Noir_A Novel by Christopher Moore

Author:Christopher Moore [Moore, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-04-16T21:00:00+00:00

14

Jukin’ to Jimmy’s

I did the climb, 387 steps up and half that down the other side, back to Stilton’s place, just to check, maybe she came in. Nothing was moved except the note I’d left her. The note I signed. With my own name. What a dope. Someone had been there, but there was no sign it was the Cheese. No clothes thrown around; the shower pan and sink were dry.

I ran all over the triangle around City Hall from Van Ness Avenue to Market Street to Golden Gate Avenue that we call the theater district. Actually, no one calls it that, and if someone does it’s because they are from out of town, because it is the Tenderloin, but it also happens to contain most of the grand theaters in the city, and I peeked my head into every one, looking for a tux-and-top-hat revue, even asked around about a period play that might involve an actor dressed just so, but no dice. No one had seen such a thing since Gene Kelly was last in town, kicking high and tapping toes and whatnot. The Chronicle revealed no such revue going on in the various clubs, either, so I was left without direction for finding the Cheese.

I headed to Cookie’s in search of some tea and sympathy, or maybe a grilled cheese and scuttlebutt. Milo was manning his station, pouring shots and wishing happy New Year to one and all. I joined him at the side of his cab.

“Happy New Year,” said Milo. “That is a very sharp suit, Sammy. Very sharp indeed, but it does not disguise the sadness that leaks out of you at the various corners.”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Milo replied. “May I buy you a cup of New Year’s cheer to help bolster your spirits?”

“That would be nice, Milo. Thanks.”

Milo caught the eye of the new waitress, Doris, who was no longer new, and signaled to her with an upraised digit, to which she inquired by pointing to me, to which Milo nodded, and lickety-split Doris delivered a coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar to me at the curb. Which was new.

“That’s new.”

Milo said, “Yeah, she is a swell broad, Doris. We have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement as in dividing the pie, or an arrangement as in hiding the banana?”

“Alas,” said Milo, “Doris has a few more years on her than I usually prefer in a broad and reminds me a little of my mother, and besides, she is stubbornly married to a longshoreman who I hear is easily sored up.”

“Alas,” I sighed. “But her java is top-shelf and just a snort short of perfect.” And she does not bust my chops for not taking it black, which makes Doris a stand-up broad.

Milo perfected my cup with a short pour from the pint under his jacket.

“So?” Milo inquired.

“So,” I said, and here I considered my position before launching into the whole megillah. Milo knew about Pookie, of course, because we had commandeered his cab for

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