“Lemme get this straight. Kilby was waiting to meet with you. But some trouble boys showed up and took off with her in their company. Then this new lug shows up, gets pissed that she’s gone and blows the whole building to hell?”
“Exactly. For no reason at all. Just because he could.”
I really started to regret not surrendering to the Russians. A slow tortuous death at their hands looked like easy street compared to the basket of adders I currently had both hands in.
"I’m trying to think of anyone with this kind of M.O. but I’m coming up blank. So that must mean there’s a new player in town — someone who’s playing for keeps. No more word games, Selene. It’s time you tell me what's so important about this leg of yours."
"My entire leg is tattooed. I had it done years ago. Apparently it’s believed there's a pattern to the tattoos. A guide to find something. What it is I don't know, but I do know this — I’m getting the leg back, with or without you. It’s your profit to lose. Are you in?"
She was lying. There was no way she couldn’t know what was tattooed on her own leg. But at the same time, she was afraid. It takes a lot to frighten a dame like her. Which meant I’d been dealt into a game playing for the ultimate stakes.
Human lives.
I took another look at the flames, but they provided no more answers than the black waters of my past. I paused to light a smoke.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm in. But we're gonna need one helluva plan if we're gonna pull this off."
Poddar walked over with Jen. He tried to keep his face calm as he surveyed the destruction. He didn't succeed.
I gave him a nod. "Well, Poddar old buddy, it looks like we're gonna enjoy each other's company a bit longer. Time to call in the reinforcements. If you got an ace in your hand, now's the time to throw it."
Poddar nodded. "I know someone. He's like a brother to me. I will give the Cowboy a call.” He tapped a sequence on his holoband.
"Well yee-haw and scoot my boots, that sounds grand.” I turned to Selene, who looked at the burning building with pity gracing her face. Her wolf had never ceased howling, and his song began to chill my blood. “So, you gonna tell us exactly what we’re up against?”
"Do you believe in New Haven, Mick?" The soft echo of Tommy Tsunami's question startled me.
"I believe in fast women, fast wheels, and fast money. Whatever's left is none of my business."
She gazed at me without a hint of a smile. "It might be a good time to start."
"I'll keep that in mind. What do you got lined up for me?
"You're going to use your contacts to find out where Tommy Tsunami is on the lay. Then we're going to storm that location and get my leg back. Once we secure it, we’ll be on track to find Ms. Kilby and whoever is behind this."
I sighed. "Great. If I'd known I was committing suicide today, I would've worn better rags."
Poddar wrapped up his conversation. "Oh, and Rob…? You'd better bring Stinker. Yeah. See you soon.” He clicked off his datacom and looked at us. "Ok, we're good."
I groaned. Because the rain had soaked my last gasper. I paid good dough for those smokes. "Hell. Since we're bringing out the big guns, I may as well make a call of my own. I know just the cat. He’s a synoid. A real killer. His name is Hunter. Hunter Valentino."
Selene smiled then, the kind of smile which makes you wanna take back what you just said. And run like hell.
"An excellent suggestion, Mick. Perhaps the smartest thing you've said since we've met."
I hate it when dames get all mysterious on me. I had a funny feeling the real trouble had only just started.
Chapter 7: The Taste of Absinthe
It felt good to reunite with Maxine again. It would've felt better if I could actually handle her, but having a bum arm kinda handicaps a fella. A slug will do that to you, if you're moving slow enough to catch one. And lately I’d been moving awful slow.
But not slow enough to forget to have Maxine tail us. A simple tap on my holoband assured she followed Selene’s crate the entire time. Good thing too, because although I’m always up for a little feminine company, those Gutter Girls were a little too gonzo for my taste.
So I kept Max in control of the actual driving while I lounged in the seat. Poddar was back to riding shotgun. He looked a bit anxious, and I couldn't blame him. Dames specialize in making men sweat. That's why I have a strict play-but-don’t-stay policy. Booze makes me sweat enough as it is.
His friend was on the way to meet us. The Cowboy, he called him. I'd heard of the man before. A pretty famous Nimrod. Lots of bounty killers these days, but supposedly he was to handguns what Einstein was to nuclear theory. I hoped so, because I wasn't looking forward to storming Tommy Tsunami's newest flophouse, probably because of the aforementioned slug I took last time he and I came face to face. Some souvenirs you don't really want to collect again.
But I'd given my word. Damn that honest side of me.
We were still in the West Docks. Ramshackle buildings leaned drunkenly on blasted slopes and busted alleyways. On the other side the West River was a tar-colored snake which wallowed in its own stench.
The Docks are full of a lotta gonzo stories. The kind of bunk you'd scoff at if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes.
Which I had.
"Stop for a sec, Maxine." I had just recovered an old pack of smokes from under the seat when I eyeballed a familiar mug in a mob on the corner. Maxine squealed to a halt. I got out as the door opened.
"I thought we were meeting up with this friend of yours." Poddar was really starting to unnerve me with his whining. "We don't have time for random stops. Every second we waste, Ms. Kilby’s life is on the line."
I glared at him. "Listen, Ace. You probably wouldn't know this, but ninety percent of investigation is instinct. Which I got in spades. So follow my lead and watch my back. Bum arm, you know.”
The storm had faded to a light drizzle. Still, even with my flogger shielding me from most of the wetness I was starting to feel a bit damp from the constant in and out.
I placed my good hand on a familiar butt. The grip of the Mean Ol' Broad was almost as sweet as a little grab action with a pro skirt, and twice as safe. It was a gesture of trust on Selene's part to return the heaters the Gutter Girls had stripped me of when they had me in that rather… uncomfortable situation earlier. I pointed her skyward and pulled the trigger.
All I heard was thunder.
The mob on the corner scattered like hopheads that’d just seen a siren flash. All except my mark.
"Frankie!" I spread my arms wide. "Frankie Newman. It's been a dog's age, Ace."
Newman used to be a nightclub crooner, and a pretty good one at that. I’d seen him captivate live audiences like a puppet master. There was something about his voice. It was almost hypnotic. I’m not exactly the best judge on those type of things, but I’ve never heard better.
He used to perform at all sorts of ritzy joints in his heyday, enjoying the kind of celebrity status only a few are privileged to. But in this town that meant rubbing elbows with the kind of men who dipped their fingers in a lot of dirty places. He’d seen the wrong thing at the wrong time, resulting in a few unscrupulous lugs who wanted him rubbed out to prevent any eyewitness accounts.
I managed to save his bacon, but that meant tucking him far away from the folks who were looking for him. No one would think to scope for him in the Docks. He was forced to retire his singing career and took up social work for the listless zombies who wandered the boulevards of broken dreams. And gathered his information.
That was his other talent. He could comb through a river of slop and come up with diamonds every time. Tapping into that network of streaming data was my reward for saving his worthless hide, whether he liked it or not.