The Troubleshooter

  The Troubleshooter: The Wise Man Says

  Bard Constantine

  Copyright 2012 Bard Constantine

  Smashwords Edition

  After the Cataclysm nearly wiped out humanity, the remnants of mankind survived in Havens: city-sized constructs built to reboot society and usher in a new age of mankind.

  However the new age was not the type that the architects had envisioned. The same greed and lust for power that existed before the Cataclysm had resurfaced, and the Havens quickly became quagmires of political and economic conflict that threatened to destroy the future envisioned by the Haven’s founders.

  This is the world of Mick Trubble, a man without a past. A man with nothing to lose. But when your luck is down and no one else can help you, he can. He takes the cases that no one else will touch. The type of trouble that no one else can handle.

  Mick Trubble is…

  The Troubleshooter.

  The Troubleshooter and all related characters and properties are © Copyright 2013 Bard Constantine. Reprinted with permission.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Logo design by Stefan Prohaczka featuring Mark Krajnak of JerseyStyle Photography

  The Wise Man Says

  It’s not the way you start that counts -its how you finish, so the wise man says. Perfect advice if you were a man without a past, like me.

  It only made sense to take note of the counsel of mugs that have seen and done things. You know, been around the block long enough to know a thing or two. So I listened to what the wise man said.

  Theodore Wiseman, that is.

  Ol’ Wiseman was in the crowd that had gathered around when I was fished outta the river the night I lost most of my memory. He let me crash in his basement while I ‘got myself together,’ as he put it. Wiseman was a pretty decent mug. He knew that I wouldn’t have lasted long on the streets of New Haven without a helping hand. And in turn I was more than happy to lend him a hand with whatever it was he needed.

  Turned out he needed a partner.

  Although he didn’t want to admit it, Wiseman was an old codger who had lost the spring in his step. He was a tough old fossil, though. Most mugs would’ve sat back and retired, but Wiseman scoffed at that.

  “Listen, Mick. A man retires when he’s ready to die. I may have lost a step or two, but what I lost I gained back in wit and cunning. Figure it evens out. I’d like to take you on the beat. It’s been real dead lately, but we’re about to change that. If you wanna wake something dead, then you gotta make a lot of noise. So we’re gonna pound the streets and scare up some work. See if you can get a handle on my kind of gig.”

  We played poker like we did most nights when the rain poured down and still didn’t cool anything off. We didn’t sleep much. I had trouble with nightmares, and Wiseman just didn’t seem to need it. Said that he’d sleep when he died.

  I laid my cards down. Pair of aces. “Sure thing, Mr. Wiseman. What is it that you do?”

  “I’m a Troubleshooter.” He slapped a full house on the table.

  I looked at him and shrugged. “What does that mean?”

  He tapped the cards with a pleased grin. “Means that I win again.”

  “No, I mean what does a Troubleshooter do?”

  His yellowed teeth flashed in a lopsided smile. “Means that I shoot trouble, son. It’s an occupation that never goes out of style in a town like this. When business is trouble, then business is good. You’ll see. Might be right up your alley. You get some sleep. We’ll pull stakes in the morning and beat the streets.”

  I poured a shot of Jack. “You go ahead, Wiseman. I don’t much feel like sleeping.”

  He eyed the bottle and frowned. “Lean on something too long and it becomes a crutch, my boy. Better ease off the hard juice a bit.”

  I knocked the shot back and enjoyed the burn. “Only way I can snooze.”

  He nodded. “Nightmares still got you?”

  “Yeah. Every time I fall asleep, I dream of drowning.”

  He patted my shoulder. “It’ll pass, Mick.”

  I stared into the contents of the bottle. “What if it doesn’t? What if I never get my memory back?”

  Wiseman flipped a playing card in the air and caught it. “It’s not how you start, but how you finish that counts. You got a new beginning the moment you washed up outta that river. A lot of folk would kill for a chance to hit the reset button. So the question is: are you gonna fret about what you don’t know, or get to doing what you do know?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, but what do I know, Wiseman?”

