As we walked away, I realized two Hippos were not following, but waited with the hovervan. I was about to protest as I thought I had hired four bodyguards, but stopped myself. Would I leave my vehicle unattended in this place? Why would I expect them to? And Let It Ride Enterprises wasn't sending any of their mobile car security guards anywhere near this armpit of the city.
It was probably part of their gang code, too. With masks off guarding me, it meant it wasn't a gang op, but masks on, guarding their vehicle meant, if you messed with it, you were messing with the entire Hypernova Hippo gang. The more I thought about it, the more I didn't like what it suggested in terms of their protection of me. I had only 50% of the crew I hired.
The street was dark and flooded. Most of the time, I wore clear overboots up to my knees. They were virtually invisible, and I was glad I had them on this time, because the water in the street came up to my calves. The Hippos seemed to enjoy sloshing through the muddy water.
"Turn up there," one of the Hippos said.
When we turned up the street, it was like someone opened a door, and we had passed right through a vortex into another world. For the first time in my life, I was walking down the streets of Mad Heights. It was as noisy and flashy as I had expected. Here, they didn't have sidewalk johnnies; they had sidewalk hustlers, who stood with their backs against the wall in their neon suits and outfits, watching everyone who passed by. I knew what they were looking for—someone like me. Newbies, visitor virgins, people clearly not from here. I could pretend to be as tough as I wanted to be, but they could smell a mark from miles away.
I tried to envision what were the real differences, from a street viewpoint, between here and working class neighborhoods, like my Rabbit City or Woodstock Falls, and upscale ones, like Peacock Hills or Silicon Dunes. Bad neighborhoods just had more of everything in a gratuitous and venal way. The smell of perfume or cologne in the air was too much and sickly, the clothes worn under their dark slickers were too bright, the tech was too gaudy along with their jewelry, their haircuts were too over-the-top, and the muscle on the men and cleavage on the woman was just too much. Rich neighborhoods were perfect in their presentation. Working neighborhoods were decent in theirs. Mad Heights and every mean street neighborhood like it, were just outrageous. It was as if this was what crime felt it had to do to stand out in a noisy, 50-million supercity like Metropolis.
The mean streets had its eye on me. I could see one street hustler smile at his partner next to him, and their eyes locked on me, like a laser-guided missile, even though I had turned my head and was watching them peripherally. One of the Hippos grabbed my shoulder, and the three of us stopped. The two Hippos stared at the approaching sidewalk hustlers, who did an immediate about-face and went back the way they came. As I stared at the Hippos' backs, I could see these cyborgs had massive pile-driver arms. Punch Judy with her cybernetic arms could throw a 300-pound guy through a reinforced window. The arm of one of these Hippos was like six PJ arms—they could throw an entire truck with two 300-pound guys through a reinforced window. The Hippo let go of my shoulder—and I was glad he did, because his hand alone felt like it weighed 500 pounds. We continued walking.
The only equivalent I could think of was models walking the runway with fans, media, and industry people gawking at them. If I hadn't had a Hippo bodyguard on either side of me, I wouldn't have made it. I knew that now. Everyone was watching me. Did I smell funny? How could they know I wasn't a Mad Heights guy? Phishy told me that street people had a sixth sense and could pick out people who didn't belong on the street, and in the bad neighborhoods, it was even sharper. I guessed it had to be if your life was about preying on marks for your livelihood, and spotting police and rival gangs meant the difference between prison or death.
I also didn't trust the Hippos. It was good I had bodyguards, but what was the point if I was scared they'd mug me and leave me in some alleyway, just for the fun of it, despite being paid. Well, something was better than nothing, but I definitely needed my own personal bodyguard service. But again, this was better than nothing.
