Liquid Cool (Liquid Cool, Book 1)

by Austin Dragon

  "What about your girlfriend? She'd set off the metal detector too."

  "I got that handled."

  "What about cyborgs with that new fancy non-metal metal bionics?"

  "The metal detector detects all metals and all alloys. They can't make bionics from wood or glass yet, so we're covered."

  "What about plastic? That's what they use Up-Top. I don't expect higher-end clients and criminals to come into this dump, but you might as well get your money's worth."

  "Nah, they say it's plastic, but it's an alloy. To be as strong as it has to be, it has to be an alloy, not any cheapie plastic they use for toys and average hovercars. And Up-Top doesn't use bionics, they use biotics. They grow body parts in hospitals."

  "We don't have that down here, this cheapskate planet. But it's okay, because bionics is better. Cyborgs are superheroes, not squares like Up-Top."

  "Forget Up-Top. Just don't get caught illegally using those bionic arms, or you'll get thrown in jail again. You can't get paid a salary from jail."

  It was an hour later when I realized the madness that was Punch Judy and I talking about nothing. Bugs was done and he interrupted us. He led PJ back to her workstation first to show her all the modifications and controls. It took him about forty minutes to show her the full scope of her power over all things security, before Bugs returned to my office.

  "Punch!" I yelled as Bugs' eyebrows rose.

  "What?" She popped into my office, and I threw the box to her.

  "The business cards," I said.

  She looked at the box, smiled, and disappeared.

  "Sorry about that. We're a shouting office."

  Bugs chuckled. "I noticed."

  "How does it all look?" I asked.

  "You'll be able to hold your own against even a full-scale office invasion."

  "That's what I need."

  "We're also taking care of all the wire maintenance. This building is centuries old, so we have to bury all the circuitry deep to keep it away from the bundle mess of every other floor, and businesses that don't even exist anymore, but the wires are still there. So keep an eye on that. But only if you see issues with operating performance. You need not do anything else beyond that. You really are spending a lot of cash on all this."

  "Don't remind me. Do you need me to walk through everything again?"

  "I'll walk you through everything again, and you can tell me if I miss anything for you."

  "That'll be fine."

  He dug into his pocket and produced a small wooden box. "And I can't forget this."

  He handed me the box, and I looked at him. "Do I open it?"

  "All the systems I use are analog. I don't trust that Up-Top, digital, supposedly-the-state-of-the-art technology. You want to rob me, then you will have to come right up to my place to do it. Not some hack with you in your underpants from a far, far away land. Do not bring any digital technology into this office. But if you do, use what's in the little box."

  "What is it?"

  "You'll know when you need to. Throw it in the top drawer of your desk until then. Now, let's do the final walk-through, so I can get home to the wife and kids and then get some sleep."

  Chapter 28

  The Realtor

  I WAS READY. PJ WAS ready. And thanks to Bugs, my place of business was ready. It wasn't crooks and creeps I was worried about, but the return of one man.

  It was an especially rainy day when he returned, three days after my third incident of the violence in my new detective life. PJ knocked once on my office door, before opening it to peek in. She was uncharacteristically professional, which meant she somehow knew the stakes involved. I stood from my desk and PJ gestured the Realtor man in.

  He said nothing, but walked to my desk and sat in one of the two chairs.

  I sat back down and immediately reached into the top drawer of my desk.

  "I was expecting you," I said.

  The Realtor man was here again and it wasn't for anything good. I figured he had a document in his jacket to give me my 90 days' notice to get the hell out, but I couldn't let him serve me with that document.

  I opened the folder and turned it upside to place in front of him. "I took the initiative in assembling these for you and my unknown patron. A copy of the police report and their findings. The victim, known on the street as Tower Cracker, had a criminal record going back 15 years. Apparently, he had a habit of office-invasion robberies. Unfortunately, for him, he tangled with the wrong people this time. The next page is a photo of my shotgun. Ordinarily, it would be crazy to make a record of the weapons you keep for self-defense, since it's technically illegal, but I thought, in this case, it was necessary, and it's all confidential. This office is anything but defenseless. My secretary can defend herself, me, and the office space. I can defend myself, her, and the office space. Finally, I have the receipts of the modifications I made to the office—video camera outside the office, the elevator, main entrance, even the parking bay."

