Free Aaron Conners - Tex Murphy 02 by Under a Killing Moon Page B

of Mel Torme crooning The Christmas Song. A warm gust of air escaped from the brightly lit café as a young couple walked past. The mouth-watering smells of hot chili and corn bread, mingled with icy-cold beer and after-supper cigarettes, cut through my resolve like a hot knife through butter. I caught the door and stepped aside.
    The diner wasn’t full, maybe twenty people, but it was lively. Glenda, Louie’s only employee, was making the rounds with a serving tray the size of a manhole lid, heavily laden with full plates and mugs. She was no LaDonna, but she was good. Louie looked up from behind the bar and waved. I took off my hat, noticing a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door, and walked to the bar stool at the far end of the counter. Louie gave me that warm, ugly grin and leaned forward, round belly pressed against the bar and meaty paws splayed on the countertop. With his Kiss the Cook apron tied over a tight, white undershirt, and a disposable paper food-services hat perched on his battered head like a cupcake wrapper on a cantaloupe, Louie cut quite a dashing figure.
    “Take a load off, Murph. What can I getcha?”
    I slid onto a shiny vinyl-colored counter stool and pulled out my crumpled pack of Luckies. “A tall beer and the love of a good woman.”
    Louie winked at me, reached for a frosty stein, then drew the draft with a fluid ease I could only admire. Louie elevated the simple act of dispensing beer to an art form.
    “Don’t know if I can help ya with the woman, Murph. He turned and slid the nectar in front of me. “Though, I don’t know if you noticed - Chelsee’s over there in the corner.
    And she’s alone.”
    I turned and saw Chelsee sitting sideways in a booth with her legs up on the seat, reading a paperback. Her wavy blond hair just reached the shoulders of a thick, cream-colored pullover sweater. With her dark brown Levis and high-top hiking boots, she looked soft and warm and rugged, all at the same time.
    There would be time for rejection later. I turned back to my mug of beer and pried a Lucky Strike out of the pack. As I reached for my lighter, Louie struck a match and held it to the battered end of my cigarette. The Brew & Stew had a No Smoking section. It was just outside the front door. Louie believed that the air outside would kill you just as fast and wouldn’t provide any of the pleasure. As Louie blew out the match, I picked up the icy glass in front of me and drank deeply. Louie watched happily as I set the beer down and took a deep drag on the Lucky Strike.
    “Thanks, Louie. I should have some work soon, and I’ll settle up with you first thing.”
    It sounded optimistic, but I’d been saying the same thing for weeks. Louie just grinned and shook his head. “How many times have I told ya, Murph. You don’t gotta worry about it. Pay me when you can.”
    The big Mutant reached under the bar and set a menu in front of me. “Now, you look like you need somethin’ substantial, you know, stick to your ribs, and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”
    A sudden bellow from the other side of the café forced Louie to excuse himself. I glanced down at the menu, but remembering my earlier vision, I already knew what I wanted. I took another drink and noticed a face staring back at me from behind the bar.
    For a moment I wondered who the old guy was. Then, with all the grace of tumbling down a flight of stairs, I realized it was me. I was not aging well. And it was probably too late for Oil of Olay to have any real effect. I peered over my shoulder at Chelsee. No wonder she always shot me down whenever I asked her out. I looked old enough to be her…older brother.
    Louie returned, wiping his hands on the apron around his ample waist. “What’ll ya have?”
    “How’s the chili tonight?”
    Louie grinned maliciously. “This batch turned out real good. I’m serving it with a side of Rolaids. I can get ya a nice big bowl in two shakes of a lamb’s tail…if you’re up to