Rook gave me the eye. “Really?”
“Yeah. And even if it were, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
Rook leaned forward and peered at me over his glasses. “Murphy, I couldn’t care less about whatever lifestyle you choose to practice. But stooping to the use of personal advertising, why it’s despicable.”
If I’d really cared what Rook thought, maybe I would’ve taken the time to explain the situation, but I didn’t feel like letting the dried-up little bastard ruin my sunny mood. I folded the newspaper under my arm and stood up. Rook looked up at me. “Found a hot one, did we? Better run back to the office and make a call. True love is so hard to find these days.”
Louie stepped back behind the bar. “You hassling Murph again, Rook?”
Rook gestured toward me. “Lord, No. I’m sharing in his good fortune. It seems he’s just a phone call away from meeting Mr Right.”
Louie gave me a confused look. I just shook my head. “It’s a long story, Louie. I’ll tell you about it later. Thanks for breakfast.”
I walked to the door and stepped outside. With the nicer weather, the neighbourhood was busier than it had been for days. I walked back to my office, waved to Chelsee, and climbed the fire escape. At the top, I sat down and unfolded the newspaper, then turned to the personals and went through them.
There were a number of hideously intriguing entries, but none related to the matter at hand. I turned to the entertainment section and lit a cigarette. It was nice to be outside in the warm weather. I read several articles then came across the movie listing. The Bijou was showing a double feature of The Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon. It didn’t get any better than that, and I had most of a day to kill before my appointment at the Land Mine.
I checked my watch; I could see the twin bill and still have time to swing by LPE before five. If Percival wasn’t there, I’d make an appointment with Alaynah. I walked to my speeder and waved at Chelsee as I climbed inside. Then I lifted off and headed downtown.
There weren’t many theatres still in business, and most of them were porno dives. The decline in popularity was due to a lot of factors. Going out at night had gotten to be a dangerous proposition, and pay-per-view allowed people to order new releases and watch them without having to leave the safety of their homes. Interactive movies were more popular with younger viewers than plain old motion pictures. And Hollywood had been taken over by businessmen who wouldn’t know a good script from a takeout menu. Theatres had been forced to raise their ticket prices to compensate for smaller audiences, and that just worsened the situation.
As far as I was concerned, technology couldn’t touch the old-fashioned movie-going experience. I spent most of the afternoon sprawled in a rickety theatre seat, wondering why no one made great movies any more. True film noir had disappeared about the same time as the American Dream, and the world was an emptier place without it. Oh sure, film-makers had tried to recapture the look, but there was always something missing.
Bogart, maybe. He was the man.
As I sat in the dark, nearly empty movie house, watching the two best detective flicks ever made, I felt a sense of destiny that had been missing from my life for a long time. I remembered why I’d gone into the PI business. Most everyone I’d grown up and gone to school with had gone into some computer-related field. I’d heard somewhere that 70 per cent of the US workforce was now in the PC or online business. What had started out as an intriguing convenience had become Big Brother. Now everyone’s existence was reduced to zeros and ones, documented and stored on the internet. I watched Bogart light a cigarette and longed for simpler times.
Like movie theatres, old-fashioned gumshoes were a vanishing breed. The computer boom had created a new type of P I: the Web detective. They did a lot of the same things I did, only they did it from a comfortable chair in front of a monitor. But they couldn’t do everything. Knowing how to operate a PC didn’t help when it came to squeezing information out of a reluctant witness. And sometimes the only way to track down a lead was by pounding the pavement or doing an all-night stakeout. It made me happy to think that not everything had changed from 100 years ago.
It was 25 minutes to five when I stepped out of the theatre and waited for my eyes to adjust. I was feeling mentally and spiritually fortified. Louie’s hearty breakfast was still tiding me over nicely, so I’d been able to skip the popcorn. Of course, I was now down to a single $10 bill in my wallet, so I couldn’t have bought popcorn anyway.
I made the quick flight to the Lowell Perceval Enterprises building and managed to catch Alaynah just to she was about to clock out. Our conversation was pleasant, but the lusty magic, at least on my part, had vanished. Alaynah asked if I wanted to get a drink, but I refused stating, honesty that I had a previous engagement. She attempted to play a one-sided game of coquette, but gave up after seeing that I wasn’t interested. With a hint of regret, she said that Percival would be in the office the next day and penciled me in for a 3 o’clock appointment.
As I stepped into my office, the vid-phone beeped. I walked to the desk and answered the call. Mac Malden’s sleepy bulldog face materialized on-screen. He was sipping from a coffee cup, a clear violation of vid-phone courtesy.
“What’s going on, Mac? Got some news?”
He fixed his lethargic gaze on me. “Why else would I call you?”
“So, what did your boys find?”
The cop shook his head. “Nothing. No prints, not one identifiable item. Whoever was there was good at covering their tracks.”
Even with Malden’s gang of monkeys, I hadn’t expected them to find nothing. “Doesn’t that seem a little strange? I mean, not a single fingerprint?”
Mac took a drag of a Merit and shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a little unusual. But there it is.”
Mac set his smoke down and started working his temple with both hands. He looked as though he could use a pick-me-up.
“Looks like you could use a Diet Donut.”
Mac looked up wearily. “That’s not gonna help. Interpol’s sniffing around, and they’re coming in to talk to me in a few minutes. Bunch of bastards.”
Wow. Interpol. This was big news.
“So, Interpol’s looking into the Colonel’s murder?”
Mac gave me a look that was as nervous as it was exhausted. “A couple of their agents have been asking questions, go through the police report. They have been raking us over the coals.” Mac picked up his cigarette and took a drag. “Let me know if you find out anything about that duchess. I’ve got to get ready for this meeting.”
The screen went blank.
So, Interpol was getting involved. That was big news. I’d never had anything to do with the International Criminal Police Organization. Interpol had come into existence more than 100 years before, in the 1920s, and had steadily grown in power. In the beginning, it was a records clearing house, so that the police of one country could communicate information with another. Then, in the nineties, it rode the wave of the World Wide Web and became the international enforcer of Internet law. Now that almost everything was run through online networks, Interpol statutes were considered the final word in almost every modernized country. Interpol also had priority in dealing with old-fashioned criminals who crossed borders. Occasionally, they’d allow local authorities to handle matters, but only if it suited them. Interpol had gotten so powerful, all we could do at this point was hope they were capable of policing themselves.
The fact that they were looking into the Colonel’s murder was more disturbing than reassuring. It meant that the case was even bigger than I thought. If I felt under-informed. Hopefully, I’d be able to get some details in a few hours.