The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4) by W. H. Mitchell

Author:W. H. Mitchell [Mitchell, W. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Space Opera, noir, Detective, Science Fiction, scifi
Publisher: Willbot Books
Published: 2021-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The information from Shady O'Shea led Thomas Martel to an old mansion in the Middleton district. A wall surrounded the property, but the detective could see the three-story home through the wrought-iron gate. Paint was peeling off the walls, but fresh scaffolding suggested somebody was renovating the place.

Martel rang the bell beside the gate.

"What do you want?" a gruff voice asked over the speaker.

"I'm Detective Thomas Martel. I'm here to ask Jollux a few questions."

"Bugger off!" the voice replied.

Martel turned to leave when a different voice spoke. "Alright, come on in."

A buzzer sounded and Martel heard the lock unlatch. Pushing on the cold iron, Martel walked through the now open gate. The path to the front door wound through tangled weeds and patches of dead grass. Even before Martel had set foot on the front step, the door opened and a man, dressed as a butler, stood in the entranceway. Martel noted that the man's clothes were tight around the arms and shoulders, concealing the muscles of a thug underneath.

Checking Martel for weapons, he removed Maxwell from its holster and put it aside on a table cluttered with several other guns of various types.

"This way," the servant said, his face bearing scars from what Martel assumed was a knife fight.

The inside of the house reflected the same dingy appearance as the exterior, although there was evidence of new wallpaper in places to cover the black mold growing on the walls. The servant took Martel through to a hothouse in the back, a glass enclosure where the temperature was stifling and the air hung with oppressive humidity. Martel removed his coat but felt a trickle of sweat already running down his back.

The hothouse was filled with orchids and exotic plants, their green leaves brushing against Martel's face as he walked past. In the center, on a wide bench of teak, a creature sat on spindly legs, tucked beneath a wide belly like a fat Buddha. A waddle dangled from a weak chin, hiding a near non-existent neck. The being's big yellow eyes surveyed Martel as he approached, and he stretched long, slender fingers in a beckoning gesture toward the detective.

"Thomas Martel, the private eye," Jollux said. "I've heard of you."

"I'm flattered," Martel replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Quite a place you have here."

"This? Oh, I inherited it from somebody who owed me money. It's a bit run down, but given time I expect it to regain some of its former glory."

"Do you always keep it so hot in here?" Martel asked.

"My apologies," Jollux replied. "It reminds me of my home planet, a jungle world, you know."

"Got it."

"Now," Jollux said, "what brings a PI to my doorstep?"

"I'm investigating a racing sled crash," Martel said. "Somebody tampered with the sled and I think it was to win a bet on the race."

"Oh, dear," Jollux replied, his eyes rolling in his head. "Who would go to such extremes?"

"I was hoping you could help me find out."

"Well, whose sled was it?"

"Lord Devlin Maycare's."

A chuckle came from deep inside the loan shark's stomach.

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