“Hey you!”
I turned to see the Cafe’s owner glaring at me.
“Why did you bring these crazy people into my business?” He barely finished his sentence when he spit at me.
I was out of range, but I gave him a dismissive gesture as he ran back into the Cafe. I turned to walk away again.
“Hey you!”
I turned and reflexively ducked as a bowl of rice barely missed my face. The owner ran back into the Cafe.
I would not wait to see what else he had planned.
“Hey you!”
I was quarter way across the street, but turned. The owner was preparing a wind-up throw, like those silly cricket players, and this time, he threw an egg at me. It barely missed as I lurched forward. Were we little children in kindergarten? A grown man was throwing eggs at me.
He prepared another of his winding up throws for me. Since we were in kindergarten, I stood on my tippy toes, as if it was dodge ball—I was ready for him. He threw, but it went wrong. The egg went high up in the air and smashed on the windshield of a passing hovercar that was descending to park. It slammed on its air-brakes, hanging twelve feet in the air. Its passenger door lifted up and a kid crawled from the driver’s side to the passenger seat.
“I’m going to kill you!” the kid yelled at him.
I didn’t know if it was a full moon or not, but the hovercar driver jumped! I expected he had bionic legs and would land effortlessly, but all I heard was a sickening crack, and the expression on the kid’s face was that of someone who been hit in the face with a sledgehammer. The kid was lying on the ground, screaming and crying, while the Cafe owner was laughing and pointing at him.
Then there was a spark from the kid’s hovercar, hanging in the air, as something disengaged the air-brake. The hovercar descended diagonally, straight for the cafe owner. The man ran through the doors as the hovercar crashed through the doors after him! All I heard was things breaking, people screaming, and smashing sounds. Then a crash that seemed to shake the ground.
That was it. It was way too much excitement for me. I ran away as fast as I could.
Chapter 19
The Guy Who Got Shot In My Office
THERE WAS SOMETHING satisfying about going into the office. I always hated the prospect of being chained to a cubicle or tiny office at some government or corporate job, like ninety percent of the people. I knew, even as a kid, I wouldn’t do that, but I had little to show for it with my high principles. And with virtually every last human in the city in legacy housing, it meant people were devolving to the lowest possible denominator. Not having to worry about housing meant I could subsist on very little per month. But that meant all you were doing was existing. That’s not really living, but that’s what most people were doing. That’s why so many people got themselves in trouble on the crime scene. But, it was also why this detective thing was so exhilarating for me.
I stood in my office with my mobile computer on my sole office desk, marveling at the screen. I had reviews!
Trusted Reviews was the bible in customer service. Businesses did everything and anything for solid (good) reviews about their products and services. I think some little old lady started it many years ago, and every Average Joe and Jane went to it first when deciding what service or item to buy. There were all kinds of rackets and scams involved with companies, trying to rig the system, but they were always found out, which was worse, because then companies could get banned. Major players in an industry could brag about having thousands or even millions of reviews. Bottom line was, if you didn’t have any reviews, then your company didn’t exist, no matter how impressive your physical or virtual storefront on the Net.
I now had three. I couldn’t believe it. GW gave me such a glowing review that I couldn’t believe it was the same person. Then, there were those from his mother and father. All were lengthy (very good), detailed about finding the sister/daughter (even better), and mentioned me solving the case in a day, when local authorities couldn’t close the case in many months (the best).
I couldn’t stop reading it and smiling. Maybe I could make this detective thing work. I liked that it gave me purpose. Human beings needed purpose, and it was fun, too.
There was some big commotion going on outside the front door of the reception-waiting area.
Did I forget to lock it again?
I got up and walked to check, but just as I approached, the door swung open and a punk, with his back to me, stood there with a gun. My body jumped as the man was shot once. He yelled, was a shot a second time, and then his gun dropped from his hand as he fell. A third shot rang out, and he crashed to the ground. I had frozen in place, but now, my brain engaged, and I dove back into my office.
I heard one or more people running away.
I lay on the ground, watching the dead man on the ground. My eyes were tearing up. My new career was about to be taken away from me, before it could even get started.
Chapter 20
Phishy
THERE WAS NO POSSIBLE way I could wait there. My office was a red-and-blue siren party. I couldn’t bear it. Now I had a police jacket. Anyone involved with any crime, even as a victim, got a file. People could do a Net search on my business address and see that someone was killed in my office. Would you go to a detective who had someone killed in his office? I was ruined. No one would care about any good reviews.
I went back to my place after giving the same statement to police three times to two different sets of officers. They always did that. Lying people rarely were good enough to keep to the same lie multiple times and to different people, though the professional criminals and psychopaths did so with ease. They let me go my way as they plastered their crime scene tape across the door of my office. I suspected I’d be seeing that Realtor very soon.
Well, I parked my Pony and then just had to take a walk, clear my head, and calm down. I was out for about thirty minutes when I started back to the main entrance of the Concrete Mama.
“Hey, can you help me with directions?”
