Crooked Halos

by Charlie Cottrell

  The guard’s baton dropped from his numb fingers and clattered to the floor. I rushed over and scooped it up, twirling it to get a feel for the weight and balance. A thug charged me, and I swung the baton in an arc, catching him across the face and putting him down hard.

  Cromhower had recovered and was advancing on me, the pipe held out in a high guard position. He had the reach advantage and strength on me; I was still pretty weak and exhausted from my time in solitary. On a good day, I could have taken Cromhower down without too much of a problem, I’d like to think. At the moment, though, I was pretty thoroughly screwed.

  Cromhower stabbed at me with the tip of the pipe, keeping me on my toes and moving to dodge. He wasn’t working particularly hard to hit me at the moment; it was more a probing of defenses and a sizing up of the enemy than anything else. But it was only a matter of time before he got down to business and beat me to a bloody pulp with that pipe.

  It happened faster than I’d anticipated. Cromhower feinted a low jab, then whipped the pipe around in a fast, sharp arc, aiming to take my head clean off my shoulders. I barely got the baton up in time to deflect the blow; as it was, my arms rattled with the tremendous strength he’d put behind the attack.

  He didn’t let up. Blows rained down on me from the left and the right, Cromhower hammering away with every ounce of strength he possessed. I blocked as well as I could, but—as I might’ve mentioned—I was at a distinct disadvantage after my prolonged stay in Solitary Shangri-La. For every blow that I managed to block, another managed to land. A particularly strong swing slipped past my defenses and connected with my ribs. I felt something pop and experienced a sudden surge of tremendous pain. I yelped, dropping my baton and collapsing on the floor. Cromhower stood over me, his chest heaving from exertion and a grin of triumph plastered across his face. “I’ve been waiting for this for years, Hazzard,” he said. “You ruined me, destroyed my gang, forced me to scrap plans I’d been making for years. So, to say I’ve been looking forward to this would be an understatement.” He raised the pipe, ready to land a killing blow.

  It never landed. Martin came up behind Cromhower, grabbed the gangster by the back of his head, and tossed him across the room like a ragdoll. Cromhower landed hard, bouncing and rolling until he slammed into a dryer. His pipe clattered across the floor away from Cromhower, ending up under a cart loaded with dirty jumpsuits.

  Martin reached down and pulled me to my feet. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Been better,” I groaned, clutching at my side. I definitely had a couple of broken ribs. Glancing around, I noticed that Martin had taken out the rest of Cromhower’s attack squad. “Uh, thanks for the help.”

  “No problem. It’s been ages since I got in a good scrape,” Martin said with a grin. I decided not to look too closely to see if any of the guys he’d taken down were still breathing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the truth.

  “We better get out of here,” I said. “There’s bound to be more guys on the way.” I started to hobble for the door.

  “Wait,” Martin said. “You should change clothes.”

  “That’s a damn good idea,” I said. One of the guards was about my size, and it took only a few minutes to strip him down and turn myself into a guard.

  “Okay,” I said, holstering the baton I’d taken, “let’s go.”

  └●┐└●┐└●┐

  We left the laundry room and headed up to the main floor of the prison. The halls were empty, lacking even the usual complement of guards. I was starting to feel uneasy; two months in solitary, the busted ribs, and general exhaustion were all leaving me feeling keyed up and sure that doom was just around every corner.

  Of course, as the old saying goes, it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you. We rounded a corner into C Block to find dozens of guards and all of the cells open, the inmates all standing around on the catwalks looking as menacing as possible.

  Standing at the head of the group was Warden Pemberton, who’d managed to get out of solitary much faster than I’d anticipated.

  “I see the gang’s all here,” I said, leaning heavily against a rail along the walkway. I was tired, hurt, and in desperate need of a smoke. “Sorry, I don’t have anything cleverer than that to say. Can we hurry up with this beating so I can go lie down and die in some corner?”

  Warden Pemberton shook his head in amazement. “You continue to impress me, Mr. Hazzard,” he said, stalking across the catwalk toward me. “You got this far on nothing but your wits and the dumb brute strength of your friend there.”

