"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll signal if I need ya."
"I'll keep an eye out." He gave the agent a warning look before stalking off.
The agent didn't seem impressed. He turned in my direction with the bland expression of an insurance salesman. "My name is Special Agent Kessler. I'm here to—"
I cut in with a dismissive hand wave. "Look, Mack — I'm a little busy right now. Trying to celebrate, in case you haven't noticed."
"I have noticed. That and other things."
"I'm sure you have. That's what you spooks do, right? Spy, infiltrate, and assassinate. I'm surprised you're even willing to show your face. Where's your backup? You guys are like cockroaches — if you see one, there's gotta be a whole nest hiding around."
A smile tugged the corner of Kessler's mouth. "That's quite the opinion, Trudo. Especially since you're one of us."
"Was one of you, Kessler — as in formerly. Didn't you guys get the memo? I abandoned my mission around the same time I abandoned my past. You can consider Agent Mike Trudo dead and buried. Sorry you made a trip for biscuits, but I got nothing you want. If the HSSC keeps sending agents to kill me, then I guess I'll keep feeding them to the fishes in the West River. I'd have thought ol' Lynch would've gotten the message by now."
Kessler blinked multiple times as though rapidly assessing the information. "I'm not here to kill you, Agent Trudo."
"It's Mick. Or Mr. Trubble if you wanna get all formal. And I figured out you weren't an assassin when I first clapped eyes on you. So, what is it that you want?"
"I'm here to assist you in completing your mission."
My eyes widened so much they practically exploded from the sockets. "Did you even hear what I just said?"
"Of course I did. You're no longer an agent; you're no longer on assignment. I understand what you're saying, but I disagree with your assessment."
I seriously thought about punching Kessler in the face right then and there. The only thing that stopped me was what I knew about the HSSC. If they sent Kessler in solo, it was because he was a capable agent. Which meant that even though he appeared the bookish type that would have a rough time hauling the garbage out to the dumpster, he was probably highly skilled in both armed and hand-to-hand combat. I'd probably break a sweat taking him out, and I didn't wanna ruin my glad rags.
I settled for giving him a murderous glare. "Whaddya mean, you disagree? You've been in New Haven for all of a few hours, and you suddenly know everything about me — is that it?"
"I've been in New Haven for a few weeks, Mick. Long enough to gauge the parameters of your assignment. It was never an easy one. In fact, one might argue it was a suicide mission given to an unstable agent as a last resort to eliminating him. Dr. Faraday is a dangerous, highly elusive, cunning target. As the mastermind behind this Haven, infiltration has proved to be impossible until you arrived. You managed to establish yourself as a known and trusted resident, corner the criminal elements, and maintain a relationship with law enforcement, essentially robbing Faraday of his resources and giving him limited space to operate and conceal himself. I feel that with enough pressure, we can flush him out. That's what I'm offering to do."
I lit a gasper and chuckled around the smoke. "Hate to break it you, but Faraday is dead. Saw it myself. Wasn't pretty, but being physically yanked through laser bars usually isn't. I thought Newman would have passed that info forward before he died, but it looks like the HSSC isn't the efficient machine it was when I worked for it. Regardless, it's like I said — you came all this way for nothing, pal."
Kessler didn't even blink. "Faraday isn't dead, Mick. The fact that this Haven still operates on the level it does is proof of that. If you saw him 'die,' it was a clever illusion to keep you from finding him."
I paused, recalling the moment I ran into the prison wing — the sound of his screams, the smoldering skull in the New Man's hand. Did I actually see him die?
Kessler gave me a knowing nod. "Your mission isn't complete, Mick. I can help you, but we're running out of time."
"Lemme guess — the Destroyer is coming."
"What?"
"Kilgore. He's on the way to destroy the Haven and recover the god code."
"How do you know that?"
"I got my ways. But here's the deal, spook. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because I don't give a damn about any mission. I don't give a damn about Kilgore or his agenda. And I don't give a damn about you, Agent Kessler. That clear enough for you?"
"The Yesteryear."
I choked on cigarette smoke. "What?"
"That's the name of the hotel I’m staying at. Not too far from here. You can find me there when you need answers to your questions."
"That's not gonna happen."
He gave me a knowing smile before turning and heading for the exit. Ben the Bear appeared a few seconds later, glaring in that direction.
"You want me to put some of the boys on his tail?"
"No need, Benny. I know exactly where he'll be. Come on, let's get our mitts on some hard juice. It's a celebration, remember?
I tried to get back into the spirit of things, but the festivity felt hollow and washed-out in the wake of what I'd been told: Poddar missing, Natalie investigating, Kilgore coming, the HSSC still wanting to get their hooks in me. I went through the motions, a frozen smile on my face, laughing at jokes, taking in congratulations. But I was grateful when my guests finally melted away, bringing the celebration to a close. I sat on the stage, smoking a gasper as Fats the Jazz Man packed up his gear.
"Tell me something, Fats."
"Shoot."
"You surprised that I was able to walk away?"
He raised an eyebrow. "From what?"
"You know — from the life. From troubleshooting."
He broke out in a raspy laugh, shoulders shaking in mirth. "Hell, Mick — you ain't walked away from nothing."
"Whaddya mean? I cut ties with Kilby, retired from the game. Took up running this place with you, Fats. How's that not walking away?"
The humor faded from his face as he looked at me with an almost wary gaze. "You want me to shoot straight with you or tickle your ears?"
"You know I like it neat, Fats."
"Okay, here's my honest opinion: I think you're fooling yourself, Mick."
I exhaled a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Yeah? How's that?"
"You claim you walked away from the game when in reality, you got this city under your thumb. Folks don't come through here like clockwork for the drinks or even the jazz, even though I'm damn good. They come through to pay their respects. The moves you made put you on the top of the food chain, my man. This whole retirement thing? Everyone's treating it as wink-wink. Just playing along with what you say. You're the unofficial Boss of New Haven, and any yutz with half a brain cell knows it. Everyone but you, I guess."
"The Boss of New Haven?" I barked a laugh that quickly turned into a choking fit. I coughed so long that Fats stood up in alarm, but I waved him off. When the fit finally subsided, I dabbed my mouth with a napkin, barely glancing at the red stains on the fabric.
Noting Fat's concerned expression, I shook my head. "Not feeling sorry for me, are you?"
"You? No way, brother. Figure it'll take more than a mean cough to take you out. 'Sides, this place will fall apart without you around."
A wry grin slid across my face. "That's how it is?"
"That's how it is, Mick. Listen — I appreciate everything you've done for this place. A lot of people do. It takes a bad man to put bad men in their place, and you got everyone tiptoeing around you right now, from the bangers on the streets to Moe Flacco himself. No one wants to cross you, and I don’t blame them. Take it as a compliment, Mick. This city is quiet because of you."