“Well, spare me the details, Cap. You want the Gestalt? Fine, you got ‘em. I’m just trying to get through the night without catching a case of the New Haven Blues. Here’s what I want in return: the Goryachevas. Since you’re in the mood for shutting down criminal organizations, make sure to include them in your cache. I don’t need the grief of a price on my head. Figure it would make us about even. See to that and I’ll bag your little secret society, and even gift wrap it for you.”
“Done.” Kennedy spoke before Graves could open his mouth. “Remember, this will only work if all the players we want come to the table. We’ll have teams just outside the area on standby. Signal only when you can get everyone in the same room, if possible.”
I noticed no one had made mention of how I was going to get out of that particular party. If I wasn’t a carefree type of guy, I might have been nervous.
She slid a positioning card across the desk. “The target is pinpointed. Synch it to your holoband.”
I smiled politely. “Guess we’re done here then. You get the Russians. I’ll get your roundup. Easy as duck soup.” I tucked away a few of the Captain’s cigars as I stood. “Give me an hour or two. You’ll get your signal.” I tipped my Bogart to Detective Kennedy on the way out.
“Mick.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. To my grand relief, no one was pointing a heater at me. But the Captain’s face was cold as winter and twice as ugly.
“You know if you try to wriggle out of this or try to rib us over, or even think about anything other than our agreement…” he rubbed his calloused hand across his chin with a gravelly sound. “You won’t be able to worry about anything else. On account of being dead and all.”
I offered my best devil-may-care grin. “I’ll add that to my list of death threats for the week, Captain. See you soon.”
Poddar and the Cowboy weren’t exactly the models of patience when I exited the premises. But I was so jazzed to escape intact, I didn’t really care. After the head games with the Savant, going a few rounds with Captain Graves was a lead pipe cinch.
"Let's kick the tires and light the fires, boys. I just got a bead on Tommy’s location. I’ll patch a message to Selene and have her meet us back Downtown. I think I’m gonna need some bigger wetware, though. Which means we gotta stop by a pretty gruesome locale."
Poddar frowned. “Back to the West Docks?”
“Worse. My apartment.”
Chapter 13: Welcome Home
Returning to the Flats was probably the worst idea I’d had in a while.
Ok, no it wasn’t. But it was a pretty bad idea. In all the hoopla over dames and missing legs, it was pretty easy to forget I had a price on my head. Like any other uncivilized locale, New Haven was full to bursting with Nimrods looking for their next payday. I was pretty sure the Russians didn’t want me bagged, either. Just tagged, as in the one they staple to the toe of your corpse.
The good thing was I had the Prince and the Cowboy with me. So far they had actually proved to be pretty good in getting out of jams. I figured they’d be able to catch a stray slug or two if things got really hairy. One of my best qualities is my willingness to share.
It was around midnight when I pulled in the alley behind the Luzzatti. Like the rest of the Flats, it was nothing to brag about. Battered bricks, colorfully decorated with the latest graffiti. Laser bars on the windows and doors, tattered plants on the terraces. A bit beat up, but loaded with character. Kinda like me.
The jump to catch the fire escape was a bit of a stretch, but luckily the booze had faded from my system. I only slipped a few times as I clambered up the rusty stairwell until I got to the window I wanted. I carefully reached past the lasers and tapped on the glass.
A light bloomed inside. The bars winked out, and the window slid open. Natasha Luzzatti laughed and threw her arms around my neck despite my wet rags.
“Mick Trubble! What are you doing outside my place this late? The moon might spot you and get jealous.”
Natasha is my neighbor across the hall, and maybe the only dame I’ve never tried to get sweet on. Not that she’s unattractive. In fact she’s a raven-haired dish with eyes that shine with dreamy stuff. But there’s something unspoken between us; one of those rare, precious bonds which can tear like rotted fabric if you don’t recognize its value.
