I used my Bogart to fan away the gaseous vapors. “Been there a time or two, when someone else was picking up the tab. Ritzy joint. Lots of high hats.”
“Right. Thing is, a lotta business gets handled in private sections in the back. Seems a particular someone can be found there more nights than not. If I were you, I might start by looking there.”
“If you were me, you’d be a lot more handsome.” I punched a code into the holoband on my wrist. The holographic display sprang up, and I slid the screen over to my accounts. They looked pretty gruesome, but I was in a decent mood. “Free round for the lookers who’ve been eyeballing me from across the way.”
“They’re pro skirts, Mick. They got a certified motive for the attention.”
“All the more reason, Ronny. The Lord loves a working woman.”
He shrugged. “It’s your dime. Stay healthy if you can. If you can’t… I figure I’ll read about it in the obituary section.”
“And here I didn’t even know you could read.” I gave the skaters a wink and tipped my Bogart as I turned to leave.
“Alright, Poddar, let’s hit it.”
I figured since I was probably gonna die and all, I might as well get it over with. I wheeled around until I found the clip joint called the Gaiden. The décor was Asian; not the cheap gaudy sort, but authentically detailed if you got the eye for that type of thing. I got two.
Surrounded by botanical gardens and fountains, you could tell it was the kind of joint you had to reserve a week in advance if you wanted a seat. Strictly for fat cats. Darkened lights, cozy booths. Jazz and scotch. Not exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find a cat like Tommy Tsunami.
Unless of course, you knew that he owned the joint.
Usually there would be a line of patrons that trailed around the place. But the storm was pretty rough, so we got in without waiting. We paused in the lobby and eyeballed the scene. The joint was pretty lonely. Only a few high pillow boozehounds were there, drinking their lives away and listening to Fats the Jazz Man play a tune on the grand piano. He wasn’t half bad, ol' Fats. He had a reputation for playing the best tunes and keeping his eyes shut to anything shady. Smart man. I tipped my Bogart as I passed by.
A twitchy, narrow-faced doorman greeted us. His hair was parted in the middle and was as slick as his thin mustache. “Gentlemen. Do you have a reservation?”
I gave the place the once over. “You must be new around here. I’m a regular. Plus the joint is empty as a tomb, Ace. ”
He frowned. “Appearances aside, no one can sit without a reservation. House rules.”
I pulled my flogger to the side so that he could clap eyes on the cold heat I was packing. “I got your reservation right here, Mack. Hate for things to get ugly, but I got some business to handle. A smart chum like yourself would probably wanna take a heel-toe right about now.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I see.”
He dashed past us into the rain outside.
Poddar had already moved ahead. “Nice. Why don’t you just fire a shot in the air while you’re at it?”
“Cause I’m taking the subtle route, Prince. Let’s check out the bar scene.”
Vinny was the barkeep most nights. I was vaguely familiar with him. He had the expression of a startled ferret and a smart mouth to boot, but he knew a few things. I gave him the counter tap and he stepped over to take our orders.
“Bulleit Neat. Ace here will have a warm glass of milk, straight up.”
Poddar refused to get ruffled. “I’ll take a Buchanan's.”
As Vinny served our drinks, I leaned in close and adjusted my voice right to the point where anyone with half a drum could hear me. “I understand you got your ear to the wind these days, Vinny. Maybe you can slide me a mark. I’m looking for someone. You may have heard of him. His name’s Tommy. Tommy Tsunami.”
The piano stopped in mid-chord. Hurried footsteps shuffled away as people suddenly thought of other places to be. I swallowed my bourbon with a satisfied smile.
“Don’t know nobody by that name.” Vinny’s face had gone the complexion of curdled milk. “You’d best go on about your business. I don’t want no trouble!”
The reflection from my glass revealed several figures making their way across the floor. Either word got out quick, or the doorman had circled around to the back of the building. Didn’t matter much. At least Ronny’s info had been good.
Poddar slowly stood up and cracked his knuckles. I picked up the bottle and poured the last of it in my glass.
“Vinny my man, trouble is how I make a living.”
To prove my point, I turned and hurled the bottle. There was a satisfying whistling sound as it spun through the air before exploding across an astonished goon’s forehead. He crumpled like a rag doll.
His boys didn’t take it very well. Three of them rushed at us, and damned if Poddar didn’t step up and knock the first one out with some satisfying chin music. I sipped my bourbon as he made short work of the other two. But I paid attention to his fighting style, just in case I had to take him on later.
It was pretty impressive. Poddar moved lightning quick, and his martial art skills were second to none. I made a mental note to just shoot him if we ended up crossing wires.
Vinny shifted, forcing me to catch the muzzle of the scattergun he tried to point at my head.
“Now that was just stupid.” I shoved backwards and caught him square in the kisser with the rifle butt, doing all sorts of damage to his ugly choppers. Since I was feeling generous, I went ahead and dealt him a second blow across the temple to finish him off. I always try to dull the pain when I do dental work.
The side door burst open just when Poddar put down the last goon. About ten more droppers poured in, beefy lugs that looked like they spent all their waking hours at the gym. I eyeballed the door. I could’ve tried a quick dash and my luck in getting a hacker to break into the dibcard.
But instead I introduced the rubes to the Mean Ol’ Broad.
As far as looks went, she was nothing to brag about. Six-inch barrel, seven shot, mech-enhanced revolver. A bit chipped and maybe a rust fleck or two, but it was the power that made me hot for her. Sure she was an older girl, but I never cared much for the biological bean shooters. Why waste dibs on an energy round when bullets kill just as fast?
One shot to the ceiling was all it took. When the Broad spoke, people listened.
I tossed Vinny’s scattergun to Poddar as I addressed the crowd. “Look here, boys — I know you wanna show your loyalty to your boss and all, maybe get a raise or something. But you gotta ask yourselves: how fast are you? ‘Cause I’m betting these slugs are faster.”
A voice spoke from behind me. “Indeed, Mr. Trubble. A very shrewd observation. And one you may want to consider yourself, especially if you want to live past the next few seconds.”
Poddar and I turned. In the doorway of the kitchen were four trouble boys; all pointing heat our direction. In the middle was Tommy Tsunami himself, decked in funeral black from head to toe.
He smiled.
Chapter 3: Everything Burns
The match flared with a snakelike hiss off the palm of his hand. As he lit his gasper, the flare that reflected in his onyx eyes created the illusion of fiery tunnels. The smile was still on his face, the white of his teeth a striking contrast to the darkness of his presence.
Yeah, I tend to wax poetic when facing certain death.
“Do you believe in New Haven, Mick?” Smoke streamed dragon-like from his nostrils.
At that point I relaxed a bit. You gotta understand that when you get your life threatened as much as I do, you tend to read into the varying threat levels — kinda like the government did back when we still had one. Had he asked me if I believed in God, I would’ve had a much graver perspective.