This was also not the place for an inherent germophobe. I controlled it, most of the time, and hid it from most people, but certain situations made it flare up. I never went near public bathrooms. I'd rather die. I stayed in my own ordered world. However, this wasn't my world. I stood there, staring at the general clinic in front of me, but my foot wouldn't move. There were more dope roaches—drug addicts—around the place than a free drug giveaway in Tijuana. All of them looked like aged zombies, morbidly skinny, scales and sores, bad hair, and bad teeth. The clinic building looked like it had been hit by multiple bomb blasts. Then there were the neon signs: "General Clinic," "Free Needles" "Free Exams" "All Medical Accepted" "Cash Only." When I read "One Finger Body Exams" I was about to run right out of there, but a Hippo grabbed me.
"Are you going in?"
They could see my expression and chuckled.
"Do you have an extra hippo mask?"
They laughed louder.
"Seventh floor," the Hippo said when he returned. "I'd take the stairs if I were you."
Inside the clinic was nasty! The waiting room was overflowing with zombie-looking walk-in patients. People were leaning against the walls and sprawled out on the dirty floor. My skin was crawling. Then I noticed water flies buzzing around. I had to stand there for a moment to compose myself and fight my feet from running out of there. It was nasty!
As with everything in the city, there was no such thing as small. The clinic was on the bottom of a tower, but it was still at least seventeen stories. The bottom levels were the intake waiting rooms and clinics. I was going nowhere near the elevators in this place, so I approached the stairs, and a door opened and a doctor or nurse, whichever, popped out with one bloody white glove on one hand and one dripping brown white glove on the other. I shut my eyes so tightly there was a chance they would never open again. I could not cope with this nastiness. I realized quickly that no good would come from prolonged exposure to this facility. Find my person, question him, and get out.
The Hippos also educated me on the state of Rabbit gangs. There was a coup within the Riot Gear Rabbit gang. The leader, White Rabbit, was killed, and his number two in command, Blue Pill Rabbit, was sent here—barely alive. There were now two separate Rabbit gangs, and they were at full-scale war with each other.
This was supposed to be a clinic, but I had seen only one medic—unlikely for a facility of this huge size. I felt there was something I was missing, and as the outsider, the joke was on me. As I neared the top of the stairs to the seventh floor, there were four watching me, skinny punks with rabbit masks on their heads. Two were barefoot, and that made me want to vomit. Barefoot on this nasty floor?
"Where's Blue Pill?" I asked with authority.
"You part of the Hippo crew?" one asked.
Criminals always had look-outs, even if you never saw them.
"No, I hired them as muscle. I'm not part of any gang. I'm a detective on the outside."
"Why you want Blue Pill then, square?"
"Take me to Blue Pill, so I can ask him my questions directly. Tell him I need to know everything there is to know about Red, so I can take him down. Blue Pill can take him down here. I can take him down on the outside. Blue Pill and I are going to be temporary friends, because we have a mutual enemy."
"Red Rabbit is dead!" one of them said.
The four rabbit gang members were riling themselves up, repeating the same thing, but even I could tell, without seeing their faces, they were scared to death of him.
The entire seventh floor was filled with rabbit-masked gang members, armed with guns, knives, swords, and rifles. If I got into trouble here, my body would be cold and in pieces long before either of my Hippo bodyguards got to me. They both conveniently told me they'd wait at the door for me—I had no say in the matter.
The recovery room where the gang leader, Blue Pill, lay was also overflowing with other rabbit gang memb
ers, but these had their masks off. Caucasian Rastafarians! That's what the Riot Gear Rabbits were—White guys with dreadlocks.
Blue Pill lay on his bed, dressed in a hospital gown, with tubes and wires attached all over his body. There was also a tube in his mouth, and I wasn't a doctor, but his arms and legs were burnt horribly.
One of the rabbit gang members, who was furthest away, pushed through the others to stand about two inches from my face. "You don't look like a Hippo."
"I'm from the outside."
"Everybody knows that. Why are you on the inside, inside here?"
"I need Blue Pill's help."
"Why?"
"Because Red Rabbit is a psycho and needs to be taken down."
"Why? That don't tell us anything. Why do you want to take him down?"
"He orchestrated a friend of mine getting killed by the police. You may have heard of it. That shootout on Sweet Street."
