“Who let this clown in? Sir, this is a crime scene. Head back down immediately.”
I swallowed hard. It was hard to find my voice. “I’m… I was a friend. Of the family.”
A gravelly voice spoke from inside the room. “Let him in.”
They parted and I went inside. It took all of my resolve not to turn right back around.
Mrs. Luzzatti was pinned to the wall with stakes through both shoulders. Her eyes and mouth were still wide open in a dead scream and her throat had been slashed, staining her blouse with crimson streams. Some macabre bastard had twisted her head so that she stared directly at the bed.
Where Mr. Luzzatti was propped on the bedside. His hands rested under his severed head as though holding it for safekeeping.
The coppers muttered uneasily behind me. I knew how they felt. It took a special kind of psycho to do something that demented. My heart pounded as I frantically searched the room for Natasha.
She was nowhere in sight.
“You must be Mick Trubble.”
The speaker was a hard-looking mug in a police captain’s uniform. I hadn’t met Captain Graves before but I knew him by reputation. He kept the balances checked in New Haven. Corrupt as anyone else, but he could come down hard when circumstances called for it. I didn’t like the fact that he was there on the scene. It spoke volumes, enough for me to focus somewhat through my haze of revulsion and cold fury and concentrate on the game that played out in front of me.
Graves went on. “Heard a few things about you. You want to tell me where you were when this happened?”
“On my way here. I got an emergency call from Natasha.” I pulled up the record on the holographic display from my holoband. No point in being disagreeable. Graves would get that info from me one way or the other, and I didn’t have the time to cool my heels in a holding tank.
He synced up and copied the call record to the forensics tablet in his hand. “We can’t find the daughter. Any notion where she might have gone?”
“I came here as soon as I got the call. If she’s not here then I can’t tell you where she’d be.”
He grunted. “Well, she couldn’t have gotten far. We’re checking all transit points and security feeds. She’s bound to show up somewhere. I just hope it’s quickly. The Red-Eyed Killer doesn’t stop until the job’s finished.”
My heart pumped ice water. “Red-Eyed Killer?”
He nodded toward the corpses. “Didn’t you notice?”
I had tried not to look too hard, but I swallowed the bile in my throat and took another glance, trying to pretend that the bloody stiffs weren’t people that I knew and cared about. It was obvious then. Their eyes were completely red as if the pupils swelled with blood and boiled over. Crimson streaks ran down their cheeks in a mockery of tears.
“Special cocktail blended with hallucinogens that makes their worst nightmares come alive while their blood literally boils. Victims usually die from self-inflicted damage, but the Red-Eyed Killer also juices them with a tranquilizer so that they can simmer in agony while he goes to work with his… art.” He gestured to the macabre display.
I turned away. “I’ll let you know if the girl turns up.”
Graves grunted. “You’ll do better than that. I’m placing you under house arrest right now.”
My shoulders stiffened as if expecting a slug in the back. “What…? Under what charges?”
Graves waved a dismissive hand. “Who cares? You’re a problem, Mick. A man with your reputation will trample any investigation with your… methods. As a friend of the family, you’re the most likely suspect for the girl to turn to. We’ve already searched your apartment –she’s not there. But she might show up. I’m posting men at the doors and placing you in your room. If she pops up then we’ll nab her in protective custody.”
I trusted their protective custody about as much as I did fair play at an underground poker game. Everything about the scene stank of a cover-up. The brass wanted the case closed, and the air was practically perfumed with the stink of dirty money. I didn’t have much of a choice but to play along. Legal rights and procedure were for the high pillow types that had the cabbage to grease palms with.
I didn’t swim in those circles.
One of the button boys escorted me back to my apartment. A police drone floated in the hallway outside the door, along with an armed guard. I was stuck inside with a chest full of fire and a mind full of murderous thoughts. I couldn’t get the images outta my head. Luzzatti and his wife butchered like animals. The Red-Eyed Killer had enjoyed every scream, every second of the torture.
