Liquid Cool

by Austin Dragon

  “We haven’t. But then, you weren’t a detective before. And you hadn’t involved yourself in…delicate matters.”

  “I remind you; it was Run-Time who brought me into this case, both of them.”

  “Mr. Cruz, you are precisely right, which is why I’m here. My boss wants to hire you again.”

  “For?”

  “He wants to hire you not to proceed with the case any further.”

  “You mean the Easy Chair Charlie case?”

  “Is there another?”

  I hesitated. “Well, the Carol case is concluded, so no.”

  I wasn’t offended that Run-Time sent The Mick to tell me this, rather than do so directly at his offices. Run-Time wanted nothing to do with this, and I noticed that everyone seemed to know who I was—the Mayor, police, Feds, and Interpol, even—which meant I was being monitored. I didn’t forget that Run-Time was scared—an emotion I never saw on his face, ever. He had to keep his distance from me, but still had to communicate with me.

  “Mr. Cruz, let’s not play games. I don’t like to play games, but you seem to.”

  “I don’t like games either.”

  “I think you do. You’re obviously put off by my boss’ request, so tell me what we need to do for you to comply with what he’s asking you to do. My boss does nothing without a good reason, and if he’s asking you not to investigate this any further, then there is a very good reason, even if you don’t know what it is.”

  “I don’t like secrets.”

  “Why? You have secrets. I have them. My boss does. The entire city does. What’s wrong with secrets? Every question of the universe can’t be known. I ask the question again; what do we need to do or how much do I need to pay you to proceed no further?”

  “Run-Time’s a friend, so you don’t have to pay me anything. My only question is, am I going to be brought in on this secret at some point?”

  The Mick hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Mr. Cruz, let it be, and my boss will bring you in if necessary. You say you’re a friend. You’ve known him longer than I have. Has he ever left you out in the cold before?”

  He never had. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll leave it alone, but that doesn’t mean that others out there will leave me alone.”

  “Which is why my boss may have to bring you in. Things will be monitored, and we’ll be in touch. I’m sure as a now-famous detective, you can find other cases to occupy your time.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Good.”

  The big Irishman got out from the booth and stood. Rather than shake my hand, his arms hung at his side, and he gave me a slight bow, Japanese-style, to say goodbye. He walked out of the place, leaving me alone at the table.

  I looked at his empty cup on the table and realized I didn’t even have enough cash to pay for a cup of coffee for myself. If I was a now-famous detective, why was I less than broke?

  Chapter 54

  The Mayor

  I WAS TREATED LIKE a celebrity from the moment I got out of the city hoverlimo that picked me up at my office and flew me to City Hall. Aides were fawning over me and a couple of reporters were following us, as I was led from the lobby, to the general offices, to the elevator capsules, and finally, outside the Mayor’s office. There, aides turned over escort duty to the deputies.

  A tall man opened the door and gestured me in. Run-Time’s office was ridiculously huge. The Mayor’s office was double that size. It was like a major trans-continental excursion to walk from the entrance to the Mayor’s desk—no Mayor to be seen—but four others were waiting. Chief Hub, the Interpol man, and two other suits. They all were as stone-faced as stone. The tall deputy stood behind me—much too close for my comfort—as I waited.

  The Mayor waltzed in with two other aides following him. He had a big smile on his face.

  “Mr. Cruz,” he called out and vigorously shook my hand. “Thanks for coming by. Please take a seat.”

  I sat in the chair in front of the desk. As soon as I sat in it, I realized I was dealing with deranged children. The chair was a kid’s chair, and from the Mayor’s vantage point, all he saw was my head.

  “Mr. Cruz, the reason I asked you to come by is I wanted to tell you how things were going to go for you in my city going forward. You will not be getting a detective license. I’m, personally, going to make sure no one in government or any business that does business with the city will do business with you. If you are ever caught referring to yourself as a detective, it will be deemed as illegal misrepresentation of being a member of the law enforcement industry, and you will be prosecuted and fined. You can apply all the times you want, but it will never be approved. Your gun license, which you’ve apparently had a long time, has been revoked. You get caught with a weapon outside of your residence, and that will be a felony, which you will be vigorously prosecuted for. I’ll find out who’s given you that legacy office of yours, and they will quickly find out what it’s like to be on the wrong side of this office. You are not welcome in this city. You can bask in your media limelight, for now, but public attention is such a fleeting thing. The reporters will disappear, everyone will forget your name, and then you’ll be a bum again, like you’ve always been. That’s when I’m going to get you. You think we will allow an insignificant civilian to embarrass this office, my police department, and the Interspace Police? You’re finished, Mr. Cruz, in this city, finished.”

  The Mayor should have consulted with the Guy Who Scratched My Vehicle before he said what he said to me.

  I got up from their kiddie chair and left his office with my security escort.

  Chapter 55

  Holly Live

  “NOW TO OUR BREAKING bombshell exclusive from ace investigative reporter, Holly Live.” The newsman in his virtual reality studio didn’t stop smiling for a second.

