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.”