Empire State

by Adam Christopher

  "Mighty fine paintings, Captain."

  The Captain tutted. "Look again. Those are photographs from my last expedition, my lad."

  Rad peered closer, his eyes an inch away from the frame. The picture had a grain and fine detail that was instantly recognisable, but Rad just frowned and stroked his goatee.

  "Huh," he said after a moment. "Whatever you say, Captain."

  Carson laughed, and Rad looked around to see Kane smiling broadly as well. He didn't like being made a fool of, especially late at night and especially after eating a cookie made of sawdust.

  "What do you mean, expedition?"

  The Captain drew in close, pointing first to a large landscape of white hills, and then to other, smaller pictures dotted over the wall. In a few of them, figures in furs and hoods stood out blackly against the white wilderness. The Captain, the blond man, others. In two of them, an airship, similar to the police blimps but larger and more rotund, the gas bag encased in a complex frame of metal plates like armour, hovered over either the sea or the strange low hills and uniform plains. Underneath the armoured bag the ship appeared to have a large cabin and hold stretching its entire length; immediately under the front of the bag there was a small row of windows, and under that a projecting conical nose with a blunt end. The strange craft was anchored down by a multitude of cables.

  Rad rubbed his eyes. They weren't photographs, they were pictures, paintings, whatever the hell Carson wanted to call them. It was late; Rad was tired. Perhaps he was even asleep and dreaming.

  The Captain tapped the gold frame of the big landscape. "I was an explorer, in the old days, before Wartime. The north was my field of expertise, polar exploration my forte. Ah, the space, the enormity of it all. It truly boggles the mind."

  Rad felt dizzy, and turned away, looking instead into the glass-fronted cabinet. Inside was a mannequin dressed in the furs seen in the pictures, and arranged on several shelves were books, tools, artefacts. The personal effects of a trip to nowhere. Rad looked at the Captain.

  "Nice imagination you've got up there, and nice game you're playing down here." Rad jerked a thumb at the collection. "But if you'll excuse me, I've got a murder to solve. It was a pleasure." Rad stuck his hand out to shake Carson's, ready to get the hell out. The Captain stood still, hands tucked into the large square pockets of his tunic.

  "Mr Fortuna," said the Captain at length. Rad stood on the spot, and then retracted his hand. He had to leave. The mind games of an old man were a waste of time, and whatever obscure point Kane was trying to prove, he'd had enough. Sam Saturn's murderer was in the city. The ironclad was none of his business.

  Kane had hung back behind Rad for most of the tour. He now stepped forward. "Carson?"

  "How much have you told him?"

  "Actually," said Kane, looking back at his friend. "Nothing at all."

  "I see. Byron?"

  The helmeted servant stepped forward. "Sir."

  "Open the hangar. We will join you presently."

  "Sir." Byron turned and left. His steps were loud on the wooden floor of the hall. Glancing down, Rad noticed he was wearing large boots made of copper and brass like his helmet.

  The Captain turned to the detective. "I do offer an apology. I had thought perhaps Mr Fortuna had briefed you beforehand, but I can see that is not the case. Therefore please do not worry yourself about the details of my collection. I would be happy to show you more at a more convenient moment, but given the lateness of the hour, I feel we should move directly to business. Mr Fortuna?"

  Kane nodded, and he and the Captain pulled two dining chairs out from the table and sat down next to each other. Carson looked back over his shoulder. "You are welcome to join us if you so wish." The Captain immediately turned back around, and began discussing something with Kane.

  Rad stood where he was, in the great hall, next to the impossible pictures, as his friend and the mad old man whispered nonsense. His scalp itched and he rubbed it. He had a sliver of wood chip from his shortbread stuck between two molars, and tongued it. It wouldn't shift, and it annoyed him.

  He took a step forward, pulled a chair out, and sat down. Kane and Carson stopped talking, and Kane turned to Rad. The smile below his big blue eyes was warm and genuine, characteristic of the Kane that Rad knew well.

  "Trust me, Rad. Forget all this." He waved over at the collection. "The Captain and Byron can get us to the ironclad, under the quarantine. You in?"

  Rad drummed his fingers on the table, regarding the fine china and silver settings. You could sit at least twenty around the table with elbow room to spare. It was quite a sight. Rad sighed.

  "Two things. One, I need a drink. Something stronger than tea, I'm sorry, Captain. Two, I'm in. If I live to regret this, I'll make sure the pair of you do too. But I've got a murder to solve and I'm open to ideas. Shoot."

  "Capital!" The Captain clapped his hands again, the corners of his moustache poking upwards as he smiled at Rad. "Now then. I have enough suits. Mr Bradley, you are a man of some considerable build, so I will get Byron to adjust yours. Mr Fortuna, I think you will fit my spare."

  Rad raised his eyebrows.

  "Suits?"

  "Yes indeed."

  "Suits?" This time to Kane.

