The Troubleshooter Page 2

  The quack returned with a plastic cup that I gratefully accepted. I downed the contents and immediately choked.

  “What… what the hell is this stuff?”

  The doc’s eyebrows lifted. “It’s… water.”

  I set the cup down and looked at Flask. “Isn’t this kind of torture illegal?”

  Flask didn’t exactly get all teary-eyed. “Just start ‘fessing up and it’ll go better for you.”

  “You gonna uncuff me so that I can stretch out a bit?”

  “Nope.”

  I sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

  Flask opened his holoband screen and scanned some crime reports. “Let’s talk about the robbery. Your crew put a lot of important people to sleep and made off with some valuable commodities. You might start by telling me where we can find your partners and what they’re planning to do with what they stole.”

  “And what exactly did they steal?”

  Flask glared at me. “I’ll ask the questions. Like who the hell are you? ‘Mick Trubble’ sounds like an alias to me. Your holoband only has a name –no address, no files, no nothing. Nothing on you in the databanks at the precinct either.”

  He shut the screens off. “I figure your holoband was flashed by some underground streetcoats. Not too hard to do these days. Bad thing is that a flash job is a federal offense. So is carrying an unlicensed firearm, even one as old as that relic we found on you.”

  He gave me one of those grins that aren’t worth much of anything except for giving a mug the creeps. “Know what, though? An older firearm like yours makes for easy tracing. Seems it fits the bill for a number of unsolved murders around town. Put that with being caught red-handed on a robbery and you’re looking at being locked away for good. Unless you get real good at singing, that is.”

  I rubbed my head. “Thing is, I was real good at sleeping, from what I can tell. Breathed in a chest full of foul air, courtesy of the gang that did the actual robbing. I’m a Troubleshooter. I was there to stop the damn thing from happening in the first place.”

  Flask snorted. “Right. A Troubleshooter. One that no one’s heard of, who just so happened to be the only stiff on the cruiser that wasn’t logged on the ship’s records. On a ship, by the way, that was robbed at that exact time. A lot of coincidences, and I don’t believe in coincidence. Maybe you want to try again.”

  I gave him a bleary-eyed stare. “Nothing else to say. I was double-crossed. My partner flimflammed me into getting on board, then set me up as the patsy to take the fall. You think that one guy just so happened to be knocked out cold by accident while the others got away? If so then maybe you might wanna sharpen your skills a bit, shamus.”

  Flask frowned and exhaled a cloud of gasper smoke in my face. “Know what I think? I think that you got set up, all right. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t in on the job.”

  He gestured with his gasper, tormenting my nicotine addiction with the vapor trails. “You see, every crew has a screw-up. One of those guys who aren’t so quick on the draw, catch my drift? Always mucking up the job and making it harder for the rest of the crew. Know what happens to that particular brand of screw-up?”

  He looked around at the dim cell. “This happens. So now that you’ve been sold out, you really don’t owe any loyalty to those lugs, do you? Time to start thinking about your future. You drop names and locations, and I’ll drop some of the charges. Make it so you’ll be able to see daylight again –after a bid or two, of course. Still, it’s better than what you’re facing right now. A lot better.”

  He put his hands behind his head and leaned back with an expectant look on his mug.

  I shrugged. “Love to help you out, Flask. I really would. But it just so happens that I don’t know nothing. I was just a mug in the wrong place at the wrong time. Happens to the best sometimes.”

  Flask narrowed his eyes and gave me his best intimidating stare. I guess it worked pretty well on the lowlife skels that he was used to dealing with.

  Not so much on me.

  Finally he angrily straightened up. “Looks like Mr. Trubble is choosing to be uncooperative. Maybe he needs a little time alone.”

  He unlocked the handcuff and shoved me to the wall as the quack wheeled my bed out of the cell. Flask kept his hand on his iron as he joined the doc at the door. “Or maybe a lot of time.”

  The door closed behind them. The lights cut off soon after.

  I was alone in the dark.

