308. The Big Sleep
Amy has a seat on the floor and leafs through the book until she finds a promising-looking story called “The Jade Key.” She begins to read.
“It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I sat in my office, with nothing better to do than watch water droplets spontaneously appear on the window then work their way downward through the years of caked-on filth that had accumulated since the last time the windows had been washed, around the time of Noah's flood. I looked down at the whiskey in my hand and contemplated my sorry state in life; just the whiskey in my glass, plus what was left in the bottle, plus the two more bottles I had hidden in the desk, and I'd be out, and with no more cash in my wallet than the tramp at the switching yard waiting for the 3:24 to Bakersfield, it'd be a long time before I could fill the tank again. Better make this count. I took a sip and leaned back, idly hoping for a change in my luck.”
The office door swings open and a young Chinese woman, dressed in a red silk qipao with embroidered pink flowers, walks in. The interruption startles Amy from her reverie.
“Man, this first-person narration really draws you in!” she thinks to herself, looking around the messy office. “What the- I'm in the story!” Amy starts to panic as the woman looks at her quizzically, seemingly waiting for Amy to get back into character. Amy calms herself and tries to get into her role; there'll be time to figure out what's happening later.
“Oh, ummmm...” Amy thinks to herself, “I guess I'd better keep up the mental narration. Alright, here goes: The door swings open and an oriental dame walks in. She's wearing one of those Chinese silk numbers, all red with pink carnations and a strategically placed slit that shows off her mile-long legs. Her green eyes meet mine and the worried look on her face melts away. I don't have the heart to tell her that I'm not in the happy ending business, so her relief is premature. She strides across the office, her high-heels clicking on the creaky wood floors. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew my luck had changed, but I still wasn't sure which direction it had changed in.”
“You have to help me!” she explodes, “They've already tried to kill me once, and I know they'll be after me again!”
“Wow, that sounds serious!” Amy says. The woman cocks an eyebrow and looks at Amy quizzically, “Oh, um, I mean, calm yourself down, toots! Let's start with the basics: who are you, and who would want to murder a sweet piece like yourself?”
The woman seems relieved that Amy is back in character. She takes a seat across from Amy and crosses her legs, allowing her dress's slit to fall around her long, smooth legs. The sight inspires in Amy some feelings that she finds deeply confusing. The woman returns to her panicked story: “My name is Bik Chiu, but people here call me Jade. I came from China five years ago to escape the war. The rest of my family... was not so lucky. The only thing I have to remember them by is this key.” She reaches into the bust of her dress and pulls out a key made of jade. The bow of the key is inscribed with symbols that Amy recognizes as Chinese, but can't interpret beyond that.
Jade continues. Her voice is heavily accented and she stops occasionally to pick the right word, but her English is otherwise perfectly cogent and grammatical. “Then, three days ago, a man approached me. He asked to buy the key. I told him no, it's too valuable to me. He tells me that he'll have the key whether I give it to him or not. I screamed and ran. There were gunshots, but he missed. I escaped in the crowd and hid with a friend. But yesterday...” She stops and sobs, then collects herself, “Yesterday they found me. I ran down the fire escape and got away. My friend... My friend was not so lucky.”
Amy isn't sure what to do with this, then decides that for this story to progress, she needs to act like the hard-hearted P.I. her character apparently is.
Amy shrugs and affects a non-challant attitude. “People die every day. That's the world we live in. You want fair, you're in the wrong universe for fair.” As an added flourish, Amy pauses at this point and stares off into the distance, as though recalling some long-ago tragedy that made her the way she is. Of course, Amy isn't familiar enough with her character's back story to know what that tragedy might be, but she thinks she does a reasonably convincing job. Returning to Jade, she says “Now, where do I come in? I'm no body guard and I'm no shrink; I'm not in the business of listening to sob stories that don't end in me getting paid.”
Jade takes a breath, closes her eyes, and straightens up, seeming to try to mentally compose her request before she begins. In doing so, her chest pushes out prominently, drawing Amy's attention to her not-inconsiderable assets. Amy feels a strange stirring in her nether regions and realizes that she doesn't even know if her character is a man or a woman. As Amy begins wondering whether she can surreptitiously sneak a hand down her pants, Jade finishes preparing and explains what she wants.
