The Pandora Directive: A Tex Murphy Novel Read Online Free

already unsteady balance. As I stumbled toward the floor, my forehead hit the rim of the metal wastebasket. I spun away, the back of my head slamming onto the hardwood floor. As I waited for the room to stop spinning, I thought that at least now Chelsee might find it easy to believe that I’d been jumped.
    With some effort, I got my feet and made my way down to the street. I’d forgotten that it was midday. Chandler Avenue looked like a ghost town. This time of year, the radar meter was off the scale during daylight hours. Chelsee wouldn’t open the newsstand until around 7pm she was probably at her apartment, asleep. I looked up and down the street. Even the Brew & Stew was closed. Then my ears caught the faintest strain of bluesy piano coming from the alley that separated the Ritz and the Fuchsia Flamingo Club. The Flamingo had just opened in the old bijou building. The marquee up front trumpeted: “Tonight! Don’t miss Luscious Lucy Lust!” I walked to the end of the alley. A door was propped open. I stepped inside.
    As my eyes adjusted to the cool darkness, I made out a broad back hunched over a baby grand. The playing was sloppy, but sincere. This was my first time in the Flamingo, primarily because of the requisite membership fee. I looked around the dark interior. The design staggered back and forth between eclectic and tasteless. The overall feel was a blend of Mayan myth and Vegas vamp, all set to be lit up in pastel neon. But someone loved this place — there was almost as much heart and soul here as bamboo and Naugahyde.
    I approached the broad-backed Gent at the Larsen grand. He spoke over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake ya, Emily. I’ll knock it off if it’s bugging ya.” A sour-looking mutant with a large moustache, he swung his girth around and looked me up and down with a stunningly blank expansion. I was clearly not Emily. He stood up. He was huge. “We’re closed.” the tone implied something closer to “any last words?” Immediately, I broke into my special “Howdy! I’m Tex! I’d like to be your friend!” smile. “Yeah, I know. I came through that door every yonder. I heard ya playin’ that there piano. Sounds mighty fine!”
    I hoped my trustee “saddle pal” drawl would confuse him. It was a gamble, but he didn’t strike me as Mensa material. The mutant looked me over carefully and seemed to be doing a lot of sniffing. I remembered the scarf from my pocket and pulled it out. “This here is probably what you’re smelling. It’s not mine.”
    My saddle pal looked closely at the scarf. “Where’d you get that?” he looked at me sharply. “And quit using the phoney accent.”
    He was on to me. Maybe I was losing my touch. “Uh, sure… I, uh, I found it next door… over at the Ritz. That’s where I live. I was trying to find out whose it is.”
    The mutant took a menacing step toward me. “And that’s why you walked into a closed, private club.”
    My left eyelid twitched. “Well, no. I, uh, actually… I heard the piano. That’s why I came in. The door was open. I wasn’t looking for trouble. Really.”
    The mutant looked toward the door, then back at me. “Give me the scarf.”
    I hesitated. “Well… I don’t know if I should. I mean, it’s not yours… is it?”
    The scarf was ripped out of my hands. “I’ll make sure it gets to the right person.”
    There was no room for discussion. “All right, then. Well, thanks. I’ll sleep better knowing that everything’s been taken care of. I guess I’ll… run along them. Good to meet you. Real nice place you’ve got here.”
    The mutant followed me to the door and slammed it shut as soon as I was outside. I paused to light a Lucky. At least I’d learned a few things. Unless I missed my guess, the big goom had mistaken me for someone named Emily on account of the cheap perfume that still clung to me like cat hair on a sofa. He also recognised the scarf. Odds were that it belonged to the same woman. I had to