Read City of Dragons for Free Online Page B

Miri, that guy—the good-looker—he got off on the fourth floor. Maybe he’s coming to see you.”
    She smiled at the girl’s hopeful face. “If he is, sugar, I’ll send him back down to you.”
    She left Gladys a tip, took a spot in the queue. The Monadnock, survivor of the Fire, always busy. “The Railroad Building,” a good place to get a quick ticket to one of the invisible one-block Main Streets between here and Des Moines, Union Pacific or East Coast lines. A good building to get lost in.
    Miranda squeezed into the middle car next to a fat lady with a feathered hat and a dead animal around her neck. She was the only person to get off at four. Started walking the big square to the small corner where her office was tucked, when the tingle came back. The green Olds on Commercial Street. She wondered if she’d noticed it outside but had been too tired to realize it.
    Pinkertons was always busy, office as well groomed as a matinee idol. Low-key lighting, not too overdone, modern art not really modern, carpet thick enough to choke on. The only thing missing was a spritz of Chanel No. Five every three minutes.
    New girl at the front desk. Not much on looks, but money to help what was there. They were always breaking in new ones, since the old ones were either getting married or getting experience. Too much experience at Pinkertons got you fired.
    Disapproval from every pore. “Can I help you, Miss?”
    Miranda lit up another Chesterfield, staring levelly at the woman. “I’m Miranda Corbie. My office is down the hall.”
    The receptionist’s lip was itching to sneer. Miranda blew some smoke over the girl’s right shoulder and watched one of her curls unhinge.
    “I’m a detective, honey. Not competition, not for Pinkterton—or Pinkertons. Allen Jennings has the office closest to me. I’m wondering if he’s in.”
    Some starch went out of her pinafore. She pushed a couple of buttons and checked, while Miranda walked back to the doorway, smoking.
    “Miss—you can go in now.”
    She took a last inhale. Then stubbed it out in the invisible-until-you-needed-it ashtray, walking through the small gate to the inner hall and along it until she found Allen’s office. His cell sported a second door that fronted the main hallway outside, offering him the bonus of seeing anyone on the way to see Miranda.
    Allen was a portly man, with muscle that had run to fat but was still hard enough to matter. His head was bald and shiny, his eyes twinkled, and he was over forty. Not a casting agent’s idea of a detective. Neither was she.
    “What’s your trouble, Miranda?” He knew it wouldn’t be a social call.
    “I’m not sure. Someone may be tailing me. Could be the cops.”
    He shook his head, leaned back in the chair until it squeaked, un-Pinkertonlike, and looked at her shrewdly.
    “I thought you could always spot a tail, especially from the bulls.”
    “This is just a feeling. Anybody come through here and not come back? Or has that goddamn door been closed all goddamn day?”
    He laughed for a while, and popped a hard candy into his mouth. “I’ve only been here for ten minutes myself, and it’s been closed. So you’ll have to go into the lion’s den unprepared. Sorry, kid. That’s the breaks.”
    Miranda reached over and took one of the lemon drops out of a cut crystal dish on his desk corner.
    “My breaks, anyway. Be seein’ you.”
    “Yeah. Safe travels, kid.”
    She crossed in front of him to the outer door, and stood in the frame. Footsteps on the polished floor echoed around and around the square center, impossible to trace. Voices rumbled through the ventilated air, vacationers and business travelers and those who sought advice from private investigators. There was no way to know and only one way in.
    She walked into the hallway, her own pumps adding a pleasant tapping to the swirl of sound. Paused in front of her office, reading her name on the door—MIRANDA CORBIE, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR—the