope. They’ve been comin’ in a few times a day, but I can’t get a thing out of ’em.”
“Well, let me know if I can help out with your neighborhood watch.”
Louie set his mug down and turned to refill my beer. “I will, but I think we got it covered. At least they didn’t do nothin’ to Chelsee’s newsstand.” He turned around and set the full glass in front of me. “Which reminds me, when you gonna go out with that girl?”
I slathered butter on another piece of cornbread.
“I don’t know. Maybe when she quits knee-jerking me every time I bring up the subject.”
Louie grinned and picked up his mug. “Well, I ain’t no love doctor, but I’ll tell ya what I think. Chelsea’s a lot like one of them videodisc players. Once you get the skinny on how they work, they’re a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, well, I have a hard time operating an answering machine.”
On cue, the young lady in question suddenly appeared on the bar stool beside me.
“Hey, Tex. What’s going on?”
I dabbed my sweaty forehead with a napkin, wiped my hands, and reached for the pack of smokes. “Louie’s guiding me through the little known ninth circle of jalapeno hell.
Want some?”
I glanced up at Louie, who was smiling broadly. Chelsee peered into the bowl and shook her head. “No thanks. I’m not a big fan of legumes.”
Her perfume was pushing my buttons. Chelsee, oblivious as ever to my heartfelt longing, turned to Louie and asked sweetly for a vodka tonic. As Louie mixed her drink, she turned to me. “So, what’s the good word? Got any new cases?”
I packed my cigarette on the counter and dug the Zippo out of my pocket. “Not really.
Though I did come across something kind of odd this afternoon.”
I took out the blue card I’d found in the mail that morning. “What do you think about this?”
I handed the card to Chelsee. Louie finished mixing her drink and twisted around to take a look. After a moment he glanced up at me. “What is it?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. Came in the mail with no name or return address.”
Chelsee was looking at it intently. “Maybe it’s a license plate number. Or a VIN.”
Louie shook his head. “Too many… what d’ya call ‘em… characters… for a license plate. And there ain’t enough for a VIN.” He squinted at the card. “Lemme see … eight, nine, ten. There’s ten characters. If ya don’t count the plus sign and change them letters to numbers, could be a phone number… you know, with an area code. What would it be? 2… 9… 5… 2,2,6,1,1,8,4. Lemme grab a white pages.”
Louie hurried off to the kitchen. Chelsee set the card in front of me and leaned an elbow on the counter, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. I swiveled slightly and looked straight at her. She smiled and motioned with her eyes toward the index card. “Kind of like a riddle, huh? I like riddles.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I turned my head and picked up my glass of beer. When I looked back at Chelsee, she had a feigned expression of shock on her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Consider it a special riddle, from me to you.”
Louie backed through the kitchen doors with an open phone book in his hands.
“I don’t see a 295 area code listed here.” He ran his finger to the bottom of the page.
“No, nothin’.” He closed the book and set it under the bar, a hint of dejection on his broad face. “Maybe it’s some kind of international code.”
“Don’t worry about it, Louie. It was a nice idea, but I don’t think it’s anything as simple as a phone number. I’ll give my personal psychic a call and see if she can sense something useful.”
Chelsee smiled and stood up with her drink. “Well, I’ll leave you two handsome guys to your manly conversation. I’ve got to get back to my book.”