I paced the room, trying to ignore the feeling of being boxed in. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t figure out what I needed to do. I pounded the body bag until I was soaked through. Didn’t help. I downed a pint of Wild Turkey. Didn’t help. I dismantled the Mean Ol’ Broad, cleaned her up and put her back together.
That helped.
After that I showered. Carefully dressed in my best rags. By that I mean my clean ones. I shaved and removed the bandages from my face. Just as I figured, they were almost healed up. I holstered the Broad and tucked away a few surprises. Put the Bogart on my head and tilted it just right.
After that I stepped out the door and punched the guard right in the face.
As he tumbled, I whipped the Mean Ol’ Broad out and shot the drone down before it could fire a round. Didn’t matter. It had put the word out, and the button boys downstairs were no doubt on their way up. I kicked the guard in the temple to put him out for good. Then I ran to the Luzzatti’s apartment and slipped inside. The crime scene sensors blared, but I was way past the point of no return anyway.
The bodies had been removed, but the bloodstains were still there as grisly reminders. I paid no attention to that as I ran past and dropped down to where I’d seen Natasha open the hidden basement. I was pretty sure it was secured well enough to avoid detection by sensors like the brass used to sweep the place over. That was pretty much standard for anyone who stored their valuables. The button boys were handicapped by tech that fit in their budget, which wasn’t enough to afford the real darb detectors.
I pounded on the floor.
“Natasha! I know you’re down there. Open up. We gotta go!”
No answer. I heard commotion down the hallway.
“Dammit Natasha, the brass is on the way. I gotta get you outta here.”
Her quivery voice was barely audible. “Mick…?”
“Yeah, it’s me sweetheart. Open the door. Please.”
Someone grabbed the doorknob outside in the hallway. The shock ring I’d slipped around the inside knob activated, and I heard the scream as the copper got zinged by the sizzling arc. I knew it was only a matter of seconds before they blasted their way inside.
The basement door slip open, and Natasha leaped in my arms. She was a shivering, disheveled, tearstained mess.
“I heard them, Mick Trubble. I heard them… screaming. They… they wouldn’t stop. I didn’t even remember to hit your number until… until after…”
“Hey.” I placed my hand on her chin. “Don’t you dare think that this is your fault. You had nothing to do with this, understand?”
She dropped her eyes and nodded miserably. “Papa told me to lock myself in the basement as soon as he heard the knock. Mama… she was downstairs. She walked in… after…” Natasha’s eyes brimmed over. “I… I couldn’t do anything to help…”
I took her by the hand and went to the window. “I know. I know, sweetheart. Your Pa did the right thing by sending you down there. That’s all that matters. But it ain’t over. I gotta get you somewhere safe or you’ll be next.” I turned off the window’s laser bars and shot out the glass with the Mean Ol’ Broad. Then I turned to Natasha.
“I know you don’t think that you can do this, but you can. All you have to do is trust me. Do you trust me?”
She choked back a sob and nodded.
“All right. Let’s go.”
I helped
her out to the fire escape and followed just when the gunfire erupted at the doorway. I heard the door fall inward from the barrage and the shouts of angry coppers. I took one last second to toss in the insurance to cover our escape. It was a flat, cylindered motion-activated explosive.
“Up you go, kid.”
We clambered up the escape as the explosive went off with a flash like daylight. I sure as hell didn’t wanna have dead coppers on my record, but I didn’t mind putting them on their backs for a minute. The explosive set off a stun charge while discharging a stinger cloud at the same time. The blast disoriented them, and a cloud of tiny machines discharged electronic chaff signals. They also attacked anything in the room with their metallic stingers. Any electronic surveillance in the area would have serious problems in a matter of seconds, and the button boys weren’t exactly comfortable either. Their frantic yells and shrieks followed us all the way to the rooftop.