  This was when the Realtor paid attention. I let him sift through the paper receipts and examine each one.

  "As you can see, the surveillance and security systems installed are substantial. The last page is a bio of the firm that did the work, and their client list. They are reputable and tops in the industry. I..."

  I stopped talking when the Realtor man closed the file. He folded it long ways a few times and put it inside his jacket pocket. For a moment, I glimpsed an envelope already there—I bet that was the eviction papers. He patted his jacket over the spot where the file was in his jacket and stood.

  He didn't look at me, this time, but maintained a smirk as he spun around and left the office.

  That was the fourth time I dodged a bullet.

  I never saw that Realtor man again.

  Chapter 29

  The Government Guy

  "MR. CRUZ, A MR. STACKLESS is here to see you." Punch Judy was using her professional voice again, which meant that whoever Mr. Stackless was, he was important, in her eyes, at least.

  She led a small man with the horn-rimmed glasses into my office and directed him to one of the open chairs in front of my desk then left.

  "Mr. Stackless," I said as I shook the man's hand. His hands were clammy and disgusting. I suppressed my germophobic impulse to immediately soak my hand in cleansing acid. "How can I help you?"

  The man, from the time he entered my office, was looking around. I didn't like it, and I didn't like him.

  "I'm with the government, Mr. Cruz." Now, I had a reason not to like him. He sat in the chair and pulled a small notebook from his jacket. "I understand you're a detective."

  "I'm a consultant. You have to be licensed to be a detective in this city."

  He stared at me.

  "I am not amused by your cleverness, Mr. Cruz. You are passing yourself off as a detective, accepting money as a detective, and getting written up in police reports as a detective."

  "I'm a consultant, sir."

  "But, I have the proof here," he exclaimed, holding up one of the lobby business cards.

  "Can I see that?"

  He handed me the card, and I studied it. "So?" I gave it back to him.

  "You call yourself a detective."

  "That's not what the card says."

  He looked at the card again:

  LIQUID COOL

  Consultant Agency

  D. Cruz

  Private Consultant

  He looked up at me angrily. We stared at each other for a while. Swapping cards like a magician was a trick I learned as a toddler. I was surprised he fell for it.

  "I'm going to bust you, Mr. Cruz. I will report you and haul you into court."

  I stood from my chair, walked around the desk, and sat in the empty chair next to his.

  "Mr. Stackless, you do whatever you like. I'm not some sidewalk johnny, ignorant of the laws of the land. When, and if, you falsely bring a lawsuit against me, as you claim, just remember when it's thrown out of court as frivolous, I will coun
tersue you and win. Metropolis courts have a lot more important things to worry about than business cards. I'm sure the judge will tell you that in colorful language and may even ask why your government division is using its scarce resources on such nonsense. And one more thing, Mr. Stackless."

  "Yes," he answered.

  "Get the hell out of my office."

  I went back behind my main desk and sat. He glared at me as he stood from his chair. PJ opened the door—Bugs had also installed a silent buzzer under my desk, so I could signal when I was finished with a client.

  "Judy, escort this bum from my office. Then get our attorney on the line and create a file on this man. He's threatening a frivolous lawsuit, so have the lawyer prep the counter-suit paperwork. Mr. Stackless works for the government."

  "Oh, big money damages then." PJ was the best at playing along.

  The man stormed out of my office and past her. PJ didn't even follow him, but closed the door behind her.

  Some government guy comes in my office, trying to threaten my new livelihood. Shot at three times. Spending a fortune on the best surveillance and security systems, and I had no fortune. No way in hell was I giving up my new occupation now. I was committed for the duration.

