The Mike Murphy Files

By Christopher Bunn

A Collection of Rogues, Ruffians and Rascals

Meet Mike Murphy. He's a private eye, ready to right wrongs if you pay him enough. He's also ready for a good Polish with sauerkraut if he can scrape together a few extra bucks. Sure, nobody hired Murphy to tangle with the local mob boss, but sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Even if that means ogres and mummies and one mean gorilla.

From freeze-dried pygmies and ruby mines, IRS agents and the resourceful Polly Inch, the fifth dimension and grumpy elves, come take a wild ride through stories from a world just around the corner. Buckle up, though, because that Camaro the elves are driving has got a jet engine. And, of course, an espresso maker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Bunn
• Release date: Feb 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507098066

Book preview

Other books by Christopher Bunn

The Tormay Trilogy

The Hawk and His Boy

The Shadow at the Gate

The Wicked Day

A Storm in Tormay: the complete trilogy

Tales from Tormay

The Silver Girl

The Seal Whistle

Lovers and Lunatics

The Fury Clock

The Model Universe and Other Stories

The Mike Murphy Files and Other Stories

Short Stories

Polly Inch

The Christmas Caper

The Ocean Won’t Burn

Sparrow Falls

The Girl Next Door

Rosamonde

Ice and Fire

MISSING DOGS, HEADS, HANDS, ETC.

From the Files of Mike Murphy

The morning sun was as hot as the Devil’s coffee. The pavement was hotter. It scorched up through my shoe soles. Light bounced off windows and the metal and glass of passing cars. People were surly from the heat. The newsman snarled his thanks when I paid for my newspaper. The fat guy behind the donut counter slung my apple fritter into the bag with contempt. A taxicab tried to run me down in the crosswalk. The driver hung out the window and yelled something unintelligible after me. Something about coming back and getting run over like a man.

I trudged up the stairs to my office. The placard on the door said M. Murphy, Private Investigations. That’s me. Mike Murphy. Detective. You might be tired of hearing about detectives, but what choice did I have? It was either that or working for my brother’s law firm. I don’t believe in lawyers, just like I don’t believe in Santa Claus. I’m Irish, so, even though I believe in some things, a man has to draw the line somewhere.

I pulled the curtains shut and sat down at my desk. The air conditioner wasn’t working, but I wasn’t about to call up the landlord, seeing I was two months behind on rent. The newspaper didn’t hold anything instructive, other than another headless corpse floating in the harbor, several bribed politicians looking like lobotomized monkeys in their photos, a case of arson, and a new city budget spending fifty million bucks more than the city had.

Ho hum. Business as usual.

I ate my apple fritter. It was greasy and good.

I eyed the telephone. It was better that it didn’t ring. If it did ring, it would probably be a bill collector or my girlfriend Maura. Maura was mad at me. Mad enough to throw a bottle of beer at my head last night. I’d give her a few days to cool off. Only trouble was, nobody cooled off in this kind of weather.

I investigated my wallet and found a dollar bill. Two dimes and a nickel in my pocket. I opened the desk drawer and found a quarter under a pile of unpaid bills. A buck and a half. That would be enough for a hotdog from Fat Joe’s Lunch Cart.

It was high time I found some clients. The last paying client I had was Mrs. Georgia Pulley-Givens, wife to Mr. Frederick T. Givens IV, banker and fathead philanthropist. She paid me four hundred bucks for finding her missing Chihuahua Bootsie. I would’ve charged her two hundred bucks, but I always figure hyphenated names are good for twice as much. She thought the Mafia had kidnapped Bootsie. Either for ransom or to torture information out of the dog. Mrs. Pulley-Givens claimed Bootsie was the smartest dog since Lassie, and chock-full of dog information any criminal would kill to know. I considered explaining to her that Louis Six-Fingers, the local Mafia don, probably wasn’t interested in what various people’s shoes smelled like, or whether the cat in 16-B was a snotty piece of work. I just nodded and thought about the cash.

I had found Bootsie gobbling stale pizza out of the garbage behind Gino’s Italian Grill. Bootsie didn’t look all that smart, pizza sauce smeared all over her ugly little face. But Mrs. Pulley-Givens smothered Bootsie in her ample bosom and wept tears of joy. The dog had given me a dirty look, as if to say, why the hell didn’t you leave me with the pizza?

I leaned back in my chair and thought a moment. Maybe that arson job mentioned in the paper might have some money in it. Poke around, ask a few questions, steal a march on the cops. Pressure the right person and who knows? They might cough up some bucks for my silence.

I trudged along Grove Street to the precinct station. The gun in my shoulder holster felt like a lump of lead. My feet hurt. I needed some new shoes. Or maybe it was high time I got in shape. I was six-three in my socks, heavy enough with muscle, but my gut was starting to show the influence of a few too many beers. I could join a gym. Pump some iron, run on a treadmill while staring at a TV talk show twenty inches in front of my face. Do time on the elliptical next to some flabby gasper in spandex.

Or maybe I just needed better shoes.

As if the city agreed with me, I noticed a sign across the street. Finnegan and Sons. Shoemakers since something-something. The paint of the something-something part of the sign was cracked and peeling. It looked like it might read 1948, or maybe 1848, or maybe even 1748.

The shop was tucked between a grocer and a bank belonging to Mr. Frederick T. Givens IV. I’d been up and down this street for years and I couldn’t remember seeing the place before. I pushed through the door. A bell jangled in the back of the shop. The walls were lined with shelves and the shelves were full of shoes. All different kinds of shoes. Boots. Sandals. Tennis shoes. Weird shoes. Shoes covered in fur. Covered in feathers. In what looked suspiciously like gold. A pair of boots that looked like they’d been carved from stone. Some running shoes that looked big enough to fit an elephant. I picked up one of the running shoes.

