The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues

by Bard Constantine

  He took his absinthe straight, but the stuff is so bitter I had to add sugar. I took a cube from the vintage bowl, soaked it in absinthe, and lit it on fire. When I dropped it in my glass, the spirits blazed green. I doused the flame with a shot of water before it could eat up the alcohol.

  We raised the glasses in salute. "To memory," Hunter said.

  “Memory is something I’m in severe lack of.” I downed the shot. The flavor was like black licorice dipped in turpentine. I tried not to wince. “That’s why I came to chin it up with you, Hunter. You know things most people don’t.”

  Hunter stared without blinking. “You couldn’t be more correct.”

  “Then throw me a bone, Ace. You’re the only one who might have a clue why I was floating in the river with a bad case of amnesia. Now something big is going down, and somehow I’m caught in the middle of it. I’m mildly concerned it could be tied to my missing past.”

  “As you should be.” His face had the expression of an empty box. “Tell me, what do you know about the citizenship of New Haven?”

  “Citizenship? Whaddya mean? This place is made up from all the refuse from the other Havens –the more civilized ones. Most folks here are on the run from one thing or another, in most cases being the Secret Service. Seeing as we’re in the middle of the nastiest swamplands and the deadliest oceanside in the Territories, it makes a hard nut for the Service to crack.”

  He downed another shot. “Have you ever seen the other Havens? In person, I mean.”

  I shrugged. “Who can afford it? That’s how they grift you -by charging rates so high it’s guaranteed no one except the butter-and-egg sort can transit back and forth. Besides, being zipped through thousands of miles underground at supersonic speeds ain’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

  I forgot about what was in the bottle before I poured another shot and downed it in a single swig. It was hard to suppress the gag reflex.

  “Then how do you know they exist?” His face was ominously blank.

  I opened my mouth, then paused. “You taking up philosophy now, Hunter? Whaddya mean how do I know?”

  “It’s a common misconception to believe what’s presented to you is reality, when in fact it may be anything but. How can you know something is real unless the experience is stored somewhere in your memory?”

  I felt the dizzy rush only an alcohol buzz can give. I shook my head to clear it. “Why the twenty questions, Hunter? I thought you were going to tip your mitts on what’s going on.”

  He sighed patiently and downed his shot glass. “It’s all relative. You see, you were involved in a high stakes gig a while back. One that involved going up against the most brilliant mind in New Haven. You weren’t successful. In the ensuing gun battle you ended up in the waters of the West River.”

  “Other than you fishing me out of there, I don’t recall anything of the sort, Hunter.”

  Something like a smile flickered across his face. “Precisely.”

  My head spun like a wobbly top. Absinthe is potent in the first place, but I couldn't even feel my feet on the shaggy carpet. "Man, what was in that bottle?” I crashed hard on the battered sofa, holding my head in both hands.

  "The previous elixirs dissatisfied me. I had this specially imported. The recipe is very old, perhaps the original, and has the distinct ingredient that others are missing."

  "Listen Hunter, I…" I blinked, having missed my train of thought by a mile. The room faded in and out in greenish shades. Hunter was an indistinct figure, peering at his glass thoughtfully. His voice droned on as though from a dead man’s throat.

  "You know, for years absinthe was blamed for psychedelic affects. Wild behavior. Bad men drank it. Conservatives tried to ban it. Thujone was the reason. A chemical known to have interesting side effects. Found in wormwood. The thing is, most absinthes have only harmless qualities in it. Most."

  I could barely hear him. I was back in the river. Black choppy waves crashed over me, pulling me to darkness. Green fairies circled, bubbling with laughter. Their hair rippled like sea moss as I drifted to the sea bottom, scattering silver-eyed fish. Hunter Valentino waited for me there, still studying the contents of his glass. I choked on black water while he calmly spoke.

  "You came to me because you want me to help you, and I will. But I need targets, and you haven’t provided any. You should know that by now. Your problem is in your mind. Your memory, specifically. I cannot help you in that regard. But there is someone who can—"

  He turned as though he heard something. Then he rose and walked away as if the sea bottom was flat ground. I flailed uselessly, unable to rise to the surface. My lungs were about to explode, black flecks danced across my vision...