  Kane nodded. "The Captain's collection isn't just for show. I told you he'd be the one to help."

  "Ah – yeah, OK, but what suits?"

  The Captain laughed. "Oh, excuse me, detective. You wish to get aboard the ironclad anchored in the harbour. I suggest under the cordon, so I propose we walk."

  "OK, walk?" Rad tried very hard to keep up, but he was getting more confused by the second. The old man was frustratingly obtuse.

  "Yes, my friend, walk. Under the harbour, under the quarantine and the patrol boats, then up onto the ironclad. They'll never know we're there."

  "Underwater?"

  "Yes." Both Carson and Kane nodded as they answered in unison. Kane looked expectantly at his friend, his wide eyes and arched eyebrows urging Rad to agree, to trust him.

  "OK," said Rad. "Underwater. Fine. What the hell. But I think I need that drink now, if you don't mind. Like I said, this has been a long week and it sounds like it's going to be getting longer."

  The Captain stood and swung his chair away from the table. "A nightcap is an excellent suggestion. Gentlemen, follow me. We shall take brandies in the hangar, the contents of which you needn't concern yourself with, detective, but I have a few things to discuss with your friend."

  Brandy. Actual, real alcohol, the kind you could drink. And then Rad wondered why he should be so surprised that old money would have a stockpile of the good stuff buried on the hill in the Upper East Side.

  "Lead on," said Rad, rubbing his scalp and working at the wood chip in his teeth.

  The hangar was underground, and despite the name wasn't quite as large as Rad had expected. Seeing the scale of Captain Carson's house, Rad had pictured a big empty building with vast arched roof, like the kind the police department kept their blimps in. He'd been in one a few times, on a couple of cases when he'd liaised with the force. He remembered flying in a blimp, seeing the Empire State from the air in its entirety, the skyscrapers cutting through the perpetual raincloud and mist majestically, the lights of the city glittering jewels against the black of night.

  Rad shook his head, and looked up, and discovered what Carson was a captain of. It was the strange, armoured airship, the same craft seen in the pictures upstairs in the collection. It filled the entire space, and Rad realised that the hangar really was as big as he imagined it would be, it was just the thing took up nearly all of it. Rad let out a low whistle.

  "You ever take this thing for a spin, Captain? I ain't seen it in the sky."

  The Captain's footsteps echoed in the hangar as Rad walked a little along the length of the craft, resisting the urge to touch its silvered surface. The airship's cabin and hold rested on the hangar floor on a set of wheels that looked far too small to support such a structure.
Two of the actual wheels themselves were missing, the legs up on a frame of jacks. There was an open toolbox nearby. Looking up, Rad could see the craft was in some state of disrepair, a far cry from the magnificent machine shown in the Captain's weird pictures.

  "Alas no, my dear boy," said the Captain, craning his neck upwards and sighing with some drama. "We're grounded, I have to say. You know how it is. Wartime." He said it again with an odd tone.

  "Ah," said Rad, and didn't press further. A brandy balloon appeared in front of him, and Rad turned to find Byron at his side. Byron inclined his helmet as Rad accepted the drink. Rad drank nearly all of the fiery liquid in one gulp. It was, as he was fond of reminding everyone, one of those weeks.

  ELEVEN

  RAD PACED THE SQUARE WHITE ROOM, looking around the walls, wondering if a window would magically appear. He peered into the corners where the walls met the ceiling. He squinted at the strip light. He looked at the door. No luck. So he pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down.

  For once it wasn't late, it was early, but after an evening of brandy with the Captain and Kane, Rad really wished he was still in bed. His nocturnal lifestyle had fallen into a habit in the last week, and craving daylight like nothing else, he would have done anything to get out of the white room. There weren't any windows and the light was the harsh white of a tube that flickered just at the edge of his vision every time he blinked.

  He'd had some sleep, just a handful of hours, but it hadn't helped. Every time he was an inch away from dropping off, the thoughts spinning in his head would jerk him back to consciousness. Images of huge white landscapes, men in furs. The Captain and his airship.

  The door opened with a mechanical crunch as the heavy handle was yanked from the outside. Rad snapped out of his thoughts, realising that he was dropping off. He stood and turned around.

  "Rad."

  Rad nodded at the newcomer. "Claudia."

  The woman walked into the room on heels slightly too high to be classy at this time of day. Behind her, a uniformed policeman slipped into the room, closed the door, and stood to one side of it. His hat was pulled low over his eyes and his vacant expression told Rad that he was there just as a formality, not to listen in. Rad wanted to believe that, but you couldn't believe anything in the Empire State.

  Claudia sat opposite Rad at the small table, pulled the hem of her green dress up enough to allow her to cross her legs comfortably. She wore a fox around her neck, and the outfit was topped off by a green hat with black veil. Rad sighed, and knew where all his money was going. Claudia didn't say anything as she looked at Rad, and eventually Rad remembered he was wearing his own hat and took it off. He placed it in front of him on the table and worried the rim with his fingers.

