The Coconut Swindle (Black Cape Case Files Book 2)

by Matt Abraham

  “But, if you can make yourself light enough for the floor, and small enough to sneak between the beams, you still need to contend with the thickest piece of Kessel Glass ever made.” She picked up her ice water and knocked it against the table twice. “It can’t be blasted open. It can’t be drilled through. And if you try…” Lee had hyper reflexes, which allowed her to move at incredible speeds for brief spurts, so her hand blurred as she lifted the water glass up and shattered it against the table. “It’s attached to a tremor gauge that, like the rest of the defenses, will alert a private security firm, the police, the FBI, and the God damn National Guard.”

  I looked at the mess on the table. I couldn’t tell the shards of glass from the ice. “That’s about as bad as I expected, but then how’d the boys get so far?”

  Lee grabbed a napkin and pushed the remains of her drink onto the floor. “What were their power sets?”

  “Firewall was a converter and Thermite’s a flamer.”

  “Well, if Firewall was good enough he could’ve unlocked the door. Maybe.”

  “And then disarm the inner defenses.”

  Lee threw her hands up. “Weren’t you listening? A converter has to actually touch the system they’re manipulating, and the one that controls Wentorf Hall is set inside one of the walls, behind a curtain. He’d have to physically walk across the room before he could fiddle with it. Unless…”

  “Unless what?

  “I’ve heard of converters using fiber optic filament to manipulate software from a distance. If he had one thin enough he may’ve shot it between the beams and into the control panel.”

  “Leaving Thermite to burn through the Kessel Glass.”

  “No way,” Lee said. “No flamer burns that hot.”

  I thought about it. And she was right. But, “Can the glass be removed? I mean how did they get the diamond into the display originally?”

  “Clever boy. The short answer is I don’t know. But the long answer is I don’t know.”

  “Which means it’s worth checking on.”

  “You do that, kid. And tell me how it turns out. But just remember, it won’t change the facts. Those two thieves, they killed each other. As sure as I’m sitting here, they killed each other.”

  “Well that aside, can you ask around for me? See if anyone knows where the boys lived, who they ran with?” I raised my left eyebrow as high as it would go. “If anyone wanted them dead?”

  “Sure thing, hon. What was the flamer’s name again?”

  “Thermite.”

  “Got it. Thermite and Firewall. I’ll see what I can see. Now I got to get back.”

  As I watched Lee walk away I toyed with the idea of working the room myself. But the looks I was getting convinced me otherwise. So I got up and made for the exit.

  On my way there a woman stepped in my path. She was a foot taller than me, had spiky blond hair, beauty queen carob skin, and a purple suit with a crimson K on her chest.

  “Kalamity,” I said. “You’re in my way.”

  She shook her head. “Bad enough we lose a real black cape, but now a snitch shows up at his wake?”

  The whole place went quiet.

  And I pushed up into the big dame’s space. “Careful K, Dread Division’s still family, so say that again and see what happens.”

  Another girl joined us. She had the same height and build as her friend, but her grill was ugly enough to put a surgeon off dinner, and the skin that covered it was as hard and fair as a Protestant judge. “I got family. That don’t mean I wouldn’t send them upriver to save my skin.”

  “Is that so, Slamazon?” I said. “They must not be valuable, considering the worth of that trade.”

  “Why you…” She took a step forward.

  And ran into Kalamity’s arm. “Easy, Slam.”

  “Listen to your girlfriend,” I said.

  “You huff and puff big for a has-been liar,” Kalamity said. “But I’m betting you’ll shrink when we get outside.”

  “Is it just us,” I said, “or is your date coming too?”

  A smirk slithered from one side of her mouth to the other. “Don’t need backup to split you asunder.”

  “I’d love to see you try, but right now I got business.” I took a step around the giantess and continued on my way. Then something small struck my spine like a bullet. But there was no blast. I un-tucked the back of my shirt, and out fell a dime. I turned around. “Cute.”

  “Figure you might be running low,” Kalamity said, “since you drop so many. Snitch.”