“My family always said that this key, which has been passed down for generations, unlocks a great treasure. I think someone has come here looking for the key to find that treasure. I want you to find out who is after my key, and what the treasure is, and find some way to make them happy.” She breaks down crying, “I just want to be safe again.”
Amy stands up and walks around her desk. She puts a comforting hand on Jade's shoulder and says, “There's no such thing as safe in this world, but maybe I can make you a little bit safer. Now, let's talk about what I need from you.”
Jade looks up through tear-stained eyes, the hint of a smile playing across her lips. Looking down at her grateful expression, Amy again feels that electric pulse in her loins. The feeling confuses and flusters her, so she turns and walks to the window, trying to create the appearance of melodramatically contemplating the futility of existence but actually trying to hide the erection that may or may not be developing inside her undershorts of indeterminate intended gender.
Amy continues. “I'll need twenty dollars a day, plus expenses. Five days minimum, paid in advance, expenses itemized upon completion of the job. I'll also need any information you have on this jade key. That means real information, not ancient Chinese secret mumbo jumbo. Also, I need to know the names of anyone who knows you have that key and anyone who may have it out for you. Angry business associates, jilted lovers, anyone who might be out for blood. I'd be willing to bet real money that this is just some jealous ex-boyfriend who wants to make sure no-one else can have you and made up a cock-and-bull story about that key to throw off the heat.”
Jade blushes and shyly looks down at the ground. “Oh, I can assure you it isn't an ex-boyfriend.” She looks up at Amy, flashing a look in her eye that says more than any words. The look tells of the love that dare not speak its name, of secret rendezvous that belie the woman's innocent exterior, and the look holds something more. An invitation, a plea, a hunger. Amy gulps as she feels the jolt of electricity return to her shorts, along with a slight dampness that assures her that she retains her accustomed set of body parts.
“Ah, er, I'll... I'll need that hundred dollars now, thanks.”
Jade bites her lip in a gesture that could be interpreted as nervous, but when combined with the accompanying look in her eyes suggests something more lascivious.
“All I have right now is fifty. But maybe there's... another way I could make up the difference?” She reaches to her shoulder and slowly undoes a button on her dress.
Amy isn't ready for this. “Fifty will be fine!” she blurts, “But your price just went up to twenty-five a day. Now, tell me what I need to know to get you taken care of... That is, to get your case taken care of.”
A flash of disappointment crosses Jade's face, then she produces a wad of sawbucks from some hidden fold in her dress. “I don't know anything about the jade key, just that it was in my family for generations. As for who would want to kill me, I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill anyone. This world is too lovely to want to leave it so soon, wouldn't you say?” Jade smiles and Amy rolls her eyes. “A lot of people know about the key, I've had no reason to keep it a secret.”
Amy grimaces. That's not a lot to work on. She suddenly feels a strange compulsion. She goes back to her desk, pulls out a small police flip notebook, and writes down an address, then tears it off and hands it to Jade.
“That's the address of a friend of mine down in Anaheim. Ask for Jane. You'll be safe there. Find something inconspicuous to wear, you stand out like a sore thumb in that fancy get-up. My number's at the bottom, if you don't get me the other number's my answering service. I'll be in touch when it's safe.”
Jade smiles and stands. “Thank you so much! I can never repay you!”
Amy flashes a weather-worn smile. “You'd better, or you'll have much worse than these two-bit punks to worry about!” The woman closes the door and Amy is left alone with her thoughts.
Amy collapses into her desk chair. “Now, what the heck is going on?!” she says out loud. “Somehow I got sucked into the story!” She spends a few minutes pondering the enormity of her situation, then tries to break it down logically. “Alright, I'm playing a character in a story. Every story has an ending. I play through this story, get to the ending, and voila! I'll be back to my normal life. Well, as normal as my life was at the point when I left it.”
