At this point I was aware of three things. First, they were trying to rib me up with the whole good cop/bad cop routine. Second, I never should have come there in the first place. Captain Graves had both motive and means to lock me away and throw away the key. Justice doesn’t mean a thing in New Haven, power does. I wasn’t the one with the power, which meant I was the only one at the table without any black chips.
And they knew it.
Which led me to the third thing. There was something they wanted from me, or they would’ve just thrown the book at me in the first place. And that was the only thing that would allow me to walk out the door without bracelets on.
“Alright, maybe we can scratch each other’s backs a bit. I got a case full of holes; you got a case full of clues. I figure you loan me those clues, I plug the holes and get you whatever it is you’re looking for.”
They looked at each other over my head. I wasn’t supposed to see it, but the gloss on the desk was actually good for something besides sliding pens across.
“I have more than just clues, Mick,” the Captain said. “I have a location. The exact position where Tommy Tsunami is right now. My problem is it’s deep in his territory. My boys aren’t that good at blending in. His men would spot an officer from a mile off. That’s where you come in.”
Detective Kennedy handed me a bullet. It gleamed coldly in my hand. In the center of the rim a tiny red light winked like the evil eye it was.
“Thanks, but I got my own, sweetheart.”
“Lose the ‘sweetheart’. It’s Detective. What you’re holding is a homing device. You can activate it by clicking the button on the rim one time.”
“Now what makes you think I’m bunny enough to let anyone put a tab on me?”
“It’s dormant until you activate it,” the Captain said. “And don’t. Not unless all the players are together. I’m talking Tommy Tsunami, Selene the Wolf Lady, and anyone else who’s with them. They don’t know it, but their time is over in New Haven. I’m talking new management from top to bottom. The Secret Service has decided to dismantle their little society and actually bring a little law and order to this cesspool of a city.”
The Secret Service. The raw butt soup I’d been served all night just got a bit funkier. Especially since the Savant had already given me the heads up about their involvement. And if he was right about that, then…
I didn’t really want to think about that, so I thought about what I knew on the Secret Service. Military, law enforcement and dictatorship all rolled into one nice package. They had such a tight grip over the United Havens, a body couldn’t break wind without a written report explaining why it was necessary. Not exactly the type to voluntarily rub shoulders with. Or involuntarily.
The Captain, on the other hand, would probably get a hefty advancement in the new regime, which would be the only reason he’d turn on the Gestalt so quickly. They had to have been paying him big time to turn a blind eye to their activities. But he’d gotten a better deal from the Secret Service and was throwing the Gestalt under the train. That’s the problem with pigs. They only get fatter and greedier the more you feed them.
“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.