I got up from my desk, opened the door, and walked to PJ's desk. Her silly French-language punk music was playing and there she was sitting with her feet on her desk waiting for me. She stood up and handed me three folders. I opened one and inside were more messages, and it was only one folder! I couldn't believe it.
"They all came in within the last hour," she said.
I shook my head.
"Don't answer the phone anymore for today. Let the voice recorder catch them all."
"The one we have doesn't have the disk space."
"Go out and buy one that we need then. Then come back here," I threw the folder back on her desk, "and figure out a better way to prioritize."
"That's what I did."
"Do you want me sitting at my desk going through messages all day or out solving cases? Which do want?"
"You need to hire another secretary."
"No."
"A part-time assistant."
"No. You are my only employee. In fact, you're making more than me."
"Cruz, you're a famous detective now. I can't man the front area, answer the phones, and prioritize messages. Impossible. How am I supposed to do all that? I need help!"
I covered my ears so I couldn't hear her voice anymore and said, "Call Phishy. Ammo." Then I walked back into my office. "Front of the office is your job. That's why I hired you. Detective work is my job. Your job allows me to do my job or no money."
I reflexively dove for the floor as the hover-car outside my window beamed a bright light into my office.
Chapter 52: Phishy
It could have been reporters, but I was taking no chances. I stood at my desk loading the bullets into my magazine. PJ was sitting on one of my inner office lounge area chairs loading up her two shotguns.
I may have had guns now and had a natural aptitude for shooting, but I was no gun person. And PJ was an ex-posh gang member so she definitely wasn't a gun person. You didn't take good ammo out of your weapon and then load up new ammo just because new boxes of ammo came in. But we did it anyway, because it's "fresh" ammo straight out the box, right?
Phishy glanced back and forth between us as if he were watching a tennis match.
"Why don't you load up too, Phishy?" PJ said to him.
"Oh no. Phishy is a lover not a fighter." He smiled at her.
"A dead lover or a live fighter. Hmm. What is better for me and my life?" PJ said as she cocked one of her rifles.
"Phishy, I want more ammo," I said.
"Cruz, you're getting a bit obsessive about the safety."
"How many gun battles have I been in now? People trying to sucker shoot me all over the place. I had a major shoot before leaving to rescue the little girl and then another shoot-out trying to rescue the little girl. Phishy, this isn't a matter of perspective. We need more boxes of ammo."
"But isn't a detective supposed to think his way out of battles?" Phishy sincerely asked.
PJ burst out laughing.
"You stupid man," she snapped at him.
"More boxes of ammo, Phishy," I said. "The hover-car was flying right outside my window with a spotlight."
"Oh, okay. I'll get more. But Cruz, this isn't cheap stuff."
I walked to my desk and opened the front drawer. His eyes opened wide as he saw the wad of cash.
"If you even think of hiding this cash the way you did the last time, I'll ban you from my office."
"Where's my cash?" PJ said standing from the couch.
I ignored her. "Did you hear me?" I asked Phishy.
"I'll do it outside."
I threw the cash at him and he caught it with ease. "Get out of here and bring me more ammo."
Phishy ran out of my office, smiling. We heard the reception door close and I just shook my head.
"Where's my cash?"
"Why would I give you any cash when you can't even prioritize my messages so I know what cases to take on? Maybe I should waste my time talking to more ladies with the gators in their bathtubs."
"That wouldn't be a good use of your time. You need to go out there and solve cases and bring back the money. You're famous now. How hard can that be?"
The voice of a man at my office doorway so startled us that I reflexively dropped my box of ammo to the ground to reach for my gun, the bullets bounced up and down on the hardwood floor. PJ had let go of her shotgun, it hit the rugged floor, and it discharged. The blast blew out my window (again) and sucked all the messages that were neatly stacked at the edge of my desk out into the sky.
Chapter 53: The Mick
PJ ran back out of my office to her desk and when she appeared an instant later, she literally flew out the window--100 stories up. We watched as the Punch Judy went after every slip of paper fluttering down to the ground below. I wasn't sure if she was trying to impress me to get some money or if each of those messages represented dollar signs to her, which again meant getting money.
"Who are you?" I asked the man standing next to me, both of us watching the jet-packed PJ flying around outside like a super heroine.
"I'm here to fetch you and bring you to a private cafe to meet a mutual friend."
"Who's the mutual friend?"
"I believe you call him the Mick."
I actually never knew his name. Run-Time had three executive vice presidents--the two nice and female ones; one Lebanese and the other West Indian; and the one big Irish male, who wasn't nice. If you dealt with the female ones, then you were in Run-Time's good graces, which is why I never even spoke two words to the Mick in all the many years I was friends with Run-Time. Since I didn't know what I could possibly have done to warrant a meeting with the Mick, I was intrigued.
"Okay."
"I hope you're not as trigger happy in public places as your secretary."
"How did you get in here anyway?"
"I believe it's called walking through the front door."
"We're still working out the kinks with our external security measures."