  Chapter 30

  Officers Break and Caps

  IN THIS CITY, ONE OF worst things that could happen was to get on the radar of the police. Then, you were a marked person, forever. It was a vicious cycle I had seen growing up. Get in trouble once, and the police would forever look at you as a source of trouble. It was a place you didn't want to be. And that's where I was.

  PJ was in her professional mode when she led our "good friends," Officers Break and Caps, into my office. Seeing a "PEACE" officer always made your heart skip a beat, even the hardened thug who pretended not to be scared of anything. They were Metropolis' government soldiers in the never-ending war on crime, and they were, when they had to be, a nasty piece of work, able to obliterate a perp or hovercar single-handedly. They had to be scary. The citizens of Metropolis, including me, demanded it. You couldn't stop the criminals we had with anything less than a police force that was nothing short of hell on earth.

  But still, my heart skipping beats wasn't good. The policemen stopped in front of my desk.

  "How did I know we would be seeing you again, Mr. Cruz," Officer Break said.

  "What did I do this time, officers?" I asked.

  "We have a complaint that you attempted to assault a government agent..."

  "Oh, Mr. Stackless."

  "Yes, Mr. Cruz, Mr. Stackless."

  I turned the folder in front of me on the desk and opened it.

  "Here are pictures of Mr. Stackless parking his hovercar outside the building, walking up the stairs to the elevator, exiting the elevator, walking into my office." I flipped the photos. "Here is him leaving my office, exiting the elevator, walking down the stairs. Notice his appearance and demeanor. Doesn't seem to match with the state of someone who has been threatened with assault. Oh, here are my personal favorites. Mr. Stackless chatting it up, or is it propositioning, some underage girls..."

  "You have a good day, Mr. Cruz," Officer Break said as both officers turned and left.

  PJ's head popped into my office.

  "I'm going to give Mr. Stackless a visit," I said.

  Chapter 31

  The Government Guy

  THE METROPOLIS OFFICE of the City Clerk. It was the depository of the city's database of every micro-business, small to large business, and every multinational megacorporation, current and out-of-business, for hundreds of years. The amount of data they housed must have been staggering, and because of the confidentiality of that much information their offices were more like Fort Knox than anything else. They were insignificant file clerks elevated to super-star status, including their own Metro police building security detail, because of those files.

  I had no idea what Mr. Stackless' real title was, but there he was behind the public intake counter as another businessperson registered with him. They had to get their pound of flesh, and their fees, anyway they could. Mr. Stackless, undoubtedly, had jurisdiction over my area, and I was an illegal, unregistered business in his eyes. Many people used the "I'm only a consultant" line to circumvent the laws. It never worked, but it could buy you time until you got the means to get the required licenses.

  He never saw me enter the Clerk's office and take my seat in the waiting room, after taking a number from the bright dispenser by the door. The waiting room was packed when I arrived, and it was packed with over seventy people, two hours later, when my number was called.

  "140!" Stackless yelled out.

  He still didn't notice who I was until I was standing inches from him on the opposite side of his counter.

  First, his face turned bright red, as he knew I wasn't there to register. He stared at me, not knowing what to do. He couldn't run, but he could call out to the big policeman outside the doors standing guard. The first move was mine.

  "Your plan to jack me up with the police failed, so this is what you're going to do," I said to him in a hushed, but unpleasant tone. "You've tried to upset my business twice. Do you know what it's like to be the little guy in a supercity trying to get something going? Or have you been a government worker troll all your life and have never made an honest day's living? I don't have a cushy government job or a cushy corporate one, but you don't see me complaining. You don't see me hanging out on the street, like a sidewalk johnny. I'm trying to make things happen. So this is what you will do. I've solved a corporate case, and I've solved a case from an Average Joe. I need a case from a government guy to round out my virtual storefront reviews." I pointed at him. "You're going to get me that client for being an insufferable bum and to redeem yourself. I want and expect that referral from you. So what's it going to be?"

