The Dirty City by Jim Cogan Read Free Book Online Page A

closest advisers. No-one even really knows what she looks like.”
    “That’s some weird shit there.”
    “Damn straight.”
    We raised our glasses and simultaneously downed the last of drinks. I bought Marcio another for goodwill then made my way out. Yet another line of enquiry in finding Anton had just dried up.
    *
    I sauntered through the office doors at about 1.10pm. Lydia let me have both barrels.
    “You’re late, Johnny. Some of us have been working our butts off here, what have you be up to?”
    “Hey, I get results don’t I? As long as I’m making enough to pay you, you ought not to complain, eh?”
    It was playful jibing, we always worked better with a bit of faux conflict.
    “Get your lazy ass in there, Dr Del-Ray is expecting you.”
    I entered my office expecting the typical kind of lady who normally hires a guy like me. Usually they’re late thirties to early forties, attractive but suppressed – often by rich husbands. Most of the time it’s the husband’s extramarital activities that finally bring out the fem fatale in them, the knowledge that they’re being paraded as a trophy wife, while knowing that Mr Big is going somewhere altogether less wholesome to get his kicks. And the realisation that they could take him to the cleaners for nearly everything he’s got if someone like me can catch him in the act.
    Boy, how stupidly wrong I was. Dr Reana Del-Ray was early thirties, slim, and had an organic prettiness to her that you rarely see in this city. She was evidently an academic, she prized functionality over fashion, purpose over style. A mane of long, brown hair was kept in perfect order with an array of hairpins in the most conservative of styles, she wore no makeup and judging by the healthy glow from her skin, she didn’t very often. On her face sat very large pair of eyeglasses that gave her the air of a librarian, and her attire consisted of a plain and extremely sensible white blouse, done up to the neck to ensure it left everything to the imagination, and a skirt that allowed only the briefest of fleeting glances at her legs. Here was a chick who did not rely on sex appeal to get what she wanted, her whole demeanour was screaming, ‘don’t look there, eyes front, pay attention to what I say, I am smart and you should listen!’
    “Dr Del-Ray, my apologies for being late.”
    “Mr Jerome, thank you for fitting us into your busy schedule,” she offered a dainty hand, which I shook politely. “This is my lab associate, Dr Walter Smitts.”
    Christ, I hadn’t even noticed him! He was sat to her right side, sporting a look of general disinterest, a short, skinny, runt of a guy – I estimated about mid-thirties. He sported a conservative shirt, trousers and tie coupled with a truly tasteless waistcoat. He was evidently also a brainiac, but without the social skills that Dr Del-Ray possessed. He barely acknowledged being introduced, so I merely smiled briefly in his direction then turned my attention back her.
    “And how can I assist you both?”
    “We’re both research academics at the Santa Justina Institute for Advanced Studies. Our current research is a little, unusual .”
    “Unusual is always good, keeps life interesting. Do go on.”
    “The occult, Mr Jerome,” piped up Smitts for the first time.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Paranormal activity, unexplained phenomena – places modern science doesn’t normally go,” said Del-Ray, in a diffusing tone.
    “What, ghosts and shit?” Great, yet more crazy talk.
    Smitts rolled his eyes, but Del-Ray persisted, “I appreciate this sounds a little - farfetched , I can assure you, we’re not crazies, We apply scientific methods to investigating things that don’t provide simple, rational explanations. Like all scientists, we are seekers of the truth.”
    “Okay, sounds swell, but what do you need me for?”
    “Why indeed?” Smitts muttered under his breath, but knowingly loud enough for me to hear. So there was a dynamic here, she