Whatever Happened to Memphis Smith?

Dick Tracy hustled down the street, his coat pulled close around him against the cutting wind. He stopped in front of the Easton St. Marie Hotel, a luxurious establishment that was well-known for its upscale clientele. He looked at the doorman, who stood rigidly at attention.

“Hello, Memphis.” Tracy said. “It’s been a while.”

“Afternoon, Mr. Tracy.” The doorman didn’t smile, but he raised his eyebrows in recognition. “It doesn’t seem so awfully long to me.”

“You look good.” Tracy pointed out the doorman's uniform. “It suits you. You keep the buttons nice and shiny.”

“If a man doesn’t take pride in his appearance, how can he take pride in his work?” Memphis asked, rhetorically. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m working a case. I thought you might be able to provide me with some information.” Tracy answered. 

“Aw, come on now, Mr. Tracy.” Memphis narrowed his eyes. “You know it’s bad for my reputation to be seen talking to you.”

“Got another idea?” Tracy asked.

“Well, today’s Wednesday.” Memphis looked down at his feet, then back up. “On Wednesdays I treat myself to a shoeshine. There’s a bench inside, in the left hallway off the lobby. Nice and secluded. I take my break in about fifteen minutes.”

“Good.” Tracy walked into the hotel. Memphis kept his gaze forward.

Later, Tracy sat at the shoeshine bench, pretending to read a newspaper. Memphis settled into a seat next to him and put his feet on the supports. The older man working the stand began to polish Memphis’ shoes. 

“Is it all right to talk here?” Tracy asked.

“Nothin’ stoppin’ us.” Memphis replied. “Shorty here keeps his focus on the job in front him, ain’t that right Shorty?”

“How’s that?” Shorty looked up, briefly distracted.

“Never mind, you just keep up the good work.” Memphis turned back to Tracy. “Now what’s troublin’ you, Tracy?”

“Some women have turned up dead.” Tracy said bluntly. “Four of them in the past 6 weeks. All young, fairly attractive. No identification, no matching dental records, none of them were reported missing. Their bodies were all found on the south side, near the marina.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Sometimes it seems like this city’s going the tubes.” Memphis said, sardonically.

“One of them had a tattoo in Cyrillic. We think that may connect her to some stories we’ve been hearing about the Russian mafia and human trafficking. They find these desperate young women back in the old country, charge them whatever money they can get together and tell them that they’ve found husbands for them in America. Then the women get here and they’re put to work as call girls.” Tracy sighed heavily. “If they cause any trouble, they get threatened with being sent back. Or, it looks like, just get killed.”

“Uh-huh. And why’d you come to me with all this?” Memphis asked.

“This is high-end establishment. You see all the comings and goings. I thought you might have noticed something.”

“Hmm.” Memphis rubbed the top of his head, thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I have seen a few things that struck me as odd...”

“What’s that?” Tracy leaned closer.

“Well, several weeks ago, I started to notice a few young ladies that came to the hotel on more than one occasion. Sometimes they’d arrive alone, sometimes with a fellow. But never the SAME fellow, you understand?”

“I see.” Tracy said.

“And these ladies were surely pretty, I can tell you. What really stood out, though, was that when they spoke, they spoke with an accent.”

“Eastern European?” Tracy asked.

“Aw, come on now, Mr. Tracy. You know I’m not a world traveler.” Memphis looked at Tracy and smiled. “But they did sound like the kind of women you might see in a James Bond picture. You know, like from the 70s maybe? Or the 80s? One of them ones with Roger Moore. I like him, I’ll tell you.”

“I prefer Connery.” Tracy said, not smiling.

“That does not surprise me.” Memphis replied. “Anyway, these ladies didn’t SEEM to be up to anything unwholesome, and it’s certainly not my place to look sideways at any of the hotel guests, you understand?”

“I do.” Tracy said.

“But the other thing that struck me as peculiar was that every time one of them would leave in the morning, they would be met out front by the same car. A dark, late model number. Big SUV, you know the kind?”

“The same car, every time?” Tracy asked.

“That’s what caught my attention.” Memphis said. “In fact, I took note of the license number, just in case it became important.”

Memphis held up a slip of paper.  “You find the owner of that vehicle, and I’d say you’re a step closer to tracking down your killer.” 

Tracy took the paper. He held out a folded bill. Memphis looked from the money to the detective.

“Why you have to insult me like that, Mr. Tracy?” Memphis scowled. “You know I’m not interested in your money. You just hold onto that.”

Memphis stood. He patted Shorty on the shoulder.

“You take care of this man, now, Shorty.” Memphis urged the shoe shine worker. “That’s a famous police detective. Worth his weight in gold and then some. You give him the deluxe executive shine.”

Memphis put on his cap, tipped it at Tracy and walked away up the corridor. Shorty turned to Tracy.

“You know he didn’t pay me, right?” Shorty asked.

Tracy chuckled as he reached for his wallet. “Yowsah…”

END