The Pandora Directive

Chapter Nine

I flew my speeder in low over Chandler Avenue, hoping, or rather not hoping, to see something that would confirm what Mac had told me. There were three people loitering near the Ritz — a clearly marked “no loitering” area. Even though the rule was never enforced, the Ritz just wasn’t the kind of place people hung around. I had to assume that the loiterers were the Fed’s Malden had warned about.

I nosed up and headed aimlessly toward the new city. I needed time to think. My first priority was to find the box Horton had ditched last night. Secondly, I have to get back into my office and recover the wrapping paper I’d dug out of the dumpster. Last, and least, I was eventually going to need a place to sleep and maybe take a shower, though I had a first rate deodorant and tried to sweat as little as possible.

I spent the afternoon in a booth at the twenty-four-hour pool hall. A barmaid with six new stitches to her forehead had been very attentive and only charged me for half my drinks. She said her name was Candy, the nickname her boyfriend had given her for good reason. I couldn’t help but speculate that she was looking for a man to tide her over until her true love got paroled. It didn’t look like she was going to let me go until I finally told her that my boyfriend called me Dumpling.

Outside, it was just getting dark. I felt a little more comfortable looking for the box under the cover of night. Home field advantage was my only edge on the G-men, and I intended to use it. On second thought, there was one more thing in my favour. The men waiting for me at the Ritz had no reason to think that I knew about them. Mac hadn’t just saved my skin, he also give me a head start.

I landed my speeder in the parking lot to the left of the Brew & Stew, in a dead end of the Chandler cul-de-sac. A few people were up and about, starting the business day. I waited in a speeder until it appeared that no one seemed move. Removing a flashlight from the glove compartment, I slipped out and hurried to the alley that ran behind the Brew & Stew.

The alley was empty. At least a hundred metres separated me from the back of the Ritz. I was standing where Horton had been last night when I doubled back to the newsstand. The box had to be somewhere close. I paused and tried to put myself into Horton’s shoes. The best thing would be to retrace his steps. I walked toward the Ritz, just until I passed the back of the Electronics Shop. Turning around, I began to examine everything in the alley.

Okay. I’m Horton. I’m being chased, and it looks like I might get caught. I’ve got to dump the box. Someplace where it won’t be found accidentally, but where I can come back and find it easily. To my right, there was a concrete wall, eight or nine feet high. Horton could have lobbed the box over the wall, but I doubted it, for two reasons: one, it would be difficult to pinpoint exactly where the box had gone over, and two, the box might be damaged. No, Horton would have found a clever hiding place somewhere in the alley.

I looked around. Several garbage cans and a dumpster stood in and around the alley. I doubted that Horton would have put the box in any of them. Why would he take a chance on them getting emptied before he could return? Of course, maybe he was panicked and not thinking clearly, so I gave them a quick once over. No box.

Apparently, logic wasn’t going to save me any time. I started a methodical search, picking up scraps of garbage and scanning underneath with my flashlight. For almost an hour, I made my way slowly down the alley, searching every inch. Nothing. I was almost at the end when I moved an empty cardboard box and saw the manhole cover. The metal lid was heavy, but I managed to pry it up and slide it to the side. A ladder descending into the darkness. I stepped down.

Holding my flashlight, I scanned around. To my left, two large pipes intersected. The beam from my flashlight reflected off the box, sitting on the cross section of the pipes! I grabbed it and climbed to the surface. I suddenly felt like getting the hell out of there. Cradling the box, I ran to my speeder, jumped in, and lifted off.

Now I had my leverage. I felt like I’d taken a hostage.

I put the speeder on autopilot and flicked on the interior light. The box was made of metal — lightweight and very strong. It was small, about eight inches by four inches by six inches. One side appeared to be the lid, judging by the almost imperceptible cracks around the edges. Someone had apparently tried to pry the lid open, leaving several barely visible scratches. I turned it over, looking for a keyhole or a disguised latch. Emily had been right — there didn’t seem to be any way to open it. Looking closely, I could see three very thin lines running horizontally across the front of the box. I experimented, tried to get a section of the box to move, but with no luck. Admitting defeat, I set the box on the passenger seat and took the speeder off auto.

Now what? The box was my only bargaining chip, and I wasn’t about to be caught carrying it around. I could put it in a safe-deposit box, but then I’d have to carry around a key that could be traced. Besides, a mere safe deposit box wouldn’t slow down the Feds. I could hide the box somewhere, but then if I were caught, I wouldn’t have access to it. After some thought, I decided that I needed to put it in the care of someone I could trust. Then I could leave instructions for my ally that would help keep me alive if I were nabbed.

At times like this, I regretted myself imposed title of Social Leper. I went through the short list of people I counted as friends and realised for the first time how short it was. Louie was a good guy and a true friend, but I’d already asked him for a few hundred too many favours. This one would be too much. Rook was probably my friend, but it was hard to tell. Mac Malden fell into the same category as Rook, plus he’d already done me a huge service.