Someone called out to me as I was walking up the mega-stairs. I turned to look back and blinked when I heard the first shot. I dove to the hard, wet ground as whoever the man was took two more shots at me before running away.
I lay there on the ground, gritting my teeth. I was so enraged that if I had the jaw strength, I would have crushed my own teeth.
As GW said, I was a psycho when I got mad. You didn’t want to go there with me. I was indirectly shot at once, and a man was killed. Now, I was shot at—me—in front of my own place.
It was the fourth place I checked to find him. There was Phishy, chatting it up with his sidewalk johnny friends. I tapped my horn to get his attention. All of them looked up at me, as I slowly landed my Pony on the ground. I lifted up my hovercar door as Phishy was already running to me with a big smile, but he saw my face, and he stopped; his smile disappeared.
“What’s wrong, Cruz?”
I was standing and slammed my door shut. I never slammed my car door. I could feel my own fumes of anger radiating from my body. I gestured to him to approach and Phishy did so cautiously.
“What happened?”
“What happened is that some stranger got shot to death in my new office. The police yellow-taped the whole thing, so I’m out of business before even starting. Then to top off the day and make it even more exciting, someone tried to gun me down right in front of my place.”
“In front of the Concrete Mama?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Oh wow, Phishy? I’ve never been involved with anything like this before. You know that.”
“I know. I know.”
“I don’t do violence. You know that.”
“But you’re a detective now, Cruz. You have to expect that sort of thing, now.”
“Well, there is no now. I’m out of business.”
“No, you’re not.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the cops yellow-tag you, as long as they don’t contact you again in 48 hours, then you’re in the free and clear.”
“What are you talking about, Phishy?”
“That’s how it works. The cops got 48 hours to escalate the case. If they don’t or can’t, then you can rip down that yellow tape and act like nothing happened.”
“The police can prosecute you and send you to jail, Phishy, for ripping it down.”
“But only before the 48 hours.”
“Are you sure, Phishy?”
“I’m positive, Cruz. I know this stuff. You know that I know this stuff.”
I watched him, thinking. Yeah, Phishy would know these things.
“But I’ll get a reputation—”
“Reputation?” Phishy interrupted me. “There are hundreds of shootings in this city every day, Cruz. You won’t get no reputation. But…was it a client who got shot in your office?”
“No, some punk stumbled into my office door, and he was armed, too.”
“See what I mean. A street shootout that spilled into your office. You won’t get no rep for that. But what about the other thing?”
“Yeah, the other thing. Someone trying to kill me in front of my own place.”
“You know what you need to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Come on, Cruz. You know.”
I knew.
“There’s no way around it, Cruz,” Phishy said. “You can be a good detective, but you have to have the tools of the trade. You’re not a laborer anymore.”
“Yeah, everyone seems to know that, thanks to a certain person.”
Phishy flashed a smile.
“Who do I talk to, then?”
“Leave it to me, Cruz.” Phishy’s smile was really back.
“I’m not going to let you rip me off, Phishy.”
“Oh no. I’ll take care of you.”
“Where? I don’t want any of this near my place.”
“Your favorite coffee place.”
“The Wet Cabeza?”
“They have the rental offices on the top floor.”
“Yeah. Okay. How do you know that? Never mind. And no scamming, Phishy. I don’t like them, but I know guns.”
“Yeah, I know. You even killed someone when you were five with one.”
I gave him a look.
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Like you didn’t tell anyone that I was a detective?”
When I dumped on the cafe I found GW’s sister in, it wasn’t that I didn’t like cafes. I did, but I liked high-end ones, without the high-end prices. The Wet Cabeza was my favorite, and it was one those places I went so often that I knew everyone who worked there and the owners.
I arrived and was greeted by the staff, who I knew on a first name basis. I had a craving for some humble pie, but I resisted. I just had a cup of silk coffee and left it at that while I waited for Phishy.
Inside, the layout of the place was a large, open cafe, all booths and barstools at the kitchen counter, with college-kid waiters and waitresses on hoverroller skates.
Upstairs, they had tiny conference rooms for rent. The Wet Cabeza attracted a business clientele, and offering the meeting rooms was a stroke of genius—why should hotels get all that business? It meant there was another reason to keep butts in the seats and the food and drink orders coming all the time.
It was two days later, and it seemed that he was in the same shirt with fishes, but Phishy was never unkempt or smelly. Technically, he wasn’t a sidewalk johnny. He just hung with them. He was an operator. My girlfriend called him a slider, but he wasn’t sliding through life; he was only sliding from one scheme or scam to the next. But with Phishy it was never too criminal—always small time, so if he were caught there no real chance of jail time.
Phishy had a big, block briefcase in each hand, and he hopped up the stairs, two at a time, with a big smile. He followed me to the room I reserved, and he marched in as I closed the door. I locked it. Too bad I couldn’t remember to do so at my own office.
“Okay, Phishy, I checked out what you said about the 48-hour yellow-tape, and you were right.”
“I told you, Cruz. I know these things.”
