Fun City Punch (Joe Dylan Crime Noir, #5)

by James Newman

  “Such as?”

  “Spider removal.”

  “One thing you have to be careful about is the flush.”

  “The flush?”

  “Yes, the Eye can’t destroy the tunnels but what it can do is spray a stream of water through periodically, flushing out any resistance who happen to be walking through it.”

  “How do we counter it?”

  “O2. You’ll need a canister or two, a couple of face masks and you just wait it out.”

  “Piece of cake,” Trixie smiled nervously.

  “The woman’s will is strong,” said Cake Hole. “She has spirit.”

  “A strong spirit is just what I need, brother.”

  “Brothers,” said Cake Hole motioning up to his larger twin. “If you see the Eye, break it into a million pieces, Joe. When we don’t hear from you we follow your trail down.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  THE OFFICE door was locked.

  Twisted it open with a key and pushed it open.

  “Are there rats in here?” Trixie’s eyes narrowed.

  “Used to be.”

  “Joe, I am serious about this. I have, like this, rat phobia, if I see one I freak.”

  “Okay, there aren’t any rats. Trust me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Then what are those traps for?”

  “Squirrels.”

  “Squirrels?”

  “Arboreal mammals, bushy tails.”

  I put what we needed into a rucksack, torches, and Ajarn’s book, pulled the bag tight and clipped it shut.

  “Okay take this, pass me that.”

  A sound of scratching came from the corner. Trixie was up, off the floor, I caught her.

  “Rats. You said there WERE NO RATS!”

  She crashed down onto me. Knocking into the bureau, the reel to reel cassette player fell onto the floor, bounced and played.

  There is a place, a secret place, with cool waters, birds and peace. I found it while meditating. Gather yourself there before a leap of faith.

  “Hold it, we should go there. It’s written in the book. We need to go there and cleanse ourselves in the waters.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Why? Because it is written. That is why.”

  “You can find this place?”

  “I’m a detective. It’s what I do, Trixie. I find places and people. Can you swim?”

  “Okay, take this, and pass me the bag.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I had some oxygen here. I found it during a case on one of the islands. We need to test this stuff. It hasn’t been used in the last thirty years.”

  “Does air go out of date?”

  “How do I know?”

  “Are you always this organized?”

  “Sure. Who knows when you might need air, right?”

  “Air is required at all times.”

  “Smart ass, follow me.”

  FORTY

  LIMESTONE, crystal clear waters, the monastery covered with gold leaf sat above the pool. “Nice set up,” Trixie smiled.

  “I need to test the oxygen. Well, I don’t know about you but I don’t trust any Fun City O2 in an emergency situation. Plus, this is one of the few places the Eye doesn’t look.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And...”

  “And what?”

  “I wanted to test something else.”

  “Such as?”

  “Wait and see.”

  Covered and shaded by bamboo brush and the surrounding rocks the sun shone through the brush occasioning shadows to flicker on to the glimmering water.

  “This is the only place of organized worship in the city. It was placed under exclusion from the city council. Strangely, the citizens respect this.”

  “Well, they are human after all,” Trixie smiled.

  “Partly, I guess.”

  Stripping down, I dove into the waters and let myself slowly rise to the surface. Trixie, standing on the rock above the pool, took off her clothes, leaving only a blue bra and panties. As I broke the surface, the sun shone down, the sounds of birds chattering in the trees and the sound of a lizard barking. Swam four or five lengths of the pool before pulling up onto the edge and watching Trixie butterfly stroke up to me before pulling herself up and joining me there on the ledge. She shook her head sprinkling droplets onto her generous breasts. I watched two droplets chase each other down into the cavernous mystery. The implant throbbed. A man and woman, sober, clean, straight, swimming on a warm tropical evening, together.

  “Do you think you can get to them?”

  “I think the man-with-no-hands...Was your old employer?”

  “We never really knew who we worked for.”

  “I need to make him open up a little.”

  “He’s not the only one who needs to open up a little,” she smiled.

  “Perhaps...”

  “Hmm, I never put you down as the shy sensitive type.” Trixie touched my chin gently with her forefinger. “No need to flinch like, like, some kind of insect. I see now why you are so cynical. You’ve had your heart broken by a woman, or perhaps a man?” Trixie smiled in a way that was simultaneously both friendly and mocking. I felt my heart being tugged as I tried to recall one woman that hadn’t broken it, said, “What difference does it make?”

  “You’re a tough guy?” Her eyebrows narrowed.

  “No, it’s just that I don’t like people and I’m generally unpleasant to be around. Ask anybody.”

  “That’s why we love you, Joe. You’re explosive.”

  “I’m not that wild.”

  “I’m guessing the wild man isn’t showing through right now, huh?”

  “He’s on vacation.”

  “Dylan, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you ready to die?”

  “Sure, I am. I wouldn’t have eaten that god darn acid plant if I wasn’t. Ever since that night with you in the dungeon, things have been upside down and back to front. Do you think we could still be under the influence?”

  “No, Joe, we’re beating the system. We’re messing with the Punch, don’t you see?”

  “Maybe,” I told her. “Maybe the Punch needs to be messed with.”

