Our floater skipped like a stone across water before skidding down the street in a shower of sparks. I gritted my teeth and hung on as Armor Foam impact gel jetted from the vents and enveloped us, leaving only our faces uncovered as it solidified into a rubbery shell. The floater finally slammed into a wall, further crumpling the vintage casing. Smoke wafted from the ruined undercarriage, filling the air with the stench of scorched metal.
The computerized dame’s voice was muffled through the foam. Successful emergency landing completed. Have a nice day.
“This is why I hate flying.” I spoke to no one in particular as I tried to brush the sticky Armor Foam from my rags. The stuff was great for protecting the body from harmful impact, but it didn’t do your clothes any favors. Not that it mattered, since it was still raining.
The Transit responder mandroid turned from surveying the wreckage. “Shucks, mister. You should count yourself one lucky duck to be alive right now. I’d say the chances of surviving an accident like this are around four hundred eighty-seven million to–”
“Yeah, I heard.” I glowered at the automaton. “What I wanna know is who was driving that heap, and whether they’re still breathing or not.”
Transit usually deploys synoids as responders to handle accidents in the Uppers. But the clunky, dome-headed mandroid was deployed because we crashed in the Flats, a district a bit more resistant to law and order. Mandroids are a lot cheaper to replace than their more advanced cousins. The one that showed up for our incident couldn’t rightly be called a mandroid at all. It looked like a water heater come to life and equipped with a bowling ball head, flashing eyes, a rusty mustache along with an equally corroded bowler hat. Its yee-haw accent was evidence its creator had a sense of humor.
“Driving? Nobody was driving. Ain’t a body to be found in this wreckage, mister. This was a tragic accident, lemme tell ya. Something in the transponder box must have shorted its circuits. Can’t rightly tell until I get it back at the depot.”
“Waitaminute.” I glared up at the bucket of bolts. “You trying to tell me an airbus somehow lost control, ran directly into our ride, and then just so happened to fall on top of us?”
“Sounds a right bit unlikely when you say it like that.” It tilted its hat back and scratched its rusted dome with a wiry finger before shrugging. “But hey, TINH, right?”
“Yeah. This is New Haven.” I could tell I wasn’t gonna get anything from the scrap heap. It was programmed to avoid liability, not provide any solid answers.
The mandroid took a final look around. “Well, looks like there are no fatalities. These buildings are supposed to be abandoned, so more than likely they’re uninsured. Litigation parameters are acceptable, so it looks like my job is done.” It tapped on the holographic screen that sprang from receptors in its hand. “I’ll shoot the official report to your holoband so you can make a claim for any damages to self or property if applicable, pending a formal investigation and report. Thanks for your cooperation. New Haven Airbus Lines would like to remind you that despite this tragic occurrence, air traffic is still the safest way to fly. Have a swell evening, mister.”
The thrusters in its feet pulsed, hurtling it upward in a cloud of dust and gravel. In no time it joined the air traffic above, where the city lights turned the upper part of the city bright as day.
“My head is killing me.” Ben the Bear stumbled from the floater’s wreckage, ripping foam from his rags. “What the hell happened?” He took a disoriented look around. “I remember the airbus slamming into us, and then falling, and then…” He looked up, glaring my direction. “You! You took a swing at me, didn’t you? I outta–”
“Do what? Start screaming like a little girl again?” I stalked over and stabbed a finger in his chest. It was like poking a brick wall, but I managed to mask the pain. “And I didn’t just take a swing at you, I cold clocked you clean. Deal with it.”
“No way.” He rubbed his meaty chin and winced. “I ducked back and must’ve hit my head or something…”
“That’s the way you wanna play it? I know exactly what happened. Wanna know how? ‘Cause I was right there when it happened. You went belly up on me the minute things went sour, and that don’t sit well with me. I can’t save our necks and think for you at the same time. So you better man up, or I’ll stick you in the garden with the rest of the pansies, got it?”