Those are already spoken for.

The voice came from behind me. I turned and didn’t see anyone until I looked down. He was short. Short enough to be prickly about it. And he looked prickly. Spiky gray hair, green eyes, and big ears that stuck out from the side of his head like bat wings. He grabbed the shoe from my hand, brushed off an imaginary speck of dust, and put it back on the shelf.

People usually make an appointment, he said.

Oh, I said cleverly.

Then we’re in agreement you should leave. At least, I’m in agreement.

He began shooing at me, making sweeping motions toward the door. But my feet were aching and I had held that running shoe in my hand. That thing, enormous as it was, had been light as a feather. Hand-stitched, too.

You make the shoes in here? I said.

Of course, he said, pride winning out over reluctance.

I’d like a pair of shoes. I walk a lot in my job. I’ve never found a pair that really fits, you know what I mean? It’s all those mass-produced Chinese knockoffs flooding the market. You can’t find a good shoe anymore.

Er, no, you can’t, he said, unable to help himself.

You obviously know what you’re doing. These are real shoes you’ve got here. Real shoes.

He couldn’t help smiling, and, before he knew it, he was measuring my feet and taking notes in a worn leather notebook he whipped out of his pocket.

Walks a lot, he mumbled, scribbling. Six feet, three inches. 235 pounds. Irish. Green eyes, crooked nose, smells of cheap coffee. Man of business, not too casual, but nothing dressy either. Serious shoes, correct? No! Don’t tell me. Not a word. I know what a person needs in shoes just by looking at them. Leather uppers, gum rubber soles. Cushioned inner. Let’s see. . . Shoes that can stand up to concrete sidewalks, dodging traffic, a quiet dinner at Fleur de Lis, resistant to mustard stains, spilled beer, and modern music. Got it. Right. They’ll be ready tomorrow morning.

I thanked him and left before he could change his mind.

The 53rd Precinct station is brick and plaster. I know the place like the nose on my face. I used to be a cop there. Eleven years until I got bored of filling out paperwork, drinking bad coffee, and having to listen respectfully to gibbering idiots from City Hall.

I was past the front counter before the duty sergeant saw me.

Hey, MacGregor, I said.

Hey, Murph, he said, without thinking. Hey! You can’t go back there. You ain’t working here no more.

Relax, you mashed potato. I’m not gonna steal the crown jewels.

The Captain was in the back, frowning at a jelly donut.

Whaddaya want, Murph, he said. You come to get fired again?

You didn’t fire me. I quit. Remember?

"I shoulda fired you. I should fire the lot of ‘em! Whiners, that’s what they are. Drooling, incontinent babies licensed to carry guns and arrest people. But the modern policeman’s more concerned about violating people’s civil rights

Reviews for The Mike Murphy Files

[tbrennan1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Eclectic mix of stories from crime fiction to urban fantasy.The stories are entertaining and funny and were a surprise to this reviewer. Enjoyable reading with a nod to private detective fiction in the Mike Murphy stories. Well done to the author.

[rhonda1111 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Its a few short stories that are a little bit different than I expected. I read it without reading the outline and got a nice surprise.Mike Murphy is a private eye who is behind on the rent a couple of months,Irish a former cop. Who gets help from hotdog cart has a girl friend who is mad at him and runs into different suspects than the normal bad guys.Even had a story about Santa Claus arrested for breaking into houses. His sleigh and magic sack got stolen.It is fast read and laughed some. Was enjoyable to see different stories than expected. I will read more of Christopher work. I was given this ebook in exchange for honest review.

[tanyaj101 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Great reads as far as short stories go. I personally enjoy a longer novel, but my kids liked the stories and I found them humorous and fun to read.

[scoshie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Grimm Fiary Tales Meets FireSign Theater. Very funny collection of detective stories mixed with fairy tale characters. Well done and funny read. I won this several weeks ago and now wish I had read earlier but will definetly read it again. Would love to have a hard copy and not just the ebook. Well worth the price!!

[gmtapublishing · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I breezed through this book and NOT because it wasn't good, but rather because it caught me and held me firmly attentive all the way through. These stories were wonderful and exciting with tons of action and variously interesting plots. They were cute and quirky with a colorful batch of characters that could only be gleaned from a vivid and wild imagination. Much praise goes out to Christopher Bunn for his amazing short story collection, one I would even let my 10 year old daughter read. These stories were simply wonderful, I hope there are many more to come.

[squigglez · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I was lucky enough to snag this book via a Member Giveaway!It's a collection of five or six short stories. I thought I'd be most into the Mike Murphy Files stories - they're urban fantasy, about a detective who solves supernatural crimes. But I ended up a little disappointed when Mike seems to bumble through his cases, seeming to find clues almost despite himself. Something about that tone just rubbed me the wrong way.The "Other Stories" were much better, in my opinion - a couple of unrelated fantasy stories that were, quite frankly, super adorable.Thanks, Christopher!

[ravenswoodpublishi-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I breezed through this book and NOT because it wasn't good, but rather because it caught me and held me firmly attentive all the way through. These stories were wonderful and exciting with tons of action and variously interesting plots. They were cute and quirky with a colorful batch of characters that could only be gleaned from a vivid and wild imagination. Much praise goes out to Christopher Bunn for his amazing short story collection, one I would even let my 10 year old daughter read. These stories were simply wonderful, I hope there are many more to come.