The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues

by Bard Constantine

  I expected to find the sliced and diced pieces of my friends when I staggered back down the hall. Instead I found the two ninjas kneeling back to back with Rob's pistols pointed at them and Stinker growling in their faces. Poddar leaned against the wall, completely winded. He and Rob suffered a few cuts and bruises but didn't look too bad, all things considered. He looked up when I entered.

  "What was that explosion? We thought you'd been rubbed out."

  "Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Rob never took his eyes off the ninjas. “Learn anything from the Savant?”

  I hesitated. Both Poddar and the Cowboy both were supposedly outsiders, but if what the late Dr. Faraday told me was on the square, then they might have been victims of the same con that trapped the rest of the population in a net of false memories. Without my cynical sense of emotional detachment as a buffer, the truth would probably blow their minds.

  And if the good doctor had just spouted some mad bunk to chisel me, then no doubt they’d look at me as the biggest rube in the universe.

  “Nothing worth mentioning. This turned out to be another trip for biscuits.” I nodded toward the prisoners. “Now what do we have here?”

  The ninja goons didn’t look so threatening without their masks. They were women, for one thing. Both were Chinese and looked like sisters.

  I had my ass handed to me by a dame. I guess I should've been embarrassed, but it wasn't the first time in the last few hours. Hell, maybe I was just getting used to it.

  They looked absolutely furious when I stepped up. I tipped back the ol' flask, but the Turkey had flown the coop. I hated interrogating without a stiff drink, but I tried to make the best of it.

  "Well, isn't this interesting. Are psycho ninja goons allowed to have names?"

  The dame looked up without any fear at all. In fact she looked downright furious. "I am Yin. My sister is Yang. And you are a fool for interfering in the business of the New Man."

  "Nice handles. You some more Gutter Girls, maybe? No? So—that leaves true believers or professionals. Which is it?"

  "The New Man has shown us the way out of this façade through the Next Day. The old world will burn away, and the new order will be ushered in."

  I grinned. “True believers, then. So, I guess it's too late to stop this New Goon, right?"

  "The New Man cannot be stopped. Once the Grimoire is in his hands, he will extract the price and bring about the Next Day."

  I kinda liked Yin. She wasn't afraid to sing. It’s hard to find a good squealer these days. They’re a dying breed.

  "The Grim War, is it? Funny. I just had a gab with the Savant, and he never mentioned it. Course, he croaked before he could finish. So how does the leg fit into all of this?"

  She looked at me pretty much the same way every dame does at one time or another. Like I’m the stupidest man alive. "The location of the Grimoire is hidden on the leg. He who possesses the leg controls the fate of the Next Day."

  I started to get a little concerned. "So, what’s this price you’re talking about?"

  Her eyes held a raven gleam. "The ultimate truth will be revealed to the residents of this city. Only the strongest will be able to deal with the blaze of enlightenment. The rest will suffer the fate of the weak."

  Rob, Poddar, and I looked at each other. They had no idea what she was talking about, only how deranged it sounded. Unfortunately, I had a clearer notion of the New Man’s plans. If he somehow reversed the memory implants of the entire populace in one blow most of the residents would suffer devastating consequences from the mental backlash. The mind is a delicate thing. A lotta folks might not survive the trauma.

  Rob tugged his mustache. "We need to get a hold of that leg.”

  I nodded as I lit a smoke. "Yeah. And a lot more bullets."

  Stinker barked her agreement.

  Chapter 12: Gabbing with Graves

  I really hated the slammer. It was always so much easier to get in than to get out.

  Turned out the only way to get out was the way we came in, which was crammed with prisoners and guards going World War 4 on each other. As much as I hated it, we had no choice but to lend a hand tucking the kids back into their beds. It took a little convincing, but eventually they saw things our way. Especially since we were armed and not at all hesitant to be dangerous, while they were just dangerous.

  And unarmed. Bullets win every time.

