According to the police, the Colonel disappeared about the same time I left town, and the newspaper clipping in the notebook shows that he probably knew about the statuette before I did.
Now, for the questions: How, if at all, was the statuette connected to the abduction of the Colonel? Were the people who set me up and jumped me the same people who kidnapped, and possibly killed, the Colonel? How did Eddie Ching fit into the picture?
Why did everyone want to get their hands on the statuette?
Maybe I could find some answers in the Colonel’s notebook. I opened it, half-expecting to see a comprehensive listing of women’s names, addresses, phone numbers, and vital statistics. Not that that would have been necessarily bad. The Colonel had always had good taste with regard to the fairer sex. But my suspicions were unfounded. As I flipped through, I saw everything from Freudian doodles to grocery lists, but nothing noteworthy.
Then, close to the end of the used pages, I ran across something that reminded me of the mysterious index card I’d received in the Mail. The Colonel had jotted down a series of letters and numbers: BCM1206428X8. But this was the Colonel’s personal notepad.
Why would he use a coded message to himself? It had to mean something.
The code was too long for a licence plate or vid-phone number. I looked it over for several minutes, then noticed something interesting. If I inserted two spaces and two slashes, I got BCM 12/06/42 8X8. I checked the date on my watch. December 8. And the last time I checked, it was 2042. The centre part of the code was 12/06/42. It had to be a date… the day before yesterday.
I poured the contents of my sidecar into the larger class. BCM, BCM. The letters seemed somehow familiar. I lifted a glass of bourbon. Three booths away, I saw a tiny, elderly grandmother-type reading a newspaper. The Bay City Mirror. BCM.
I looked down at the notebook. Bay City Mirror, 6th December, 2042. It had to be the answer. But what was the 8X8? Maybe it referred to an article on page eight, in the eighth column. I thought it over four minutes, then decided not to worry about it for the time being. The bottom line was, there might be a message of some kind contained in the newspaper from two days ago.
Now, where to get one? The public library kept them. I started to gather up my things, then stopped. Maybe there was one here at the Lounge. It was worth a try. I sidled up to where Denny the Bartender was standing behind the bar, applying a lemon wedge to the rim of a glass containing some sort of sissified cocktail.
Denny glanced up at me blandly. “Help ya?”
“Another Old Grand-Dad please. Straight up.”
Denny nodded and had a tumbler in front of me momentarily. He didn’t seem overly friendly, so I handed him a ten. “Keep the change.”
Denny raised an eyebrow and gave me a reassessing look. Apparently I didn’t look like a tipper. “Thanks.” He opened a register and deposited the ten, pulled out a five, and dropped it into a big glass jar, then turned back to me.
“Want some peanuts? Or I think I got some goldfish crackers around here somewhere, if you like those.”
“No, thanks. Actually, I was wondering if you might possibly have for the Bay City Mirror from a couple of days ago.”
Denny furrowed his substantial brow. “Lemme think. I might have one laying around somewhere. I got today’s. Louise is reading it.”
He motioned toward the dowager three booths away from mine.
“No. I need the want from the day before yesterday. The 6th.”
The Bartender pursed his lips importantly. “I’ll see what I can do. Go ahead and have a seat.”
I thanked him and return to my booth. Denny disappeared into some nook behind the bar. Impatiently, I glanced around and, for the first time, looked closely at the surroundings. The Lounge had probably been something special in its heyday. The silver-sheened wallpaper was-top-of-the line a hundred years ago. Now it was patched and dull, like most of the clientele, at least those I could make out in the dim, smoky light. There was a pretty good crowd for the time of day. At least a dozen people were drinking alone in books or at tables. Three college kids were shooting pool on a single table crammed into one corner. A handful of haggard regulars were clustered at one end of the bar, engaging in barfly banter.
Half a smoke later, Denny stopped by and handed me a newspaper. I thanked him and spread it out across the tabletop. I started by turning to page A8. There were only six columns. In fact, none of the pages had more than six columns. I’d never noticed. I checked the 8th paragraph, the 8th sentence, the 8th line, and the 8th story. Nothing.
I moved on to B8, then repeated the process for the C, D and E sections. All came up empty. I turn back to the front page and started a methodical search. There was no way to know what I was looking for, so I made sure to inspect every word closely. By the time I hit the local-news section, however, it struck me that I wasn’t conducting a very logical search. If I wanted to leave a message in a newspaper, where would I place it? I flipped to the back and found the classifieds.
This portion of the newspaper, unlike the others, was divided into 10 columns. I turned excitedly to the 8th page and read the entire 8th column, but nothing stood out. I tried other combinations of 8 and 8. Three cigarettes later, I had squat. I was tempted to abandon hope, but I still had a strong hunch I was on the right path. Since I didn’t have to be anywhere anytime soon, I decided to cover the entire classifieds section.
Other than an embarrassing fascination with the Women Seeking Women personals, I’d never had much interest in this part of the paper. For me, it was the sports section, the comics page, my horoscope, and maybe the crossword puzzle. The personal ads were a seedy, pathetically lonely place I’d never wanted to visit.
Undaunted, I pulled a pen out of the breast pocket of my coat and began scanning. As I read through Men Seeking Women, I marvelled that guys who obviously had difficulty meeting women in person would be capable of such macho posturing. As I perused Women Seeking Men, I wondered at the level of desperation that drove these ladies to pay good money to advertise for Mr Right. As I scanned the Women Seeking Women, vague visions of naughtiness danced in my head.
I stopped cold at Men Seeking Men. I guessed I’d been wrong about the code in the Colonel’s notebook. There didn’t seem to be anything relevant in the newspaper. He certainly wouldn’t have been corresponding in the Men Seeking Men section. Not the Colonel. Not that I had a problem with it. I’d always been an open minded, live-and-let-live kind of guy. It was just that… well, it was like country music. Some people really liked it, and that was fine. It just wasn’t my bag, so to speak.
I picked up my lighter and clicked it open and shut several times. I knew I should check it out anyway. At least I was in an anonymous setting where no one I knew would catch me hunched over, intently studying the Men Seeking Men section. I glanced around, just to be sure, and then started going through the entries.
I was prepared for some weirdness, but the fourth ad was especially odd: “I gave the extra one to David. He seems elated. Counting exact as per policy norm.” It certainly wasn’t much of a personal ad. I had a feeling it was what I’d been looking for.
I checked the Colonel’s notebook. What was the damn 8X8 reference? Maybe it had something to do with counting exact as per policy norm. I tapped a pencil against my cheek. I was missing something. Maybe the word norm was important. 8X8. Eight times eight. Multiplication had always been one of my strong suits-using single-digit numbers, at any rate. That would be sixty-four. I counted the letters in the message. There were sixty-four.