  He chuckled. “Keep an eye on me and you’ll know a lot, son. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  ~*~

  It turned out that I took to troubleshooting like a dog to chasing cats. I may have had holes in my memory, but I knew a lot about guns and self-defense. Just the set of skills that kept a Troubleshooter in business.

  I learned a lot about Wiseman in the next couple of weeks. It turned out that being a Troubleshooter meant spending a lot of time hiking cabs from one part of town to the next, and visiting nightclubs and bars. Just the kind of gig for a mug like me.

  At the same time, Wiseman tipped his mitts on the business of troubleshooting. How to check the zones before you waltzed in and out of a building. What to look for when a mug tried to grift you. Twelve different ways to clock a mug with one punch. How favors were more valuable than cabbage a lot of times. And above all, when to pull your iron out.

  “You gotta know when to throw lead and when to keep cool. Gunplay is like playing cards. You gotta know when to hold and when to fold. A lot of mugs are fertilizing New Haven right now because they thought a piece of iron made them invincible. Lemme get that straight right off the back –a heater is no substitute for quick thinking. You get into a jam with your lead. You get out of it with your mind.” He tapped his temple.

  Wiseman knew a lot of folks, and ended up chinning it up about old times when he was really supposed to be spotting up for a case. While we beat the streets, Wiseman gabbed nonstop to me as well.

  He waxed on about his past, how he was born and raised in New Haven. He’d seen its glory days, and its downfall once the mob syndicates muscled in and infected the city with corruption.

  “It was only a matter of time. Mankind ain’t got it in ourselves to do much else except cut each other’s backs out. That’s what got us all caged up in these Havens. We survived the Cataclysm but we still haven’t learned a thing. Look at this city. It breeds strangers like the night sky breeds stars. Everyone isolated and on edge. Makes you wonder how we managed to last this long.”

  We were in a dive called Moontide in the Flats. Not as bad a neighborhood as the West Docks, but worn and battered just the same. I didn’t mind. I felt comfortable with the folks there. Rough around the edges, but they were some pretty decent chums to burn time with on a hazy night. Always a game of eight ball to be played if you wanted to lose a few dibs.

  There were some decent lookers that hung out at Moontide, too. Tough dames, but you could always find one that didn’t mind a little company, especially if a mug covered her tab. Good thing the booze was cheap. I had a sweet dish named Sal on my arm that night. Blond hair, blue eyes, and just the right sway in her hips to cloud a man’s mind like moonshine. I was just about to let her sweet talk me to her pad when Wiseman interrupted.

  “Heads up, here comes pay dirt.” He walked past and sat at the bar. I sighed and excused myself from Sal. She didn’t take that too well, and huffed off to carouse with a big mug on the other side of the joint.

  I shrugged. Like they say: easy come, easy g
o.

  As I worked my way to the bar, a rotund dame in a sequined dress sidled over and sat beside Wiseman.

  “Buy a girl a drink?”

  Her voice was a thing to hear. Every honey-dipped word exhaled like opium, the perfect blend of whispery shivers down your spine. She was a big girl: big brown eyes, and big everywhere else. But she stepped with the dancing grace of a dame half her size, and her voice belonged on a siren out at sea. Many a mug would jump into the fathomless depths at the sound of her tone, and I was no exception.

  Wiseman just gave an easy smile. I knew right then that they were sweet on each other, despite him being old enough to be her father. I was almost jealous.

  “It’d be my pleasure, darling. The usual?”

  “As always.”

  He motioned to the barkeep before introducing us. “Elvira, this is Mick Trubble. Mick, you’re in the presence of Elvira Stole. Sweetest dame in New Haven, and the best handler a Troubleshooter can ask for.”

  The barkeep set a Cuba Libre up for Elvira and another Rusty Nail for Wiseman. I tapped the counter.

  “Gimme a Bulleit Neat.”

  Then I turned and tipped my Bogart to the lady. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Stole.”

