An oversized mug of coffee being slid in front of me interrupted my musings. I picked it up and glanced at Louie as I blew steam away and took a sip. He smiled widely and nodded his head. “You look good, Murph.”
I took another drink and felt even more rejuvenated. “I feel good.”
Louie reached for a menu and dropped it in front of me. “Order somethin’.”
I took a drag and smiled at Louie. “What do I want?”
Louie raised his eyebrows and went back into the kitchen without saying a word. I had some more of the Armageddon and turned my attention back to the newspaper. I perused the front section of the newspaper and ran across quite a few articles related to the bombing, as well as the growing unrest between Mutants and Norms. One of the articles even compared it to the events leading up to the American Civil War. That seemed a little much to me, but it made good for copy.
By the time I finished the initial section of the paper, I decided I’d had enough of political rhetoric and turned to the sports section. I’d just completed my analysis of the box scores when Louie reemerged from the kitchen and laid a large, heaping platter and a set of silverware in front of me.
The platter was just big enough to hold a massive omelette, a pile of fried potatoes, and three slices of wheat toast. Louie ducked back into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a large glass of orange juice.
“You gotta drink this juice, Murph. You know, you’ve really got to keep up on yer vitamin C on account of all the smokin’ you do.”
I raised the glass and took a sip. Mmm. Fresh-squeezed and icy cold. “Pretty good-tasting medicine, Louie.”
I grabbed the fork and cut out a big slice of the omelette. Anywhere but the Brew & Stew, I’d do an autopsy on a mystery omelette before diving into it, but if I couldn’t trust Louie, who could I trust?
My trust was well-placed. It was a chili verde filling, with large chunks of chicken.
There was just enough bite from the chilies, but not so much that it obscured the sweeter tastes of onion and tomato. As I chewed leisurely, savouring the flavours, I reached for a thick slice of wheat toast and spread a generous layer of strawberry jam over the top of it. When I finished, I dug my fork into the fried potatoes. As I took a bite, I detected a hint of garlic. The potatoes were unbelievably good, sauteed in butter with chunks of onion and, if I wasn’t mistaken, tiny bits of real crumbled bacon.
As usual, Louie stuck around to watch me eat. Cooking was his calling in life, and seeing people enjoy his work was his greatest reward. He sipped his coffee expectantly.
“Good?”
My mouth was full. I nod vigorously, then washed it down with a long sip of
Armageddon.
“You are a true artist. The Picasso of potatoes. The O’Keeffe of omelettes.”
I took a hearty bite of toast as Louie refilled my mug and topped off his own. He set the pot down and then had another sip.
“Ya look like a new man. What’s the story? You in love or somethin’?”
I shook my head. “God, no.” I took another drink of orange juice. “I’m working on a case, and it’s starting to get interesting.”
I filled Louie in on most of what happened up to that point. Louie had been disgusted when I told him about the dog and the finger, and appropriately saddened at the likelihood of the Colonel’s death, but then he’d never met the Colonel. The big mutant had enjoyed my description of Melahn and had perked right up when I’d illustrated how I’d broken the Colonel’s code.
“So, you got some kinda secret meeting tonight. Now I see what’s got ya pepped up.”
I nodded, my mouth full of chili verde and spicy potatoes. Louie leaned onto the counter. “You still got that blue card with the numbers on it?”
I wiped my hands on a napkin and pulled the card out of my overcoat pocket. Louie took it from me and examined it closely as he drank his coffee. He stared at the code for a good five minutes as I finished most of of the omelette and all of the potatoes. When I’d pushed the plate away, he handed the card back to me. “You’d think we could figure that thing out.”
Louie sounded a little frustrated. It was bothering me too, since I’d begun to feel strongly that it had something to do with the case. I looked at the card again, thinking it might be easier to figure out now. It wasn’t. There was nothing resembling a date, and BXK didn’t seem to be the initials of a publication, though the A2 could refer to a newspaper section.
For now, it didn’t matter. I was full of good food, enjoying in after-meal smoke, and all was right with the world. I pocketed the index card and had another hit off the Armageddon. Louie topped off my mug. “Anything else I can get ya, Murph?”
I shook my head. “You’ve made me very happy, Louie. The only thing I’d want right now is enough money to pay off my tab.”
Louie waved a hand at me and walked off, coffee pot in hand, to check the well-being of the other customers. I switched my half-burned cigarette to the other hand and went back to the newspaper. I read through the comics, then started where I’d left off on the front end of the paper.
I skipped most of the articles until I found one about the Moon Child. I remembered the name from watching television in the hospital in Brownsville. Apparently, the Moon Child was more like a satellite station than a spacecraft. The author of the article said that details were kept secret, but estimated that it would have cost hundreds of millions, maybe billions to construct. The author speculated on where that kind of money came from. The official statement from the Crusade for Genetic Purity said that the Moon Child had been funded by private contributions. Maybe I was in the wrong line of work.
Organised religion had always been where the real money was.
I flipped through pages until I caught sight of a familiar face in a wire photograph. It was Lowell Percival, President of Lowell Percival Enterprises. With all the excitement, I’d forgotten about wanting to see him. Alaynah had said that Percival would be out of the office for a few days and hadn’t made an appointment for me. I’d have to call her later. I had hoped that he could shed a little light on things. At the very least, he might know what all the fuss was regarding the statuette.
Before I did anything, though, I still had one mug of Armageddon to go before reaching full-throttle. On cue, Louie swung by and refilled me. I read the article that featured a photo of Percival. It mentioned that he was now the richest man in the world, overtaking the Sultan of Brunei through shrewd business dealings and creating a monopoly in off-planet mining operations. The article mentioned his various philanthropic gestures and detailed his unrivalled collection of art, first-edition literature, and historical documents.
When I finished the Percival story, I went through the remainder of the newspaper, finding nothing particularly worth reading. I reached the back end and the personal ads.
Maybe there was another message to find. I glanced around and turn to see the Men Seeking Men section. Scanning quickly, I ran my finger down the columns of anonymous messages. There didn’t seem to be any entries like the one I’d found yesterday.
“Oh, my God.”
My head snapped up, and I whipped my head round to see Rook leaning over my shoulder. He walked off and sat down, two bar stools to my right, shaking his head. I closed the newspaper. “It’s not what you think.”