  The whole place burst into snickering jeers.

  And I stepped back into Kalamity’s space.

  She said, “You want to go outside now?”

  “Here’s fine.” I plowed an uppercut into her ribs, and she dropped to the floor sans the air in her lungs. Quick as I could I spun towards Slamazon to give her a licking.

  But instead I ran into her fist. It sent me flying over the dance floor and into the wall.

  The bar exploded like we just won the pennant.

  “Kill him, Slam.”

  “Break his jaw!”

  I straightened up and shook my head.

  Slamazon was already on top of me. She threw a high haymaker. I slipped beneath it. And kicked her shin. It sent the big broad tumbling face first into the wall.

  Grabbing the nearest table I lifted it up high, and brought it down on her back like a roustabout setting a spike. The oak exploded into splinters. And shut the crowd up. I said, “Stay down, beautiful.”

  But instead of taking my advice Slamazon rose to her feet. And brushed the wooden bits off her shoulder. “You hit like a boy.”

  Once again the black capes cheered.

  “Maybe,” I said over the din, “but I fight like a man.”

  “Like that’s ever scared me.” Slamazon threw a jab. I weaved clear and put a right hook into her gut. She doubled over and gasped. And I stomped on her foot. Slamazon fell to one knee screaming, and clutched her bruised piggies.

  I grabbed a fistful of her hair with one hand. And punched her mouth with the other. It was like hitting granite. Pain shot through my knuckles. I dropped her coif and cradled my hand. “Son of a bitch.”

  From behind two big arms snatched me tight. They belonged to Kalamity. “Get off her.”

  I cocked my head forward, ready to thrust it straight back into her face. But she squeezed. Hard. And it stopped me cold. I tried to breathe. My ribcage refused to oblige. Then Kalamity hoisted me up.

  “That’s enough,” a loud voice barked. “Next person to throw a punch gets banished.”

  Kalamity dropped me and said, “Sorry Lee. We didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “Yeah,” Slamazon said, joining her friend. “Sorry Lee.”

  I stood up and pointed at the dames. “They started it.”

  “We did not,” Slamazon said.

  Lee shook her head. “Like a bunch of children… Ladies, get to the bar and pay your respects. And you, shamus. The next time you mean to put your head into someone’s face don’t cock forward. Just thrust it straight back.”

  I reached down and grabbed my hat. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

  She pointed towards the exit. “Remember it outside.”

  As I left the bar I reflected on this less than stellar morning. I’d been rousted by a cop, got thumped on by criminals, and all I had with me was a set of sore knuckles, and no real answers.

  Though I also had a better understanding of Wentorf Hall. And the film on my scanner.

  I took both back to my office, ready to find out what really happened the night before.

  #

  Mrs. West was out to lunch, so I printed the photos in peace, and placed them on my desk. By arranging the X-ray shots in a circle around the ones reflected from the ceiling I had a complete picture of the crime scene. And it was interesting to say the least.

  The bodies were stacked on top of each other, and the floor around them was scorched black. Next to the
ir feet was a coiled red cord along with a silver canister, about the size of a cigar. That lariat had to be the long-range filament Lee was talking about, but what was the canister?

  I grabbed the magnifying glass from my desk and held it over one of the photos, focusing on the container. There were no markings. Nothing to imply a purpose. I wondered how I’d find out what it was. But then I realized that would be the least of my problems.

  Because lying right there, just a few feet from the tools, was the impossible.

  Chapter 5

  I blinked a few times. Then stared at the photo. Yep. I was right. Both boys were badly burnt.

  Both boys.

  And that made no sense. Sure, Firewall was a converter. He’d light up like a stogie. But Thermite was a flamer. Able to produce fire from his pores. That meant his body could handle a whole lot of Fahrenheit or he’d have cooked himself years ago.

  So what could’ve scorched him?

  Whatever it was had to burn hotter than normal fire. And only one thing fit: a chemical accelerant.