  While I was talking, the redness of his face subsided. He was fully relaxed when I finished.

  "Do detectives make payoffs for people?"

  "Payoffs?" I asked.

  "Yes...if someone's being...blackmailed. And they want someone to make the payoff for them."

  "Yeah. We do that."

  Chapter 32

  Phishy

  "HERE, PHISHY PHISHY." I'm sure that was the playground tease Phishy had to endure as a child, but I never once joked about his name. I never teased anyone about their name. It was beneath me. It felt like childish stuff, and I didn't do childish stuff. I'm sure that's one reason Phishy always wanted to hang with me. I treated everyone the same, no matter the title or status. He appreciated that. And now I was partners with the crazy cat.

  "Phishy!" I yelled and threw the wad of cash at him.

  He was hanging on the street with his crew of sidewalk johnnies, like he always did, planning a scam, talking about a scam, or whatever. Phishy jumped in the air and snatched that wad of cash as if he had a bionic hand of steel. Then he transformed before my eyes and had a look. It was like when I threw a piece of chicken to this feral cat as a kid. The cat pounced on that piece of meat as if it had never eaten before and had this look, accompanied by a low, guttural growl. The piece of chicken was in a death-lock in its mouth, and if anything came near it, even its mother, it would scratch its eyes out. Phishy's face looked like that.

  I stood there, watching him for a moment, until Phishy's psychotic mood passed.

  "Oh." His smile returned. "I'm okay."

  "You didn't look okay," I said.

  He turned around and was fiddling with the groin area of his pants—I assumed the zipper.

  "What the hell are you doing over there?" I yelled.

  His sidewalk johnny buddies were in a laughing uproar. Phishy was jumping up and down, his back to me, fiddling with his pants. He stopped, did something, and then looked to pull up his zipper. By this point, his crew was rolling on the wet ground laughing so hysterically I thought for sure they'd have heart attacks.

  Phishy turned around to face me. The wad of cash was gone from his hands.


  "I'm really okay now," he said.

  "Don't even tell me you did what I think you did."

  He laughed.

  "Girls hide it up there," he said, rubbing his chest. "We put it down there."

  "Phishy, it's called a wallet, and it goes in your pants pocket or your jacket pocket. What's wrong with you?"

  "Nah, you get robbed that way. No one's going to reach in there. Not even the police."

  "Okay, enough Phishy, I don't even want to hear about your personal body security measures."

  "Give us a handshake," he said jokingly as he walked to me like a zombie with his hand outstretched.

  "Get away from me, Phishy."

  He kept coming, and I ran away.

  Chapter 33

  The Wans

  WHEN I WAS A KID IN school, I never got into fights. There were plenty of bullies, but my world never really intersected with theirs. Actually, I was too busy with all my off-school hobbies and interning to care much about anyone or anything at school. Run-Time was the same, which is why we became such good friends early on. School was a pit stop on the road of life and an insignificant one, at that.

  However, as you grow older, one's style starts to take form. That's when I started wearing fedoras. Back then, elaborate hair-styles were the rage, so it was unthinkable to cover your hair with a hat, which was exactly why my contrarian-self did it. And that's when I became a target of the bullies. They did the unthinkable—they tried to snatch my hat. It was a mistake they didn't make ever again, because I beat up the first three so badly, even my few school friends, like Run-Time, were shocked. I think he started wearing his flat caps sometime after I got the reputation in school, "Don't touch Cruz's hat. He'll go psycho on your ass." My rep was so widely known that local gangs came all the way to school to try to recruit me as an enforcer, which made me laugh. "I'm a germophobe, so hitting strangers with all that blood and sweatiness is nasty," I told them. I thought my logical explanation had kept the gangs away only to learn, many years later, that it was the Principal and my Pops who "went after them" and made it crystal clear never to come to the school again for me or to recruit any other kids.