  “Thank you, Max. Yes, Metropolis, I’ve been in the news business for nearly twenty years, and the word scandal is used so often that even I roll my eyes when I hear it, but this story is a scandal that will rock the foundations of this supercity to the ground. Earlier today, at a secret location, I spoke to my inside informant, who asked us to conceal his identity for fear of criminal threats to his very life. The story he told us is of that magnitude…”

  The broadcast cut to Holly Live, sitting across from her “secret informant,” who was computer-silhouetted, but the tan fedora and coat was unmistakable. The voice was computer-modified, but everyone who knew would know it could be no other person.

  I said with my computer-enhanced voice, “About a month ago, a man by the name of Easy Chair Charlie, supposedly, got up from his table in Old Harlem, went outside, pulled the most sophisticated weapons out of thin air, and started shooting at everyone and everything at the town’s premiere smoking joint.”

  “Yes, the Sweet Street Shootout at Joe Blows,” the reporter interjected. “This channel was first on the scene.”

  “That man was soon killed in the shootout by police. Those were the reports on the news. But that is not what happened.

  “That shootout was a well-orchestrated murder of which Easy Chair Charlie was the least of the victims. Up-Top agents illegally came to our planet and allowed a psychopathic gang leader, on their payroll, to kill five Metropolis police officers, leaving behind five sets of spouses and children, and kidnap a child witness—”

  “The Lutty girl kidnapping case,” the reporter interjected again.

  “Yes, your station was there. Well, the entire op was done with the full knowledge and consent of Metropolis’ police chief and its Mayor.”

  Holly Live cut in, “You know what’s going to happen. People will say this is the wild rantings of a disgruntled person with a score to settle.”

  “You’re right, Holly. That’s what they’ll say. But then, you say back to them… ‘No, go to the surviving widows and widowers and families of these slain officers and ask their union rep, too, to demand
all body-cam video footage of that night from all officers and cruisers on scene and see what happens.”

  “What will happen?” Holly was genuinely asking me.

  “Thirty police cruisers and fifty-seven officers, responding to the shootout. They will tell you; there are no tapes.”

  Chapter 56

  The Peanut Gallery

  IN ALL THE PICTURES you’ve seen of mass protests or riots, were there ever any in the pouring rain? Never. People were not interested in exercising their right to civil protest in inclement weather. However, I heard something from one of the Concrete Mama sidewalk johnnies that made me think barricading myself in my own place was not such a safe prospect. I heard that the police were rioting at City Hall. There were 500,000 police in Metropolis!

  We had left the real world and had entered the world of surreality.

  “I don’t know where you live,” I said to Punch Judy.

  “We’ve lived in the same building for over ten years. How can you not know where I live?”

  “I just don’t.”

  PJ’s place was going to be my safe house. While my place had a meager helping of furniture, every square inch of her place had a piece of modern deco, neon, or fancy something. She may have been an ex-posh gang member, but she was still all posh.

  She had turned her living room into a version of her Liquid Cool work-area. Thankfully, she hadn’t forwarded the phones, but she had to check, listen, and clear out the voice mail every half hour, or we’d completely run out of message storage. It was crazy. She could barely keep up.

  One of her guest rooms was my space. I had locked myself in there, going on day two, sleeping. I purposely chose the smallest room she had. It was a decent size with no outside windows. It was more of a closet than anything. I had destroyed my mobile—they can track you with that. Before my fateful “secret” interview, I had Flash load my Pony into a hovercar transport and ship it out of the City.

  PJ didn’t watch the news. She only read it on her mobile computer. I know she was always reading it, but she said nothing to me about any of it.

  Phishy, with his crazy self, had every sidewalk johnny friend he knew and all their friends descend on the Concrete Mama, like a swarm of ants. They had the lobby and PJ’s floor filled to the rim with people—my own civilian security force. Too bad none of them were armed, but it was the gesture that mattered.

  “Cruz!”

  I told her not to yell, but just knock on the door when she wanted me. When I opened the door, there was Dot. That put a smile on my face. Her parents were with her. That took the smile off my face. I came out of my sanctuary, anyway.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked as she gave me a hug.

  “Me, I’m fine. I have no idea what’s happening out there, but that’s good. I’m in here, safe and comfortable.”

  There was a knock on PJ’s front door. If I hadn’t seen what I saw, I would have thought I was dreaming. Mr. Wan pulled a .357 magnum shooter from his jacket and Mrs. Wan pulled a smaller version with a silencer from her purse. Did all it take for my psycho parents-in-law to be on my side was our joint stay at the local jail?

  Dot yelled at her parents in Chinese, and they yelled something back, but kept their eyes on the door. PJ approached the door, carrying her favorite shotgun. She pressed the button on the door display and gave out a huff as she turned to all of us. “It’s stupid man.” She opened the door, and there was Phishy, smiling.

  Dot’s parents put away their guns after PJ closed and locked the door again. Phishy strolled to me.

  “It’s crazy out there, Cruz.”

  I held up my hand. “I don’t want to know. For me, ignorance is bliss.”

  “You need to know what’s going on,” Dot said.