  The entire river crashed on my head.

  I sat up sputtering and soaking wet. As I blinked the water from my eyes, two figures gradually took form. The first was Poddar. The second was a stranger. A mustached man wearing a brown Stetson and a long leather duster over his shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. With spurs.

  Spurs.

  He was the one holding the bucket. He tipped his Stetson apologetically. "Well, it looks like you were having one helluva drunken dream there, mister. I'm sorry to have to introduce myself by dumping a load of water on your head, but we were afraid you were gonna hurt yourself, flailing around on the floor like that."

  "Where…where's Hunter?" I managed to gasp.

  He and Poddar exchanged glances. "Ain't no Hunter here, partner. Just us. My name's Rob. You can call me the Cowboy if you like. I heard you could use a hand helping Poddar here out with rescuing his lady friend. Turns out that's just my specialty. Besides bagging and tagging, that is—an occupation that ain’t been too profitable of late. I’m hoping teaming up with a yahoo like yourself can help change that."

  "Well yippee-ki-yay, melon farmer.” I staggered to my feet. The Cowboy didn't exactly look all that impressed, and I couldn’t have blamed him. I had some cross words to say to Hunter when I saw him next.

  Politely cross words, anyway.

  "What happened to you?” Poddar wasn’t exactly the picture of sympathy either.

  "Nothing. Trip for biscuits. Listen—enough questions. We have to get on the ball. I have a few ideas..."

  "Hate to ask this…" The Cowboy stared out the doorway. But are those clowns friends of yours?"

  We turned around. A crowd of hardheads gathered outside the door, reeking of body odor and equally foul intentions. All of them wore black robes and bad haircuts. The lug in front pointed a bio-gun at us.

  Big mistake.

  Chapter 8: Man of Shadows

  "What is it about this side of town?"

  The bio-gun was interesting. Basically, it grafted itself to the arm and was powered by energy from the body’s cells. The newer models are built directly into your holoband, but he had one of the clunky older models with the wires that actually injected into the forearm.

  Still, even those things were expensive; too much for a common goon to own. And getting assaulted by a mob of angry monks was pushing it, even in the West Docks. Lucky thing I had friends with me.

  The goon gave us the customary warning. "All of you are coming with us. Either in one piece, or bleeding all the—"

  His spiel was interrupted by his words flying out the back of his head. Not a pretty sight. I had heard The Cowboy was on the swift, but to see it in real life was pretty impressive. His weapons of choice were throwbacks: tech-modified Single Army Action pistols.

  You'd think the rest of the mob would have wised up at their leader’s death, but the rubes only got bolder, rushing us like lemmings on their way to the sea.

  Poddar was the first to meet them, and boy did I pity those goons who stood in the way of him rescuing his missing dame. The Prince had pulled a retractable rod from his flogger while the goon was talking, and attached it to his kukri. One of the goons went down howling and clutching a ruined hand. Poddar leaped into the mob with the bladed staff twirling.

  Goons
screamed.

  Another rube shrieked as he went down. A German Shepard had joined the party, seizing the goon in a spot which looked mighty uncomfortable. It had been so bizarre a night I didn’t even give a second thought over a killer mutt on the loose. I turned away as the screams got higher, though. Some things are too awful to see, even when done to a goon.

  "Thatta girl, Stinker!” Charged rounds exploded around where the Cowboy knelt at the rotting terrace, but he picked off goons with his bean shooters in an almost bored matter. "I swear, the way Poddar was talking I thought you were in some real trouble. If this is all we have to deal with, getting his darling gal back should be a piece o’ cake."

  "Just make sure to keep at least one conscious," I called over my shoulder.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I got a synoid to catch.”

  I was pretty upset at Hunter for taking off on me. After all, the whole point of coming that deep in the Docks was to collect him for a bit of gun support. I’d seen him walk toward the back of the house during that unfortunate hallucination sequence. I circled around and peered in the stretch of fog that masked his back yard.