  The boys must’ve meant to use it on the Kessel Glass, but instead Firewall sprayed it on his pal. A tough break for Thermite, but good news for me because a chemical that burns hot enough to toast a flamer would be rare. So rare that only a few places in town would even carry it. Thus, if I could ascertain the type, I could find out where it came from, and who bought it.

  And if it wasn’t the boys then it was the man who killed them.

  I had to get a sample.

  But how?

  The floor of the museum was no doubt scrubbed clean, and the container itself would be in police custody.

  Then it hit me. There was one place that had the information I needed. And while it wasn’t as secure as cop central, it wouldn’t be easy to walk into, either.

  But I needed answers. So I grabbed my hat and ran for the door.

  #

  The morgue that deals with dead black capes resides in the basement of Gold Coast General Hospital, and by now the two boys would be there, waiting on the coroner’s scalpel. But before the slicing started I needed to take a reading of Thermite’s skin.

  I parked outside the hospital and took the steps down one floor. The morgue’s entrance was at the end of the hall. Nothing stood between me and it. I crept along the wall quick, but not so quick I made any noise. The last thing I wanted to do was attract attention, especially from the coroner. But I arrived at the entrance without seeing a soul.

  So far, so good.

  I pushed the doors open a crack and slid in. The cold smell of mentholated antiseptic hung thick in the air, and white tiles, the kind that don’t stain, covered the walls and floor. A row of corpses ran down both sides, each lying under a black shroud. The only parts left uncovered were their right feet, and each one was adorned with a toe tag that hung limp like a flag at half-mast.

  Except for the two on the end. They were still in the bag.

  I walked down the aisle passing familiar names like Slugfest, Dinky Dee, and Landslide before getting to Thermite. Sitting next to him on the gurney was a dish filled with melted spare change, and a business card, which I slipped into my pocket. Then I unzipped his bag.

  The hot smell of cooked pork and scorched iron wafted out like I popped open a grill mid-barbeque. I pulled back and gave the thick stench a moment to pass, then pinched my nose and leaned over Leonard’s corpse. His face, chest, and arms were all charred so black he looked like a struck match. I ran my finger down his arm. It felt like bark. And there was a misshapen hunk jutting out from his bicep. I looked closer.

  It was a hand.

  Which had to be Firewall’s, because Thermite still had both of his, though each paw was missing a few fingers. That meant the boys had melted together, and had to be pried apart, implying a struggle. Not good for Widow’s theory. Speculation comes later though. For now I needed info. So I pulled out my hand scanner and put it up to Thermite’s flesh to get a sample of any residue the accelerant left.

  But a woman’s voice said, “Stop immediately.”

  I spun around. It was Doctor Lockter. She had on a lab coat as white as her skin, and bright red eyes that matched the close cropped hair atop her head. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “Just here to inspect the bodies. We missed some stuff earlier and-”

  “Who are you?”

  “A detective,” I said.

  “Let me put it another way.” Her red eyes glowed. And with a voice that was both male and female, angry yet seductive, she said, “Freeze.”

  And I didn’t just hear it, I felt it. Every muscle I had went slack like a wet bag of prickly pins. Which was just what I wanted to avoid. Because Lockter was a puppeteer, able to control an individual with just her voice.

  “That’s better.” Lockter walked over, pulled the wallet from my coat, and opened it. “Ah, so you meant private detective. Dane Curse. Have I heard the name before?”

  I clenched my mouth tight. But those jaw muscles loosened on their own, and with my two-faced tongue formed the words, “I don’t know.”

  “What did you do before you were a detective?”

  No. If I said “black cape” she’d press me on who I was and what I’ve done. Then I’d march myself to Impenetron for a ten-year stay. So I pushed my memory back. Back past Dread Division. Back past Raymond’s gang. Back years and years when, “I was a dockworker.”

  “Interesting. Now tell me for true, why are you here?”

  “I’m investigating this murder.”

  Lockter looked confused. “But the police say these two killed each other.”

  “They don’t care if that’s true or not. I do.”