That’s where I stashed my backup plan. I still didn’t own any wheels, but I did have a nice piece of contraband covered up on the roof. I yanked the canvas off of the hoversled. It was a bit beat up, but the Tesla fusion converters were in top shape. I’d got it as payment for a favor that I did in behalf of a mechanic friend with a list of bad clients. After I made my rounds, his clients were much better at paying their tabs. The bike was just an old model he tinkered on, but he got it juiced up well enough by the time he gave it to me.
The best part was that it wasn’t jacked into the transit network, so the brass couldn’t tag it and tow me in. Perfectly illegal, but that was pretty much the point.
I helped Natasha on the bike. She stared vacantly in space while her mind retreated from the horrors that she’d just endured. I couldn’t tell if she knew where she was or what was happening.
“Just hang on, Natasha. You hear me? Hang on tight, ‘cause we’re gonna to have to hightail it outta here.”
She wrapped her arms around my waist, so at least I knew that she still had some awareness left. I cranked the hoversled with my thumbprint and the fusion reactor rumbled to life. We shot forward off the rooftop when I squeezed on the accelerator handle.
There was a reason why I didn’t use the hoversled much. I hated floaters. There’s something about flying across empty space that just didn’t take with me. I’d much rather feel the grip of wheels on the streets where I felt I had at least some aspect of control. Up in the air there’s too many variables, too many things that can go wrong. Plus the thing was basically a flying motorcycle. Not exactly the most secure crate to soar around in.
None of that mattered as I dipped in between the towering complexes of the Flats. The decaying remnants of the former glory of New Haven were mute witnesses to our escape. The thrum of the motor filled the canyons, reverberating like shots to the chest. I stayed low on purpose. The lower sections of the Flats were much darker since the city didn’t waste much money on lighting up the poorer sections. Even less chance of evil eyes that actually worked. Folks in the Flats don’t much like surveillance. They do like to shoot down the orbital cameras on sight, though.
Plus if I joined the traffic above us then I’d stick out like a sore thumb in all of that transit-controlled airspace. Not too many folks operated floaters manually. So I zipped past the near-empty office spaces and tenement buildings, weaving back and forth to confuse anything that might try to tail me. Predictably it started to rain, soaking us immediately. I felt Natasha’s weight as she leaned against me. I imagined that I could see the rain that plastered her hair and streamed down her face, mingling with her tears.
I headed for the one place that they’d never look for Natasha. The red light district. Particularly La Lupanar, the cathouse that I frequented when I wanted a little feminine company without the headaches of strings and attachments. Which meant that I frequented there pretty often.
I called the joint as we got closer. “Yeah, this is Mick Trubble. Let Esmeralda know that I’m coming in hot. Tell her that I need a favor.”
Chapter 7: The Storm
Madam Esmeralda met me in the alley out back of the mansion-styled bordello. She was a creamy-skinned dish of a woman with an ageless face and regal mannerisms. Her hair was soft and black as raven feathers, elaborately styled in Victorian fashion. So was her dress, which included a rose-embroidered corset that emphasized her curvy waistline. Her low-cut lacey blouse did practically nothing to cover the milky breasts that appeared precariously close to spilling out. Normally I would’ve have been pleasantly distracted by all of that lustful eye candy, but right then I was in a completely different state of mind.
“This is a most unusual request, Mr. Trubble.” Esmeralda spoke with a French accent that was almost as alluring as her appearance. She stood under the awning of the doorway to avoid the rain that poured on me and Natasha. A uniformed woman stood beside her. From the stern face and stiff stance I knew the dame was one of Esmeralda’s security guards. The joint had a few of them scattered around to keep an eye on things, and any rube who thought they were easy to roll over soon learned otherwise. Esmeralda looked at Natasha, then back at me with a raised eyebrow.
“You think that I take in strays? I am not seeking any new girls right now.”
Natasha held on to my arm tightly, shivering from more than the downpour. I put an arm around her as I spoke to Esmeralda. “Not quite what I had in mind. Her folks were just killed by a shylock with a grudge. She’s all that’s left to finish the job. I need to stash her away so I can concentrate on the scumbags that are looking for her.”