  She waggled her fingers. “Just call me Elvira, sugar. Ms. Stole makes me sound sophisticated. Theo’s told me about you. You two partnering up now?”

  I shook my head. “I’m more like a stray mutt he took in.”

  Wiseman chuckled. “You’ll have to excuse Mick’s rather morose view of himself. I need the backup, and he has that handy look about himself. I’m pretty sure he’ll take to troubleshooting like a fish to water.”

  I winced as flashbacks of the river flickered through my mind. “Don’t mention water.”

  Elvira smiled. “Well, I’m glad that Theo has someone watching out for him. He needs it. Still thinks he’s young and full of grits.”

  Wiseman gave her a wry look. “Elvira here has contacts with a lotta high hats around town. They give her the wire on situations that require a less… judicious touch.”

  Elvira nodded. “Like the transport problem that one of my clients has right now. Seems that their goods have been nabbed on the regular, and the thieves have proved pretty elusive. Making fools out of the rent-a-cops.”

  The barkeep set a loaded glass in front of me with a nod. I tipped back the bourbon. “Why’s that?”

  “Because the theft takes place in midair. The transport is a zeppelin.”

  Wiseman lit a smoke. “What’s being transported?”

  “Sensitive goods.”

  “How sensitive?”

  She sipped her drink. “No human trafficking or narcotics. Nothing that you’ll lose sleep over, Theo.”

  I tapped the counter and nodded at the barkeep for another reload. “Airbus robbery. Takes a mean set of stones to pull something like that off.”

  Wiseman shrugged. “Nothing we can’t handle. You give me the time and place of the next shipment, Elvira. We’ll be on board and see if we can’t sort this little theft situation out.”

  ~*~

  Zeppelins claimed the highest airlanes in the city, so the view was pretty spectacular. Air traffic whipped by beneath us as the floaters whizzed to their destinations, and beneath that was the city itself: towering monoliths so massive that the entire upper section of the city hung in the air, interconnected islands of commerce that grew like barnacles from their colossal host buildings. It was night, and the city lights winked and glittered from Downtown to Bayside, counterfeit stars that pumped adrenaline into a city that never relaxed, much less slept.

  “Nice view.” I leaned against the outside railing, puffing smoke into the breeze. The airship was a ghost that floated along its computer-navigated course by way of its massive helium cells. Passengers relaxed inside the cabin at the cocktail lounge or in their suites, but only a few braved the thin air and cold drizzle outside. I pulled my collar tighter and ignored the light rain.

  Wiseman nodded as he gazed over the railing. “Nice to take it in from a bird’s eye view. Makes you remember this city can be a thing of beauty.”

  I flicked my gasper butt into the open air. “You gonna tell me what the plan is, or kill me with the suspense?”

  He grinned. “Maybe I’m testing out your investigative skills.”

  “I thought you said your occupation was shooting trouble. So far there really hasn’t been any.”

  “Don’t take everything I say so literally. And as for shooting…” he pulled his flogger back so that I could clap eyes on the heat he packed in a holster under his arm. “Let’s just say that I’m always prepared.”

  “Well that makes one of us.”

  “Yeah, that reminds me.” Wiseman reached into his flogger pocket and pulled out a mean snub-nosed revolver. It was an older model, but looked well cared for. Mech enhanced only to preserve the shot quality and ammo load.

  He handed it to me. “That’s a mean ol’ broad, but she’ll do the trick. I’ve carried her for as long as I’ve been troubleshooting. So do me a favor and don’t lose her, pipe that?”

  I hefted the heater and smiled. The weight was balanced, and the grip was sure. She felt as though she’d been modeled for my hand.

  “A Mean Ol’ Broad, is she? I’ll do my best, Wiseman.” I slipped her in my flogger pocket and nodded to the lounge inside. “Now from what I can tell, this isn’t a freight airship. It’s a luxury cruiser. The folks inside are high pillow types in glad rags, overpaying for romantic views of the city and the chance to soar above it all. So the robbery can’t be for anything large. I figure someone on board has to be transporting something extra valuable, something restricted that our thieves are trying to get their mitts on.”