  ~*~

  It’s real hard to judge the time when you’re marinating in the meat locker. Especially when they got you in the bing ward, segregated from the rest of the population. But judging by the meals served, I couldn’t have been there for more than two days before a pair of bulky, uniformed androids lumbered in.

  “Come with us.”

  I made a big show of yawning and stretching until my joints crackled. Didn’t want the lugs to think that they’d gotten to me. The androids didn’t care too much for my show of nonchalance. They grabbed me by my arms and hustled me out of the cell, ignoring my protests.

  “Hey –you lugs wanna go easy? What’s the rush? I get a lawyer or something? What the hell gives?”

  “You act like you like it here,” Flask said. He glowered a few steps away with his arms crossed. “We can always set up more permanent accommodations if you can’t find it in your heart to leave.”

  I blinked stupidly as the comprehension slowly dawned. “You’re letting me skip out?”

  He shrugged. “The manacle on the bed was more than a restraint. It was a lie detector. While attached to your wrist it took data on your responses. Turns out you were telling the truth, so you’re free to go.”

  “You had those results two days ago. Why let me cool my heels in the meat locker?”

  “That was in case you were holding back on us. And for wasting my time.”

  I stared. “Your time? You were the one who dragged me in here, remember?”

  “You were the one knocked cold on the floor while thieves stole some pretty important data. Next time watch the company you keep.” Flask nodded to the guards. “Get this carcass out of my face.”

  They didn’t bother to respond. They just dragged me down several scuffed-up hallways before pushing into a brightly lit office and depositing me in front of a glass-plated booth. A fat mug in uniform looked up from his girly magazine and grunted.

  “Checking out? Don’t get many of those. What name?”

  I straightened my rags and glared at the impassive guards. They didn’t appear impressed.

  “Mick Trubble.”

  The portly clerk chuckled. “With a name like that, I’m sure you’ll be back. Here you go. One dusty trench coat.” He passed it through the slit in the window.

  “Flogger, you mean,” I said as I put it on. It was rumpled and a bit worse for the wear. Just the way I left it.

  The clerk gave me an irritated glance as he pushed the next item through. “One beat up fedora.”

  “Bogart, Mack. Get it right. It’s called a Bogart.” I placed it on my head and tilted it just the way I liked it.

  He glared. “You trying to leave or stay, wise guy?”

  “Sorry. That all?”

  He grunted. “One last thing. Your antique revolver. Minus the rounds, of course. You got a name for that, too?”

  I grinned. “You bet your third or fourth helping of pork pie I do, Mack.” I accepted the Broad and span the cylinder. “The Mean Ol’ Broad is what I call her.”

  “Yeah, well keep her away from other mugs and we’ll all be happy. See you again soon, kid.”

  “Not in this lifetime, Ace.” I turned and walked out into the thick foggy air of New Haven freedom, hoping that Flask wasn’t yanking my chain just for the fun of it. Since I didn’t get pummeled by android thugs or yanked back inside the slammer, I guessed that somehow I was let off the hook.

  Only I knew I wasn’t.

  One thing about justice in New Haven is that one mug was as good as the next whe
n it came to pinning the blame. The brass had me nailed to the wall, then let me outta the cage with no further questions. And even let me keep my heater. Sure, packing heat was legal in New Haven, but supposedly they suspected this particular bean shooter had been used in multiple crime scenes.

  The whole thing stank to high heaven. As I rode in the cabbie toward the city, I knew that somehow they were tailing me. Hoping that I’d lead them to bigger fish they wanted to fry.

  I started with the obvious first, and hit pay dirt right away. A homing tag was attached to the butt of the Mean Ol’ Broad. Metallic-colored and thin as skin, it was pretty hard to spot at a casual glance. I made sure to leave it in the cab when I got out. After that I flagged down another cabbie to get to my destination.

  It took a few hours of beating the streets to get the info that I needed. After that it was a quick stop at an older complex in the Flats. When I crept down the hall, I noticed that the door I was headed for was ajar. I stepped close and listened.

  “It was one helluva job, Wiseman.”

