Phantom Point
by Gary Inbinder
July 1907: Chicago is sweltering, and hard-boiled detective Max Niemand has a hot, new case. A wealthy socialite hires Max to rescue her wayward artist brother from the clutches of a femme fatale and her dubious California artists’ colony. The job is lucrative, with the promise of a large bonus for good results.
Arriving on the West Coast, Max becomes embroiled in a murder case and a fight over oil rights. In the course of his investigation, he encounters hard-nosed cops, gangsters, an Old West marshal, a tycoon, a cagey lawyer, fast cars, faster women and a malevolent gold-toothed hitman. Before long, Max realizes the odds of living long enough to collect his bonus are definitely not in his favor.
Chapter 5. On the Trail
part 1
“Would you like some breakfast, sugar?” Roxy nestled next to Max in bed and whispered the suggestion in his ear.
“No, thanks. I better get going. What time is it?”
“A little after six.” She glanced at a clock on the bedside table lit by a small, glass-shaded lamp.
Max swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, walked to a chair where he had left his clothes and started dressing.
“Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“Don’t bother,” he said without looking at her.
“It’s no bother. I can have something sent up.” Roxy stretched and sat up in bed. The sheet slid down exposing her shapely breasts.
Max finished dressing without answering. He got up and gave her a look as cold as a February morning in Chicago. “What do I owe?”
“Oh... I... I’ll leave that up to you, darling,” she said with a worried frown. She had assumed he would be generous. His sudden coolness surprised her. Roxy did not like Max’s tone or the look in his eyes. She moved closer to the table and a “panic button” that called the bouncer.
Max opened his wallet, took out a five and dropped it on the bed. “After what you, the mechanic and Red took me for at poker, I figure I’m due a discount. Any objections?”
Her hand inched toward the buzzer.
“Don’t do it, baby. I don’t want to hurt you or the bouncer.”
Roxy remembered the big roughneck at the roadhouse. Instead of going for the electric button, she picked up the five and stared at Max without speaking.
“Smart choice. You’re good, Roxy. I’ve been around the block, know all the card sharpers’ tricks and then some. Bet you got your education on the Barbary Coast. Anyways, you and the mechanic have a sweet racket. Nothing to worry about; the rubes won’t catch on. That is, they won’t unless someone puts them wise. Imagine what the folks around here might do if they knew Gil Doyle ran a crooked table and you played a big part in the swindle.”
“You... you wouldn’t do that... would you?” Her anger at being left with a measly five-spot for a hard night’s work was replaced by fear of being thrown to a mob of bloodthirsty yokels.
Max smiled. “You got nothing to worry about, kid, as long as you play ball with me. If you do right, I can make it worth your while.”
“What do you mean by ‘play ball’?” She covered herself with the sheet and tried to appear calm.
“I’m a businessman on a tight schedule. I need reliable contacts and good information. You could be useful to me, and I can pay, but you’d better be on the level. Do you follow?”
Roxy nodded her head in the affirmative.
“All right. Here’s one for starters. I assume Red is Marshal Rivers. Is he in on the swindle?”
“No... at least I don’t think so. He just likes to play poker. Thinks he’s good... and lucky.”
“So Doyle has you reeling in suckers to keep Rivers happy without letting the marshal in on the racket?”
“I guess. Can’t say for sure. The boss don’t tell me everything.”
Max stared at her until she dropped her eyes and started fussing with the sheet covering her breasts. “You’re a smart girl, Roxy. I think you can do better than that, but we’ll let it pass, for now.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp, new twenty. He held on to the bill so she would have to get out of bed and come to him for it.
Roxy hesitated for a moment; then she pulled down the sheet, swung her legs out of bed and walked to Max. The sly smile returned; she stood before him naked and unafraid. She grabbed the twenty.
Max smiled and ran his hand through her long, silky hair. He kissed her lips, then moved to her neck and ear. He whispered, “Do you know anything about a guy from out of town named Burgess... Art Burgess. Came here not long ago, asking questions about the Merwins and Phantom Point?”
“No, lover, but I can find out.”
“Can you be discreet?”
“Very discreet,” she sighed. “Now how about that breakfast, or are you still in such a hurry to get back to work?”
His hand moved down her back and buttocks to the moist, hairy cleft between her thighs. “Work can wait. Breakfast, too. Something big has come up.”
* * *
As soon as Max returned to his hotel room, he stripped and made a bee-line for the bathtub. After scrubbing off the cathouse smell, he soaked and dozed until interrupted by a loud knock on the front door.