Her father was the original owner of the complex. He was a man of vision. The particularly poor kind. His bad business deals had gotten him flimflammed on a bad loan situation with some pretty rough shylocks. The kind who didn’t hesitate to kill in order to prove a point.
They sent the Red-Eyed Killer to handle the situation. The result was something I didn’t like to think about. New Haven shylocks tend to be on the gory side when they make examples. Danny the Daisy was Natasha’s uncle, and normally would have handled the situation before it got out of hand. Unfortunately, he was out of New Haven chasing a tag at the time.
I happened to be on good terms with Natasha’s folks. They had went out of their way to look out for me in rough times, which was a rare kind of thing in this town. I took care of the Red-Eyed Killer myself. I was too late for Natasha’s folks, but at least she didn’t have to worry about any triggermen showing up at her door to finish the job. Because I made it my business to put the whole lot of them in New Haven trench coats.
Since then Natasha’s pretty much lived in her own world. The trauma of losing her parents was too much for a persona already on the sensitive side. I’m not sure if she remembers that day or not. Folks say she’s a few eggs shy from a full carton, but for some reason she makes perfect sense to me.
I let her pull me into her room. To say the place was cluttered is like saying it rains hard in a megastorm. She made a living selling uniquely designed arts and crafts. Heaps of her work was strewn across the place like an artistic tornado blew through. Whatever she had lost in mental equilibrium had opened a floodgate of unique creativity.
Half the high hats in New Haven have her signature work in their ritzy pads. I’m pretty sure they’d have pulled a number of fast ones on her as far as payment, but luckily for her the ol’ Troubleshooter hooked her up with a master accountant who handles the business end for her, including the income from the building she inherited. Seeing how her accountant is an android, Natasha doesn’t ever have to worry about being chiseled out of her profits.
I tipped my Bogart. “Hey, doll. Hate to creep in on you like this, but I got a feeling a few droppers might have a special surprise for me in my pad. Not that I don’t like a party. I just wanna be ready for the dance if you know what I mean.”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “I don’t like your new friends, Mick Trubble. All they do is curse and puff chimney smoke. It creeps through the walls like hazy dreams.”
“Well, a man has to have a vice or he’ll go gonzo, darlin’. I smoke a gasper now and then too, you know.”
“Yeah, but your smell is you.” She patted my chest. “I like your smell. They smell like bad ideas.”
“You know how many?”
She solemnly nodded. “Twenty, maybe. Or five. Or maybe ten.”
“Gotcha. Look, you may wanna turn your box up. I got a feeling the thunder is gonna get pretty loud in a minute.”
Her ebony tresses flailed around her face as she shook her head. “I don’t like the picjector. It statics my thoughts too much.”
“Ok, just stay put though. If you hear gunfire, hightail your getaway sticks outta here. Don’t want that pretty body getting in the way of a stray slug.”
She kissed my cheek and put a flower in the band of my Bogart. “Play nice, Mick Trubble.”
“I always do.”
As I crossed the hallway, I tried to think of a way to get inside without getting plugged as a result. I figured I’d exercise the better part of valor.
I knocked.
“Who is there?” Voice was muffled, but the accent sounded distinctly Russian. Figured.
“Pizza delivery.”
There was a long pause.
“I do not think you deliver pizza. No one here has ordered.”
I sighed. “Well, looks like you outsmarted me, boys. Mind if I step in my own pad?”
More silence. I imagined a frantic conference inside.
“If that is you, Mick Trubble…open door slow. We want to talk. No guns, or we shoot first.”
“Sounds good to me, boys.”
I opened the door to a view of a loaded scattergun. I figured since my brains were still in my skull, maybe they did want to talk. The hollow-eyed Ruskie peering down the sights was a gangly scarecrow in bad rags. His partner was almost as big as the gorillas at the Fortress. After roughly searching me for heat, he yanked me inside.
“We have message from the Goryachevas,” the scarecrow said. I figured his partner wasn’t getting paid for his linguistic skills. “No more time for you. You will make payment tonight, or you come with us for slow killing. Your choice.”