Amy looks around her office. All wood, most of it warped and rotting. Papers scattered all over the desk, which is at least more orderly than all the papers on the floor. The glass on the front door has a sign on it. Reading it backwards, Amy finds that it says “Samantha Club, Private Eye.” A trench coat and beaten up fedora hang from a coat rack by the door. There's a small bathroom through a door in the corner. Amy stands up and walks to the washroom, taking a look at herself in the mirror by the harsh light of the bare bulb that dangles from a cord attached to the ceiling.
Amy can understand her earlier gender confusion. Her face is sallow, the product of way too many nights with only a liquor bottle for company. Her dark brown hair is cut short and arrayed into a messy approximation of a men's haircut, parted on the left. He blue eyes are world-weary and accessorized by a pair of prominent bags. She's wearing a white men's dress shirt. The starch has long gone out of the collar, which droops unevenly. A thick black necktie, black suspenders, and a pair of gray slacks complete the ensemble. The waist of the pants go up to her belly button, which Amy can only assume is the style of the time. A quick feel reveals that her chest is naturally small, and that she's not wearing any support garments besides a men's undershirt. A quick pat of her crotch confirms her earlier suspicion; she's as much a lady as she ever was.
A black-and-white picture of a blonde bombshell posted in the corner of the mirror brings on a strange feeling of longing and melancholia. Scrawled at the bottom of the picture are the words “Sam- All my love, XOXO, Dolores.” A tear comes unbidden to Amy's eye and she feels a powerful urge to return to her desk and take a belt from her half-empty whiskey bottle. This is particularly strange because Amy has never felt a strong urge to take a belt of whiskey in her life, not since her one time experimenting with it in college left her with the impression that it tastes like used chewing tobacco mixed with rubbing alcohol.
Resisting her strange urge, Amy goes to work. She doesn't have any leads, so she decides to make some of her own. She puts on a gray jacket to match her pants, flings on her coat and grabs her hat, then heads out the door.
Amy has no idea where she's going, but fortunately the author did. Her vision fades to black, then fades back in as she hops onto a trolley bound for Chinatown. “This must be a scene transition,” she thinks, “This'll make finishing the story even easier!”
Next thing she knows, Amy's in the Chinatown station of the LAPD, asking for Officer Lee. A lean, muscular Asian man emerges. He's all business as he tells Amy that they can talk in the interview room. Once inside, Lee cracks a smile.
“How've you been? I haven't seen you since Billson's retirement party. When was that?”
Amy smiles back, “Two, three years, maybe?”
Lee gets serious. “I heard about Dolores. I'm really sorry for your loss. I hope-”
Amy feels another welling of emotion. She cuts him off. “I didn't come here to reminisce. I need a favor. What do you know about a jade key?”
Lee raises an eyebrow. “What do YOU know about it? We've seen references to it in a shooting on Broadway and a murder at an apartment on Spring Street.”
“I might know the owner of the key. Any idea who's looking for it?”
“Well, we picked up a Triad muscle man on suspicion. I might be able to put you in there with him for a few minutes and look the other way while you ask him a few questions...”
Amy grins. “Let me at him.”
Amy leaves the police station fifteen minutes later. She has a shiner for her trouble, but she gets the feeling that the other guy's feeling a lot worse. She also has a name to follow up on and a club at which to follow up on it.
One clue leads to another, which leads to another. As she takes a taxi to a house on Laurel Canyon Boulevard she smiles to herself. She's gotten through this story a lot faster than expected, thanks, she assumes, to the fact that she isn't an alcoholic and doesn't feel compelled to stop in at every bar along the way.
“I'll be back to rescuing Shannon in no time!”
She reaches her destination, a nice-looking place with palm trees in the front yard. She knocks on the door and is greeted by an Asian woman with green eyes and long, loose hair that flows down to her waist. She wears a floral house dress and looks slightly scared.
“Ming Chen?” Amy asks.
“Yes?”
“Jade sent me. Seems you and her are having a little disagreement over the ownership of a family heirloom.”
Ming takes a step back, her eyes widening.
Amy continues. “Now, if you'll just give up this whole thing, everyone can go back to living their lives in peace and I can get paid. How's that sound?”
Ming turns and runs up the spiral stairs behind her. She trips as she goes, scrambling up the steps, then slams the door behind her.
