I shook my head. “Seems like too high a risk to pay for an amplified brain.”
“That’s because you don’t know how it feels.” Her lips parted and her eyes widened as she gazed beyond me, seeing whatever marvels only her augmented mind could behold. “It’s like stepping into a whole new world, Mick. Like living for the very first time.”
“And so you have the abilities of the most powerful computers right in your mind?”
She laughed. “The mind is a computer, Mick. Far more vast and powerful than anything man can create. Once scientists finally submitted to its superiority, they did everything they could to unravel its secrets. The bionics simply free potential already there, unlocking doors we didn’t have access to, allowing us to explore the portions of our mind that formerly were unattainable.”
I felt my mouth twist. “Sure. All for the better of mankind, right? Yet you work for the UH, which doesn’t exactly have a track record for thinking much of the common man. Just look at the Secret Service. What a piece of work they are.”
Her dark eyes never blinked. “I have nothing to do with the Service or the United Havens, Mick. I work for a far more clandestine operation.”
“Really? Like the Gestalt? You seem like their type with all the mystery.”
“The Gestalt?” Even her sneer couldn’t mar her flawless features. “A failed group of exiles consumed by preserving their attempts at immortality. No, I’m afraid I have no dealings with them either. They’ve had their day, but they’re facing extinction like everyone else. Just another fossil for future inhabitants to puzzle over.”
I leaned back against the cushioned lounge and folded my arms. “Know what I hate? People who talk above your head while trying to claim they’re doing you a favor. You want something from me? Better spill, ‘cause I’m getting pretty bored here, Ms. Sinn. You got the time it takes to down one more drink. After that I’m gonna skip this dog and pony show. Got better things to do.”
“Very well, Mick.” She set her glass down. “There’s a lot going on you don’t know about. The situation outside of this Haven, for example. Everyone here just goes about, lost in their filtered memories, oblivious to the rumbling of thunder just outside the range of their hearing.”
“I just told you about all the double talk. Lay it on me straight or catch a cab back to wherever you came from.”
“War, Mick.” Her eyes grew serious. “Invaders are attacking the major Havens, and the UH is aggressively recruiting for soldiers, weaponry, and technology. This Haven has always been thought impregnable, but the pressure will continue to build until your heavily shielded walls come crashing down. The Secret Service was only the beginning.”
I shrugged as the barmaid returned with my reload. “I don’t worry about things beyond my range of control. If it happens, it happens. Why expect me to get all soggy-eyed?”
“You don’t think you’ll be affected?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” I tapped the bourbon glass in time to the beat from the stage. “Maybe I just don’t give a damn either way.”
“You should, Mick. You’re a valuable commodity, and the truth is I’ve been sent to recruit you. A man of your skills is wasted playing Russian roulette in this Haven. You must be tired of gambling with your life, hoping you don’t roll a snake eyes.”
“I retired from gambling, Ms. Sinn. Never was much good at it. I’m a Troubleshooter now, as I’m sure you must know with all of those implanted doodads amplifying your brain. You say you were sent to recruit me? By who?”
“The anonymity of my organization is crucial, Mick. I can’t tell anymore about us until you’ve earned our trust.”
I downed the bourbon and set the glass down with a smile. “Time’s up, darling. It’s been a joy gabbing with you.”
Sinn placed her hand lightly on mine. “I didn’t expect you to trust me without reservation, Mick. So I’ll extend an olive branch as a sign of my goodwill. You had to take down Franklin Newman, robbing you of an information broker. You know my skill-set with information. I can help you in your investigation.”
I tilted my head, studying her carefully. With her raven eyes and angel’s face, it was impossible to get a read on her true intentions. “You saying you’ll be my ace in the hole, that it? Don’t you have to get permission from your superiors, whoever they are?”
“All you need to know is this arrangement will instantly benefit you. Do we have a deal?”
I hesitated. “If you’re so tied into the system, can’t you tell me who killed Scarlett right now? That would be a huge down payment in the trust fund of the Trubble Bank.”