"I see you have a ways to go. Shall we go?"
"Let my secretary fly back in here first."
Just as I uttered the words, PJ flew into the office, almost hitting the ceiling, and landed. A wad of messages were clutched in her hand.
"I got all the messages," she proclaimed.
"And you blew out my window."
"So we're even now. You blew it out first and now I have. Even."
"But I'm the one who has to pay the bill to fix it each time."
She shook her hand holding the messages. "Get some clients in here. I'll make the calls if you're busy."
"Your boss has a client call to go on now," the man said.
"Oh," PJ said. "Go on then," she said to me. "I'll take care of the window."
"And," I started to say, "show me how to do that super girl with the jet-pack thing because I hear all the time people doing that and splatting on the pavement."
"Oh, because they're stupid," PJ said. "They jump out the window and then push the button on their jet-pack. They watch too much fake television. We have hover technology, not anti-gravity. Anti-gravity is fantasy fake stuff. No jet-pack can stop your fall after the fact. You never see base-jumpers do that or acrobats. No jet-pack engine is more powerful than Earth's gravity. You start your jet-pack while you're standing still and then you can fly. That's how you do it."
"Well, you can show me when I get back. And figure out why the door..."
"And I'll figure out why the door was open for this man to walk in like that."
"I'm sorry," the man said. "I didn't mean to walk into your place of business."
"Let's go," I said to him.
The man took me to some hole-in-the-wall eatery that I had never been to before. An awaiting hover-car with its own driver took us there. I never saw the name of the place, but I did know it was on the edges of the city of Neon Blues.
The man led me into a virtually empty, diner-style establishment. The Mick was at the furthest booth away from us, facing us with his back
to the wall. As we approached, I could see he was sipping something from a coffee cup.
"Mr. Cruz, have a seat." He motioned to the space opposite him.
The man who led me in nodded at the VP and walked back the way he came. I sat down.
"Want anything to drink, alcoholic or not, your choice," he said to me.
"No thanks. I'm good. Well, are you here on Run-Time's behalf or yours?" I asked the Mick. "'Cause I don't think we've ever talked before."
"We haven't. But then you weren't a detective before. And you hadn't involved yourself in...delicate matters."
"I remind you it was Run-Time who brought me into this case, both of them."
"Mr. Cruz, you are precisely right, which is why I'm here. My boss wants to hire you again."
"For?"
"He wants to hire you not to proceed with the case any further."
"You mean the Easy Chair Charlie case?"
"Is there another?"
I hesitated. "Well, the Carol case is concluded, so no."
I wasn't offended that Run-Time sent the Mick to tell me this rather than do so directly at his offices. Run-Time wanted nothing to do with this and I took notice that everyone seemed to know who I was--the Mayor, police, Feds and Interpol, even. Which meant I was being monitored. I didn't forget that Run-Time was...scared. An emotion I never saw on his face, ever. He had to keep his distance from me, but still had to communicate with me.
"Mr. Cruz, let's not play games. I don't like to play games, but you seem to."
"I don't like games either."
"I think you do. You're obviously put off by my boss's request so tell me what we need to do for you to comply with what he's asking you to do. My boss doesn't do anything without a good reason and if he's asking you not to investigate this any further, then there is a very good reason, even if you don't know what it is."
"I don't like secrets."
"Why? You have secrets. I have them. My boss does. The entire city does. What's wrong with secrets? Every question of the universe can't be known. I ask the question again, what do we need to do or how much do I need to pay you to proceed no further."
"Run-Time's a friend so you don't have to pay me anything. My only question is, am I going to be brought in on this secret at some point?"
The Mick hesitated. "Maybe."
"Maybe."
"Mr. Cruz, let it be and my boss will bring you in, if necessary. You say you're a friend. You've known him longer than I have. Has he ever left you out in the cold before?"
He never has. "Okay, you've convinced me. I'll leave it alone, but that doesn't mean that others out there will leave me alone."
"Which is why my boss may have to bring you in. Things will be monitored and we'll be in touch. I'm sure as a now-famous detective that you can find other cases to occupy your time."
"I'm sure."
"Good."
The big Irishman got out from the booth and stood. Rather than shake my hand, his arms hung at his side and he gave me a slight bow, Japanese-style, to say goodbye. He walked out of the place, leaving me alone at the table.
I looked at his empty cup on the table and realized that I didn't even have enough cash to pay for a cup of coffee for myself. If I was a now-famous detective, why was I less than broke?
Chapter 54: The Mayor
I was treated like a celebrity from the moment I got out of the city hover-limo that picked me up at my office and flew me to City Hall. Aides were fawning over me and a couple of reporters were following us as I was led from the lobby, to the general offices, to the elevator capsules, and finally outside the Mayor's office. There, aides turned over escort duty to the deputies.
