The Troubleshooter: Hard Luck Grift Read online

  "Really? How? By borrowing some more? Gambling some more? How has that worked out so far?"

  "Look, if you're offering suggestions or free dough, I'm all ears."

  "Partner with me."

  I grinned. "Don't usually partner on the first date."

  Her lips verged on the possibility of a genuine smile. "Cute. I'm serious, though. You need someone with discipline to help you. And I need someone I can trust."

  "What makes you think you can trust me?"

  "I can read people. Part of what makes me good at gambling."

  "If you're so good, what can a known loser like me do for you?"

  "Being a known loser has some benefits. No one will suspect you, for one."

  "I'm hearing alarm bells here, sweetheart. See, when you include words like suspect in your statement, I start hearing the word illegal. Which doesn't exactly strike fear in my ticker, but I don't need that kind of heat on my back. I'm not on real friendly terms with the brass right now. Last thing I need is getting clapped in bracelets and tossed in some meat locker."

  "No need to worry, Mr. Trubble. My game might be frowned upon, but it's hardly illegal."

  "Your game. You count cards, then. I take it without any bio or cyber enhancements, or you'd already have been detected by the scanners at the door."

  "That's right. Just good old fashioned sharp eyes, mathematics, and a trusted system."

  "Houses still jump on that quick. They got android dealers, facial recognition. Drones scanning every table, recording facial ticks, eye movement, body language..."

  "And if we get caught, we get roughed up and banned from the premises. If we don't, we split our winnings. It's about discipline and patience. We don't win too much, and we don't attract unwanted attention. What do you have to lose?"

  I barked a laugh. She was right. I'd already lost just about everything but my life. "Okay, you got a partner. But I'm going to need something first."

  "What's that?"

  "Your name."

  "Faye."

  "Just Faye?"

  "Isn't Faye enough?"

  I raised my glass. "I guess it is. To being partners then, Faye."

  The smallest of smiles curved her lips. "To being partners."

  Part 2: Double or Nothing

  Faye ran a tight game. Illusion was the key, deceiving spying eyes into accepting that everything was normal. I continued my casino binging, playing the unlucky rube I already was. The difference was Faye. She was my good luck charm, working her magic to ensure that my winnings always topped what I lost by the time I crabbed out.

  It turned out counting cards wasn't the memory gambit I'd always figured. Since I remember everything except my past, I had walked into the game thinking I had some kind of edge. Shows what kind of palooka I was. Faye corrected that oversight, showing me that it was a system of values assigned to the cards in hand, the dealer's hand, and what remained in the deck. Mathematics and quick thinking was the key, as well as learning when to bet large or bet small based on the percentage of busting out. It wasn't one-hundred percent foolproof, but someone with a head for numbers could definitely swing the odds in his favor.

  Seemed I had a head for numbers. Who knew?

  Faye created an endless number of ways to pass information. A series of tiny finger taps while pretending to stroke the back of my neck. A small, low-tech buzzer installed in the toe of our shoes that could pass the scanners undetected, but communicated through coded pulses. Practiced eye movements that fed me info on whether to bet or stay. She never kept to one system for long, but constantly switched up on irregular intervals. Always static, never routine. She said it was the best way to keep the drones from picking up on our grift. I didn't argue.

  I trusted her.

  She made the rules. I followed them. We couldn't hide being around one another, but she was an expert at blending in with the cloud of slinky dames that haunted the tables like restless spirits. Just one of many that hung on my arm, hoping to find a big winner to nab for a night or two. She played the part well, with the requisite giggles and inebriated innuendos of the average floozy. All the while keeping me informed with her quick eyes and coded signals. Afterward, we'd meet at some inconspicuous diner or bar to split our winnings before going our separate ways. I paid the bookies and got my name off the hit list, she disappeared until next time. It was a solid system. A great partnership. We did just well enough not to attract attention, while slowly stacking our chips.