  Wiseman gave me an appraising look. “Not bad. Now, what could the payload possibly be?”

  I frowned in thought. “Dibs are out –holoband hacks are too easy to trace. Energy cells are too common. Wouldn’t need to move ‘em like this when there’s hardheads on the streets that do it every day on the cheap.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe my mind isn’t that inventive, Wiseman. Robbery of moveable goods isn’t exactly a common crime in New Haven. Too easy to get nabbed by the button boys to bother with it.”

  “For moveable goods, you got a point. Most robbery done nowadays is by folks sitting in their boxers eating yesterday’s pizza while nabbing identities and personal info. But there’s something that you might not be taking into consideration,” Wiseman said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Access.”

  I frowned. “Access? To what?”

  Wiseman scanned the sky. “There’s so much more that a mug can access when he has the funds to make things happen. A lotta high hats on this cruiser have just those types of funds. They can open doors that normal mugs like us can’t even get a peek at. Doors that lead to places.”

  I shook my head. “Why don’t you try to be more vague, Wiseman? I almost understand what you’re gabbing about.”

  He nodded upward. “We’ve got company.”

  The shadow fell over us as he spoke. It was a manta, gliding just above the airship. The thin craft was aerodynamically designed to evade radar detection and could carry two or three passengers. A pair of masked mugs rappelled down zip lines at that moment, aimed right for the deck of the gondola. I did the obvious and went for my heater, but Wiseman placed a hand on my arm.

  “Not just yet.”

  I stared at him. “Are you gonzo? What do you wanna do, wait until they got the drop on us?”

  “Just relax and let me handle this.”

  The goons made it to the deck and detached the lines from their heavy flight suits. Both of them were heeled with odd-looking guns. The gas masks that covered their entire faces made them look downright sinister as they stared at us.

  Wiseman waved them over. “Looks like you boys are here to lift something.”

  They looked at Wiseman, then at me. “You didn’t say nothing about anyone else,
” one of the goons said.

  I stared at Wiseman. “Wait… what the hell is going on, Wiseman? You working with these mugs?”

  Wiseman had accepted a mask from the goon and slipped it over his head. “Well, you can’t say that working with me isn’t full of surprises.”

  “So… you’re the one behind the robberies?”

  His laugh was muffled from behind the mask. “See. I knew that your deduction skills were top rate.”

  I figured out what the odd-looking guns were for. It became pretty obvious when I choked on the thick gas fumes that billowed out and sent me straight to dreamland.

  ~*~

  I woke up from nightmares of drowning. Light flooded my vision, blinding me for a minute. My head pounded with that severe hangover type of throb, and I generally felt like I’d been run over by a dump truck. I sat up with a groan. Something yanked on my wrist, preventing me from sitting up straight.

  I was shackled to a bed. The room was gloomy, lit up only by the consoles hooked to the bed, and some flickering overhead light that was probably faulty on purpose. I knew exactly where I was.

  The slammer.

  The door slid open, admitting a doctor and a sour-looking mug in a rumpled flogger who could only have been a dick. He flashed his brass in case I needed help figuring that out.

  “Ah, our guest finally has awakened,” the quack said. The light reflected off his round spectacles as he examined the monitors. “And none too worse for the wear, it seems.”

  “So he can answer questions?” The dick had strode over and hovered by my head in a very irritating manner.

  “He’s all yours, detective.”

  The dick frowned down at me. “Where are the rest of your partners?”

  I rubbed my head groggily. “You gonna offer me a gasper or something? A drink, maybe?”

  The dick nodded to the quack. “Get the man a drink, willya?”

  The dick pulled a gasper pack from his pocket and took his time extracting a smoke and lighting it in front of me. “My name is Detective Flask. You might wanna consider cutting to the chase and dropping dimes real quick like. Save yourself the trouble of harder time later.”