The guard held an umbrella for Esmeralda as she stepped forward. She gently cupped Natasha’s chin in her hand and peered at her face. “The poor girl is in shock.”
Natasha shuddered and buried her face into my arm. I looked at Esmeralda. “Will you do it? I’ll owe you. Anything you might need in the future just let me know.”
Esmeralda’s eyes narrowed. “You have the look of a man about to do violence, Mr. Trubble. If you get yourself killed doing all of that male vengeance foolishness, how will you be able to fulfill your promise?”
“I don’t plan on buying the farm just yet. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Esmeralda studied my face as if weighing me for value. Finally she nodded.
“Very well. But I cannot force her to come with me. If you can convince her to trust me then I will take her in. Only for a while, however.”
I tipped my Bogart respectfully. “That’s all the time I need.”
I turned to Natasha. “Listen, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting. I know that you wanna go somewhere safe, somewhere that the pain you’re feeling doesn’t exist. But you gotta listen to me now. Are you listening?”
Rain slid down her face. Droplets hung from her eyelids as she stared at me vacantly. But something seemed to flicker from somewhere deep inside. Her lips trembled.
“I’m… I’m listening, Mick Trubble.”
“That’s it. Take a few deep breaths and stay with me. I gotta leave for a little bit. This won’t be over until I take care of the people who did this to your folks. I can’t watch you and handle that at the same time, you understand?”
Her grip tightened painfully on my arm for a second, but she nodded.
“You asked me what is that I do. I’m gonna tell you now. I take cases for people when they got no one else to turn to. When the law can’t or won’t help them, they give someone like me a call. I’m taking a case for you right now. I’m gonna make sure that no one will ever come for you again. But you have to stay here with Madam Esmeralda until I come back for you. You can trust her. Do you understand?”
She looked up at me. Lightning flashed in that instant, allowing me a good look at the rage and grief that swam in her gaze. She nodded.
“Then stay here. I’ll be back when it’s over. I promise.” I turned and got back on the hoversled as Esmeralda led Natasha to the doorway. The rumble of the motor was lost in the sound of the downpour as I soared off. The rain stung like pellets as
it struck me, but I could barely feel it on account of the pain that I already felt inside. A storm was brewing, cold and terrible as it gathered.
I was the storm.
“Hello Mick.”
Hunter Valentino’s place was about as pleasant as a haunted house. The roof sagged, the walls were busted, and the flooring was half rotted. A single light bulb served as the only source of illumination. And it flickered.
I didn’t like coming there, and it wasn’t just that Hunter stayed in the West Docks. And it wasn’t just because Hunter was an uncontrolled synoid with possible homicidal tendencies. It was because Hunter was the one who pulled me outta the water that night when I should have died. In return for pumping the river from my lungs, he made me promise not to tell anyone about him and his unrestricted status. I could understand that. Any synthetic humanoid that somehow became free of its directives was targeted to be scrapped immediately.
But what I didn’t understand was why he fished me out the river in the first place. He was a hunter model synoid, and they were built for one purpose: assassination. Saving a life went completely against their programming. Hunter had never offered a reason. What he did offer was his assistance if I ever needed his unique skills. Again I had no idea why, but until that moment I never thought that I’d take him up on that offer.
Times changed.
“You look like you can use a drink.” Hunter was just a silhouette with emerald eyes where he sat at the lopsided table. He poured greenish liquor into a couple of shot glasses.
Not wanting to be rude, I sat across from him and prayed that the rickety chair wouldn’t set me down on my ass. Luckily it stayed intact as I accepted the shot. I was pretty sure that he wasn’t the type to keep his glassware clean and all, but I really didn’t want to offend an artificial assassin whose programming was almost definitely unstable. I downed the shot and immediately gagged. I’m not very selective with free booze, but his preferred poison was pretty damned awful.
The Troubleshooter: Red-Eyed Killer Page 4