  I recognized the voice. The masked goon that gassed me. His voice was clearer since he wasn’t wearing the mask. It didn’t improve much, though. Sounded like he ate barbwire for breakfast and washed it down with a tall glass of crushed gravel.

  “One for which you were handsomely paid, Turk.” Wiseman said. His voice was tense. “As agreed, you keep the dib transfers. They’ve been cleared and made untraceable thanks to my connection with the labcoat at Commerce.”

  “So you say, Wiseman. But you’re skipping town. So if we happen to get nabbed then you’re untouchable. You might short change us the way that you did your boy on the cruiser.”

  I grinned. Karma was a helluva thing, and there was no honor –or trust- among thieves, it appeared.

  “What are you gaming at, Turk? A deal is a deal. You knew what was gonna happen before it all went down. Why try to pull a grift on me now?”

  “Because I got to thinking, Wiseman.”

  “Really? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

  Turk chuckled. “Wise guy. I figured that me and Bert here did most of the work on this gig. Seems to stand that we should get in on those Transit passes. They’re way more valuable than the berries.”

  I moved in closer and peeked in at the scene. Turk and Bert had their backs to me, blocking my view of Wiseman. It was Elvira’s pad, so either she was out somewhere, or I just couldn’t see her either. Turk and Bert were pretty big lugs. Good thing I had an equalizer with me.

  I pulled out the Mean Ol’ Broad and checked her rounds. Good thing slugs were cheap, and readily available. I’d bought a box just around the corner at the liquor mart.

  Wiseman’s voice sounded confident. Too confident. “No can do, gentlemen. The deal stands. Now rotate your heels before things get ugly.”

  “It’s already ugly, Wiseman.” Turk gave a slight nod to Bert, who pulled a sawed-off scattergun out of his flogger and pointed it at someone just beyond my range of vision. Had to be Elvira.

  Turk confirmed it with his next words. “You seem pretty stuck on this fat dame of yours, Wiseman. I figure you either hand over the Transit codes or she’s gonna lose weight real fast.”

  I pushed the door inward and stepped inside. “You forgot about the third option.”

  Bert span around a lot faster than his bulk suggested he could, but the Broad already had him lined in her sights. One shot put him down before he could fire a round. Turk cursed as he reached for his iron. Another shot rang out, dropping him cold.

  Elvira had a smoking gun in her hand, and a hardened glare on her pretty round face.

  “Call me fat, will you?” She ran her free hand across her rounded parts. “Anyone will tell you that this is all the more to love, sugar.”

  I tipped my Bogart. “I’m sure it is, Elvira. What I’m not sure of is why I don’t just finish the job they started. You set me up, and I wanna know why.”

  “I knew you’d get over that little road bump, kid.” Wiseman had his fingers on his wrist like he was checking his pulse or something. “You hung around me for a whole month. Figured you’d pick up on how to get outta a jam or three.”

  He eyed the Broad in my hand. “You gonna put her away, or you gonna plug me? Make it quick either way. I got a train to catch.”

  I sighed and holstered the Broad. “You serious about skipping town, Wiseman? That’s what this whole gig was about?”

  “Serious as a sin sandwich, my boy. Comes a time when a man sees where he’s been and thinks about where he’s going. I can’t do this anymore. This town… it’s gone to the dogs. I won’t spend what’s left of my life watching the rain wash grime down the gutters. I’m pulling stakes and moving on. There are better Havens out there. Couldn’t afford to leave on my tiny nest egg, so I had to set up this gig to get a couple of seats on the next tram out of here.”

  He checked his holoband. “And we’re almost late.”

  “Waitaminute.” I raised my hands. “You could’ve ran that grift any time after you took me in. Why go through all the trouble of showing me the ropes and all?”

  A smile creased his face. “Someone’s got to take care of things when I’m gone. Every town needs a good Troubleshooter, son. A mug that takes out the trash without worrying about getting his hands dirty. You’ve got skills, my boy. Don’t know how you got ‘em, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll do just fine.”

  Elvira placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled. “We’re sorry for crossing you over, Mick. We knew they didn’t have anything on you, and would’ve let you out after the minimum bid.”