“I would if I knew. Whoever the killer is, he knows how to avoid surveillance like no other. But I’ll be working on it, I promise you.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to get back with you, Ms. Sinn. You’ll have to excuse me if I take the cautious approach to secret organizations with hidden agendas. Don’t exactly have a sterling track record with that sort.”
“Have it your way.” She stood with the sinuous grace of a ballet dancer. “I synched my number to your holoband. Call me when you need me. And you will need me before this is all over, Mick.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself, Ms. Sinn.”
“It’s a mathematical certainty, Mick. I’ve already run the calculations. On your own you have a 4.84 percent chance of surviving the next forty-eight hours. With my aid your chances increase to 57.36 percent. Not the grandest of odds, but much better than the alternative.”
“Never had the egg for math, I’m afraid.”
“Mathematics is the only pure language, Mick.” Her gaze was almost empathetic. “And numbers never lie.”
She left abruptly, her fingers tracing my shoulders as she glided past. The scent of ginger and vanilla lingered after, just like the swell of doubts and unanswered questions she left to simmer in my mind. The jazz played on and the Gaiden filled with patrons going about their evening business, but to me everything was muted and blurred. I stayed in the corner booth for a while longer, nursing my drink and a head full of conflicting thoughts. I knew I couldn’t just cool my heels. I had to make a move, and soon.
Because the clock was ticking.
Chapter 9: The Business
“So what did Ms. Foxy tell you, Mick?”
I hated going back Uptown, but that was where the next fishing hole was located. We were in a building lift, which was more like a rocket-powered glass capsule that shot you up the side of a five hundred-floor building toward the bright lights and flying vehicles of the Uppers. Streaks of light whizzed by from the traffic and beads of rain slid down the transparent alloy as we zipped up the building’s face.
“Her name is Sinn, and she didn’t tell me much at all except she’s possibly on our side and I might possibly call on her in times of need.” I pulled out the Mean Ol’ Broad, removed the moon clip and checked the chambers. No sense of going into a hostile situation unprepared.
Benny sniggered. “Yeah, I’d call on her any day in my time of need.”
“Get your mind outta the gutter and focus, big boy. Remember what I told you?”
“I got the part nailed down, Mick. Fuggetaboutit.” He squinted and squared his shoulders, daring me to question him.
“Good. Just be sure to let me do the talking.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “No problem, Mick. Still not sure what our business is here, though.”
I slipped the Broad back in the holster under my arm. “Business is simple, Ace. Either you do the business or you get the business. And right now, Luther Vitto’s about to get the business.”
When the lift stopped, the inner doors opened to a view of Bugsy’s. The popular casino was owned by the Bandini family, a business rival of Moe Flacco. I’d seen old man Bandini at the funeral earlier. He was a wise codger who knew it was better to deal in than be dealt out, so he worked with Flacco and profited from his cooperation. I wasn’t there to buzz in on the Bandinis, though.
Just o
ne of their clients.
I walked in like I owned the joint. The casino had been around for a while, so it had a bit of character the newfangled joints lacked. None of that multicolored, blinking neon subliminally hypnotic getup. Bugsy’s was a throwback: tacky carpet, polished wood on the tables and booths, green felt on the card tables. I felt right at home, blending in with the crowd of regulars with no problem.
I helped myself to an Old Fashioned from a passing barmaid as I crossed the slot machines floor over to the blackjack tables Vitto was known to frequent. It didn’t take long to spot him. He was a thick-mustached sap of second-rate height and second-rate weight with a second-rate face. The only thing not run-of-the-mill about him was the long-legged blonde draped around his shoulder, but that didn’t mean much. Vitto was ripe with berries, and any gink with green can nab a chippy that skates around.
The hulking bruno guarding Vitto’s back was alert enough to spot us as we approached. He threw up a beefy hand in warning.
“Closed game, chumps. Better rotate your heels and take some air while your brains are still in working order.”
