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 7: Working the Puzzle
Following his meeting with Williams, Max returned to his hotel room. He switched on the lights to chase the twilight shadows, as though artificial illumination could help clear his mind. He chose a comfortable seat by the window, and eased back into the chair. A half-filled bottle of whiskey, two glasses and an ashtray were set up on a small round table nearby. Max poured a drink and lit a cigar.
Songbirds chirped in the trees lining Main Street; Santa Teresa’s one streetcar clanged and rumbled along its track. A couple of horse-drawn vehicles passed by; an automobile backfired and sputtered. Max tried to empty his mind of everyday distractions while concentrating on two immediate problems: getting Hugo away from Mrs. Merwin and back to Chicago; discovering who killed Arthur Burgess, and why.
Knowing the why of the murder was essential, because it involved the Phantom Point plat map, and he assumed the map must be the key to resolving the adverse interests in the property. That much seemed logical to Max. Moreover, since Mrs. Merwin was one of the adverse claimants, his two problems seemed inextricably connected.
Max thought about the people he had encountered, how they might fit together like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle; the finished picture seemed to be a crowded view of Phantom Point.
The Van Dorns were the first pieces out of the box. How did they fit in? Cassandra’s motives might have been questionable, but she was Max’s client, and she paid well. What about Jasper Morton? Was he a mere flunky, or did he have his own undisclosed interests? And what about Captain Crunican and Judge Moran, the two shady Chicago politicians who referred Max to the Van Dorns?
Next, Max considered Art Burgess. The unfortunate detective had uncovered something big in Santa Teresa, big enough to cost his life. Max had studied the map before he put it in the safe deposit box. All he could make out was a change involving the mineral rights. This appeared to have something to do with oil exploration and a lease. But who owned the rights? Could that individual be the client to whom Burgess referred? Williams might know, but he wasn’t talking. Max could check the county recorder’s office, but he guessed that visit would tip people off. So what? Sooner or later, someone, perhaps Duke Placco, would be tailing Max. It was just a matter of time.
He poured another whiskey and took a couple of deep puffs on his cigar. A refreshing ocean breeze ruffled the curtains. Max’s thoughts turned to women. Eve Sinclair: he remembered the train ride from Los Angeles and the way she smiled and waved to him from John Merwin’s Mercedes. What was going on between her and Mr. Moneybags? He wouldn’t let his imagination go that route, but he figured, sooner or later, she would re-enter the picture.
Then there was Roxy Blaine. He smiled when he thought of her, the feel of her body, her scent, the way she sighed, nibbled his ear and nipped at his shoulder, dug her fingernails into his back. Max wanted her, but playing with Roxy was like petting a scorpion.
Dangerous as Roxy was, she might be a minor leaguer compared to Mrs. Merwin. He looked forward to meeting the woman who had hooked Hugo Van Dorn and persuaded the young man to give up his inheritance.
Finally, he considered Virginia Moore. The prim secretary wore no ring on her finger. Was she bored, lonely, desperate? She had access to the lawyer’s files. What would it take to get her to betray her boss’s secrets?
A knock on the door interrupted Max’s speculations. He answered.
“Hi, Matt. Can I come in?” Roxy asked.
“Sure,” Max said with a pleasantly surprised grin. “But aren’t you worried about the house detective?”
“I know him and the bell captain, too. It’s all squared.”
“I’ll bet. Come on in.” He walked toward the table; Roxy followed. “I was just having a drink. Why don’t you join me?”
“Okay, but I haven’t much time.”
“Time enough for a drink?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said hesitantly.
Max poured a whiskey and handed her a glass. He refreshed his drink and said, “Bottoms up.”
Roxy downed half her shot and coughed into her hand.
“Stuff’s a bit harsh when you take it neat.”
“Yeah, a bit.” She set down the glass. “Listen, I’ve come to warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
“Phantom Point and that guy you were asking about, Arthur Burgess. You’d best forget about Burgess and Phantom Point.”
“Why should I? I’m scouting the property for my clients. That’s how I make my living. And I want to know why Burgess was making inquiries about Phantom Point. That information could help me do my job. What’s wrong with that?”
“Why that particular piece of property?”
Was Roxy there to warn him away, or pump him for information? Max guessed both, but he played innocent. “It seems perfect for what my clients have in mind.”
“Who are your clients, Matt? Why would they want Phantom Point?”
Too obvious, Max thought. She seemed smarter than that. “You know, baby, I’m really happy to see you. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about you when you knocked on my door.” Max closed the short distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He pressed his mouth against hers, but she pushed him away.
“That’s not why I came,” she said.
“Really? What did you come for? To pump me for information to pass on to your boss? How much is he paying you for that?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Why would I do that, when you’re here?” He grabbed her arms. She struggled, but he tightened his grip.
“Goddamn you, let me go or I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead. Make a ruckus. Let’s see how your pal, the house dick, deals with it.”
“I mean it, Matt. Let go. You’re hurting me.”
Max let go of her arms. “All right, Roxy. Have it your way. Go back to Doyle. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled when you tell him what I’ve told you, which is nothing.”
She glared at him, then turned and walked toward the door.
“Sorry it didn’t work out for us tonight. Maybe some other time?” Max said.
Roxy stopped in the doorway. For an instant, it seemed as though she would turn around and say something. Then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.
Max stared after her, wondering if he could have handled things better. Then he said, “Fuck it,” and poured another drink.
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