"We heard."
"How this Red did it, I'd also like to know, because my friend would never have done it voluntarily. He never even touched a gun, then he goes gun-crazy, and all these weapons magically appear in his hands."
"Maybe Red told him to do it, and if he didn't, he'd hop over to the guy's family and brutally rabbit-kick them to death. Maybe he used drugs on him. Maybe he used machines. Red seems to have many Up-Top machines in his possession, besides his lightning rifle. You seem to want everything wrapped up in a nice little bow for you. Sometimes, you don't get all the answers, and that's life."
"Then, since you don't seem to know, that's another reason to find and take him down. He may make you go gun-crazy against your will and take down your own men or even your boss, Blue Pill, here," I said. "Red Rabbit is our public enemy number one."
All I knew about this Red was what Box had told me, but from the look of the rabbit gang members' faces, they agreed with what I had just said.
"How can we help?" he asked. "As you can see, Blue Pill isn't a conversationalist anymore because of Red."
I looked at Blue Pill and said, "I only have a few questions. Then, I'll get out of here, so you can rest. Third degree burns ain't no joke."
Blue Pill blinked his eyes to acknowledge me. I looked back at his main man.
"Why is Red still alive?"
The question surprised him, and he looked at Blue Pill for a moment. The rabbit gang members in the room were waiting for an answer, and that's why he was nervous, so I decided to help him.
"I ask, because I know you're getting everything ready to finish him off for good, but I don't want to get in between any gang war."
"He's protected."
"Protected?" I asked.
"We don't know how, but he's protected by the Feds."
"How do you know?"
"We have sources everywhere."
"Where did Red come from? Who is he?"
"He was a Rabbit years ago. Always a hothead and untrustworthy. He tried to take control of the gang back then, but White set him straight. Sent Blue Pill after him, so he could 'see things as they really are'." His way to describe the violence.
"Set him straight, how?"
"Broke every bone in his arms, legs, and neck," the main man said with pride. I had to remember I was among vicious human animals.
"You turned him into a cyborg," I said.
The fact didn't please any of them.
"How long was he gone?"
"Seven years."
"Do you know where he was all that time?"
"He disappeared. We never expected to see him again. Then he returns. He wasn't Red back then, but he is Red, now. And connected with the Feds. We don't how he did that."
"He's an informant for them?"
"That's what protected by the Feds means."
"Why would he do that?" I asked. "How big is the Rabbit gang that he controls?"
A sore subject for them. "He controls all of it, except for us. We're loyal to Blue Pill, and we don't care if he has a hit out on us by other Rabbit crew members. There's going to be Red blood in the streets. I can promise you that."
"If you know he's a police informant, then wouldn't his Rabbit crew members know that? Why would they follow him?"
"Yeah. Why?" the main man asked.
My head was trying to make sense of what made no sense, but I wouldn't figure it out here, as my eyes caught the glimpse of a jumbo roach crawling on the ground in the corner.
"My last question—where does Red stay in Mad Heights?"
"Only outsiders call it Mad Heights. You should at least pretend to be an insider. We can tell you where to find him, but it won't make any difference."
"Why?"
"His lair is so fortified that you'd never get to his front door alive. We can't, and we're after him."
"And he's protected by the Feds."
"That only means he'll never be arrested, but that doesn't mean we can't use whatever means to take him out. Isn't that what you said you wanted to do?"
"It is. After I do one thing, first."
"What's that?"
"Rescue the little girl the psycho kidnapped."
"Red is psycho, but no way he'd do something like that. Not his style. He kills things. He doesn't kidnap them and keep them around. Your intel is faulty."
"It's in the news or don't you read."
"The news. All the lies fit to print. That's faulty, too."
"Tell me where he is, and I'll go see for myself."
"Then you're going to need a lot more than good intentions and a couple of fat Hippos to get into Red's lair. Did you pay them yet, your Hippo bodyguards?"
"Why?" I asked.