  “Hey, I have a name!” Martin snapped.

  “You’d best keep it to yourself if you want to live through the day,” the warden snarled. He composed himself and turned back to me. “Now, some important people want you dead, and it’s my job to make sure it happens. You can die easy or hard, it’s all up to you.”

  “I’ve already got a busted rib and more than enough bruises,” I said. “We both know I’m only vertical right now to spite you and your boss. But hey, spite’s taken me pretty far in life. Maybe it’ll get me across the finish line here.” Beside me, Martin flexed his muscles and tensed to attack.

  That’s when all hell broke loose, because of course it was.

  VII.

  C Block had a massive skylight over its central courtyard, a small concession from the architect to the people who’d be locked up inside the building for several decades at a shot. When it exploded, shards of glass the size of my hand rained down on us. Martin and I ducked into the nearest cell, which was occupied by two massive white guys with shaved heads and neo-Nazi tattoos. I swung the metal pipe I’d picked up in the laundry room and took out one guy, while Martin grappled with the other for a brief moment before gaining the upper hand and tossing the guy out the cell door and over the railing of the catwalk. The guy’s scream was short and sharp, rather like the drop that abruptly ended the scream.

  I glanced out the door to see a dozen individuals rappelling from the broken skylight into C Block. Several of the guards had recovered and were firing their guns at the invaders, but they kept missing their targets. The invaders were leaping down from their ropes, flipping and twirling and landing on the catwalk like . . . well, cats.

  Cats in dark clothes and face masks.

  One in particular moved in what I thought was a familiar way. “Kimiko?” I called out. The figure spared me a momentary glance before sprinting toward the nearest cluster of guards. They barely had time to raise their weapons before she was among them, swinging a collapsible bo staff around and taking them out in a flurry of heavy blows.

  All around, the other ninja—‘cause they were definitely ninja—were raising hell and creating havoc. The Pratchett guards, whose training wasn’t all that great to begin with, were no match for the highly-skilled and coordinated assault from the ninja. It wasn’t long before Kimiko’s ninja had driven Pemberton and his men back out of the cell block.

  Kimiko came to me, holstering her staff in some secret sheath. “I thought you couldn’t help me anymore,” I said.

  “Would you rather be smug or rescued?” Kimiko asked, handing me a climbing harness she’d pulled from a pouch.

  “I can be both,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked. I swallowed my response and hustled to follow her as quickly as I could while also pulling on a harness over a busted rib. It was not easy or pleasant.

  “What about me?” Martin asked as we trotted along the catwalk. I stopped and turned to him.

  “Um, buddy, look…I appreciate all the help you gave me, I really do. But you’re an actual, convicted criminal. You murdered people! I can’t help you escape,” I said.

  Martin looked like a kicked puppy. “You killed people, too!” he cried.

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “I’m innocent, and these people are gonna help me clear my name.” At least, I hoped they would. There was the distinct possibility they’d actually come here to finish me off themselves,
though I didn’t think that was the case.

  “B-but,” Martin stammered.

  “Shhh, shhh,” I said, quieting the big man. “Look, you’ve been a tremendous help, and a friend. As soon as I get all of this cleared up, I’ll try to get you an appeal, okay?”

  “But they’ll kill me as soon as you’re gone!” he yelped. Which…actually, he might have a point there. Warden Pemberton was not going to take kindly to my escape, and Martin was an obvious scapegoat for Pemberton’s pent-up frustration.

  “Okay,” I said. “Kimiko, we need another harness.”

  “We cannot bring another person with us, Detective Hazzard,” Kimiko snapped.

  “Then give him some shaped charges to blow open doors or something,” I said. “We’re not leaving the guy here to be killed.”

  Kimiko turned and handed Martin a small satchel. “This contains seven shaped charges and a detonator. Set a charge, arm it, and press the red button on the detonator to blow it up. Good luck.” She swung back around and grabbed her climbing rope.

  Martin and I stopped and gave each other a look.

  “Um, thanks again for all the help,” I said.