It came down to Chelsee. I knew I could trust her, but would she be willing to help me? It seemed like half the time I talked to her, I was asking for big favours. It didn’t matter. I had to see if she was willing. If she wasn’t, I’d make other plans, though I had no idea what those plans would be. “Want coffee?” Chelsee asked.

“What kind you got?”

“Let me think… I got Parisian Potpourri, Hawaiian Macadamia… I might have a little of the Hungarian Mint.”

God, those weren’t coffee — they were horribly mutated forms of hot cocoa. They should have names like Chernobyl Chocolate and Three Mile Island Delight. “You don’t have any plain old black stuff?”

“Sorry. I do have some plain old Earl Grey.”

Tea? Who did she think I was? “Uh… no tea, thanks. Any kind of coffee will be just fine. You decide.”

Chelsee walked away, into the kitchen. She called out through the open door. “I’m glad you came by. Sorry I missed your call. I was… out. It’s been a busy couple of days.”

“Tell me about it.” I was willing to bet that my last couple of days had been a little more eventful than hers, though I’d probably done less shopping and watched fewer controversial talk shows. I wondered how much I should tell her about what happened after she left me at the Flamingo. Some explanations could be required for Chelsee to do me the big favour I needed.

“Do you like ginger?”

“Sure. But I always preferred Mary Ann.”

Chelsee stuck her head into the doorway. “Not the girl, the spice… you dope.”

“Oh… I’m not sure. I don’t eat a lot of Chinese food.”

She walked out with two steaming cups. “Have a sip of this. And try to keep an open mind. It’s really good.”

I took the mug and held it under my nose. It smelled like the parlour in an old lady’s house. I took a drink; it was terrible. “Mmmm… This is good.” I’d just swallowed more sugar than my body usually had in a month. I was certain that another sip would induce a seizure. I set the cup on the end table.

“So what’s in the box?” the metal box had been resting in my lap for the past few minutes. Chelsee had eyed it curiously when she invited me in. I was impressed that she had kept from asking about it until now.

“A piece of a jigsaw puzzle.”

“Must be a big puzzle.”

I lifted the box and looked it over. “It’s tied to the case I’m working on.”

Chelsee lifted her cup toward her mouth and spoke through the sugary mist. “The same case that got you the bump on the head?”

“Yeah.”

Chelsee took a luxurious sip of instant ambrosia. “So why did you bring it here? I have a feeling you’re about to ask me to do something for you.”

Damn women’s intuition. They were always one step ahead of me. I set the box down and nervously adjusted my tie. “Well, now that you mention it…”

I told Chelsee I’d been tailing a guy who’d stolen the box. I said he panicked and dropped it, but that he’d be back looking for it. Soon.

“So what’s the big deal? He stole it. Tell him he can’t have it.”

“It’s not that simple. This guy was, er… has, a lot of big friends. They’ll do nasty things to me if I don’t give it back to them.”

“So you want to leave it here?”

Suddenly I realised I was asking too much. I was getting Chelsee involved in something so big that even I was a little nervous. “No… forget it. I shouldn’t have even considered it. I’ll… find some place else to hide it.”

Chelsee looked at me the way my mum used to. No other woman had ever looked at me like that. It made me feel warm and stupid all the same time. “Tex, I’ll be happy to help. I know you wouldn’t come to me in a jam unless you had to. You’re a stubborn, egotistical bastard, but you also hate to lean on anyone.” She moved to the arm of the overstuffed chair I was seated in and lifted the box from my lap. “I’ll keep this safe until you come back for it, OK?”

She said it on the end table. “And I don’t need to know anything else about it.”

I was relieved, but it felt like I should tell her more, let her know what she was getting herself into. “Listen, Chelsee. These guys are resourceful. I know they didn’t follow me here, but it’s possible they could track you down. I’ve got a lot to do, and I don’t feel really good about leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Some women would have taken offence at my concern. Chelsee didn’t; she seemed flattered. She leaned down and held my stubbled face in her smooth, cool hands. “Tex, I can take care of myself. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy having you take care of me.” Her lips pressed against mine, soft and moist. I kissed her back.

I left Chelsee’s apartment, still uncomfortable about leaving the box with her. She had assured me that she would put it in a safe place, and make sure no one ever saw it or knew about it. I had to trust her, but I didn’t have to feel good about it.

The first part of my plan was finished. I’d made my bet and was ready to show my hand. I guided my speeder onto Chandler Avenue and landed at the kerb in front of the Ritz. Two of the Feds’ thugs were on the corner, huddled together over a single flame, lighting both of their cigarettes. I stepped out the speeder and walked straight toward them. “Evening, gentlemen.”

They looked up from their smokes and stared at me like I was a fanatic passing out religious pamphlets.

“It’s me! Murphy! The guy you been waiting for!”

The two goons seemed stunned for a moment, then moved simultaneously, each one grabbing an arm.

“Oh… you caught me. All right, I give up.” I was half carried, half dragged to a speeder on the far side of the street.

The two thugs shoved me into the back seat, and one of them followed me in. The other jumped into the driver’s seat and fired it up. I turned to the stone-faced Fed on my left and gave him off he a big smile. “So… where we goin’?!”