  “Hunter? You back here? We need to talk. I wasn’t finished with you yet…”

  You'd think a man could take a break, but one of the goons followed me around the corner. I didn't even see him until he tried to plug me. The bio-gun exploded in his hand instead.

  That was the main reason why I stuck to old school handguns. Bio-guns were prone to overheat unexpectedly. Made sense. Equipment charged by the user’s living energy has to negotiate the fluctuating adrenaline levels. Which means unless you have nerves of steel, the weapon can become unbalanced pretty quickly. Supposedly the real darb models have stabilizers, but I don’t trust them either. Labcoats never get anything right.

  He screamed and grabbed his ruined hand, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood for sympathy.

  "Not exactly the gig you signed up for was it?” I put the Mean Ol’ Broad to his egg so he could feel how cold her kiss was. He clammed up instantly.

  "That's better. Now maybe you'd better tell me what you poorly trained killer monks are doing in Hunter Valentino's yard. You're real lucky he stepped out, or the pain you're in now would be like sunshine on a leprechaun's ass compared to what he'd do. Now, spill."

  "I am a loyal Specter and disciple of the New Man." Tears streaked his cheeks. "All enemies of the New Man will burn before the Next Day comes, it has been foretold!"

  "Yeah, yeah.” It was pretty clear I wasn’t gonna learn anything from a delusional goon. "Save it for someone who cares.”

  I clubbed him across the temple for general principle. The sounds of gunfire and screams had ended, so I figured my new friends were finished playing around. I rounded the corner.

  And stopped cold.

  The stiffs on Hunter's lawn were expected, but what I didn't expect was Rob and Poddar lying at the feet of a goon in a black flogger and hat. Stinker lay across Rob's chest as though she sought to shield him at the end. I couldn't tell if they were dead or unconscious, but at that point I was more concerned about my own welfare.

  The man raised his head. "I know you."

  Only I knew he wasn't really a man. He seemed more shadow than solid and his eyes shone like polished ball bearings. His voice was garbled; jawing as if chewing on a mouthful of marbles.

  "Well, that makes one of us.” I appreciated the fact he had bothered to bump gums for a bit. That gave me the chance to pull the Mean Ol' Broad and fire all seven rounds.

  Things got real screwy at that point. Either the air turned to jelly, or the slugs actually slowed down and froze in midair. Either way, they fell uselessly at his feet.

  Then the electric hornets attacked my brain.

  That’s how it felt, anyway. Only a hundred times worse. I dropped to my knees, and I gotta admit I probably screamed a little. There’s an excuse for unmanliness when you’re stabbed by a million jagged needles repeatedly right in the brain.

  "Where is the leg?” The inhuman spoke casually, as if he weren't killing me without moving.

  "I'm…not…telling you…jack!" I barely managed to gasp out the words. Which probably wasn't worth the effort, since the pain increased. Big time.

  I thought about Angel and all the other dames I'd done wrong in my past. I felt bad because I was gonna die without ever getting the chance to tell them I loved 'em all.

  The pain suddenly stopped just as I was eating the dirt. It didn't taste great, but it was a lot better than dying. I looked up and hazily saw the shadow man looking uncertainly my direction.

  "What…what are you?"

  "I was about to ask the same question." Hunter Valentino looked eerily similar to the shadow man as he stood calmly beside me. Only Hunter was, you know, more human.

  Seems he was on familiar terms, too. "You were always good with deception, weren’t you? It won’t work on me."

  The inhuman clutched his coat and stepped back warily. "This cannot be. Whatever you are, you are not enough to stop what has begun. You will see. You will see!"

  His shriek startled roosted crows, which burst out of the surrounding trees. The transformer on the Tesla unit behind him exploded, shooting sparks across my vision. When I could finally see grainy blurs of reality, the shadow man was gone. The air was filled with rain and the harsh caws of crows.