  The scam was good for me. Got my noodle back on track, gave me something to focus on. Something to look forward to. I enjoyed playing the game, the rush of outsmarting trained spotters of the digital and biological variety. And I enjoyed the fleeting moments of solitude with Faye when things wound down and we'd sit at some dive and have a quiet meal before departing. Peace wasn't something I was accustomed to, but I kinda dug it in a way. Reflective moments with the scent of green tea in the air and a beautiful dame draped in silence across from me. I was on my way up, back to the fresh air of anti-depression and debt-free accounts.

  Then I had to go and muck everything up.

  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING this for?"

  It was late, and we were done for the night. We ended things the way we usually did, at the Golden Heron. It was a small Chinese restaurant outside of Bayside, built in the husk of a decaying tenement that once housed the crème of New Haven before commerce took things skyward. It was a weathered but cozy dive, with dim lights, good chow, and polite hosts that respected the privacy of their clientele.

  Faye glanced up at my question, a small smile on her rosebud lips. "Doing what?"

  "This. The stakes. They're small potatoes. You're not racking in much after our split. Not chasing the big pots. I just don't see what you get out of it."

  She paused, her expression guarded. She didn't talk about herself much. I had spent weeks in her company and knew nothing about her at all. She didn't run with any friends, had no family I knew of. Folks in the casinos were familiar with her as a player. They called her the Recluse, on account of her withdrawn personality. But no one could say they actually knew her. I might have been the closest thing she had to an actual friend.

  She relaxed, raising her bowl of tea to her lips with both hands before answering. "Nothing wrong with being careful, Mick. Too many players have been detected not because of their lack of skill, but their lack of discipline. Impatient with the slow game. Too eager to win the big score. The result is making mistakes. Burning and crashing. I don't want to make that mistake."

  I downed my shot of baiju. "That's a smart way to look at things. Guess what I'm getting at is: what will you do when it's over?"

  "You mean when I...retire?" She looked amused at the thought.

  "All good things come to an end sooner or later."

  "I don't think about the end. There are no ends. And no beginnings. There is only the moment. Now is the only time I know. Now is all that matters."

  I raised my glass in salute. "Amen to that, sweetheart."

  "What about you, Mick? What will you do when your debts are paid?"

  I glanced at the window, where the rain turned the outside world into glimmering jewels. "Guess I'll try picking up the pieces."

  "Pieces?"

  "My life. My business."

  "Troubleshooting?"

  "Yeah. Like you said the other night, it might be the only thing I'm good at."

  She gave me one of her melancholy smiles. "I understand."

  She pushed her bowl back and tapped on the bejeweled holoband on her wrist. The projected screen displayed her accounts, which she slid over until coming to our joint gambling line.

  "I'm depositing your share of the winnings into your account. Have a good night, Mick."

  "Sure you don't want to hang out for a bit? It's raining something fierce out there."

  "It's always raining. I'll be fine."

  I grinned and tipped my Bogart. "Till the next time, Faye."

  I watched as she p
aid her tab and exited the building. She passed by the window, shaded by her neon-lit umbrella. The rain fell softly, sliding down the transparent shielding and carving shadowy tears across her face.

  THAT NIGHT, I FOLLOWED her.

  Wasn't sure why. I understood the value she placed on her privacy and knew she'd view my actions as a violation of trust. If she spotted me, I'd never see her again. I was pretty sure of that.

  But there was something in her eyes before she left. Fear, maybe. Almost as if she didn't want to go. I'd never seen that before. Not from her. I had to know what was behind her shroud of secrecy. What it was she kept hidden, so guarded that she practically didn't exist.

  When she hailed a cabbie, I slid into the confines of Maxine, my Duesenberg-inspired wheeler. Her fusion engine purred, and the console lit up as I entered.

  Maxine's sultry voice greeted me from the speakers. "Welcome back, Mr. Trubble."

  "Thanks. Be a doll and follow that cab. Shadow mode."

  "No problem. I will be sure to avoid detection."

  Faye's skimcab hovered just above the street, for which I was grateful. I didn't care much for floaters or airbuses. I preferred to go all the way low-tech with a wheeler. Something about the way the wheels gripped the asphalt made me feel grounded. Besides, my first trip on a zeppelin didn't end very well.

