back.
I held fingers up. 'Two or three years? Which?'
Harker rubbed his chin. 'A little over two I think-yeah, just before I packed it in. Isn't that right, Chang?'
The big Oriental nodded, holding up two thick fingers.
'Do you know where I can find Grey?' I watched my dim reflection in Harker's glasses.
'No. He disappeared. I remember him coming in for the last time. He seemed really nervous, looked funny on him since he was such a big guy-tall as you but much heavier. One of those glass garglers, two-fisted palooka types, you know. Anyway, he came in that time looking scared, wanted to talk to me-I was on the crime beat back then. I sat down with him, even gave him a cup of my coffee. He suddenly lost interest in talking though because he drank it, and left.'
I could feel adrenaline pounding through my veins. 'What did he tell you?'
'Nothing.' Harker shook his head, then resumed his seat on the couch. He picked up his saxophone, his hands fingering the keys nervously. 'He drank the coffee, and left. I never saw him again.'
I stared at him. 'Nothing, he just disappeared.'
'Poof.' Harker made a disappearing cloud motion with his hands.
'And he never gave you a contact number, an address where he worked? You were a reporter, you must have kept a notebook.'
'You don't keep a notebook that long. Christ, you go through a hundred a year. Couldn't tell you a number. Sorry.' He paused, scratched his head. 'Gritburg comes to mind. But that's a guess.'
I gave him one of my cards. 'Thanks,' I said, and spun on my heel to leave-then stopped. I threw an eye over my shoulder. 'You said Grey sure as hell wasn't Authority anymore. I suppose that was based on the poor sap's wardrobe?'
'No, Grey was a good dresser, plain but good. I just knew he wasn't from Authority, because I only talked to one guy at Authority about the phantom baby.'
I felt sweat soak my back. 'Who?'
'Inspector Borden. Called him every time we got anything on it.'
My jaw died. Then I managed, 'I suppose they're still doing it, at the Gazette.' I continued to stare over my left shoulder. 'Calling.'
'Hey, it was one of those things. You do what Authority wants.' He couldn't hide the wounded pride in his voice.
'Thanks.' I left, and in seconds found myself in the street. My brain was aching with all the little cogwheels turning at once. My stomach was a block of ice as I drove back to the office.
Chapter 38
In the hallway, it was dark. Somewhere ahead of us came the mad pleasure-pain shriek and giggle of a woman. After it, a man laughed frenetically-donkey-like. That came from the accountants who rented offices down the hall from me. I didn't like them. They had too much dirt under their fingernails for accountants. I unlocked the office door pushed it open and heard a rustling sound. I pulled my gun free and shoved the door with it. The inner office was dark, but enough light slipped past the blinds to expose the corners in bars of gray. Nothing. I looked down. An envelope lay crumpled at my feet. I bent, picked it up. Elmo was a shadow behind me. We had stepped out for a late supper after I returned from Crisco's. I needed the fuel. All that detox and running around, and sleeplessness. Elmo came for company. He hadn't said a word. It was perfect. We had pulled up to the front of the building at about eleven-thirty.
'Come on, Fatty.' I crossed the carpet, opened the inner office door, flicked on the desk lamp and dropped into my chair. I flipped the envelope over, ran a thumbnail under the flap, and tore it open. Inside was a message hastily written in pencil on foolscap. It read:
'Mr. Wildclown. Please come. Arizona Hotel. Have something you want. Under Nancy Smith.'
Well, I wanted a lot of things. I wanted my own body, I wanted more money, and I wanted a drink-a lot of things. I wanted a cabin with a stream nearby, where I could take my nephew fishing. We could catch a big one, shellac it, and nail it to the wall. I wanted a nephew. I wanted to be under Nancy Smith. I especially wanted to find the person who had written the message. I also wanted to know how she knew me. A strong female hand had written Jan Van Reydner between the blue lines at the bottom of the page.
'What time is it, Fatso?' I asked, peeking through the blinds.
'Just past eleven-thirty.' His voice was matter-of-fact.
'Not too late to call on a lady.'
'Best time to,' Elmo said and brought his face to life with a grin.
'You better pack a heater,' I said, as I checked the action of my gun. 'I'm not sure what kind of reception we're going to get.'
Elmo smiled. He liked packing a heater. Dead people weren't supposed to.
Chapter 39
I looked up at the sign. The letters comprising 'Arizona' were painted to resemble something soft left too long in the sun. They melted and dribbled in yellow trickles over the word 'hotel.' A bright sun hung in the top right corner of the sign. Sweat was jumping from it in big fat drops.
One look at the Arizona Hotel and I was reminded of the Morocco-minus the Arab dome. In place of that, a rickety yellow and brown awning covered the walkway that led to the entrance. The fabric was torn in many places and the whole thing groaned so much in the breeze that I had to imagine the howl it would make in a windstorm. The building itself was run down, dirty, and the windows had been replaced by cardboard in places. We were in Downings again. No Queens this time. Elmo and I climbed the front steps, entered. We walked across threadbare carpet and up to an equally dilapidated front desk. A small East Indian man perched behind it. He didn't notice us for a second or two, long enough for me to see the title of the book he was reading. Radio Planet. It was a cheap paperback with a tiny man about to battle a gigantic ant on the cover. For some reason the little fellow was wearing panty hose. Maybe that was the best gear to fight giant ants in.
'Ahem!' I cleared my throat. The clerk jumped. 'Don't worry, I'm not a giant ant, you're safe.' Embarrassed, he threw the novel into a desk drawer and leapt to his feet looking flustered.
'Yes, how can I help you?' He made nervous birds with his hands. They fluttered up and down the front of his red blazer.
'This your first job, man?' I replied glibly.
Suddenly, his eyes registered what he was talking to-a big clown. They squeezed tight as Venus flytraps. 'What, who-'
'Where, when and why,' I said and smiled. 'But I'll ask the questions. I'm a detective. Wildclown. I was told to meet someone under Nancy Smith here.' I grinned. 'The name…Nancy Smith. I know it's late, but we're members of an insomniacs anonymous group. What's her room number?'
'Oh, er, certainly, just a moment.' He gave me the 'I've seen everything now' look, then almost ran back to a wall of wooden cubbyholes. His head swayed back and forth like a viper and then a hand lashed out. 'Number 602, Nancy Smith.' He looked back and smiled.
'Thank you, a job well done. Uh, would you mind if my friend here waited over on one of the couches.' I gestured to a cheap-looking reception area beside a fireplace that had fake logs burning with sixty watts of light. 'I'll just be a minute.'
'Certainly.' Then he cautioned. 'But those magazines are for all our guests…'
We left him. I whispered to Elmo. 'You keep an eye open for strange people, anybody we know…anything. I'm in 602 so ring it up at the first sign of trouble. I'll play this alone.'
'Sure, Boss,' he winked; patted Pigface's. 357 magnum nestled in his left armpit, and then sauntered over to