  “Best of luck on the outside,” Martin said. “I think we’ll both need it.” With that, the big man loped off toward the nearest exit out of C Block, while I hooked myself onto Kimiko’s rope and began my assent to freedom.

  VIII.

  Kimiko and the ninja hustled me out of Pratchett Correctional and back toward the city. Along the way, I swapped my stolen guard’s uniform for a nondescript gray sweat suit and black sneakers. At some point, I was led to a car. I climbed in, settled into the back seat, and took a well-deserved nap.

  I woke to find myself sitting up in a soft bed with a massive pile of pillows supporting me. My torso was wrapped tight with a stim-mesh bandage that would provide support for my broken rib and encourage healing. In deference to propriety, I was wearing sweat pants.

  Kimiko sat next to the bed, a stern look on her face. When she saw that I was awake, she stood.

  “We have much to discuss, Detective Hazzard,” she said.

  “Yeah. Um, thanks for the rescue, by the way,” I said. “I didn’t think you were able to help.”

  Kimiko avoided eye contact. “Someone new has taken control of the Organization and is in the process of resuming criminal activities. I thought I could live with it, but…” I nodded in understanding. Kimiko wasn’t a bad person. Much like Maya, she was a part of the Organization but didn’t fit in with the criminals and thugs. I wouldn’t say Kimiko was naïve, or that she didn’t know what she was getting into when she joined Vera Stewart’s syndicate, but I also knew Kimiko was a woman of virtue and honor. I knew it would have been hard for her to go back to the way things used to be after everything we’d done to shut it down.

  “What’s the plan, then?” I asked. “As much as I’m enjoying my little vacation here, we’re gonna have to do something to stop those assholes.”

  Kimiko stood up and started pacing the small hospital room. “We are at a distinct disadvantage. While the ninja have all come with me, the new Boss still controls the massive team of enforcers at the Organization’s disposal. On top of that, there are rumors that they have Carmen in charge of the enforcers. She will be trouble.” I nodded in agreement. My few interactions with Crowder’s personal bodyguard/enforcer had led me to believe she was tremendously dangerous. With the nigh-unlimited resources of the Organization at her disposal—and her own private army of thugs and goons—dealing with Carmen was going to be a challenge to say the least.

  Of course, I’d just escaped a prison riot and a mob howling for my blood, so I was feeling a little cocky.

  “Long odds? Sounds like a day ending in ‘y’,” I said with a grin.

  Part Four: FALLEN ANGELS

  I.

  Once I was suitably recovered from my ordeal, Maya came and took me to the new headquarters in the warehouse on Church Street. When we arrived, Miss Typewell and Kimiko were overseeing a group of workers who were setting up furniture, redoing electrical wiring, setting up necessities like wifi, and generally making the place useable.

  Ellen ran up and gave me a hug when she saw me. I winced and sucked air between my teeth as she squeezed my recently-shot middle. Ellen pulled back and apologized, then thought better of it and started chewing me out for trying to face Crowder alone.

  “I didn’t know the asshole was going to shoot me,” I protested.

  “He told you he’d kill you the next time he saw you! Did you think he was lying?” Ellen snapped.

  “No, I just thought maybe he wouldn’t go through with it,” I said sheepishly.

  “You’re not a puppy, Eddie,” Ellen scolded. “People aren’t going to refrain from kicking you just because you look sweet and innocent.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, giving her my best puppy dog eyes.

  “Ew. No. What are you doing with your eyes? Stop that,” Ellen said, disgusted. She swatted at my arm and I stopped making faces at her.

  “How’s it going here?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “The place should be useable by tomorrow. Maya dug up some funds from the Organization and paid these guys for their discretion. Kimiko has some of her guys keeping an eye on them after they leave.”

  “Good. What’s the word on Crowder? Anyone seen or heard from him?”

  Miss Typewell shook her head. “Nothing since your last run-in with him. We know Pratt is dead, and that Crowder somehow managed to point suspicion at you. Crowder and his goons have dropped completely off the radar. We figure they’re probably still in the city, but we don’t know where.”