I knew I went too far when the Bear seized me by the collar and blasted hot breath perfume in my face. “Whaddya trying to call me, a coward? You saying I’m gutless, Mick? That what you’re trying to say?”
I’m pretty good as sneering. I gave him one of the best in my arsenal as my heels dangled a few inches from the ground. “I’m saying you’re about one vertebrae shy of being the most spineless bruiser I’ve ever seen. Moe Flacco must’ve thought it a real joke to handicap me with a load like you.”
I figured I’d earned some chin music from spitting the truth, but Benny just glowered for a tense minute before tossing me aside like a rag doll. He turned away, staring at his shoes with his mitts thrust in his pockets. While he sulked, I took the time to straighten out my rumpled tie. And my dignity. The lug might have been mentally soft as a little girl’s bed pillow, but he was still strong as your average synoid.
“You’re right.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m worthless. Just ask anyone in the family. Ben the Bear, they call me.” He shot me a wounded look. “You wanna know why?”
I pulled a gasper from the deck in my pocket and lit it. The nicotine rush calmed my rattled nerves a bit. I exhaled fumes into the rain. “The way I hear it, it’s cause of how you rip punks limb from limb when you get bent. What’s wrong with that?”
“That’s not it at all.” Even though his voice was gruff, it still managed to sound whiny at the same time. “It’s ‘cause I sleep all the time. Hibernating, they call it. That’s why they call me the Bear.”
He looked up to see if I found that funny, but fortunately my poker face masked my amusement. I kept the guffaws on the inside as he continued to confess as if I wore robes on Sunday.
“It’s not like I don’t try. I’ve been on a few missions, but the sight of blood makes me sick to the stomach. My uncle put me on some soldati work, but that didn’t pan out either. I couldn’t even keep an eye on things. Kept falling asleep. The last time some of our boys got pinched because of me napping. Uncle Flacco nearly blew his top.”
He threw up his arms. “I’m a jamook, alright? I screw everything up, so it’s no surprise I mucked this up too. The only reason why I haven’t been whacked is because of my blood. And even that won’t get me much farther. Uncle Flacco already told me this was my last shot. I won’t blame you if you don’t want me around, Mr. Trubble. Hell, I’d feel the same way if I had to deal with me.” He exhaled a shuddering breath and stared upward as if for answers. Instead, all he got was rain on his face.
“Call me Mick.” I pulled out the flask I kept on my person at all times. “Have a drink, kid.” I gave him a keen glance while he took a pull of the Wild Turkey, managing to get it down without coughing too much. He handed it back with a shaky hand.
I downed a swig and let the heat settle in my stomach. “That’s all you got, Ace? When life gets tough you just fold like a rookie poker player?”
“Whaddya want, an apology?” Benny slammed his fist against the crumbled roof of the floater, adding another dent to the collection. “You don’t know nothing about me, Mick. You don’t know about my life. What I have to deal with living up to an uncle like Moe Flacco.”
“Your right, kid. I don’t know.” I took another swig. “What I do know is we either live by our choices or die by our mistakes. Doesn’t matter who you are or what you have, it’s what you choose that decides your fate. You can either cry about it or face up to it. Either way you gotta deal.”
I held the flask out to him. “Right?”
He stared at me before taking it. “Right.” He didn’t cough on the second round. Maybe he wasn’t such
a load after all.
I took a look around. “All right, then. We’re soaking wet, but that’s a lot better than being dead. So now we get to put together what we know.”
“What we know?” Benny snorted. “What we know is some goon tried to ice us, that’s what we know. He knows exactly who you are from the sound of it, too.”
“Right. But you’re missing the most important part, Ace.”
He frowned. “More important than attempted murder?”
“That’s right. You’re missing the why, kid.”
“The why?”
“Stop repeating what I say, you’re not a parrot. Look at the situation. Why would someone want to take us out?”
Benny paused in thought. “Because they don’t want you to investigate Sophia’s murder.”
“That’s the obvious answer. But the only people who knew I was put on the case were the six people in that room, right? So unless you think one of your inner circle is a rat…”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “No way there’s a rat that close to home.”
