by K. C. Finn
“Why don’t you just play cards, Redd,” Cae bites with a dark look, “instead of poking your nose into my life like you usually do?”
Redd pulls his handsome mouth into an awful, mocking look. “Temper, temper,” he croons. He turns his head back to the table of gamblers, and though Cae can no longer see Redd’s face, he stills knows that he wants to punch it when the conman adds: “These psychologically damaged officers, you’ve got to watch them, you know.”
But before the detective can so much as grab for a hair on Richmond’s head, a cry rings out from not too far away. Andre approaches with a phone in his hand, grabbing Cae by the shoulder and dragging him towards the exit of the room.
“But Cara,” Cae tries to protest, “I have to-‘
“Forget the damn animal,” Andre growls into his ear, “get out into the foyer now - Lady Locke’s been attacked.”
14.
Secure, at least, in the knowledge that his feline charge can’t go missing in a room full of VIPs, Cae speeds briskly through the gambling hall and tries his best not to cause alarm. When he reaches the foyer the coat check girl is already waving him over with wide eyes. She too is holding a phone in a shaking hand.
“I’ve called an ambulance,” she says in a quivering tone, “but I thought someone like you had better see…I found her in there.”
The girl turns her gaze to her own booth, and Cae lifts the hatch to pass into the room full of coats and gas masks. A quiet groan alerts him to a body on the floor, and he beholds Mai the cashier soothing the very serious head wound of Lady Locke. The proprietor’s luscious green dress is soaked in blood she has recently lost, though the old cashier seems to be doing all she can to stem the flow.
“It’s a surface wound thank heavens,” Mai says in a broken tone, “but I think she might have a concussion.”
Cae crouches to join the women on the floor and get a closer look at the elegant lady’s injury. For a surface wound there’s an awful lot of blood. Lady Locke’s eyes flicker open at the sound of Cae’s shuffling and she tries her hardest to focus them on his face. He can see her pupils wandering as her shimmery lips part to speak.
“Cara,” she gasps, “you should be guarding-‘
“Never mind that,” Cae says gently, “who did this to you?”
“But Cara, my little one,” Lady Locke murmurs, and Cae starts to agree with Mai that she may well be concussed, least of all to be thinking of the welfare of a cat when she’s leaking blood from her skull.
Mai’s usual drawl is replaced by stunted gasps as she tries not to look at the blood on her own hand. The brown-haired cashier’s eyes brighten as she meets Cae’s gaze.
“Actually she’s got a point,” the woman utters, “what if this is some kind of diversion?”
The young detective nods slowly, biting in his lip. “Stay with her until the ambulance arrives,” he orders, rising again and departing the little closet swiftly.
On his return to the VIP Lounge Cae feels out of place once again as he finds the poker game is now in mid-flow. The palpable tension of the players meets his own anxiety in an uncomfortable clash, particularly as he notes Andre with his tanned hands opening Cara’s tank.
“What are you doing?” The detective exclaims as he approaches the scene.
“What are you doing?” Andre counters with those angry, dark eyes, “I told you to help her! Is she alright?”
Cae puts his hand down on the top of Cara’s tank so that Andre has to snap his fingers away quickly before they get clipped by the lid. Some of the poker players have turned to see the disturbance to their game. Cae tries his best to give them a nonchalant smile. “If you care so much, why aren’t you there with her yourself?” He adds in a quieter tone.
Andre screws his face up sourly. “I thought I’d better look after the cat,” he breathes.
“That’s my job.” Cae’s hoarse voice is little more than a growl.
And Andre must be able to see the suspicion rising in Cae’s bright eyes, because he slowly steps back from the tank. A flash of red light flickers by the sash-laden windows of the VIP Lounge, and the tanned man turns his head to watch it pass.
“I’ll go with her to hospital then,” Andre grumbles slowly.
“You do that,” Cae says with a nod.
After he watches the other man go Cae turns his head back to the tank, where the feline’s green eyes are fixed happily on the return of her protector. He looks at her glumly, thinking of how awful it will be if this little fuzz ball really is the cause of Lady Locke’s concussion. A second set of green eyes are reflecting into the plastic.