  The street traffic was thin as usual. If I wanted to know where everyone went, all I had to do was look up. Air traffic hummed in the Uppers, intersecting lanes of zipping lights and gleaming alloy. If I strained my eyes I might even spot the zeppelins that glided through the haze like metallic whales. Everything was dwarfed by towering buildings that hulked like steel and glass giants, lit up by interactive billboards that kept New Haven so bright there was practically no need for streetlights. It was only dark at the bottom of the city, where the shadows swallowed the rain-slicked streets and the disadvantaged folk who dwelt there.

  Faye's cab glided into Chinatown. I followed at a safe distance. Didn't matter if I lost sight of her at that point. Maxine had already tagged the cab and could tail it even without line of sight. Water spilled from the tiles of pagoda rooftops constructed for the tourists to gawk at, creating glittering curtains that flashed in multicolored neon as residents strolled past under the cover of protective awnings. Steam billowed from the gutters, fluttering alongside Maxine like accompanying ghosts. Two blocks ahead, Faye's cab cruised to a stop. Maxine pulled behind a desolate food truck as Faye exited into the rain, umbrella held up.

  I got out and followed.

  Most of the gawkers and hawkers had gone in or back to their respective parts of town, leaving me a foreigner among the natives. Didn't warrant much attention, though. There was always the straggler looking for action that could only be found at night, and the folk in Chinatown were experts at minding their own business. I kept my head down and my Bogart tipped low over my eyes as I strode along, alert for cover to use in case Faye looked behind her. I shouldn't have bothered.

  Turned out she had other things to worry about.

  I saw the lug before she did—squat and hefty, with a face hard enough to bash down brick walls. He seized her by the arm with rough hands and hustled her around the corner.

  I slid a hand in my jacket and pulled out the Mean Ol' Broad. The seven-shot, mech-enhanced revolver felt cold against the rising heat of my skin as I dashed to the end of the street. Something told me to stop and sneak a peek before turning the alleyway into a shooting gallery. That tiny intuitive voice was the only thing that saved the man's life.

  He wasn't roughing her up like I first imagined. Not physically, anyhow. But verbally he was giving her the major third, barking at her in a low but heated tone and slashing the air with vicious gestures. I couldn't understand the lingo because he spoke Chinese, but I caught the drift anyhow. I didn't need a translator to understand a threat.

  Faye took the bombardment with her head down, eyes downcast, wilting like a dying flower before my eyes. A single teardrop sparkled in the corner of her eye before sliding down her cheek.

  I was moving before I knew it. Only a few quick strides got me into range. A quick blow from the butt of the Mean Ol' Broad to the back of the bully's head did the rest, instantly dropping him like a sack of busted-up potatoes. Faye gasped and recoiled, eyes widening when she recognized me.

  "Mick?" She stared down at the lug, then back up at me with disbelieving eyes. But her initial shock faded quickly, replaced by calculated calm. "Take his holoband."

  "What...?"

  "Take his holoband. Make it look like a robbery."

  "Isn't it biologically locked to his wrist?"

  "He's Triad. They use illegal holobands to avoid detection."

  I knelt and checked his wrist. Sure enough, his holoband was secured by a simple clasp instead of a near-impenetrable security lock like legal Haven residents. All of his info—identification, bank accounts, personal details—gone in a second. Once removed, he became a ghost in the system. The digital blip would alert nearby authorities, sending flying eyes and at least one patrol to the vicinity within minutes.

  Faye took my hand. "Come, quickly."

  She pulled me to the cover of the awning, where we quickly retreated as searchlights flashed down from the sky, turning the rain into glimmering streaks. The drone arrived sooner than I expected. Security in Chinatown didn't mess around.

  Flashlight beams and urgent voices approached from the mouth of the alley. Faye yanked me into a brick-layered nook and kissed me for all she was worth. I didn't fight back. Despite the fact I was about to be arrested for aggravated assault and grand theft, the sheer passion was worth a bid in the slammer, even if it was just an act.