  Wiseman had pulled a couple of suitcases from the closet. “Which should’ve been a couple of months. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad for it. Makes me feel a lot less guilty. But how’d you manage to pull that one off?”

  “I didn’t. They let me go.”

  “That’s good, Mick. That’s…” Wiseman paused. His bushy eyebrows lifted. “You say that they just let you go?”

  I lit a gasper. “Yeah. So what?”

  “Mick, you dammed fool!” Wiseman ran to the bed and flipped the mattress over. A Thompson was stashed underneath. As he slammed the rounded magazine in place, Elvira ran to the door and peeked around the corner.

  I laughed. “If you’re worried about a tracer, I already found it. The brass are tailing an empty cab right now.”

  “That was just a decoy, Mick.” Wiseman finished loading the Thompson as he peered out the window. “The real tracker is probably inside of you.”

  “Say what?”

  Bright light flooded the room, and the thrum of rotor blades announced the arrival of an auto-piloted Hunter/Killer outside. Wiseman cursed and leaped back as a familiar voice blared over a megaphone.

  Flask.

  “Attention criminals: you’re surrounded with nowhere to run. You have thirty seconds to surrender.” Flask paused. “Better make it twenty.”

  “Go!” Wiseman ran past me to the door.

  I tried to grab him. “Dammit, Wiseman -you’ll never make it!”

  It was too late. He grabbed Elvira by the wrist and they ran down the hallway. I hesitated for a second, then cursed myself for a fool and followed.

  Black-suited figures in heavy body armor stormed in from down the hall. Heavy masks covered their faces, and they moved too quickly for armored men. That was because they weren’t men. They were android street sweepers. They did the only thing that they were programmed to do.

  They pulled triggers.

  Survival instinct is an uncanny thing. I didn’t have time to think. I just moved at the exact second they opened fire. My shoulder hit the nearest door, splintering it off of its hinges as my body weight carried me inside the empty room. Bullets whizzed by.

  Someone screamed. It wasn’t Elvira.

  The silence that followed was louder than the shriek. The only sound was Flask’s voice, ordering the street sweepers to stand down. I shakily stood and staggered to the door.

  Elvira w
as dead. She didn’t have time to make a sound because she was riddled with bullet holes. Wiseman held her tightly, ignoring the slugs in his leg and shoulder that spread a widening stain of crimson across his rags. He rocked her with his head thrown back, his voice spent but his mouth still trying to find just one more scream. One more shriek to give voice to the anguish that broke his heart.

  Literally.

  He clutched his chest and collapsed, still holding Elvira with his other arm. I ignored all common sense and ran to them. The street sweepers encircled us, silent inhuman witnesses to the tragedy.

  “Mick.” Wiseman’s bloodshot eyes looked up pleadingly.

  “Don’t sweat it, Wiseman.” I tried to pull him away from Elvira’s body. “Stay down. Lemme get something to stop the bleeding…”

  “Damn… the bleeding!” He pulled away with a wince. “Been… shot before. It’s… my heart. Got a… bum ticker. That’s the reason why I had to… get outta this place.”

  His quivery hand found mine and gripped hard. “Too much… stress. This place is hell, Mick. I… had to leave. It’s the only reason why… I’d ever have crossed you over, Mick. Sorry, son.” Tears streamed down his craggy cheeks as he looked at Elvira. “I’m so…” He sagged over Elvira’s body as he exhaled his last.

  I offered no resistance when the street sweepers roughly seized me and dragged me away from my friend.

  ~*~

  Holding cells are like purgatory. An in-between place of waiting. You’re not sure whether you’re gonna to be locked away to damnation or be redeemed to freedom, so you wait. You try not to get your hopes up, but at the same time you don’t want to sink into depression. So you wait. You try to nod off, but every little sound wakes you up, thinking that your time of judgment has arrived. It never does. So all you can do is wait…

  “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  I looked over at Flask, who stood on the other side of the laser bars. He had this fake solemn look on his mug. A real mask of sincerity. He was good, ol’ Flask.