A tall man opened the door and gestured me in. Run-Time's office was ridiculously huge. The Mayor's office was double that size. I was like some major trans-continental excursion to walk from the entrance to the Mayor's desk--no Mayor to be seen--but four others were waiting. Chief Hub, the Interpol man, and two other suits. They all were as stone-faced as stone. The tall deputy stood behind me--much too close for my comfort--as I waited.
The Mayor waltzed in with, of course, two other aides following him. He had a big smile on his face.
"Mr. Cruz," he called out and vigorously shook my hand. "Thanks for coming by. Please take a seat."
I sat in the chair in front of the desk. As soon as I sat in it, I realized that I was dealing with deranged children. The chair was a kid's chair and from the Mayor's vantage point, all he saw was my head.
"Mr. Cruz, the reason I asked you to come by is I wanted to tell you how things were going to go for you in my city going forward. You will not be getting a detective license. I'm going to personally make sure no one in government or any business that does business with the city will do business with you. If you are ever caught referring to yourself as a detective, that will be deemed as illegal misrepresentation of being a member of the law enforcement industry and you will be prosecuted and fined. You can apply all the times you want, but it will never be approved. Your gun license, which you've apparently had a long time, has been revoked. You get caught with a weapon outside of your residence and that will be a felony which you will be vigorously prosecuted for. I'm going to find out who's given you that legacy office of yours and they will quickly find out what it's like to be on the wrong side of this office. You are not welcome in this city. You can bask in your media limelight for now, but public attention is such a fleeting thing. The reporters will disappear, everyone will forget your name, and then you'll be a bum again, like you've always been. That's when I'm going to get you. You think we're going to allow a bum civilian embarrass this office, my police department, and the Interspace Police? You're finished, Mr. Cruz, in this city, finished."
The Mayor should have consulted with the Guy Who Scratched My Vehicle before he said what he said to me.
I got up from their kiddie chair and left his office with my security escort.
Chapter 55: Holly Live
"Now to our breaking bombshell exclusive from ace investigative reporter, Holly Live." The newsman in his virtual reality studio didn't stop smiling for a second.
"Thank you, Max. Yes, Metropolis, I've been in the news business for nearly twenty years and the word scandal is used so many times that even I roll my eyes when I hear it, but this story is a scandal that will rock the foundations of this super-city to the ground. Earlier today, at a secret location, I spoke to my inside informant, who asked us to conceal his identity for fear of criminal threats to his very life. The story he told us is of that magnitude..."
The broadcast cut to Holly Live sitting across from her "secret informant," who was computer-silhouetted, but the tan fedora and coat was unmistakable. The voice was computer-modified, but everyone who knew would know that it could be no other person.
I said with my computer-enhanced voice, "About a month ago, a man by the name of Easy Chair Charlie supposedly got up from his table in Old Harlem, went outside, pulled the most sophisticated weapons out of thin air, and started shooting at everyone and everything at the town's premiere smoking joint."
"Yes, the Sweet Street Shoot-Out and Joe Blows," the reporter interjected. "This station was first on the scene."
"That man was soon killed in the shoot-out by police. Those were the reports carried by this channel and every other. But that is not what happened.
"That shoot-out was a well-orchestrated murder of which Easy Chair Charlie was the least of the victims. Up-Top agents illegally came to our planet and allowed a psychopathic gang leader, on their payroll, to kill five Metropolis police officers, leaving behind five sets of spouses and children, and kidnap a child witness--"
"The Lutty girl kidnapping case," the reporter interjected again.
"Yes, your station was there. Well, the entire op was done with the full knowledge and consent of Metropolis's police chief and its Mayor."
Holly Live cut in, "You know what's going to happen. People are going to say this is the wild rantings of a
disgruntled person with a score to settle."
"You're right, Holly. That's what they'll say. But then you say back to them... 'No, go to the surviving widows and widowers and families of these slain officers and ask their union rep too, to demand all body-cam video footage of that night from all officers and cruisers on scene and see what happens."
"What will happen?" Holly was genuinely asking me.
"Thirty police cruisers and fifty-seven officers responding to the shoot-out. They will tell you, there are no tapes."
Chapter 56: The Peanut Gallery
In all the pictures you've seen of mass protests or riots, were there ever any in the pouring rain? Never. People were not interested in exercising their right to civil protest in inclement weather. However, I heard something from one of the Concrete Mama sidewalk johnnies that made me think barricading up in my own place was not such a safe prospect after all. I heard that the police were rioting at City Hall. There were 500,000 police in Metropolis!
We had left the real world and had entered the world of surreality.
"I don't know where you live," I said to Punch Judy.
"We've lived in the same building for over ten years. How can you not know where I live?"
"I just don't."
PJ's place was going to be my safehouse. While my place had a meager helping of furniture, every square inch of her place had some piece of modern deco, neon or fancy something. She may have been an ex-posh gang member, but she was firstly all posh.
She had turned her living room into a version of her Liquid Cool work-area. She thankfully hadn't forwarded the phones, but she had to check, listen, and clear out the voice mail every half hour or we'd completely run out of message storage. It was crazy. She could barely keep up.
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