  My gut was starting to throb from standing up for too long. “Pratt’s not dead. They’re in cahoots.”

  “What? But DNA evidence…” Miss Typewell said.

  “Easy enough to fake when you’ve got the resources these two have. I haven’t quite figured out the why yet, but I’m working on it. Do I have a chair around here somewhere?” Ellen nodded and showed me to my new office. It was spacious, if rather musty and rundown, and Miss Typewell had arranged for a large desk and a solidly-built desk chair for me. I collapsed into the chair thankfully, and met the eyes of my crew. There weren’t a lot of them, but there wasn’t anyone else I’d rather face off against my latest nemeses with than them.

  “There’s something else you should know, Eddie,” Miss Typewell said. “Tess had the baby.”

  I blinked in surprise. “What? Already?”

  Ellen nodded. “Yeah. He’s a perfectly healthy baby boy. I don’t know what she named him, but they’re holding her at Saint Camden’s Hospital under guard while she recovers. The baby is going to be given up for adoption unless you want custody.”

  I thought about it for a second. “This really isn’t much of a place to raise a kid. And the way targets get painted on my back…” I trailed off. No, I wasn’t really cut out to be a dad, and this wasn’t an ideal situation for a kid anyway. Especially if this case didn’t go well. I shook my head to clear it. “That’s a problem for later. Right now, we’ve got a bigger, more-pressing issue. If we’re going to take down Crowder and clear my good name, we’re going to have to fight dirty.” I opened up a vid window and typed into it, then minimized the window. Maya’s personal computer beeped at her a few seconds later. “Maya, I want you to go to the bank at the address listed in the file I just sent you. There’ll be a datachip in a safety deposit box there, and a file labeled ‘Smiling Jackass’. Bring the datachip back to me.”

  “What’s on the datachip?” Miss Typewell asked.

  “Everything I ever dug up on Dresden Crowder. Once I figured out he was still hanging around off and on after I got kicked off the force, I did what I could to keep some tabs on him. Got the Little Blind Girl and a couple of other informants to help keep the proverbial eye on him.” Miss Janovich nodded and left to get the datachip. When she’d gone, Miss Typewell turned to me with a frown.

  “Are yo
u sure it’s a good idea sending her out for something like that?” she asked. “What if Crowder’s guys are watching?”

  “There’s a better-than-average chance they are watching,” I replied, “but we still have to do the job. This isn’t the time to get cold feet.”

  └●┐└●┐└●┐

  Half an hour later, my computer buzzed with an incoming call. I pulled up a vid window and saw Miss Janovich, standing in the safety deposit box room of the bank.

  “Um, I found two datachips. The first one is labeled ‘Conniving Bastard’,” she said.

  “No, that’s my file on Bodewell,” I said.

  Maya switched out datachips and pulled up the directory for the second one. “Ah. This is the right one,” she said.

  “Good,” I said, then coughed and doubled over in pain. “Go ahead and forward everything on that chip to me right now,” I said, my voice strained. I still hadn’t fully recovered from getting shot, and my stay in Pratchett hadn’t really helped things any, but there were bigger concerns than my health.

  “Yes, sir,” Maya said, minimizing the vid window. A moment later, my computer pinged to let me know the data was being transferred over.

  “So, now what?” Miss Typewell asked.

  “Now,” I said, opening up the list of files Miss Janovich had just sent me, “we find that bastard and bring him down.”

  II.

  Among the data I’d collected on Crowder over the years were a list of aliases and safe houses he’d been known to use. If Crowder was still in Arcadia, he’d probably set up shop in one of those safe houses. There was no guarantee he’d use the aliases or safe houses, but it was as good a place to start as any.

  To facilitate the legwork we would have to do, I needed help. I couldn’t really go door-to-door or face potential danger in my current state—plus, I was a wanted fugitive—and Kimiko and her ninja were busy keeping an eye on Carmen and her goon army. That left either Miss Typewell or Miss Janovich, and Maya was not nearly as well-known to my enemies as Ellen was.