“You forgot about the third option.” I gave him a devilish grin.
Confusion flickered in his sleep-deprived eyes right before a perfectly aimed slug carved a peephole through his forehead. As his partner moved for his holster, I spun and took him out with a heavy chop to the throat.
At least that was the plan. Truth was, I missed and hit him on the clavicle instead, causing all kinds of pain to my hand. He snarled and wrapped his beefy mitts around my neck. We danced a clumsy tango around the room as I tried to unlock his vice grip. It didn’t go so well. I was seeing stars and planets by the time a second slug stopped him cold. He exhaled toxic fumes in my face as his grip finally loosened. I toppled to the floor, gasping for breath.
While the room span dizzily I placed a hand on the datacom in my ear. “Nice shooting,” I managed to croak. “Course it would’ve been even better if you’d done it before I got throttled.”
“Never satisfied.” Rob’s voice sounded amused even over the line. “Took a while for me to triangulate the X-Ray scope. I don’t use these mech rifles that often. It took even longer to knock over this triggerman I almost ran into. Figured you’d handle it until then.”
I had the Cowboy stationed on the roof of the adjacent building to even the odds. Good thing his reputation was as good as advertised. I snatched up my reserve smokes and extra flask before tossing back the mattress to access what I came for.
I don’t take much stock in heavy mech weapons, but in certain circumstances a regular slug just won’t do the trick. That’s when the Magic Dragon comes in handy. I’d won it in a hot hand of poker a while back. I could’ve sold it for a pretty sum, but against my massive debt it wouldn’t have mattered. Considering my circumstances, I figured it would be handier than the extra berries.
Specially modified mech-rifle with electromagnetic rounds which can take out a standard floater with a single shot. And just to piss people off, I had a nano-charge added. Usually only a synoid can handle that kind of firepower without dislocating a body part, but Hunter Valentino customized it to suit my physicality. Clumsy when compared to the precision of the Mean Ol’ Broad, but I figured storming Tommy’s hideout was gonna present a lot of bodies.
Precision wasn’t exactly necessary.
A stray thought hit me before I walked out the door. I checked the holoband on the scrawny goon’s arm. Fortunately he was still warm enough to keep it activated. And dumb enough not to require a pass code. I swiped through his list of contacts until I found the one I needed. Synching it to my own holoband, I made the call.
“Hello? This is Mick Trubble. Right, the same one you tried to rub out with an ambush at home. Listen, the point of this call is I need to gab with your boss. Madame Goryacheva. I got something to tell her she needs to hear.”
Chapter 14: The Hideout
I made sure Natasha was all right and called a cleanup crew before taking the skywalk over to where Rob and Poddar waited on the opposite building. The rain had faded to a light sprinkle, causing the rooftops to steam from the humidity. A stiff lay at their feet with a smoking cavity in his chest.
“Lookee here.” Rob grinned. “Mick Trubble, all in one piece. Nice flower. You trying to give the Daisy a run for his money?”
I’d forgotten about the little gift Natasha had given me. I pulled the flower from my Bogart and tucked it in my coat pocket. Didn’t want the boys to think I’d gone nance, but I didn’t feel like talking about Natasha to anyone. That was sacred territory.
“What do we got here, Cowboy?”
“Lucky Stinker spotted him. He’d chosen the same position I had picked out. Perfect for a shot through your window. Figure he was waiting for you to show.”
“You figured right.” I took a good look at the stiff. He looked like a pretty normal guy except for one little detail. His mouth was stitched with thick black wire that clamped his chops together. The surrounding skin was blotchy red and blistered. It looked downright uncomfortable.
Poddar looked a bit queasy. “Why is his mouth sewed up?”
I ran a hand across my chin. “Easy answer is because he didn’t know when to shut it. Story was he was a syndicate member who squealed when he got squeezed by the brass. Needless to say, the syndicate didn’t take too kindly to that. Looks like you took out Silent Ray, Cowboy. Aside from being an expert marksman, he was also Danny the Daisy’s longtime partner. Congrats.”