  “Maybe the implant needs to be messed with. The masters tell me that once implanted one can never have immoral congress with a good looking gal.”

  “Sometimes congress isn’t immoral.”

  “In a place of worship?”

  “Every place is a place of worship when you’re in it.”

  “Huh.”

  The sound of an airplane flying overhead as her arms looped around my neck in that pool.

  Never did test that oxygen.

  FORTY-ONE

  AND THERE it was.

  Brushed the entrance to the tunnel and slid away the grate.

  The Eye oscillated, allowing a thirty-second window to get to it and open it.

  There was time, but not much of it.

  “Well, we either do it or we do it.”

  She smiled. “You think there’s anything living down there?”

  “I think there’s a jungle down there, Trixie.”

  “That’s just great.”

  “A whole eco system.”

  “Cute.”

  “Let me slide down first, I’ll call back on up if there’s a situation.”

  The ride down was easy enough, a drop of perhaps fifteen feet into a dark tunnel, checking the circumference, large enough to fit two persons wide. A faint smell of raw sewage meant this had been an outlet at some point. I shouted up to Trixie who slid down to where I stood. Flicking on two torches, I handed her one as we progressed. “The going is a bit steep, keep your head down.” The tunnel bent both ways several times until it was impossible to decide where we were under and in relation to Fun City. Common sense dictated the tunnel would lead towards the sea, but common and not so common sense had often let me down.
>
  “I had a thought,” Trixie said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Rats.”

  “Don’t think about it.”

  “How can I NOT think about it?”

  “Pass through this tunnel and afterwards fear will be a thing of the past.”

  “How do you know?”

  “That’s the way it works, you do the deed first, and the bravery comes later.”

  The sound of tiny claws on metal, an object brushed against my heel, and then another object, dark grey and black shapes, thick meaty tails, rodent chattering. Trixie screamed and held tighter as we gained ground through the tunnel one slow step at a time.

  A dripping sound, slow at first, the drips became a trickle before the sound of flow, and then running water. Dropped the bag and opened it. Took out the two masks attached to the one O2 canister. Strapped them on.

  The sound grew. “We need to tie ourselves to something; otherwise, we’ll be flushed out the other end. Here, take this rope.” Attached one length to the metal hook I guessed was used to secure sewage workers, and the rest of the length went around our waists.

  Grey water hit hard.

  Pressure pushed, felt like cutting the rope and going wherever the water took me, but the impulse to remain was greater. Flash backs from the Punch, the chair, laid horizontal, like a dentist’s chair, images above and the syringe lowering into my arm, bright lights, the room spinning, whispers, audio suggestions, darkness.

  Shaking, water level drops, waist, thigh, and then ankle deep, the flow stopped. Untied the rope and stashed it in the pack.

  “Can you breathe?”

  “Almost,” Trixie said, “I can probably tap dance too. But this is insane. Where is this tunnel taking us, do we have directions or is it just the blind leading the blind?”

  “Wait,” I checked the life-enhancer – “Well, the small green spot is moving towards the large red dot. How is that?”

  “That’s perfect.”

  Then the second wave hit.

  FORTY-TWO

  THE FLUSH broke through the tunnels and pushed with force the sound of crushing water. Held on to Trixie’s wrist, the flow carried us down and through the pipeline, a left, a right, breath held, bright lights, memories of the Punch. Scientist coat hovering above, metal manipulator, tongs, blood on a medical bib, bright lights, under the city, the flush brought us through and passed out to a drop. Much like a sewage waterfall, we fell from the tunnel and dipped under before rising up to the surface, bright lights, and two characters stood staring at us from above on the bank of the pool.

  “Throw us a line, god darn it, don’t just stand there staring,” Trixie cried up at them. The two men spoke to each other and stepped closed to where we bobbed in the pool. The water was deep. The banks were high.

  They seemed to making a decision.

  “Billy, throw them a line, old boy.” A dread head, naked from the waist up with tattoos said to the one they called Billy.

  “Sure, Flea.”

  “Pull them up.”

  The line came down, and I threw it to Trixie, who held on and made it to the edge of the bank. The men pulled at the rope and Trixie climbed up and over the bank, on the edge she shook herself and waved for me to follow.

  Held onto the line and pulled myself up.

  The man named Flea spoke. “You were lucky, old sport. We’ve cut out various sections of the line. Sometimes the flush hits faster than a rat up a bloody drainpipe. Controlled by a timer usually, but sometimes the devils play with us and switch to manual. This is where the old dip comes in.”

  “Good to be prepared?”

  “Quite so, old chap.”

  We followed the two men through a network of tunnels into a large room with dozen men and women, one woman breastfed a baby, another scrubbed clothes clean in a bucket. Men rolled cigarettes and played cards. A transistor radio played Bach. All the rats had the tunnel tattoos.

  “We have gas canisters for cooking, fresh water for washing and drinking. Care for some tea?”

  “Where does it come from? The water?”

  “An old water spring. You just dig down until you find them. Sugar?”

  “And the waterfall?”

  “We cut some holes in the tunnel. That way we have a chance when they flush us. One lump or two?”

  “Two.”

  “And for the lady?”

