Lord Troll's angular, smirking face appeared on my holoband screen. "Right-o, mate."
"Please tell me you caught all of that?"
"You mean the wanker that torched your pretty ride and handed your arse to you? Too right, defo got that. Gonna post it on YouVid, get a few milly streams in no time."
"You got a tag on the guy yet?"
"A bloke that can teleport across the entire Haven? No, not just yet, Cap."
"Well, try harder, LT. Get back when you pin him down."
"Don't go crook on me, Mick. I'm a hacker, not a bloody metahuman hunter. I'll touch back later."
When the transmission ended, I waved Natasha over. "Listen to me for once. You need to get the hell out of here."
She gave me a flat stare. "Didn't you listen to anything I said earlier? It's not gonna happen, Mick. You have to stop this paternal thing about telling me what to do. I love you, but enough is enough."
That hurt more than I let it show, but I took it like a man. "I'm not talking about your job this time, Natasha. I'm talking about this flood problem." I gestured to the ankle-deep waters that turned the street into the fast-flowing stream.
"What about it? It always rains, Mick. It's a bit more than normal, but—"
"It's not normal at all, understand? It's gonna get a lot worse. The labcoats in Environmental are probably sweating bullets right now. Kilgore didn't blow that building up just to prove a point. He knew what was underneath."
Her eyebrows raised. "What's underneath?"
"The entire hydro-recycling center. Clean water, weather creation — all of it. The rain isn't gonna stop, and the piping system is blown wide open. This place is gonna flood, and it's gonna happen quickly. You need to think about evacuating before mass panic gridlocks everything and makes it impossible."
"Evacuation? Are you serious? If that's true, then the Council needs to know. We need to get the word out that—"
My teeth gritted in frustration. "That's exactly what you don't need to do. This place looks massive, but it's just a bubble ready to pop if things get out of hand. And that's what's gonna happen if seven hundred thousand people go gashouse in the streets. Don't you think the Council already knows what's going on? They're working on it right now, but they're smart enough not to leak the news to the public. You need to be just as smart. I can pull some strings and get you on the next tram outta here if you say the word."
"Why? How hard can it be to fix the problem? There can't be enough water to flood this entire Haven."
"You don't know the half, Natasha. You don't have the slightest clue where this Haven is and how it escapes massive infiltration. But the same thing that protects it can be turned against it, and that's exactly what's happening now. This place needs to be evacuated, and you should get the hell outta here before the panic starts."
Her face hardened. "I'm not tucking tail and running when people need help."
"Why not? This place is a swamp. Greed and corruption are what makes it tick. You don't owe anyone here a damn thing."
"I took an oath."
"Those are just words, Natasha. Sound bites, nothing more. Spoken in reverence and trampled in the mud at the earliest inconvenience. Trust me — I know from experience."
"How can you say that after all the work you've done to help people, Mick? I don't know what's changed you now, but don't act like you never cared."
I dropped my head, scowling. "And for what? Nothing's changed. Besides, that persona was a misguided creation of some eccentric mad scientist. I'm back to being Mike Trudo again, get it?"
Sadness crept into her eyes. "I don't even know what that means."
"It means I got enough trouble on my plate without worrying about trying to save a city that could care less about me or anyone else. Now, are you gonna take me up on the offer or what?"
She folded her arms. "I already told you — no way."
Taking a deep breath, I forced an uncaring expression. "Don't say I didn’t warn you. Can you at least look out for Poddar in the meantime? I gotta take a meeting."
"A meeting in the middle of all this? I didn’t even finish getting a statement from you guys."
"Poddar's not going anywhere. Get it from him."
"This better be a matter of life or death."
"It is — for Flacco."
She frowned. "Moe Flacco? You're meeting up with the biggest Mob boss in the Haven in the middle of a disaster. Why?"
My jaw clenched. "To see why he lied to my face. And to figure out how I'm gonna make him pay for it."
I caught a cabbie to Flacco's grand mansion in the Heights, missing Maxine the entire trip. Having to sit in an automated wheeler instead of my sleek Duesy was injury to insult, but it gave me time to plan my next few moves. I'd had enough of playing checkers and was ready to set up the chessboard. Kilgore wasn't the man I used to know, and he wasn't the average five-and-dime goon either. He was an unpredictable wild card playing a game where he made all the rules.
About time I changed that. But first, I had to wrap up some loose ends. And none were looser than my ties to the Borgata. The scowling group of guards at the mansion door made that point clear when they stomped down the steps and surrounded me.
The security detail confiscated The Mean Ol' Broad before letting me through the door. A trio of hulking bruisers ushered me to a private room in the mansion that featured a masculine display of teak wood, stainless steel furnishings, and the heady fragrance of spicy cigar smoke. There were three other people in the room, all of them familiar to me: No-Nose Nate, Electra Flacco, and of course, the main man himself: the capo dei capi, Moe Flacco.
He sat in an overstuffed leather armchair, a cigar between his thick fingers, bulldog eyes staring regretfully. He looked exhausted, as if weighted by burdens normal men wouldn't understand. His slick, iron-colored hair gleamed like newly minted nickel, and the tailored rags on his frame cost more than I made in a year. Electra sat beside him, dressed in all-black: bosom-pushing lacy corset, mid-length jacket, pencil skirt, long gloves, and stiletto boots. Gold bracelets clacked on her wrist, and a gasper trailed smoke from its place in the long-stemmed holder between her fingers. A coy smile matched the amusement in her eyes when she looked at me.
No-Nose Nate gave me a friendly nod, rubbing a finger alongside his golden-plated schnozzle. He practically glowed in his canary-yellow suit, tempered only by the black dress shirt, gloves, and shoes. I caught a flicker of unease in his furtive glance, dropping his eyes quickly when I met his gaze.
My trigger finger itched.
Moe Flacco gestured to the seat in front of him. "Have a seat, Mick."
I made myself comfortable, but not enough to miss No-Nose Nate taking a casual walk until strategically standing behind me.
Moe pointed to a side table, where a silver-trimmed cigar case sat temptingly. "Smoke?"
"Don't mind if I do." Selecting a Cuban, I lit it with the equally-elaborate lighter. I immediately regretted taking a drag when the poison hit my lungs. I managed not to break into a coughing fit, but just barely. The effort of holding back raised my body temperature and made my eyes water. A bead of sweat slid down my temple.
Moe took it all in with a heavy-lidded stare. "I been hearing about you on the wire, Mick. Whispers that you're not doing so good. And now — look at you. You look like someone used your face to bash down a wall."
"Never been better," I managed to gasp. "Got any doubts, ask Madame Goryacheva."
He took a long drag on his Cuban as if to spite me. "I heard about the Russians. You never wanted a meet, did you? You just wanted to stir the pot, see who got froggy. I take it they had something to do tonight's explosion?"
"They only supplied the explosives. I wanted the man who triggered them."