"You know they're going to leave you behind to die, right?" the Rabbit said with a grin.
They were grinning at me, even half-dead Blue Pill in his bed—with their stupid, oversized rabbit buck-teeth.
Chapter 46
Chief Hub
FINALLY, I COULD GET the hell out of that nasty place. It was interesting how, in one part of the world, people went about their day with water flies flittering around, and in another region, the mere sight of a baby jumbo roach or puddle slug meant a work stoppage. I was proud to be in the latter group. Everyone in the clinic, obviously, was born in a barn—if such places existed on the planet anymore.
I made my way down the stairs, going straight down the center of people sitting and smoking or sleeping on either side. I moved as quickly as my legs would allow, without tripping and falling. Then, dashed though the clinic waiting room, because I could see no more nastiness. I was too fragile. Out the main entrance, I sighed a deep sigh of relief as I looked up to the cloudy sky.
Sometimes, in life, you are cosmically drawn to a place or person, but you can never articulate why. My eyes shifted to a third floor corner window in the building directly across me. There stood, watching from the open window, a rabbit-masked guy. But somehow, I knew it wasn't a Blue Rabbit look-out. I knew it was Red Rabbit; I'd swear to it.
If Red was here, it could only mean one thing. I couldn't be so lucky that on the same day I was associating with real known gang members (Punch Judy didn't count) that I was about to get caught in the middle of a gang war.
He was watching me, and I knew what he was thinking: why am I staring at him with a look of recognition. Yes, we had never laid eyes on each other before. Then he receded into the darkness of the room, and I couldn't see him anymore.
I snapped out of my vigil and looked to see that my two Hippo bodyguards were nowhere near the main entrance. They were gone! I quickly scanned the crowds and glimpsed the two fat Hippos about a dozen feet away.
"Hey!" I yelled at them.
They knew who was yelling at them, and they looked back at me with smirks. They would seriously ditch me in the middle of Mad Heights unprotected.
For a brief second, I was on the exact page of everyone on the streets; I was running. Then, I realized that I was running one way and everyone else was running the other. It was like a twisted game of musical chairs where
everyone knew what to do, except for me.
I looked ahead and saw them, dozens of young men with black airbrush paint around their eyes—a tell-tale sign of an animal gang member—and their matted dreadlocks. Just as I noticed it, the Caucasian Rastafarians donned their rabbit masks in unison and ran at me, drawing weapons.
Casually, I moved out of the way. I knew they weren't after me. The Red Rabbit Gang was here to wipe out the remnants of the Blue Pill Rabbit Gang. A final showdown. Above me, I heard sounds I had never heard before and looked up. A hovervan was firing at the seventh floor with laser-cannons! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Immediately, I heard glass breaking, and laser rounds showered the attacking hovervan from the sixth and eighth floors.
My eye noticed something dive off the roof of the tower. I couldn't tell what the black shape was. It looked like a giant, black hockey puck. It descended like a stone and crashed on the roof of the attacking hovervan. A second later, the vehicle exploded. The hovervan was a ball of fire, with burning bodies falling to the ground with chunks and fragments of the vehicle. I was not interested in being under metal rain.
Fortunately, I had an impeccable sense of direction and decided I could run to the Hippo hovervan before they could lift off and ditch me. So, I ran. Something told me to look behind me, and I did. Running right after me were the two street punks my Hippo bodyguards had previously scared off. But now, I was alone.
I had no idea what these two planned to do to me. Mug me? I wasn't about to stop to find out, so I turned into the alley the Hippos took me through to get from the dark back alleys to the main streets. I double-timed to the end of the alley, just as the two appeared and started after me.
When I was a police intern, I remember one of the instructors saying to us, in one of their many, boring classes, "It is never permissible to shoot first and ask questions later." Hell with that! I pulled my piece and shot the first one in the leg. The punk collapsed, and the other grabbed and dragged him back the other way and around the corner. Then, I heard yelling, but I couldn't make out their words.
Liquid Cool (Liquid Cool, Book 1) Page 22