  “I can’t do anything about anything, so why know? Wait, did something happen at Eye Candy?”

  “No, everything is fine. The reporters leaked that I was your girlfriend, and then so many people showed up there, looking for me, I had to leave. I couldn’t work with all those people and reporters staring at me through the windows.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? It’s great. Prima Donna is signing up everyone as clients, and Goat Girl and Cyan are signing up everyone for our new anti-robot union. Everybody is happy. And Prima Donna says thank you.”

  “She’s welcome.”

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  They had all encircled me, now, PJ too.

  “Plan? We wait it out.”

  “This could go on for weeks or months,” Dot said. “You really don’t know what’s going on.”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you have a plan?”

  “The last I heard was the police were rioting at City Hall. That’s it.”

  Dot’s parents started shaking their heads, along with PJ. Phishy was grinning. “It’s a lot more than that,” Dot said.

  “More than rioting?”

  “Cruz, you’re not an ostrich. Get your head out of the dirty mud, look up, and know what’s going on around you.”

  “As long as they leave you, my Pony, and my place alone, I’m good.”

  “And the office!” PJ interjected.

  “And the office.”

  “You listed me ahead of the Pony, so I guess I’m good.”

  I smiled at her.

  Now there was frantic knocking at the door. Both PJ and Phishy ran to the door.

  “Don’t touch my door,” PJ yelled at him as she grabbed her shotgun again. “Okay.”

  Phishy pushed the display button.

  “Phishy,” one of the sidewalk johnnies said, standing in front of the door.

  “You can’t be in and out of my place,” PJ scolded Phishy.

  “I may need to come back in after I see what they want.”

  She unlocked the door for him. “No. Stay out.”

  The door opened, and Phishy stuck his head out. He pulled it back in and ran to me.

  “Cruz, there are police downstairs.”

  “Where?”

  “They’re pushing their way into the lobby. A lot of them.”

  “Oh no,” Dot said with a scared look.

  Her parents had their weapons drawn again.

  “Cruz, get your guns,” PJ commanded.

  “I can’t,” I said. “They took away my gun license, and I can only use them in my place, not someone else’s.”

  “Stop being foolish,” she said. “They’re coming for you.”

  I ran into my room for my gun case.

  “Phishy!”

  As I pulled my gun case from under the bed and opened it, I asked when he appeared, “You know places like Mad Heights?”

  “Mad City? What about it?”

  “They got those animal gangs there.”

  “And lots more, too. Much more dangerous.”

  “Are there people who just hang around in the darkness?”

  “Darkness where?”

  “Like in the back alleys.”

  “Ghouls? How do you know about them?”

  “What are they?”

  “Night people. They’re gangs that hang in the dark with their night-sight.”

  “What do they do? Just hang out in the dark?”

  “No, they get people.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “How do you know about them?”

  “Never mind. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Cruz, your parents are here!” Phishy peeked in the door to tell me.

  “What? My parents? Where? Here or on the mobile?”

  “Here!”

  The notion that my parents would fly all the way to Metropolis made little sense to me, but it was them. My mother came in, holding her little purse in front of her, like she always did. This one was dark brown; she had others. Both had matching black slicker coats and black boots over their pants, instead of under. She smiled at me. She never wore much make-up, but had a perfect complexion; her black hair
was always pulled back in a braided ponytail. They were practically the same height—shorter than me by an inch or so. My Pops came in, his graying mustache and beard, wearing a fedora that looked suspiciously like my own, but he hated hats. In his hand was a sheathed sword. Now, I knew it was really him. My father was a prime example of the negative effect of Japanese samurai culture on the general public. He carried that sword everywhere.

  “Ma, what are you doing here?” I stopped myself, did the son thing, and gave her a hug and a kiss.

  “Pops,” I gave him a hug. “When did you get here? How did you get here? It’s dangerous out there. You shouldn’t have come here.”

  My mother smiled and spoke in Spanish.

  “Yes, Ma, but it’s even more dangerous out there than usual.”

  My Pops had unsheathed his sword and was swinging it around.

  “And no sword is going to scare away any street punk, or whoever it is after me. Put that away, Pops, before you put your eye out.”

  There was a bang at the door, and everyone jumped.

  “Who’s banging my door?” PJ yelled and pointed her rifle at it.

  The Wans were poised with their weapons. My Pops was looking at the door, holding the samurai sword, as if it was a bat, and he was about to swing, and my Mom…

  “Mom! Why is your hand in that little purse of yours?”

  She looked at me sheepishly.

  “I know you’re reaching for a piece of that candy and not for some concealed weapon, right?”

  She smiled at me and nodded.

  I looked at Dot; we both shook our heads.

  “I say, we elope and leave the four of them, and everyone else, behind.”

  “I agree,” she said and then yelled something at her parents in Chinese. They just smiled at her, and she threw up her hands.

  There was a knock at the door. This time, PJ went to look at the door-cam. My Pops was swirling his sword around, again, with one hand.

  “Pops! You’re going to put your eye out. And what are you going to do with that? Someone shoots at you, you’ll whack the bullet back at them?”