Because with his personality and mannerisms came his memories. Not all of them and not memories exactly. But impressions, ideas, notions that were vague and smoky.
Maybe Thornton had known a person called Eva McLuckie.
I looked up and picked a point where the wall met the ceiling. There were no electronic eyes in the computer room but I knew Ada could see me.
“New target,” I said.
Ada said nothing.
I looked down at the paper in my hand. My eyes were drawn back to the name no matter where else I pointed them. While I fought with my optics another printer began churning. There was a long slot in the computer bank above the ticker tape machine. Photographic printer. We didn’t always get pictures, but they were useful when we did. I didn’t know how Ada got our clients. Contacts made while we were a detective agency probably. You meet all kinds in that line of work.
But that wasn’t my department. My department was walking out the door and doing the job. Today, seemed like I had a little help.
The chundering stopped and a photograph flopped out of the printer and into the catch tray like a disappointed man falling into an empty bed. The picture was face down. I reached for it.
“I don’t like this,” said Ada when my hand was halfway home.
“What’s wrong?”
Ada was silent. Maybe she was thinking things over. I read the info sheet again then I looked up. “Ada?”
Then I thought again about the color magenta, and when I thought about gold this time it wasn’t the color but the metal.
It was something from yesterday.
Ada seemed to sigh, or maybe I just thought she did. Somewhere in the afterimage of a memory a older woman pulled her legs up off the desk in the front office and tucked her skirt down a little as she turned to look out the big window as stormy weather approached.
I didn’t like that imagery much so I forgot about it and reached for the photo and picked it up and turned it over and held it up so I could get a good look.
“Wait a minute, Ray,” said Ada. “Cool it a little.”
I looked at the photograph and I had a sinking feeling somewhere between my voltage converter and neutron flow reversal coil.
“You know who this is, don’t you, Ada?”
“You too, chief,” she said.
“So you going to lay it out for me or not?”
“Quiet, Raymondo. I’m thinking.”
“Okay,” I said. I curled the photo and slipped it into my jacket. Then I grabbed one of the new hats from the closet. I was ready to roll. All I needed was the word from Ada.
I stood there with my hat in my hand for quite a while. To make a change I put the hat on and stood there some more. I looked around the room for nothing in particular. My hat suddenly felt like it didn’t fit so I took it off and checked the label inside. I assumed this number was the same size as the old one so I put it back on. It didn’t feel any better.
Ada’s tapes chattered and lights flashed. She wasn’t talking. I didn’t like it.
Something was wrong.
I stood there a while longer and then when I was done standing I reached into my pocket and took out the photograph of the target.
She was a girl. Young, maybe twenty, maybe not quite. She had black hair cut in a bob that was big at the back and small at the front and her bangs were so straight you could use them to survey a building. She had a small face made smaller by the thick dark rings of eyeliner. She looked like an Egyptian princess.
This was Eva McLuckie. I wondered who she was. I wondered what she had done to get herself on someone’s hit-list.
As I stood on the spot I had a feeling I had known the answers to both of those questions yesterday.
I had just forgotten what those answers were.
And then Ada spoke.
“Ray, we need to talk.”
I was all ears.
14
The Ritz-Beverly Hotel was a very particular kind of pile and one that was farther away than I thought. Farther still as I took the scenic route, weaving up and down and back and
Maybe Thornton had known a person called Eva McLuckie.
I looked up and picked a point where the wall met the ceiling. There were no electronic eyes in the computer room but I knew Ada could see me.
“New target,” I said.
Ada said nothing.
I looked down at the paper in my hand. My eyes were drawn back to the name no matter where else I pointed them. While I fought with my optics another printer began churning. There was a long slot in the computer bank above the ticker tape machine. Photographic printer. We didn’t always get pictures, but they were useful when we did. I didn’t know how Ada got our clients. Contacts made while we were a detective agency probably. You meet all kinds in that line of work.
But that wasn’t my department. My department was walking out the door and doing the job. Today, seemed like I had a little help.
The chundering stopped and a photograph flopped out of the printer and into the catch tray like a disappointed man falling into an empty bed. The picture was face down. I reached for it.
“I don’t like this,” said Ada when my hand was halfway home.
“What’s wrong?”
Ada was silent. Maybe she was thinking things over. I read the info sheet again then I looked up. “Ada?”
Then I thought again about the color magenta, and when I thought about gold this time it wasn’t the color but the metal.
It was something from yesterday.
Ada seemed to sigh, or maybe I just thought she did. Somewhere in the afterimage of a memory a older woman pulled her legs up off the desk in the front office and tucked her skirt down a little as she turned to look out the big window as stormy weather approached.
I didn’t like that imagery much so I forgot about it and reached for the photo and picked it up and turned it over and held it up so I could get a good look.
“Wait a minute, Ray,” said Ada. “Cool it a little.”
I looked at the photograph and I had a sinking feeling somewhere between my voltage converter and neutron flow reversal coil.
“You know who this is, don’t you, Ada?”
“You too, chief,” she said.
“So you going to lay it out for me or not?”
“Quiet, Raymondo. I’m thinking.”
“Okay,” I said. I curled the photo and slipped it into my jacket. Then I grabbed one of the new hats from the closet. I was ready to roll. All I needed was the word from Ada.
I stood there with my hat in my hand for quite a while. To make a change I put the hat on and stood there some more. I looked around the room for nothing in particular. My hat suddenly felt like it didn’t fit so I took it off and checked the label inside. I assumed this number was the same size as the old one so I put it back on. It didn’t feel any better.
Ada’s tapes chattered and lights flashed. She wasn’t talking. I didn’t like it.
Something was wrong.
I stood there a while longer and then when I was done standing I reached into my pocket and took out the photograph of the target.
She was a girl. Young, maybe twenty, maybe not quite. She had black hair cut in a bob that was big at the back and small at the front and her bangs were so straight you could use them to survey a building. She had a small face made smaller by the thick dark rings of eyeliner. She looked like an Egyptian princess.
This was Eva McLuckie. I wondered who she was. I wondered what she had done to get herself on someone’s hit-list.
As I stood on the spot I had a feeling I had known the answers to both of those questions yesterday.
I had just forgotten what those answers were.
And then Ada spoke.
“Ray, we need to talk.”
I was all ears.
14
The Ritz-Beverly Hotel was a very particular kind of pile and one that was farther away than I thought. Farther still as I took the scenic route, weaving up and down and back and
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