“A spot of trouble, was there?” Redd asks without so much as an attempt to hide his amusement.
Cae resumes his position leaning on the tank wall and finds Redd has turned in his chair to watch the creature too. The conman’s handsome face radiates glee, and Cae is unsurprised to find he has amassed a huge pile of gambling chips in his brief absence.
“Nothing that concerns you, Richmond,” the detective answers.
“No, I suppose not,” the charlatan answers dryly, “but one has to pass the time of day whilst one’s competitors are fleeing in terror before they lose any more money.” He gives Cae a little grin.
“I suppose you made back that grand you lost to Flash last week?” Cae asks, his eyes now roaming around the rest of the room, just in case there are any more threats looming.
“Ah how is the old dog?” Redd asks cheerily, “I heard you got him banged up again for that shooting.”
“No thanks to you,” Cae retorts, folding his arms.
The conman just shrugs. “I don’t know what it is that makes you think I’m on your side, Rex,” he muses, a yet more wicked grin overtaking his face. But then, just for a moment, his olive eyes turn that serious shade that Cae so rarely sees. “I’m not,” Redd Richmond adds, “and I never will be.”
15.
“Well if you’re that worried about Kendra seeing us, why don’t you just come to my place?”
Cae pauses at the road he’d been about to cross, holding his phone as best he can against the mouthpiece of his gas mask.
“What, right now?” He queries. “You know it’s three a.m. don’t you?”
“Well I’m up; you’re up; what’s the problem?” Angelica asks.
At times like this, when the detective trudges the dark, smoggy streets of Dartley in the dark, he is eternally grateful that his profession allows him to carry a gun. Without the chemical force of RESISTANCE in his system, he feels a quiver of electricity coursing through his nerves. Cae hangs up his phone and retraces his steps to the last street he passed, heading instead for the block containing Angelica Lane’s apartment. Allowing for his total lack of a sense of direction, he takes three wrong turnings in the dark before arriving at the correct address.
After the blonde buzzes him in from upstairs, the detective is grateful to de-mask and breathe in the fresh filtered oxygen flowing in the halls of the block. He finds himself soon at the liaison officer’s door, wringing his hands together once before he knocks. Angelica appears, a peculiar picture of freshness despite the late hour, and steps aside to let him in. She is still in her formal suit that she wears to escort prisoners to the station.
“Did you have any luck getting to meet Gideon?” She asks as she directs Cae into her home. The decor is sparse and clinical as ever.
“No,” Cae answers with a shake of his groggy head, “I didn’t see Lady Locke until after the accident, and by then she was well on her way to the hospital.”
They sit together on the blonde’s cold leatherette sofa.
“Why do you think it happened?” Angelica presses with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t know,” Cae muses, “I suppose they were trying to steal that stupid priceless cat.”
The young detective leans back against the faux material, resting his neck on the upper pillow and closing his eyes, surrendering to his tiredness for a moment. He feels Angelica shuffl
e beside him.
“There is another possibility,” she says in barely a breath.
Cae opens one blue eye. “Is there?”
“Well,” Angelica continues, a thoughtful look causing her pink lips to part slightly, “consider this: you reckon The Face has been keeping an eye on you for, what, the last six months?”
“Since the kidnap at The Atomic Circus,” Cae confirms, sitting up again, “Yes, definitely.”
“Alright,” Angelica agrees, “Well we both know this guy has connections everywhere. So what if The Face got wind that Lady Locke was giving you information that would lead you straight to him? Wouldn’t he want her, I don’t know…silenced?” The pretty blonde gives Cae a concerned look.
The young detective lets out a little sigh, ruffling his hair. “It’s possible, but it could just as easily be somebody trying to steal Cara.”
Angelica raises a blond brow. “What have you done with it?”