“I believe you.” I exhaled the last of my gasper and flicked the butt into the wet rubble. “But that just brings us back to square one. Air traffic collision is a clumsy way to put a hit on someone, so that tells me it was meant to look like an accident. The airbus’ transponder was obviously hacked and operated by remote. We crash and burn and no one’s the wiser. But why?”
He just stared. “I dunno, Mick. If you say it wasn’t to take you off the case, then the only reason…” he trailed off as his eyes widened.
I nodded. “Now you’re getting there, kid. This shadowy chump might know a little about me, but he could’ve hit me any time. I don’t think this was for me.” I gestured to the wreckage behind us. “I think it was for you.”
“Me? But…I’m nobody. Why would anyone wanna rub me out?”
“That’s the question of the night, Ace. I’m just taking a stab at this, but the way I figure is we’re dealing with a meticulous killer. Somebody with a nasty, serious beef against your uncle. I think this person has been nursing this grudge for years and doesn’t mind taking their time to pursue their vendetta.”
He took a wary look around. “So, you’re sayin’ this is just beginning?”
“That’s right. This isn’t gonna stop anytime soon. This person is starting at the fringes, working their way from the outside into Flacco’s inner circle. Sophia was first. Looks like you were meant to be next. But then…maybe Scars gets iced next. Maybe No-Nose Nate or Electra. Only a matter of time before the target is placed on Moe’s wife, and then Moe himself.”
Benny scowled so fiercely I almost believed his non-existent reputation for a second. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“You bet your balls it’s not. Because we’re gonna get to the bottom of this. Now, you were at the funeral. Anyone there got something against Flacco?”
He stared as if I’d cursed my mother. “Only about half the mooks in there, Mick. You know the deal. Even if they hate you they still gotta show up for weddings and funerals. It’s a sign of respect. Anyone who skips the party will stand out, and standing out is bad for business.”
I lit another gasper. “Ok. So, did you notice anyone significant who pulled a no-show?”
His eyes narrowed. “I sure did. Oscar Greco. His whole crew skipped the event. And don’t think it wasn’t noticed, either.”
I slapped him on the back. “See? You’re already off to a good start. Remember what I said about kicking ass and taking names tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Nix those plans.” I took a hard look at the wreck we climbed out of. “Someone tried to rub me out tonight. I tend to take that kind of thing personal. We start right now.”
Chapter 7: Taking Names
I tagged Maxine to swing by and pick us up. A few minutes later we cruised to Neo Luxe, a nightclub positioned near the Red Light District. It was the type of joint upscale enough to attract clientele from the Uppers looking for thrills while remaining gritty enough to appeal to the regulars. The interior was dimly lit by white and blue neon lines that ran along the walls in asymmetric patterns, concealing as much as they illuminated. The haze of gasper smoke further shrouded its innards, rendering the occupants to ghostly silhouettes at their tables and booths.
We opted not to check our coats at the door. I already told Benny we might end up taking a quick heel-toe outta there if things went south. I didn’t really trust the odds of meeting up with gangsters at nightclubs after the encounter with Tommy Tsunami at the Gaiden. Come to think of it, my little meeting with the Red-Eyed Killer at the Black Dahlia didn’t end up too well, either.
I turned to Benny. “Take the dog for a walk. See what you can sniff out.”
He hesitated. “Uh…we don’t got no dog, Mick.”
I shot him an irritated glance. “Take a look around, Ace. Bump gums with the locals, get it? Try to keep up with the lingo.”
“Hell, Mick. Why didn’t you just say so?” He glowered before stalking off, muttering.
I shook my head and took a seat at the bar. The barkeep was a short, full-bosomed Mexican dame with a pleasant manner that banished all my pent-up aggression like smoke. A dame’s persona can have that effect if she knows what she’s doing. Esmeralda obviously knew what she was doing.