Amy runs after her, but feels a strange twinge. Is this really the Dragon Lady, the head of the Triad in Los Angeles? She looks more like a scared housewife.
Amy reaches the top of the steps and see a closed door. She throws herself against the wall next to the door as she unholsters her piece. Carefully reaching over with her left hand, she slowly turns the doorknob.
BANG! KRESSSSH!
Splinters explode outward from the door, leaving behind a hole that Amy, at least in this character's body, recognizes as characteristic of a shotgun blast. Acting on instinct, Amy turns the knob, throws the door open, spins through the doorway, takes aim, and fires.
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Ming stands in the middle of the bedroom, looking down at her hole-ridden body. Blood stains her floral house dress. She cradles a shotgun in one arm, a small, ornate box in the other. She looks up at Amy pleadingly as she drops first the shotgun, then the box. She slumps down to the floor and dies, a pool of blood slowly expanding around her motionless body.
Amy shakes her head as she walks over and picks up the blood-stained box. “All this for whatever's in this box. I hope it's worth it.”
WHUMP!
Amy feels a sharp pain in the back of her head and sees an explosion of light, then darkness.
The light slowly, fuzzily returns to Amy's world. Before her stands Jade, wearing a new silk dress and smiling victoriously at her. Turning her head to take in her surroundings, Amy learns that she's in an old warehouse. The sound of waves gently crashing tells her that she must be at the docks. Jade is not alone; she's surrounded by grinning toughs that Amy realizes must be members of the Triad. Amy even recognizes some as folks she had recent encounters with.
“Well, it certainly took you long enough,” says Jade in perfect, unaccented English, “I thought I'd might never get my treasure.” She holds in her hand the box you found at Ming's house.
“As you've no doubt figured out by now, that frumpy little housewife was not the leader of the Triad. I am. That woman was my long-lost sister. She left China decades ago, stealing the family treasure as she left. But she didn't have the key to open it. I came here five years ago looking for her, but when I found her I learned that I couldn't bring myself to order my sister's own murder. Call me a sentimentalist.”
Amy feels the urge to punch Jade right in her lying gob, but finds that her arms won't move from behind her back. A look down reveals that she has been stripped to her underpants, a pair of silk panties, beige with black clubs, baggy and conservatively cut in the style of the time. Her wrists are bound behind her back, her feet encased in a washtub full of cement. Her gray fedora sits atop her head.
Jade continues her soliloquy. “But if I were to make up a story about being hunted for a jade key, have my men stage a few crimes to give it credibility, and lead a washed-up, violent alcoholic gumshoe to my dear sister's door, and that soused flat-foot should happen to kill my sister, purely in self-defense, I'm sure, then it would only be right for me to claim my birthright.”
Amy can't take it anymore. “So you used me to murder your sister, all so you could keep your guilty conscience clean?”
Jade smirks. “You might say that. Maybe I also like playing with the emotions of sad, lonely carpet-munchers and watching them squirm as they wet their little silk panties thinking about me.”
Amy blushes in embarrassment, then tries to change the subject, “Was it worth it? What's in that box that's worth all the death you've caused?”
Jade holds the box and pulls out her key. She unlocks the chest and swings it open on its hinge, peering inside. A green glow plays across her face. She smiles slightly, before snapping it shut.
“The stuff that dreams are made of.”
Jade walks over to Amy and draws a long fingernail across Amy's right cheek. “It's too bad you didn't take me up on my offer back in your office. I could have shown you the time of your life before I sent you to your death.”
She turns and walks away. As she does, a pair of brutes walk over and hoist Amy up by her elbows. The carry her across the warehouse, wriggling and shouting all the while, then with a final heave throw her through a square hole cut in the floor.
SPLASH!
Amy finds herself falling through inky black water, unable to free herself, panicking as the air leaves her lungs. At last, as blackness draws up around her, she calmly reviews what went wrong.
“I honestly can't think of anything,” she decides, “I made all the right moves and still got killed in the end. I guess it's just one of those stories. No use fighting it; it's Chinatown.”
The darkness seizes her and Amy takes the big sleep.
Amy is in no state to continue her adventure or her life.