Having just finished my drink, I put the glass to good use by slamming the bottom end in the bruno’s eye. As he howled and tumbled backward I swung around, caught Vitto by the nape of his neck and introduced his mug to the blackjack table. His dame screamed and took off as fast as her stilettos and tight little skirt allowed. Some folks at the nearby tables threw us curious glances, but most kept right on playing. Wasn’t nothing they hadn’t seen before. I figured I had a few seconds before security materialized.
The dealer gave me a casual glance. “You break the table, you pay for it.”
I nodded. “This will only take a second, Mack.” I leaned over and twisted Vitto’s head so he could see me. “Ain’t that right, Luther?”
His face was beet-red. His nose dripped blood, but in his rage he didn’t notice. “You just screwed up big time, pal. I don’t know who the hell you are, but–”
“Wrong answer.” I jerked his arm around so I could snap cuffs on his wrists. Vitto’s bodyguard had recovered some of his equilibrium, but didn’t seem too eager to join the party again. He had a hand clapped over one eye, and the other eye fixed warily on Ben the Bear, who casually shook a warning finger. Somehow he managed to look menacing when doing absolutely nothing. You’d never imagine he’d be such a wuss in reality.
Right on schedule, a trio of black-suited security bulls waltzed up, looking about as cheerful as undertakers. The lead bull was a bulky, bald lug with a face that was more scowl than anything else. He jerked his oversized chin our direction.
“What the hell is going on here?”
I whipped out a badge from my inside pocket real official-like. It was a loaner from Detective Flask, but they didn’t need to know that. “Detective Tribble. My partner is Officer Grizzle. Vitto here has been a very bad boy, and we’re here to sort him out. Didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
The bull scanned the badge with his holoband. When it cleared he frowned even further, which didn’t seem possible. “This is private property, Dick. We have an understanding with you flatties. You’re supposed to alert us if you have business with any of our patrons. Getting gashouse in full view of paying customers is bad for business, see?”
I tucked the badge away with a brisk nod. “My apologies again. Like I said, special circumstances. This punk has a history of sporadic outbursts of sudden violence, which is also bad for business if you catch my drift. Now I know you got a few rooms in the back where you work over rubes that try to grift the system and whatnot. Why don’t we take our business there so we can work this out? It’s mighty important we tighten the screws on this sap right away. Lives in the balance and all.”
The bull only hesitated for a second, taking a look around at the crowded casino before reluctantly nodding. “All right, come on.” He and his partners escorted us through the nearby private doors into a brightly lit hallway. We passed by the highly secure accounting sector, the surveillance and security compound where they spied out the cons and rigged the games before turning the corner to a darker hallway where a few stark rooms were located.
It’s always been the tradition of casinos to handle their own problems. When a scammer is nabbed running some kind of grift on the tables, they’d rather take him to the back and personally work him over before they hand him over to the brass. Makes the con think twice about coming back, and the word spreads that buncoing the system doesn’t pay, unless you look to score in bruises and broken bones.
The bull graciously opened the door for us. “Finish your work and scatter, Dick. Next time follow protocol. Bandini’s gonna hear about this.”
“Give him the regards of Detective Flask in Homicide. He’s my commanding officer, and can explain everything.”
The door slammed in my face. Casino bulls take their gig pretty serious.
I folded my arms as Benny dumped Vitto in the metal chair that centered the concrete-walled room. Vitto had a bit of steel in him, though. Even with his own blood decorating his shirt collar, he didn’t lose his cool. He studied Benny closely, then gave me the once-over. His eyes narrowed.
“You boys ain’t coppers.”
“Real swift, Einstein. So I guess you’ve figured your goose is neck-deep in the stew right about now. Now I know you’re pretty hip on how to manipulate the law and protect your keister, but like you said–we’re not the brass.”
I gave a nod to Benny, who shrugged his jacket off and hung it on a nearby wall hook. Rolling up his sleeves, he sidled over so that he stood directly behind Vitto. Classic tactic employed by interrogation room coppers. Benny was now an unseen threat lurking just outside of Vitto’s line of sight. There was no way to know when a sudden blow would drop, which was the perfect way to rattle a perp.
