The Mike Murphy Files and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

evasion or jaywalking or treason or whatever else I can think up!”
    “Plus a per diem for meals,” I said, but he had already slammed the phone down.
    It was after nine o’clock by the time I strolled down Grove Street toward the police station. I bought a newspaper and a cup of coffee at a corner newsstand and flipped through the pages. Business as usual for the most part. A few more politicians caught with their pants down embezzling tax money. A photo of the politicians with their pants down. The Museum of Natural History throwing a gala next Saturday to celebrate the upcoming donation of local zillionaire Burnham Backus’ famed pearl necklace from the Neflureti Dynasty. The mysterious disappearance of said zillionaire. The mysterious disappearance of an Egyptian mummy queen from the aforementioned museum. An escaped gorilla from the city zoo. All fairly boring stuff.
    I tossed the newspaper into a garbage can and trotted up the steps of the 53 rd Precinct building. The duty sergeant glanced up as I walked past the front counter. I’d never seen him before.
    “Hey,” he said. “You can’t go back there.”
    “Hey,” I said. “I’m your mother. I can do anything I want.”
    I was down the corridor before his overtaxed brain could come up with a response. That’s our city—always hiring the best and brightest.
    “Took your time, didn’t you,” growled the Captain.
    “It’s my time,” I said mildly.
    He was hunched over his desk, glaring at a jelly-filled doughnut as if it was resisting arrest.
    “All right, Murphy,” he said. “Pull up a chair and sit down. Let me tell you something.” His voice quieted to a near whisper. “We’ve got a problem. It’s a humdinger and there isn’t a cop in the precinct I can trust to take it on.”
    “Why’s that?” I helped myself to a cream-filled.
    “They’re scared. They’re acting like a bunch of old grannies at a funeral, gossiping nervously and wondering which of ‘em’ll be the next to go. They’re only happy if they’re sitting behind a desk and filling out expense reports. Look at those rookies out there. They don’t deserve to be wearing blue. I should fire the lot! In my day as a beat cop, we didn’t know the meaning of the word fear! We were men. We didn’t mind getting shot every now and then. Hell, I used to get shot at nearly once a week, and that was just my wife.”
    “Well, I do mind,” I said. “Which is why you’re going to pay me four hundred dollars a day, plus expenses.”
    “Fine,” said the Captain. He said it so quickly that something stirred uncomfortably in the back of my mind. Maybe I should’ve walked out right then. Or maybe I should’ve asked for more money.
    “So what’s the case?”
    He glanced around somewhat nervously and then leaned closer across his desk.
    “There are reports of good, upstanding citizens found sleepwalking on the streets, drooling and frothing at the mouth, staggering around and gnawing on people.”
    “Gnawing on people?”
    “Well, you know, biting them.”
    “Biting them?”
    “Uh, well, you know, eating them. Eating their brains, mostly.”
    I walked out of there with a copy of the file tucked in one pocket and four hundred bucks in cash in the other. The file made me a bit uneasy, but the four hundred bucks was pretty soothing. Maybe I’d buy a couple boxes of Cuban cigars with it, or maybe a new leather coat with wide lapels. Or maybe I’d pay the rent. I was still musing on this by the time I got to my office. I trudged up the stairs and unlocked the door.
    “Hello, handsome.”
    I went for my gun with one smooth move, and, with a slightly less smoother move, I tripped on the rug and went down hard.
    “What are you doing on the floor?” said Maura.
    “Why do you always do that!” I growled.
    “Do what?” she asked, her voice innocent.
    “You know exactly what I mean.”
    Maura has a bad habit of breaking into my office. She doesn’t have a key, but locked doors