  "You made a mess of my yard.” Hunter looked around. "I was only gone a few minutes."

  "Hey, you should be thanking me. Bury these goons, and you might have a lawn next year.” Hunter helped me rise groggily to my feet. My head felt like a piñata after being battered by a troupe of greedy rugrats. "About time you showed up.”

  “My alarms detected intruders a few blocks away. By the time I arrived at the point of intrusion, they had already moved on. I had no idea they’d be foolish enough to attack my residence.”

  “The two of you have a history I should know about? What was that thing, and how could he do that freaky mind trick?"

  Hunter seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. "Something that should not exist. You must go to the Fortress. Ask to see the Savant. He is the one who holds the key."

  "The Savant, eh? Just great, Hunter. Do you ever answer a straight question? And whaddya mean by the key, anyway?” I looked where the inhuman goon had disappeared. "And what in the actual hell was that thing?"

  "Who’s the new guy?” Rob and Poddar had gotten to their feet, but they looked about as miserable as I felt. The Cowboy carried Stinker in his arms. She seemed a bit weak, but not much worse for the wear. Not that I cared. I hate mutts.

  “Hunter Valentino. An old friend of mine.”

  Hunter ignored them as he glanced around. I would have pegged him as uneasy, but that label can’t really be associated with synoids. “You’ll have to excuse my rudeness, but this encounter has raised questions even I don’t have answers to. I’ll have to do some investigating on my own. Remember –see the Savant at the Fortress. You’ll get at least some of the answers you’re looking for.”

  He turned and strode away. I would have called him back, but I knew it was useless. When Hunter is set on something, nothing short of demolition could stop him. In no time he vanished in the billowing fog.

  Rob gave me a questioning look. “That’s one damn strange synoid.” He frowned, tugging on his mustache. “And that was one damn strange goon we ran into. What the hell did he do to us?”

  “He must have had some sort of device.” Poddar looked uneasy. “Some kind of synaptic scrambler or something he took us out with.”

  Rob nodded, and I couldn’t blame him. It was a lot easier than admitting someone took you out with some sort of mental wasp attack. But then again, there had to be a rational explanation besides freakish super powers. There’s no telling what kind of weapons the labcoats stewed up these days. The thing had probably gotten his mitts on a new prototype or something.

  “Well, whatever he was, he’s gone now. Looks like we’ve done enoug
h damage here. We gotta head to the Fortress. There’s a guy in lockup I need to jaw with.”

  “The Fortress?” Poddar stared. “The maximum security prison?”

  “I hear only the top brass have access,” Rob said. How’re we supposed to just scoot on in?”

  “Don’t rattle your eggs, boys. I can get us inside.” The confidence in my tone seemed to satisfy them for the moment.

  Good thing they didn’t know I had no clue in hell how I was gonna pull that one off.

  Chapter 9: Inside the Meat Locker

  The Fortress wasn’t the most cheery of places. When you consider the majority of the populace of New Haven has criminal ties in one way or another, it takes a special type of rube to actually get buried there. No one has ever gotten out. Ever.

  Which made it ironic certain chumps were trying to get in.

  Those chumps, of course, were my conspicuous new associates and myself. Poddar the Prince fumed with impatience over wanting to look for his missing dame, while Rob the Cowboy tended to his mutt, Stinker. We had to take the skimmer barge since the slammer was located on its own island in the middle of the West Bay, lined with razor-edged rocks and treacherous tides. Air traffic was strictly forbidden, so the only way to access it was an automated trip across the dark, choppy waves. I tried not to look at the water. Reminded me too much of the holes in my memory.

  Visitors sometimes went to the Fortress, brave souls who actually defied logic by wanting to see their gonzo relatives who enjoyed the deluxe suites there. There were only a few other passengers, but they eyeballed us warily when they thought we weren’t looking. Maybe it was Poddar’s murderous scowl. Or my bandaged hand in a tattered sling and the Wild Turkey spilling down my throat. But I think it was because Rob was actually dressed like a cowboy, from the Stetson to the boots with spurs.