“Just a minute,” he called out. Max stepped out of the tub, grabbed a large towel from a wall rack, wrapped it around him like a Roman toga. He left a damp trail on the carpet as he walked to the door and opened it a crack.
George greeted him with a hushed voice and an anxious look on his face: “I got something for you, Mr. Matt. Can I come in?”
“OK, George, but make it quick. I’m soppin’ wet.”
George entered and closed the door behind him. “I heard a bit about that fellow Burgess and Phantom Point.”
“What did you hear?”
“A friend of mine, Eddie, works as night porter over at the Western. Burgess stayed there about a week ago. Eddie says Burgess was asking around town about Phantom Point and the Merwins. Eddie says he saw Burgess talkin’ with Lawyer Williams in the alley behind the hotel, late one night. After that, Duke Placco started tailing Burgess and kept up the tail until Burgess left town.”
“Who’s Duke Placco?”
“One of Doyle’s men. A mean son-of-a-bitch.” George’s voice lowered; his eyes darted around as though he were afraid of spies under the bed and behind every door.
“Can you describe Placco?”
“He’s big, about your size. Snappy dresser. Dark-complected with pock marks, black hair slicked down and parted in the middle, eyes like a rattler.”
“Sounds like a sweetheart. You get anything else out of Eddie?”
“Yeah, he said Burgess asked him questions about oil and Phantom Point, just like you asked me.”
“Did he tell him anything?”
“No, Mr. Matt. Eddie don’t know nothin’ about it and don’t want to know. He’s scared. Guess I ought to be scared, too.”
“All right, George. You got anything else for me?”
“No sir... Mr. Matt. And I... well, I can sure use the money but I don’t think I want no more of this. I mean... I got a wife and kids...”
Max smiled and put his hand on George’s shoulder. “I understand, pal.” Max walked over to a dresser, grabbed his wallet and took out a ten. “Here you go. If you hear anything else that I can use, I’ll appreciate you passing it on, but I’ll leave that up to you. OK?”
“OK, Mr. Matt. Thanks.” George smiled nervously and pocketed the ten-spot. “Anything else I can do for you? Maybe another bottle of whiskey and bucket of ice?”
“Not right now, George. I got to run some errands. Maybe later.”
“All right, Mr. Matt. You... you take care of yourself.”
“You too, pal.”
George left the room; Max locked the door, fetched a fresh outfit from the closet and started dressing in preparation for a “sight-seeing” excursion in the vicinity of Phantom Point.
* * *
The ten-mile drive gave Max time to appreciate the California scenery. He travelled along a newly paved and widened county road that made driving a pleasure. Most rural routes in the American West were rut-filled, bumpy trails. The quality of the roads in Santa Teresa county impressed Max and, he guessed there was a reason for the recent improvements. Could it have something to do with anticipated development in the vicinity of Phantom Point?
The road climbed gradually up verdant hills into a redwood forest filled with towering giants. The effect was claustrophobic. Max instinctively looked up into the sunbeams filtering through the treetops. In the midst of the forest, he pulled on the reins and brought the buggy to a halt. They had entered a mist so dense that Max could barely see the road in front of his horse.
Max rubbed his hands against a sudden damp chill. The sound of the wind blowing in from the Pacific was like a ghost whispering a warning. Max smiled and thought, Maybe it’s the phantom of Phantom Point.
He lit the carriage lamps and urged the mare ahead at little more than a walk; soon they came to a stop before a large, black iron gate, the spiky outlines of which Max could barely make out through the swirling fog. He strained his eyes to read a sign written in wrought iron lettering: “The Eyrie.”
The road forked to the right, and he continued on to the Point. As he neared the coastline, the wind picked up and the fog lifted like a theater curtain, revealing an azure backdrop. Overhead, circling sea birds cried; in the distance, surf roared, and breakers crashed on the rocky shoreline far below. Looking to the north, Max could see the cliffside curving inward and declining precipitously down to the turbulent, foaming sea.
Just ahead, there was a large green clearing on a gentle, downward slope. Several frame buildings appeared, laid out on a grid intersected by gravel pathways with space for small vegetable and fruit gardens. As he approached the settlement, he heard the bleating of goats and grunting of hogs. The smell of penned animals drifted in with the ocean breeze. A couple of dogs barked a warning that a stranger was nearby.
Max turned off the main road onto a dirt path leading in to the settlement. Two men emerged from the nearest house and walked toward Max. He reined in the horse and waited for the Phantom Point “welcoming committee.” The men sported beards and long hair; they wore peasant smocks, a style associated with artists and left-wing radicals, a “foreign” look not likely to appeal to the locals. What’s more, they scowled, and one of them carried a shotgun.
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