  “None thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. Turned out lucky for you two, didn’t it? What is it you are looking for? Not sewer fishing, I take it? Am afraid the milk is powdered but you take what you can get down here,” the man called Flea poured hot water into a teapot and rinsed out four cups. “Where are you heading?”

  “We’re heading for the Eye.”

  “The Eye, eh? You don’t mess about. What’s in there that interests you, Stranger?”

  “Name’s Joe, this here is Trixie. They have some memories of mine I’d like back.”

  “You been Punched.”

  I nodded.

  “You want to find your tapes?”

  “We just want to get inside,” Trixie said. “Can you take us to the entrance?”

  “Well, I could, but what happens when you get there? You’ll need dynamite to blow your way in.” Flea took a sip of his hot tea. “Ah, that hit the spot.”

  “We thought the Rats have a way through.”

  “The Rats find their way into the Eye from time to time. But once they do, the Eye is patched back up to how it was before. It’s always the bloody same. The cycle repeats itself every few days. The city is becoming more organized at rodent disposal, you might say. Most of the Fast rats are now past rats, if you catch my drift.”

  “You have a way in?”

  “Possibly, I want to know more about your mission. Who sent you and what exactly you intend to achieve.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, we have been working on this project for as long as we can remember and we don’t need an unknown player going in and messing up years of our work. Hope that didn’t sound too forward, sometimes this battle gets to me. Biscuit?” Flea opened a tin and passed them around.

  “We will credit you to guide us to the best place to enter and for the dynamite to make that happen.”

  “Five thousand,” Flea said.

  “I’ll give you two,” Trixie smiled.

  “Four.”

  Trixie tapped a finger on Flea’s shoulder. “Let’s just assume you need to go overland to get supplies. Supplies like these marvelous biccies. Now, you don’t want to be running up there on zero credits. You get picked up by a routine patrol and you lose all this,” Trixie spread her arms out wide to show Flea his dwelling. “Plus, you get put on the Punch.”

  “Now that would put us in a pickle.”

  “You get one thousand each once the job is done.”

  “Half up front,” Flea said taking out his life-enhancer.

  “Nice doing business with you.”

  FORTY-THREE

  “WE TAKE this line for two clicks. We’re traveling diagonally down here. All of the City’s information is stored down here. The Fast Rats work on commission to do small solo-handed missions. We had a job recently. The prince of a European country who shall remain nameless had come to Fun City for a little R&R.”

  “What part do you play in all this?”

  “Utility operations,” Flea said, “I’m a maintenance man. But I get to hear the tunnel gossip. This prince was recorded by the Eye and by private players, Gamers, as they’re known. They had footage of him in compromising positions with the patrons of one of those freak bars. Well, that stuff is dynamite, and could cause a scandal from Brighton to Bombay if word got into the wrong hands.”

  “And?”

  “Well, the Gamers were easy to pay off, they were paid royally if you catch my rift, and the footage was destroyed before their own peepers, but the Eye is another matter. Offers were made but the council didn’t play ball. We sent in Jones, known down here as Su
per Rat Jones.”

  “This talk of rats is making me sick.”

  “It’s okay, Trix, we’re nearly there...”

  “Jones found a way in, gained access to the memory vaults and destroyed the records. Neat nip and tuck job.”

  “Couldn’t Jones have destroyed all the records in one hit?”

  “Almost impossible, old chap. There’s no complete system kill switch, items have to be extracted and destroyed one by one. Then there’s the Fun Cloud. A remote storage device. Intelligence indicates that this unit is stored overseas. Luckily, for the Prince, his footage had yet to be stored on the cloud. If a strike is made, it has to be made early and we get out of Dodge. Given the price the Rats charge, you would have thought that they would be back overland after a couple of jobs living the life of luxury. But nah, they like it down here, see. Some say the adrenalin rush keeps them working the hole. Others say they are just biding their time before the big push, when the big push comes the city will need new leaders, and who better than a Super Rat to lead the city back to the capital of decadence it once proudly was.”

  “What are the chances of making it to the Punch headquarters?”

  “Easier than the records department, less secure, mate, but what would you want with that place anyway, interested in seeing citizens move through the thirteen gates of hell?”

  “I’m interested in the S.P.I.D.E.R. plant.”

  “Once you are in, you’re on your own. I’m no tour guide when it comes to the Eye. Are sure you don’t want to hire a rat to do the job for you, would be safer for you and the good lady?”

  “We need to do this in person,” Trixie answered.

  FORTY-FOUR

  “HERE, THIS is where you want to go in,” Flea took an old battered blue print from his inside pocket, unfolded it. “They use this as a laundry room. Once inside, you take the corridor as far as here,” he pointed to a room, “these units here. These are the laboratories. Now let’s see about opening her up. Right, okay move back and turn the corner. Over there. That’s right. Good. One. Two.”

  Three.

  The blast took out a section of the wall. The rest of the rubble was taken out by hand until large enough. The other side was warm. Rolls of hangers, clothes, sheets, blankets hung to dry inside.

  “Now about my fee?”

  “Sure,” I raised the life-enhancer and tapped it against his, the credits transferred with a bleep and a buzz.