“Oh, the cat? It’s locked up in the VIP Lounge overnight,” Cae explains, “Nobody can get in there, it’s only me and the other security men that have the keys.” A quiet moment passes between the pair; Cae looks up to take in Angelica’s face, which is downcast and full of thought. “Do you really think somebody connected to The Face is operating in the House of Cards?” He asks.
“Maybe,” she answers with a slow nod, “I mean, we know that Flash Morgan was.”
Cae has to admit that much is true. The thought of the conman Redd Richmond and his stool-pigeon ways races across the detective’s tired mind, but he decides against voicing those particular fears right now. A prominent thought pushes its way past all the others in Cae’s head.
“The Face is ruthless,” he begins suddenly, “if he wanted Lady Locke silenced, she’d be dead, not hospitalised.”
“Unless the attacker was interrupted,” Angelica suggests, “You did say it was a fairly public place?”
Cae nods, remembering the dark little coat check closet. “Fairly,” he repeats.
A knock at Angelica’s door stirs him from the dark remembrance of the attack scene. He looks to the blonde, whose glassy eyes are wide and suddenly fearful.
“I’m not expecting anyone,” she murmurs.
Cae slowly rises from the squeaking sofa, removing his gun from its hip holster as he moves back to the apartment door. He makes use of the spy hole in the centre of the reinforced board, glancing tentatively into the face of the unexpected guest.
“Oh,” Cae says lightly, lowering his gun and opening the door.
The heaving, panting form of a very young man, barely out of his teens, clambers into Angelica’s apartment. The woman looks at the fellow blankly where he keels over trying to catch his breath, until he throws back his head of black hair and grins at both her and Cae.
“Detective Rex!” He puffs, “I have been everywhere looking for you tonight!”
“Hello Tom,” Cae says, clapping a hand on the shoulder of Thomas Watt, the GRAVITY boy.
Angelica steps forward, studying Watt’s face before realisation dawns.
“You’re that fellow who saved me at the circus!” She exclaims. The young man’s bright eyes shine as he nods. “Please,” Angelica continues, “come and sit down, have a rest.”
“This was literally the last place on my list to look for you,” Watt explains between pants, “I’ve been to Kendra’s. She was not happy about me waking her at two a.m., I can tell you.”
Cae comes to the awkward realisation that she will now know he’s missing from his home in the middle of the night, which means he needs to be home as soon as he can in case she cares enough to check in. Checking his watch quickly, he comes to crouch beside Watt at the sofa.
“What is it you want me for, Tom? Is something wrong?”
The young man shakes his head. “The Clockworkers just got the readouts back from Doctor Fowler,” he begins with short breaths, “You know, from the malfunctioning units?”
Cae just nods, he remembers well the inhuman bloodlust and iron death grips of the errant robots he’d encountered a few months back at Dartley Station. Their killing ways had been brought on by something or someone invading their central programming.
“What did Fowler have to say?” He presses.
“That the source of the malfunction was a computer virus,” Thomas reveals, fishing a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket, “I think you’ll find the location it came from very interesting.”
He shoves the paper into Cae’s gloved hand where the detective smooths it out. He scans through a great deal of numbers and jargon until he finds the address. His sleepy blue eyes widen.
“Lachrymosa Military Base?” He asks.
Watt nods thoughtfully. “It’s curious, isn’t it?” He asks, “How those robots came from the same place as-” He pauses a moment, looking at Angelica briefly. “Well, as that other robot we were discussing.”
Cae catches his drift, and one glance at Angelica’s shrewd expression tells him that she knows she is being left out of the loop on this particular conversation point.
“It is interesting,” Cae says, but mentally he adds “and confusing, and very deeply worrying’. If The Face has anything to do with Kendra’s creation, then things are about to get considerably more complicated.
“I’d thought you might want to head out there?” Thomas inquires.
Cae lets out a nervous chuckle. “Perhaps when I have a little more to go on,” he sighs, “besides, there’s rather a lot going on in Dartley right now to just up and leave for the East Atlantic.”
“Well I thought you’d want the information all the same,” says the younger man, rising to his feet. Cae nods his appreciation.