  "You boys are pretty handy in a scrap." One of the Warden’s eyes flickered and she limped slightly, but she seemed pretty good otherwise. Synoid injuries are convincing in appearance, but it’s hard to feel sorry for something that feels no pain. I'd seen her bodyslam a lug twice her size and slap on cuffs while casually shooting his attacking buddy in the head.

  Not quite human, better than human was the motto from Maximilian Industries, who manufactures them. Who am I to argue?

  "We get by.” I jerked a thumb down the way. “We left a couple of fanatics cooling off in one of your holding tanks. Names are Yin and Yang. Just keep 'em locked up overnight. I have a feeling they were under a little hypnotic influence."

  "And the Savant?"

  "Fit whatever’s left of him for a New Haven trench coat.” I raised my hands to cut off her obvious question. “I had nothing to do with it. We had a run-in with a cat called the New Man. Consider him a close cousin of yours. Modified synoid or something. I don’t know what the hell he is, but he wasn’t here for a social call. He smoked the Savant, fried his egg to a blackened crisp, and took a dive out the side of the wall.”

  Synoids don’t generally show emotion, but the Warden looked a bit shell-shocked. Her damaged eye sparked and fizzled out. I decided to be polite and went on like I didn’t notice.

  “The point is, we're kinda in a hurry to get our hands on a severed leg and save a hundred thousand or so lives. So as much as I’d love to stick around in this wonderful resort of yours, I think we’d better dust out.”

  She finally got a hold of herself. “Listen. I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but since it’s you, I have to assume it’s critical. I owe you a favor, and I don’t like debt.” She opened her holoband and pulled up a location on the grid. “Synch up to this position –it will take you right to the Captain. I’ll send him a line and let him know you’re coming.”

  “The Captain? You want me to hook up with the brass? What kind of a sap do you take me for? I’m not exactly on great terms with the button boys. With all the heat on my back, I’d probably get my elbows checked and end up right back here in one of your meat lockers.”

  A tiny drill tool extended from her finger. She jabbed it into her eye as she spoke. “He’s on the square. And a hard man to reach, so you should be thanking me. I wouldn’t recommend him if I didn’t think it was worth your while. Try to keep an open mind, Troubleshooter.” Her eye flickered back on when she finished her optical surgery. I almost envy synoids.

  “An open mind invites too many ideas, Warden. But what the hell—I’ll take a chance this time. Only ‘cause it’s you.”

  I was so jazzed to leave the Fortress and the West Docks behind that I ditched the sling and drove Maxine myself, bum arm be damned. Autodrive is fine, but sometimes a man wants to feel like he’s in control of something. Especially if your world was spinning out of control like mine was.

  Poddar rode with Rob, who tailed me in a battered pickup shell which nicely disguised the Tesla fusion conversion and hid an engine almost as powerful as Maxine’s. I was slightly impressed.

  Funny thing was I almost missed Poddar’s company. Too many thoughts swirled around in my head, and I didn’t like the picture that was forming. As a rule, I don’t do too much deep thinking. It’s against my principles.

  We headed to the Uppers—the area of town suspended over the ground sections. I hated it up there. The sleek islands that interconnect to the massive Downtown buildings are where the butter and egg sort go to avoid regular folks like me. The best way to get there is by
the Skytram, the zeppelins, or by floater if you own one. But for broke stiffs like me there’s the skyways: paved roads suspended in the air by anti-gravity pulse anchors. There are only a few skyways, but they’re massive enough so congestion isn’t a problem most of the time.

  We cruised into Uptown, the largest section of the Uppers. Lots of shops and nightclubs that charged you three times the amount you’d pay Downtown. Manicured parks and pristine sidewalks. Gleaming floaters flitted back and forth, withdrawing and depositing the velvet and fur type to their overpriced destinations. Uptown is the kind of place where old frails can walk their little pooches at night without thoughts of getting their wigs split. Probably because the brass maintain a steady presence there.

  The high hats were engaged in some sort of social gathering where they could tip back cocktails and sneer at each other, so we pulled up to a ritzy-looking banquet hall called The Moontide Cafe. I’m glad Jeanette said to keep an open mind or I probably would’ve just turned around and went the other direction. But then I’ve learned you can’t judge anything by its appearance. Especially not in New Haven.