  She searched my face like she’d seen it before. Finally, she slipped my wallet back home, and in her regular voice said, “Get out. And stay out. If I catch you in here again I’ll call the police.”

  My body woke up from her numbing effect and I ran out of the morgue, practically knocking the doors off their hinges. Moving quick down the hall I looked back. God damn Lockter, now I might never-

  And I crashed into a busy custodian.

  He fell to ground and said from his back, “Watch it, pal.”

  I was about to say, “Why don’t you?” but then I looked at him. He was middle aged. With the paunch of a former high school sports star. And there was glory in his eyes that died a long ways back. So instead of my original sentence I extended a hand and said, “Sorry about that, pal. I wasn’t paying attention. Just got chewed out by Lockter.”

  He accepted my help and stood up. “Dames, right? Give them some power and they think they own you. What’s she done now?”

  “Well, I got to inspect a black cape corpse, but she won’t let me without the paperwork.”

  “Can’t you come back tomorrow?”

  “No,” I said. “And even if I could the Fletcher Act makes cape DNA a controlled substance, so they usually burn or bury the unclaimed ones in shockcrete within twenty-four hours, and if I don’t get my samples before then I’m toast.”

  “But she won’t let you,” he said. “Typical Lockter.”

  I smiled. “Right. Anyway, you know when she goes home?” I pulled out a hundred, and held it out.

  Falcons don’t grab field mice as quick as he snatched that bill. “Around midnight every day.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “I’ll swing by then.”

  I resumed my walk to the stairs.

  But the guy called out, “Hey. Don’t be late. Security seals those outer doors at two, and only Pinnacle can pry them apart.”

  “Between twelve and two, got it.” I walked outside. The sun was nearing the end of its shift. Soon it’d be night, and I’d be busy. First the museum to study the vents, then the morgue to collect some residue.

  But in the meantime…

  I pulled out the card they found on Thermite. Its edges were toasty, but one word was still legible: Wetlands.

  And all of a sudden my night got a whole lot simpler.
<
br />   Chapter 6

  Wetlands was a Brazilian dance club that had a running sideline in less than legal hard-to-find hardware. It was owned by a black cape named Swamp, and while we normally don’t speak I’d just found his card in the pocket of a dead man. A dead man who died near two pieces of hard-to-find hardware. And it reasoned that if he supplied the filament, and the canister, then he provided the chemical himself, or knew the person who did. Either way, I could be one big step closer to solving my case.

  I drove to the club and parked out front. The sign on the door said closed, but I pushed it open and looked around. Normally Wetlands is exciting and mysterious. Its nighttime darkness provides cover for forbidden fun, and makes the cream colored furniture look like a naked model’s firm skin.

  But now, under the fluorescent lights, you could see every floor stain from spilled drinks of weekends past, and the sofas seemed more like dead, bloated bodies.

  That’s the thing about dance clubs, they’re just like hookers. You don’t want to be inside either one when they’re well lit.

  Across the room was the VIP section, a raised metal platform that floated ten feet above the floor. I walked up the hovering stairs to find Swamp, sitting on a couch. He had deep dark skin, a shaved head, and wore red leathers. Parked next to him was a slim, pasty white guy dressed in black.

  “Hey team,” I said. “Don’t get up.”

  The pale boy hopped to. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Keep it shiver, Vec,” Swamp said. “But my boy’s got a point, Dane. Why you here?”

  I crossed both arms up high on my chest, and tickled my pistol grips. “A better question is why’re you so jumpy? Got a guilty conscience?”

  “In my club I act how I like,” Swamp said.

  “While I’m here that’s not entirely true, is it?”

  “Screw this.” Vec stepped towards me. “I’m going to lay you out flat.”

  I pulled Lois. “Be easy paleface, before I give you a tan.”

  Vec kept coming. “I’m not scared of that blaster.”

  I clicked off her safety, and depressed the trigger halfway. Lois’ barrel glowed green and doubled in size and width as twin bracers leapt from the grip, and ran up my arm in a crisscross pattern, lashing her to me. “You’re about to be.”