Interview With The Murphy
“That is quite the rifle,” said Archimedes, examining the display case at the back of Murphy’s office. The weapon inside was less of a gun and more of a triple-barrelled cannon; the kind one hunts dragons with, not deer. “Are you a sportsman?”
“Rarely, these days,” said Murphy, pouring himself and Archimedes sherry. “I had to give it up after a mishap five years ago.”
“Oh dear,” said Archimedes, “what happened?”
“One of my damned dogs attacked me instead of the rhinoceros.”
“R-r-rhinoceros?”
“I import them from time to time. Let ‘em loose in London, chase ‘em, down and make myself a hero.”
“And they let you?” Archimedes gasped, imaging his own safari hunt in New York. Oh, to see those Italians running for their oily little lives!
“One may do anything one chooses,” observed Murphy, “so long as the gun has three barrels.”
“Well said, sir. Well said indeed.”
“At any rate,” said Murphy, downing his sherry, “the mutt in question missed the mark. Had me on the ground before my helper could react.”
“What happened next?” said Archimedes, at the edge of his seat.
“A quick shot to the head,” said Murphy.
“The poor dog.”
“Oh, yes, the dog too.” He poured himself another glass, leaned back in his chair. He tapped his right forearm. “Lost most of the muscle here, but my physicians put me back on my feet. And do you know what I learned that day?”
“I imagine it relates to the wonders of anaesthetic.”
“What I learned, sir, was far more valuable than a few tendons and flesh… what I learned is that one must never trust cheap things.” He pounded his desk forcefully.
“Finley, I think he means you.”
“The dog that attacked me,” continued Murphy, “he was a wild mutt. I took him in out of pity. Biggest mistake of my life.”
“Fifty quid,” coughed Finley.
“My pure-bred hounds, they’ve never caused me a moment of trouble. You get what you pay for. It’s how I live my life, and how I run my business. Cheapness begets cheapness.”
Archimedes nodded solemnly, whilst Finley tried to work out when he’s crossed into a parallel dimension.
“Hell,” laughed Murphy. “I’d kill half my employees if they’d let me.”
“Damn labour laws,” nodded Archimedes.
There was a knock at the door, and one of the newspaper staff leaned in. Behind him was the sound of furious shouting and cursing.
“Pardon me, Mr Murphy,” said the staff, “but Mr Cane insists his article be in all caps.”
“What, again?” snapped Murphy.
“Yes sir. He says it adds urgency.”
“Poppypock,” said Murphy. “What’s the subject?”
“Tablets, sir.”
“Damn it all!” roared Murphy. “Tablets are a fad! Tell him that, and tell him I won’t stand any more shouting in my newspaper!”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, bowing out of the office.
“Where were we?” Murphy asked, downing his new sherry in a single gulp. “The interview, yes? Very well. Who do you suspect killed the Duchess?”
Archimedes paused, searched his memory.
“I hadn’t thought of suspects,” he said. “But now that you mention it, I would have to say her uncle might have the most cause to want her dead.”
“The money,” agreed Murphy.
“The revenge, too. And a man in his position would certainly be able to hire ninjas, Cockney or not.”
“Wait, you think the Duke of Arrington hired those ninjas?”
“It only makes sense,” said Archimedes. “He was probably so drunk he didn’t realize they weren’t Oriental.”
There was another knock at the door, and this time a young woman entered, depositing a stack of papers on Murphy’s desk. Finley’s eyes shot open the second she passed by his bowl.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Murphy, flipping through them. He glanced up at Archimedes.
“You don’t mind, do you? I need to approve these before we go to press.”
“By all means,” said Archimedes.
As the woman left the office, Finley maneuvered out the door and down the hall after her.
“Hey babe,” he said. “Guess what I can do with my gills.”
“Not interested,” the woman said, but Finley didn’t slow down.
“With just one fin — just one! — I can give you more pleasure than you’ve ever—”
She slammed a door in his face, leaving him in the hall. He swayed there for a second, then started backtracking… until he heard a pair of hushed voices in a nearby office, and eased over to listen.
“It’s a mess is what it is,” said one man. “Two more cancellations!”
“How many subscriptions do we have left?” asked the other.
“Fifteen. Fourteen, once Mrs Patterson gets out of the hospital.”
“Gods be,” sighed the other man. “Even at fifty a paper, that’s not enough to pay for all this. ‘specially not with that bloomin’ peacock on the tenth floor.”
“Issa menagerie.”
“It’s a steaming pile of poo!”
“I heard Murphy talkin’ about upping the price to a whoppin’ hundred, but I bet even his friends won’t pay that much for this pile of tripe.”
“I don’t even read it myself.”
“My dog won’t piss on it.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and Finley caught sight of the woman sneaking out of the office. He was about to give chase when they started up again…
“I’m thinkin’ of takin’ that job at Pinchenbadam’s paper,” said the first one, and Finley held what substituted for his breath. “Looks like they’re gonna be around longer than us.”
“I’m coming with you,” said the other. “Let Murphy ride this worthless rag right into the ground alone, eh?” There was the distinct clink of glasses, and long, sad sighs.
Finley’s little fish eyes opened wide.
“Holy butt-sucking porpoises!” he hissed, and raced back towards Murphy’s office. He skidded to a halt when he saw Archimedes walking into the large, byzantine-looking lift down the hall. Before the heavy doors could slide shut, he skipped inside, bouncing off the far wall.
“Duck!” he said. “You’ll never guess what I found!”
“I do not wish to hear about G-spots again, Finley.”
“Not that! It’s Arrington!”
“The Duke of Arrington, Finley.”
“The fatso! His niece has a big-ass newspaper biz! That must be why Arrington had her killed! It’s his backup plan!”
“Goodness, Finley, don’t be silly. Women can’t run successful businesses—”
“She was cleanin’ Murphy’s clock, at least. He’s on the ropes!”
“What? But he said he didn’t know what the Duchess’ business plan was…”
“Oh come on, Duck! He lied to you, just like that Russian hooker!”
“I keep telling you, she was a woman!”
“Arrington’s already killed for one media conglomerate,” said Finley in a rare moment of seriousness. “And I bet he’s gonna try it again!”
“We must warn Mr Murphy!” exclaimed Archimedes. He pulled at the lift door… but it didn’t budge!
“What in heaven’s name…”
The door was locked! Outside the metal cage, a shadowy figure dashed through the darkness like a Spaniard from a bath. The lift lurched violently, and they saw it: high above, the dark figure was sawing the cable to the lift! It was a long, perilous way down.
“If we’re gonna die,” said Finley. “I’ve gotta tell you… Alexei is a dude’s name.”
“Silence!” Archimedes barked, as the cable snapped and they plummeted to their deaths!