  I told Poddar and Rob I’d be right back. The two of them were social handicaps, since neither of them had my conversational style and smooth way with people.

  The gilded front door led to a small waiting room. An oversized bruno stood by the door in a tuxedo. As soon as he clapped eyes on me his hand strayed toward his inner jacket. Guess I had a trespassing look on my mug. Or maybe the fact that my rumpled flogger and suit didn’t look like it cost a year’s wages. I held up my hands.

  “Relax, Ace–I got an appointment. Let the Captain know that Mick Trubble is here to see him.”

  Before he could speak, a voice cut in. “Right this way, Mr. Trubble.”

  I hadn’t seen the dame open the door. She wasn’t exactly what I expected. Her personally tailored blouse and skirt hugged her curves, and she was dressed in all black from her heels to the wide-brimmed hat with a veil which hid her eyes.

  She led me down a hall past a large dining room where a bunch of high pillow types sat, indulging in empty chatter and counterfeit smiles. Silk and sequins glittered, manicured fingers gestured elegantly. I recognized the Mayor as he rose from the table. Mr. Beck was an old coot who gave the appearance of being jolly and harmless. I already told you what I think about appearances.

  I was grateful to miss that party. Being around counterfeits gives me heartburn.

  The dame in black led me past the dining hall and down to the far end of the hallway where we stopped by a closed door. She placed a hand on her hip and elegantly gestured.

  “The Captain is waiting inside.”

  I was surprised when she followed me in. I figured she was either a close advisor or some dame he was really sweet on. Either way, it made her a lot more hazardous than I first took her for.

  The office was lavish: polished oak desk, smooth hardwood flooring, gleaming trophies and medals on the walls. The man behind the desk looked right at home.

  I’d already had a few run-ins with Captain Graves. He was one of those stiff ex-military types who aged like beef jerky: they just get tougher and meaner. His iron-colored hair was short and prickly, kinda like his attitude. His mustache bristled when he looked up.

  “Mick Trubble.” He spat my name like a curse. “I thought I told you last time you saw me it was the last time you’d see me unless jail bars were between us.” The tuxedo was wasted on him. He wore it too much like a cop.

  I took a casual look at anything but him. “Good to see you too, Captain.” We clashed a bit over the Red-Eyed Killer case. Haven’t been on good terms since. Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever been on good terms. I gave him one of my most infuriating grins.

  “I think you already know I paid a little visit to the Warden at the Fortress. She let you know I was coming, so let’s pretend we can act like big boys and get along in the sandbox.”

  The dame had stepped to the side, content to watch us cross swords. I kept her in the corner of my eye while focusing the rest of my attention on Graves.

  “All right, Mick.” He cracked his bullish neck and fiddled with his tie, which seemed to be strangling him. Good for it.

  “I’m late for the banquet, so I’ll give it to you square. You’re waist deep in the middle of a high profile investigation. Maybe you should cool your heels and let the proper hands take over.”

  I took an uninvited seat in front of the desk and helped myself to one of the darb cigars which sat so invitingly in their gold-trimmed mahogany case.

  “You mean the fuzz?” I borrowed the accompanying lacquered lighter and lit it. “Far as I can tell, you boys don’t do nothing with your hands but sit on ‘em.”

  He frowned, both at my tone of voice and my act of theft. “You have a wise mouth on you, Trubble. One of these days someone’s going to shut it hard for you.”

  “With all due respect, Captain—one of these days ain’t today.”

  He fumed for a moment. I blew a cloud of overpriced poison his direction.

  The dame stepped in, cutting the tension with the soft edge of her voice. “I think what the Captain means to say is you might be an asset in our investigation.”

  ‘Our’ investigation. Which meant she had a special interest in the case. I figured she was either a high hand player, or…

  “Detective Kennedy, Mr. Trubble. I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m assigned to the case the Captain spoke of.” She extended her hand. I took it with a smile.

