Read Online Magician by Timothy C. Phillips - Free Book Online Page B

the door wide open, the room empty except for a few scattered beer and wine bottles, left behind by squatters. I went in, anyway, the bitter smell of urine stinging my nose. There were pieces of paper here and there, and an abandoned television rack. Nothing else.  
    I went back out to the end of the landing. Barely visible on a sign above the end apartment was a faded sign: Office closed. No new leases will be assigned at this location. For information call Oran Associates.
    Beneath this was a telephone number. I took out my notebook and copied it down. Samson Fain was proving very difficult to turn up.
    Back at my car, I dialed the number, half-expecting the line to be disconnected. I was pleasantly surprised when a cheerful voice answered on the other end. “Oran Associates.” The voice was that of an older black woman, distinguished, relaxed.
    “Yes ma’am. I was wondering where your offices are located.”
    “We are on Hoover road, just off Regent Avenue, in the strip mall. Look for our sign.”
    “Thank you.”
    * * *
    The strip mall was a new structure, and most of the offices featured cardboard signs in the window, advertising new businesses that would soon be moving in.
    Oran Associates was the only suite that currently featured blinds. A sign on the door advised me to come on in! I opened the door and went inside.
    A matronly woman behind the counter rose from her chair and offered me a charming smile.
    “Good morning,” she beamed, in the voice I had heard on the phone.
    “Hi. We spoke on the phone.”
    “Ah yes, just a few minutes ago. I’m Mrs. Truss. Can I help you?”
    “I wanted to inquire about renting an apartment.”
    “Excellent. We have several properties in the area.”
    “Actually, I was thinking of a specific set of apartments. Jack’s apartments.”
    Unexpectedly, the woman burst into a gale of laughter.
    “Oh, mister, I really don’t think you want to live there. That place is condemned.”
    “Really?” I asked innocently. “How long have you handled the property?”
    “About three years. We acquired it from another realty company that is now out of business. We had thought about renovation, but the appraisal decided us against that. The apartments that are there are to be torn down. We’re going to put in some garden homes. The tenants that are still there—there are only three—have to be out by the end of next month”
    “Well, let me ask you a question. Do you remember any of the previous tenants?”
    Mrs. Truss gave me a quick look of reappraisal. “Maybe some of them. Anyone in particular?”
    “Samson Fain?”
    The glowing smile returned, and a mischievous gleam came into her eye. She turned and called into the back of the office. “Vivian?”
    An attractive younger version of Mrs. Truss appeared in the doorway. She was apparently finishing up lunch. “What is it, Mom?”
    “This young man wants to know about a former tenant of ours, by the name of Samson Fain?”
    The women exchanged wicked laughs. Vivian came forward and stood next to her mother. The young lady had sparkling gold eyes and a high, intelligent forehead. She regarded me with a look of appraisal similar to the one her mother had given me, but followed it up with a warming smile. I felt my hands straightening my clothes self-consciously.
    “Oh, I remember Mr. Fain. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
    “Would that surprise you?”
    “Not exactly. He was kind of . . . weird, I guess. He could be funny, but sometimes he was just plain scary.”
    “Mind if I ask what you mean by scary?”
    “Are you a cop?”
    I grinned at the inevitable question and showed her my ID.
    “Oh, a private detective. How exciting.” Mrs. Truss nudged her daughter’s shoulder, and looked up at me.
    Vivian Truss knitted her brow for a second. “When I say scary, I don’t mean like threatening. Sometimes he seemed, well . . . crazy.”
    She walked around the counter and came up close to me. She smelled nice, I