Most folks would have been at least a bit startled. The Cowboy grinned. “Another notch on the belt. This yahoo is wanted for a quarter million dibs.” He punched a few buttons on his holoband and used it to scan the body. It would have to be confirmed at the nearest roundup station before he got the payment. “After a while I’ll be the only decent Nimrod left if I keep up this rate. I should have hooked up with you a long time ago, Troubleshooter. You know how to put cabbage in a man’s account.”
“Well, don’t get too jazzed just yet. You just made a mortal enemy of Danny the Daisy, who’s twice as deadly as Silent Ray here.”
Rob looked around eagerly. “You reckon he’s nearby? Maybe we can get a two for one special.”
I took a glance around at the foggy rooftops. Good thing I was listening real hard, or I might have missed it.
“He’s here, all right.”
The floater gleamed like a crimson wasp as it swooped up from between the buildings. The movement-tracking mech rife on its chassis blazed, scorching the air with energy blasts and the smell of sizzling ozone. Rob and Poddar scattered, seeking cover. As expected, the gun followed their movements.
I stood still.
With the gun chasing down my frantic chums, I had all the time I needed to take careful aim right at the cockpit of the floater with the Replacement Killer. I knew Danny the Daisy was behind the mirrored surface, probably crying through his mascara.
I emptied a clip into the cockpit. Miniature rockets tend to compensate for armored glass.
The floater tilted and spun drunkenly with its gun still blazing. I hugged the blacktop while the shots did a lot of damage to the surrounding buildings. I hoped no one got plugged in the line of fire.
The floater tumbled into the fog. We felt the impact as it slammed into the street ten stories below.
I reloaded the Killer as I stood. “Everyone ok?”
“Never a dull moment.” Rob and Poddar stepped from behind the bullet-riddled stairwell house. Even Stinker looked a little spooked as she peeked around.
“Yeah, you should be around on one of my bad days. Come on, let’s see if the job is finished.”
It wasn’t.
By the time we made it down to the wreck, we found a busted up android roasting in the cockpit. It was Jeffery; Danny the Daisy’s faithful chauffeur.
I scratched my head. “Well, I can’t say that’s a big shock. Either the Daisy’s got nine lives or he was never in the heap. It’s like him to send an android to do a Nimrod’s job. This won’t be the last we see of him. Better expect him when you least expect him.”
“Well, if that’s the ca
se then I’ll expect him all the time.” The Cowboy patted his pistols. “But if we’re not gonna do any more damage then I’d say it’s time to dust out.”
“Not a bad idea, Ace. I got what I came for. Let’s hook up with those crazy dames.”
About an hour later we crouched on a rooftop on the outskirts of Downtown. Not a good place to be in the middle of the rain, which had returned with a vengeance. My datacom buzzed in my inner ear. I tapped it once to answer.
Captain Grave’s voice droned over the line. “I have a squad en route to the Goryachevas. Street sweepers will make mincemeat out the whole clan. They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late. Now what do you have for me?”
“Almost there, Captain. Don’t get your thong in a knot.” I clicked off.
Rob shared the same irritating impatient look with Poddar. "You gonna tell us what we're doing cooling our heels in the rain, or just keep us in suspense?"
"All in good time, kids. Gotta wait 'till the whole family gets together."
"Five to one says she doesn't even show."
Stinker barked.
Our weapons whipped out as we jumped to our feet. Selene and her Gutter Girl trio gazed at us curiously. I hadn't heard them approach.
Those dames were good.
"You boys have pretty big guns.” Jen’s smile was predictably mocking. “Compensating for something?” Christina and Kelly laughed.
Selene had exchanged her kimono for a more durable leather ensemble. She still looked regal under the umbrella Kelly held for her. I was glad to see she had left her wolf behind. Having a mutt around was bad enough, and those yellow eyes unnerved me more than I wanted to admit.
The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues Page 11