  She had a surprisingly firm handshake for a dame. I liked that. Soft hands can’t break any jaws but glass. “Pardon my saying so, Detective, but you don’t exactly fit the profile for any Dick I’ve seen.”

  “If you’re referring to my state of dress, then my response would be it’s easier to operate covertly when you’re not what you appear to be, Mr. Trubble. Plus I’m also attending the banquet, so I had to dress up for once.”

  I nodded. “Understood. Well, as much as I’d like to chew the fat with a fellow investigator, I’m in a bit of a hurry. So howzabout we cut to the chase and you tip your mitts on what I’m doing here.”

  “It’s simple,” the Captain said. “We know you’ve been zipping back and forth across town since last night, Mick. And everywhere you go something seems to blow up, or we find stacks of stiffs.”

  “Big Brother sees all, does it? Guess you do with your floating eyes all around. Funny thing is, I haven’t seen any brass around at any of those scenes. Seems to me like you’re holding back for some reason.”

  “Unlike some people, we don’t do business by leaping headfirst into the fire and hoping we don’t get burned. There are a lot of players involved in this game; people who usually stay in the woodwork. I want them all. And you’re going to help me nail them.”

  I blew a ring of smoke toward the ceiling. “You sound pretty sure of yourself there, Captain.”

  Detective Kennedy touched me lightly on my arm. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be, Mr. Trubble. I’m sure we can find ways to accommodate each other.”

  At this point I was aware of three things. First, they were trying to rib me up with the whole good cop/bad cop routine. Second, I never should have come there in the first place. Captain Graves had both motive and means to lock me away and throw away the key. Justice doesn’t mean a thing in New Haven, power does. I wasn’t the one with the power, which meant I was the only one at the table without any black chips.

  And they knew it.

  Which led me to the third thing. There was something they wanted from me, or they would’ve just thrown the book at me in the first place. And that was the only thing that would allow me to walk out the door without bracelets on.

  “Alright, maybe we can scratch each other’s backs a bit. I got a case full of holes; you got a case full of clues. I figure you loan me those clues, I plug the holes and get you whatever it is you’re looking for.”

  They looked at each othe
r over my head. I wasn’t supposed to see it, but the gloss on the desk was actually good for something besides sliding pens across.

  “I have more than just clues, Mick,” the Captain said. “I have a location. The exact position where Tommy Tsunami is right now. My problem is it’s deep in his territory. My boys aren’t that good at blending in. His men would spot an officer from a mile off. That’s where you come in.”

  Detective Kennedy handed me a bullet. It gleamed coldly in my hand. In the center of the rim a tiny red light winked like the evil eye it was.

  “Thanks, but I got my own, sweetheart.”

  “Lose the ‘sweetheart’. It’s Detective. What you’re holding is a homing device. You can activate it by clicking the button on the rim one time.”

  “Now what makes you think I’m bunny enough to let anyone put a tab on me?”

  “It’s dormant until you activate it,” the Captain said. “And don’t. Not unless all the players are together. I’m talking Tommy Tsunami, Selene the Wolf Lady, and anyone else who’s with them. They don’t know it, but their time is over in New Haven. I’m talking new management from top to bottom. The Secret Service has decided to dismantle their little society and actually bring a little law and order to this cesspool of a city.”

  The Secret Service. The raw butt soup I’d been served all night just got a bit funkier. Especially since the Savant had already given me the heads up about their involvement. And if he was right about that, then…

  I didn’t really want to think about that, so I thought about what I knew on the Secret Service. Military, law enforcement and dictatorship all rolled into one nice package. They had such a tight grip over the United Havens, a body couldn’t break wind without a written report explaining why it was necessary. Not exactly the type to voluntarily rub shoulders with. Or involuntarily.

  The Captain, on the other hand, would probably get a hefty advancement in the new regime, which would be the only reason he’d turn on the Gestalt so quickly. They had to have been paying him big time to turn a blind eye to their activities. But he’d gotten a better deal from the Secret Service and was throwing the Gestalt under the train. That’s the problem with pigs. They only get fatter and greedier the more you feed them.