Phishy put the two briefcases on the small conference table and opened both cases. Guns, guns, and more guns.
“How much trouble would we get into if the police raided this room this instant?” I asked.
“None. I’m a licensed gun dealer and none are loaded.”
“What? Licensed dealer? I didn’t know that. You got a cover for everything.”
“I’m Phishy. That’s what I do.”
I looked at the assortment before me, but he stopped me before I could pick one up.
“I got something special for you.”
“Phishy, I’m in no mood for scammin’.”
“No. Serious. I got some pieces just for you. You’re a real detective now, and you have to start building a rep.”
“A rep? Am I a criminal?”
“No, Cruz. Everybody needs a rep. That’s how people know if to deal with you or not. And when they do deal with you, how to deal with you.”
“A rep does all that?”
“Yeah, it does. Here let me show you. I have a pop-gun.”
“Pop-gun?” I said loudly as Phishy pulled out a hidden tray of other guns in one case. “Are we like in kindergarten, Phishy? Pop-guns are what we played with when we were children.”
“Not those pop-guns. These are the real thing.”
“I never heard of that before.”
He handed me what looked to be a metal wand attached to some kind of fabric piece with Velcro.
“What the heck is this? Phishy, I don’t want kid’s toys. I could have been killed.”
“Come on, Cruz. Trust me.”
He took my right arm, and before I knew it, the fabric was wrapped around my entire forearm. “You wear long sleeves and jackets all the time, so you’ll have the concealment. Okay, let’s test it. Just snap your wrist. Pop! Trust me, Cruz. Pop it.”
I flicked my arm out and nothing happened.
“You’re not doing it right, Cruz. You have to be serious. Snap your forearm out as if you can throw your hand like a projectile.”
I did it. Pop!
The metal wand contraption extended, and I could see it was some kind of gun barrel.
“You pop it, and it shoots one round—bullet, sonic, or pulse round. Whichever you like. No one will ever sucker shoot you ever again,” he said.
My mind was changed, and I stood there admiring my arm weapon. “A pop gun?”
“I had it made just for you. I called in real favors, Cruz.”
“Okay, what else you got for me?”
“This one.”
He lifted the compartment tray of the other briefcase to reveal more guns. He reached in and handed me the sweetest gun I had ever seen. It was a slim, sleek piece of black metal.
“This, Cruz, is straight from Up-Top.”
“Then how did you get it?”
He laughed. “Stolen, of course. Well, I didn’t, but someone did, and I’m like fifth in line.”
“You’re giving me a stolen piece.”
“Cruz, no one will know. It’s untraceable. They have their database, and we have ours. No one shares. You know that. Besides, someone who could afford a piece like that probably has a ton of them; probably doesn’t even miss it or know it’s gone. How does it feel in your hand?”
I couldn’t lie. “Nice balance.”
“See what I mean. That is the weapon of a high-class detective. It even comes with a manual.”
“Manual?”
“It will take you a day to read it. And when you do, you’ll be smiling, like me.”
“Phishy, how much are these going to cost me?”
“Wait, I’m not finished.”
He lifted up the gun trays of both briefcases and started pulling out pieces. In a minute, he assembled a shotgu
n.
“Cruz, nothing causes some serious fear like the cocking of a shotgun.”
He did so, and its unmistakable sound was universal and, yes, he was right. You heard that sound, and you stopped whatever you were doing to pay attention.
“All three, and you’re set,” he said. “The pop gun. The omega-gun—”
“Omega gun? You’re making that up, Phishy.”
“It’s the gun to end all private guns. That’s what it says in the manual. And the shotgun. Now you’re ready for the mean streets. And the omega-gun comes with accessories if you want to use its digital features. There’s this cool piece that lights up that you wrap around your leg. You’ll see.”
“What does that do?”
“You’ll see.”
“Phishy, how much? They say, if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it. All this seems like something I could never afford in a million years.”
“Cruz, we’re friends. I’ll loan you the weapons, and I’ll get a percentage of each of your cases. That seems fair. I know you’re just starting out.”
I grinned, and he grinned back.
“Phishy, Phishy. Always the angle. I amend the offer. Each percentage I give you…what percentage were you thinking?”
“Uhhh.”
“Be careful, Phishy.”
“Fifty percent.”
“Ten percent of my cases goes toward the total cost of the weapons until, and if, I ever pay off that bill.”
“Ten percent?”
“Phishy! I’m sure you won’t give me the ammo free, and being a detective is not exactly a no-cash-needed business. There’s lots of upfront costs. Like I have to go back to my office and turn it into a fortress, so I never get sucker shot at again. Ten percent is it. We’re all going to make out on this deal. I’ll even throw in a bonus, if by some miracle I can ever pay it off.”
“Bonus?” Phishy said, smiling. “That sounds good, Cruz. We’re like partners now.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me. So we’re good?”
“We are, Cruz.”
“Get me the total cost of these guns and don’t play. You know I’ll check. And then we’ll lock down the terms of the bonus, now, before anything gets started.”
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