Vitto squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, I don’t know who you mooks are, but you’re messing with the wrong guy. I know people.”
Right on schedule, Ben the Bear walloped Vitto upside the head. It was an open-handed blow struck not all that hard but right across the ear, meant to cause the head to ring and distort one’s sense of balance. Vitto squawked and nearly fell out his chair.
“What the hell?” He shook his head dizzily. “You bastards can’t do this to me. Do you know who the hell I am?”
“You’re a lowlife shylock with eyes on raising your star by dealing in the dope trade.” I folded my arms with a smirk. “Just got a batch of Ladykillers on the docks last night, am I right?”
His face turned expressionless. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Guess I don’t have to worry about anything, then. Seeing as I’m the one who blew that stash up.” I gave him my best smug grin.
Vitto’s head snapped up. “That was you? You got some balls, fessing up to a hit like that. I got droppers ready to put you on ice. Pipe that? You think you can do this to me? Who the hell do you think you are?”
Another smack from Benny, this time from the opposite side. While Vitto groaned and tried to reacquire his equilibrium, I casually pulled out a gasper and lit it. “The name’s Mick Trubble. You might have heard of me.”
His face paled. “The Troubleshooter. You’re the gumshoe that took Pike down.”
I exhaled a stream of smoke through my nostrils. “That’s the rumor. I can’t deny or confirm, but let’s just say I’ve taken down a lot bigger fish than you, Vitto. So drop the tough guy act and fall in line or things are about to go south real quick.”
He wet his lips, blinking rapidly. “I haven’t done anything to you, Mick. What are you giving me the third for?”
I held up a finger. “One: your drugs were on their way to friends of mine. Friends that don’t take too kindly to their patrons being knocked over.” I held up a second finger. “Two: I don’t like junk-dealing scum, especially when they deal junk that targets the ladies. Got a soft spot for dames. That puts you on my naughty list. So here’s the deal: I take what I know and ge
t my friends in the clubhouse to drop a case on you. You might fight it, but you’ll lose–either the case or a wad of dough in our so-called judicial system. Either way you’re tapped out of the comfy life you’re accustomed to.
He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Or…?”
I smiled. “Or you work for me. Specifically putting your ear to the ground and catching the word on the streets. I know you got a network of knuckle-dragging goons like Johnny Knuckles at your disposal. Put ‘em to work. You dig up anything on a murder of a dame named Scarlett, you ring me up right away. Any word on any new movers or shakers, you ring me up right away. I’m not talking about the average palooka knocking over five and dimes. I’m talking about pro triggers, someone savvy enough pull a clean sneak on city surveillance and cold enough to slit a dame’s throat and feed her to the fishes.”
“That’s what you want?” Vitto’s face sagged in relief. “Yeah, sure. I can do that for you. No need to get rough. You could’ve just asked me.”
“You could’ve just stayed on the right track and become a law-abiding citizen. But now look at you. Do the job, Vitto. I’ll be in touch.” I nodded to Benny, who joined me at the door.
“Hey.” Vitto struggled to rise. “Aren’t you gonna take these bracelets off?”
“They’ll unlock automatically in another fifteen minutes. Take a load off and enjoy the view until then.” I closed the door in his stupefied face.
“Nice work.” Benny adjusted the cuffs of his coat after slipping it back on. “What are we going to do next, Mr. Trubble?”
“Head home. Let things stew a bit.” I flicked the gasper butt into a nearby ashtray. “I guarantee by tomorrow the little birdies will be singing.”
Chapter 10: Bitter Pill
We strode into the lobby of the Luzzatti. It was the best part of the joint: gold and sky-blue colors gave the geometric patterns on the wall a touch of class. A terracotta sunburst design jazzed up the service counter, centered by a clockwork piece that displayed perfectly synchronized gears. The floor tiles matched the ceiling, save for a mosaic piece in the center shaped into the spire of a stately skyscraper from another time. The words ‘Empire State’ were embossed at the bottom of the mosaic.
The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame Page 9