  Bright lights intruded on our little moment. I shielded my eyes, stepping in front of Faye.

  The copper was barely visible behind the glare. "The hell is going on?"

  I tried my best to look like an inebriated tourist. "Sorry, officer. We took a wrong turn and—"

  His face twisted with scorn. "Yeah, I bet you did, pal. Look, we got an alert for an unauthorized band removal. Show me your wrists."

  We complied, swaying and giggling like little kids. The copper scanned our holobands with a disgusted look.

  "You two see anyone else back here?"

  "No, officer." I snickered behind my hand. "Been a little busy."

  He snorted. "All right, you're clean. Now scram. Get a hotel or something."

  Another officer called from the direction of the unconscious body. "Hey Wang. I got something over here."

  Officer Wang gave us a last warning look. "I'm on my way." He trotted into the rain to join his partner.

  Faye took my arm, leading me away from the scene. We barely rounded the corner before she pulled away, quickening her step.

  "You should not have followed me, Mick. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

  I caught up with her with a few swift strides. "I would if you told me."

  "It's complicated."

  "It's trouble. I may not be good at gambling or much else, but I can handle trouble."

  She stopped and turned, looking up at me. Neon lights flickered across her face in exchanges of red and green. Stop, go; stop, go.

  "Why do you care so much, Mick?"

  "Whaddya mean, why?"

  "I want to know."

  I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. Dames always want to have things explained, when men prefer to speak with their actions. Putting it into words made it sound so damned sappy.

  "Look, I care about you, okay? Is that so hard to understand?"

  She lifted an eyebrow. "Care...?"

  I sighed. "Yeah. When you left the restaurant, you looked uneasy. I thought you might be in a jam, so I followed to make sure you were safe. I was worried about you."

  Her eyes dropped, but a small smile touched her lips. "I...appreciate it, but you needn't have bothered. I have everything under control."

  "Didn't look that way to me. Who was that guy? Ho
w is it you're tied up in Triad business?"

  "It's a long story."

  "I like long stories."

  The familiar melancholy hit her eyes right on schedule. "I told you. I don't talk about my past."

  "Fair enough. But at least let me give you a hand with this Triad situation. Just give me a name, and I'll take care of the rest."

  She reached up and patted my cheek. "You're a good man, Mick Trubble. But like I told you, I have it under control."

  "You sure about that?"

  "I'm sure."

  From the look on her face, I knew there was nothing I could say to change her mind. "Okay."

  She gestured to the dilapidated apartment building. "This is my place. Good night, Mick."

  "Sure you don't want me to walk you up? Check the place over just in case?"

  "No need. I'm not as helpless as you assume, and I'm sure no hired thug is waiting in the dark for me. I'll call you when another game comes up. In the meantime, do me a favor."

  "Anything."

  "Please don't follow me again."

  I pretended not to be hurt. "At least turn the light on and let me know everything's okay. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

  She folded her arms with an exasperated sigh. "I suppose. You'll go home afterward, right?"

  "Right."

  I strolled across the street and stood under the streetlight, lighting a gasper while I waited. Her building was a towering mass of haphazardly stacked tenements that looked to be violating at least a dozen city codes, but the fact that she stayed at a complete dump wasn't surprising at all. It was all part of her game of deception.

  After a few minutes, a light bloomed on the fifth floor. The blinds lifted, revealing Faye's elegant features. She waggled her fingers, mouthing the words go home, Mick.

  I gave her thumbs up, tilted my Bogart the way I liked it, and strolled off. It was drizzly and getting cold, but the ghost of her kiss kept my lips warm the whole way back to the car.

  Once I made it back to Maxine, I made a call. Frankie Newman's face fizzled onto the dash monitor*. He looked completely different than the last time I'd seen him. Normally he was styled sharp enough to cut someone, but things had changed. Instead of clean-shaven and dressed to the nines, he stared from the screen with a face peppered with thick stubble and hair wildly askew. His rags didn't look anything to brag about either; moth-eaten and careworn. His eyes were the same, though—cold and calculating.