  Claudia watched the hat rotate on the table.

  "You don't look well, Rad."

  Rad sniggered. "You wouldn't believe the week I've had."

  "I'm sure."

  Rad closed his mouth. Oh yeah. He remembered now. He sighed again.

  "You've got work then?" Claudia asked.

  "Yes, I've got a client. Came to see me a few days ago. Quite a case, too."

  "I'm sure."

  There she went again. He wondered why he bothered, and then realised he didn't really, he was just going through the motions of politeness. Which was more effort than Claudia was making.

  He said, "Nice fur."

  "Thanks. It was a birthday gift from Declan."

  "Declan?"

  "Yes, Declan. My birthday was last week. Did you forget accidentally or deliberately?"

  "I can't afford dead animals."

  "Exactly." Claudia brought her hands to the table from her lap, and fiddled with something on her left hand. The motion was calculated to make Rad look. Rad looked, and saw the ring.

  "Declan gave me something else for my birthday," she said.

  "I'm sure."

  Claudia shot Rad a sharp look, then held her hand up to his face. It wasn't the ladylike gesture of showing off a ring, it was aggressive, challenging. Rad sat and looked at the ring and tried not to move. He felt his shoulders tense up as he breathed slowly and counted in his head. He didn't want to show any reaction to Claudia. She wanted him to react, but he wasn't playing her game.

  "Rad, I want a divorce."

  He knew it had been coming. He'd known for a month, ever since he got the police summons to attend the precinct to receive a message from his estranged wife. Since she'd left, he'd maintained the legally required amount of communication, and since the judgement went against him, she'd been siphoning off his income, leaving him with one good suit and a coat and a hat and living in the back of his office.

  A divorce, an actual, real, legal divorce, would stop all that. He'd be free of her forever, and she could marry Declan and not ever think of him again. From all angles it was the right decision, one that would benefit them both.

  But it was her idea, and Rad didn't like that. It would mean she would win, and as ridiculous as it was, Rad didn't like that either. She always won and he always lost, but now he was his own person, leading his own life, and he'd deal with his business on his terms.

  And then he thought of having her out of his hair, and how he could get on with life and his agency without her, and how this was really a good thing. The more he thought, the more sense it made. Didn't make it any easier though.

  He sighed for a third time and kept playing with his hat. He felt the heat rise in his chest, and then in the silence that followed her statement, he shook his head.

  "OK," he said. Life was too short to fight.

  Claudia almost stood, but resisted, and instead pressed her fingers into the tabletop until their tips turned to chalk.

  "OK?" she repeated. "Is that all you've got? After all we've...?"

  Rad stood when Claudia couldn't, leaving the fedora spinning on the table.

  "After all we've what, exactly? All we do is fight. All we ever did was fight. You asked me here to request for a divorce under Empire State supervision..." Rad strolled over to the policeman, who still wasn't looking or listening from under his tight-fitting hat. "... So that's what you're getting."

  Claudia and Rad sighed at the same time.

  "Rad."

  Rad felt a muscle in his neck go rigid as he turned back to Claudia. In one movement he leaned across the table, supported on clenched fists, until his face was six inches from hers.

  "What?!" he shouted. The small square room made his voice sound louder than it truly was and he felt heat wash over his face. Claudia drew the spittle off her cheek with an index finger and kept her eyes locked on her soon-to-be ex-husband. Rad felt the rage subside, and felt the dampness of sweat under his collar. It was too hot in the small room, and he'd kept his trench coat on. The policeman hadn't moved, and Rad's flush of anger was replaced by one of embarrassment. How had it come to this?

  "How did it come to this, Rad?"

  Rad flinched and stood up. Claudia knew him so well, knew exactly what he was thinking. Maybe that was the problem.

  But there was another problem. He coughed, and ran a finger under his collar, and then rested the back of his fingers on his hot neck and counted his pulse. It twitched in a too-fast rhythm.

  "I don't remember, Claudia. I'm sorry."

  Claudia's painted nails tapped at the table, and when he next looked at her, Rad saw her smile. It was a small smile, totally devoid of happiness. It was a default, mechanical expression that appeared on your face when you couldn't think of what the right one should be.

  Rad closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. He blamed Wartime, and the Empire State, and the day-to-day stresses of life. Keep calm and carry on, he thought to himself. Don't think too hard about it.

  "It's OK, Rad," Claudia said eventually. "I don't either."

  "That a fact?"

  Her voice rose, in danger of rekindling the fight. "Yes, it is, and you damn well know it. It... it is what it is."

  "I suppose we had good time
s. We must have. The Empire State says we did." The official file was on the table, next to Rad's hat. Neither of them wanted or needed to open it. They'd been through the paperwork a thousand times.

  "Of course. We're married, aren't we?"

  Rad laughed. "Not for much longer. Does it bother you?"

  "If it bothered me I wouldn't be asking."