She set up an order for the barmaid before coming over to check on me. Her long hair was pulled back and gleamed like rippled onyx. A few drops of perspiration beaded her brow from the nonstop orders, but she still took the time to greet me with a warm smile. “Hola. You’re new.”
I tipped my Bogart politely. “Beg pardon, but I’m anything but new, miss. Got quite a few miles on me, in fact.”
She laughed, placing both arms on the counter. Her big brown eyes beamed, making me a prisoner of the moment. “Guess I earned that. But you know I meant I haven’t seen you around here before. You slummin’ tonight? Some vaquero from the Uppers come to blow his hard-earned dinero on women, booze, and more women?
“Not in that particular order.” I winked and offered her my most flirtatious smile. “But a drink would be right on time, if you don’t mind.”
“What’s your poison, vaquero?”
“Bulleit Neat.”
She rolled her pretty eyes. “Tan aburrido! Live a little, vaquero. I will brew you something much more exciting.”
I grinned. “Bring it on, darlin’.”
I almost regretted it when she whipped up the ingredients, which included ground chiles and a few dashes of hot sauce blended with a Bloody Mary mix, lime juice and tequila. She rimmed the rocks glass with ground chile and salt and garnished it with a red-hot chile pepper.
“Sangrita de Toro.” She set it in front of me with an evil grin. “Are you man enough, vaquero?
“Haven’t had any complaints so far.” I downed the drink in one shot. It felt just short of swallowing a dose of flaming magma with just the right kick of tequila. “Not bad.” I set the glass down and bit into the chile pepper. “Another. Don’t hold back this time, ok?”
She laughed delightedly, setting a glass of water on the counter before preparing my reload. I gulped the water down as soon as her back turned, hoping the steam didn’t fog my eyeballs.
Thankfully Benny shuffled over. “I got nuthin’, Mick. Shooting blanks. Everybody I tried to gab with just gave me funny looks. Guess small talk isn’t the thing for me. What a trip for biscuits this turned out to be.”
“You mention Oscar Greco in any of your attempted conversations?”
“Of course.” Benny had the nerve to look offended. “How the hell else do we find the mook ‘less we ask?”
“Not to worry, Ace. We’ll be enjoying some company real soon, I expect.”
Benny’s mouth twisted. “How do you mean?”
Right on schedule, a couple of trouble boys made their way to the bar. They were pretty big lugs, which meant they were almost as massive as Ben the Bear. With their dark suits, slic
ked-back hair and blank expressions, they could have been twins.
“You two are to come with us,” the lead goon said. “Someone would like a word with you in a more private environment.”
I downed the second Sangrita de Toro before I remembered what was in the glass. Luckily I managed to get it down without my head exploding. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “And if we don’t feel like going?”
The goon pulled his jacket to the side, giving me a view of the sawed-off hanging from the holster under his arm. “We insist.”
“In that case we’d be glad to. Gimme a second to settle up with the lady.”
“It’s on the house, vaquero.” Esmeralda gave me a considering look. “You make it out in one piece, you can come back and square up with me.”
I tipped my Bogart and gave her my most roguish smile. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Oscar Greco was what’s referred to in Mafia circles as a Young Turk: a newcomer to the game. Inherited some assets from a family member, but not too keen on following the old ways. After the pat down and subsequent confiscation of our handguns we were led through an underground casino room and into Greco’s pinstripe wallpapered office, where he was engaged in snorting tardust off the glassy surface of his desk.
His head snapped up when we entered. His eyes were widened, the pupils dilated. Oscar was an underweight, weak-chinned, pinheaded bastard with a love for expensive suits that still looked cheap when draped on a frame like his.
“Heard youse boys was asking about me.” He shook his head as though to clear it of the drug-induced fog. “You ain’t Feds, and you ain’t no chopper squad, so I figure you might want some work or something.” He squinted at Ben the Bear. “You’re a big lug. Can always use more muscle.” His eyes went back to deer-in-the headlights wide when he looked my way. “And you. You look like you know your way around a tough spot or two. You boys looking for a gig?”
The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame Page 7