Another thought flashes to the forefront of Cae’s mind as Thomas Watt makes his way to the door. This boy is well connected to the criminal world, and though he may not have much to lead the detective to The Face, he may well be able to help with Cae’s other occupational problem.
“Tom,” Cae calls, catching up to the young man at Angelica’s door, “You don’t happen to know anything shady about a man named Andre Lutz, do you? He’s sort of a right hand man down at the House of Cards casino.”
Watt gives the detective a blank look. “Clean record, as far as I know,” he says with a nod.
When the GRAVITY boy has taken his leave, Angelica comes to join Cae at her door. She folds her arms, her pale face set in a pensive fashion.
“You suspect this Andre bloke?” She asks.
Cae nods. “He was letting himself into Cara’s tank when Lady Locke was attacked,” he explains, “but it appears he’s got no priors.”
Angelica breaks into a little smile. “Are you disappointed?” She chuckles.
“Very,” Cae adds thoughtfully, “There again, people aren’t just born criminal. Everyone has to start somewhere.”
16.
Cae feels the weight of Angelica’s spare keys jangling in his pocket as he enters the House of Cards the following evening. Drop in whenever, she had said. Come and find me when you need me, she had said. Cae finds himself thinking bitterly that he’s never been given the keys to Kendra’s home. In point of fact he’s never even been inside Kendra’s home, despite living next door to her for nearly a year now. Almost as he thinks of the ex-sergeant his phone begins to ring, and Cae takes his gloved fingers from around Angelica’s keys to find the receiver and answer it.
“Are you still prowling around that casino?” Kendra asks before Cae can even speak.
“In a very off-duty sense, yes,” Cae confirms as he checks in his gas mask with what he notices is a different coat check girl to the night before.
He hears the chief of police grumble at the other end of the line. “Did Thomas Watt find you?” She presses.
“Yes thanks,” Cae replies in a clipped tone, “he found me some new leads on you-know-who, actually, but I suppose you’re too busy with official police business to want to know about it.”
Cae can almost feel the heat of her r
age passing down the phone line.
“I suppose I am,” she snaps, and the connection goes dead.
The young detective decides not to feel guilty about cutting Kendra out of his hunt for The Face, especially since she didn’t even mention lifting his suspension from the force in her call. Instead Cae marches on towards the main hall, where a small crowd of concerned people tells him that yet another misdemeanour has occurred in his absence. The fact that nobody is screaming or crying bodes well, and as Cae pushes himself through the little gathering to the source of the commotion he finds not a body, but a machine keeled over one of the roulette tables.
“Croop?” He queries, approaching the table where Mai the cashier is trying to lift the robot back into a standing position. “What happened to him?”
Mai pants as she pushes the tall figure upright. “He walked out of the VIP Lounge, started the wheel spinning and just keeled over.”
Croop’s camera eyes are dead; Cae can hear no sign of the familiar low buzzing one picks up in the presence of robotic creations. The eager roulette players around the table are all looking at their croupier with dismay. Cae turns to them with an awkward smile.
“Um, a technical hitch, ladies and gentlemen,” the detective stutters to the crowd, “If you wouldn’t mind amusing yourselves at some of the other tables whilst we sort this out…”
The disappointed punters amble away slowly, and Cae leans back towards Mai with a quieter tone.
“Who else was in the lounge with Croop?”
The cashier shakes her brown hair out, pulling her electronic cigarette from the top pocket of her waistcoat. “Nobody so far as I know,” she answers, “Croop went to give Cara a feeding before we let the VIPs in. The room should’ve been empty.”
The suspicious look Mai is starting to give Cae tells him he isn’t likely to get any more information out of her than that, so he leaves her to the business of finding a maintenance guy and heads straight for his post in the lounge. As the two security bouncers nod him through the double doors, Cae stumbles blindly into someone else tearing through them from the other side.
For a moment Cae wonders what he is doing on the floor, but he remembers quickly that the lack of RESISTANCE in his system now means that crashing into people will once more play havoc with his balance. He looks at a pair of polished shoes that are level with his face.
