The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues Page 5

  Something dove into the waters. A dark shape with glowing eyes filled my vision, and something seized me under my arms. As I experienced a sensation of rising, I blacked out.

  When I came to, I was on the shoreline coughing up the river. A pale face glowed from the shadowy form of the synoid who pumped my chest.

  “It’s ok,” he said. “You’re going to make it.”

  “Who…who are you?”

  The synoid hesitated. “Hunter.” He looked back, where a crowd of curious people gathered outside of a decrepit old nightclub. The Valentino.

  “My name’s…Mick.” I winced, wondering why it was so hard to remember. I knew who I was, after all. “Mick Trubble.”

  I sat up with a gasp when my brain flickered back to normal. I couldn't have been out too long, 'cause when I came to we were still in the parking garage, which had pretty lousy security if you ask me. My back was firmly pressed against Maxine’s smooth alloyed frame.

  My pants were missing.

  I was stripped down to my boxers, the ones with the rocket ships on 'em. Poddar knelt just a few feet away, bleeding from a few shallow cuts. His mitts were tied. He looked at me and shrugged. I figured he must have surrendered like a gentleman.

  The dames stood over me wearing the same stern expressions. There must be some school for dames where they train how to master that look.

  Too bad for them, because I still had a trick up my sleeve. “Maxine?”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Trubble. Something is jamming my defense system. I’m unable to help you.”

  I had put some major berries into modifying Maxine’s voice activated defenses. If those dames were blocking it, they had to have their mitts on some righteous tech. Still, I'd been in tougher situations than that. And even if they were leather-clad dominatrixes with blades, they were still dames, after all. I put on my most seductive grin.

  "Well ladies, it looks like I underestimated the lengths a gal will go to get a prime slab of pure manliness. Whaddya say we get out this dingy little garage and upgrade to a nice can-house. I know a truly wild joint Downtown that—"

  My voice cut off with a girlish squeak, thanks to Christina and that damn staff of hers hitting me right in my boys. The experience was nothing to brag about.

  Jen's long blond hair swung as she crouched down to my level. "You might want to save your voice. After all, you're going to need it to tell us everything we want to know."

  "Well, of course I am, sweetheart. Who says I wasn't? You might wanna think of me as your complete source for news, weather, and—aagh!”

  Another rap to the nether regions. Not gentle-like, either. I glared at Christina as threateningly as I could without a pair of pants. I really hated that staff.

  Jen cupped my chin in her hand. She had a pretty strong grip for a dame. "What did you and Tommy Tsunami talk about?” Her voice practically dripped with sugar. Course it would've been sweeter if she hadn't emphasized the question by planting her razor-edged sword about a half-inch away from my goodies.

  Ok, those gonzo dames meant business. Still, I had to stall while I tried to figure out what their angle in all this was.

  "Tommy…Tsunami? You mean the gangster Tommy Tsunami? You think I—you think we gabbed with him?” I laughed hysterically. "Boy, do you dames have your lines crossed! I mean, me and the Prince did go the Gaiden to check out the scene and all, but then some crazy chumps busted in and started fogging the joint. Gunfire, explosions—you wouldn't believe it. It was like a scene from the picture show. We were lucky to get out in one piece."

  I could tell my Pinocchio didn’t go all that well by the way the dames exchanged looks. Poddar looked downward as if embarrassed to be in my company.

  Christina didn’t even blink her pretty gems. "Kelly? Looks like we got us a bad boy. Should we show him what bad boys get for lying?"

  Kelly laughed.

  I heard the click of her heels as she stalked back to the cherry red wheeler. The trunk opened and shut again. When she came back, I looked at the nefarious instrument of torture in her hands.

  Poddar gasped.

  It was a black box, hooked up with dials and levers. But what was worse were the twin metallic cords that gleamed dully in the flickering lights of the garage. They both ended in mean-looking pinchers, like the jumper cables used to kick-start vehicle batteries before the Cataclysm.

  "What…" I swallowed hard. "Whaddya got there?"

  "Oh, I think you know what this is." Kelly stroked the thing like a pet poodle. "But I like to call it…the Bitchmaker. So this is how it's going to be. We ask the questions. You give us answers. Otherwise we hook these up to your little boys. And then—” She set the box on the floor and hit a button.

  The pinchers vibrated, shooting off sparks and thrashing around like eels on amphetamines.

  “Roasted nuts.”

  I'm ashamed to admit I almost fainted.

  Still, I've never been in a fix I couldn't shoot my way out of. Since I was missing the heat, I had to settle for shooting off at the mouth.

  "Listen, all I know about Tommy Tsunami is he's a lousy card player. The Prince and I went out for a chew. The chopper squad started spraying, and I caught a slug in the arm. We got the hell outta there, now you broads show up. Whaddya want from me?"

  In retrospect, I probably could've skipped the word broads.

  In less time than it takes to tell it, the dames pricked and prodded me until I couldn’t tell where the next love tap was coming from. Someone grabbed hold of the waistband of my boxers and started to pull. Normally I appreciate an aggressive woman, but this time I knew they weren’t exactly there for my legendary bed action.

  "Wait—wait, damn it! What are you dames thinking? What the hell?"

  I heard the macabre sound of the…thing vibrate again.

  Poddar shut his eyes. "I—I can't watch."

  I screamed and thrashed like a hophead in rehab. For two reasons. First, I was scared out of both halves of my mind.

  Second, I'm the type of guy who likes to be prepared. For anything. So it’s only natural I’d have a backup plan. That came in the form of an emergency kit strapped to the chassis of my ride. Inside was a first aid kit, a few choice explosives, and what I like to call the Replacement Killer.

  Modified gyroscopic handgun, which meant it had power and a bad attitude to boot. You would too if you shot miniature rockets instead of standard slugs. The customization was the addition of mech parts to increase its power and durability. There aren’t supposed to be any models that survived the Cataclysm, but I knew at least one existed because I owned it.

  As I writhed like a madman, I opened the latch to the kit and spilled the contents on the ground. As soon as the Killer touched my fingers I twisted over and pointed it at whoever was closest. In that case, the muzzle rested against Christina's perfectly formed thigh.

  "I may not have the heart to kill you, but I damn sure can make you limp." My free hand was gripped tightly on the waistband of my boxers. She didn't smile that time.

  I guess because she recognized the type of heater the Killer was, and guessed what it would do to her lovely leg at close range. But dammit, I wasn't about to let those Gutter Girls roast my nuts.

  I heard the growl right before a hairy blur struck me. Hard. The Replacement Killer clattered on the ground.

  When I looked up, a large gray dog snarled in my face. As my vision cleared, I realized it actually wasn’t a dog. It was a wolf. And he looked a helluva lot bigger than those in the museum.

  I slowly reached for the Killer. The wolf growled like a locomotive, causing me to think better of it.

  "A wise decision, Troubleshooter."

  A door opened on the wheeler. Stiletto heels clicked over to where I lay with a hoary paw on my chest. I looked up at the new dame.

  She was a frosted blonde with skin the color of fresh cream, emerald eyes, and full rosebud lips. Her slender frame was draped with a red silk kimono ornamented with herons and lotus petals. She was
n’t Japanese, so I figured she was one of those types that enjoyed sampling cultures. Some folks get a kick outta that stuff.

  But what flipped my lid was wondering how much room that wheeler had in it. And what kind of dame rode with leather-clad Gutter Girls and wolves. Had to be cloned, because no one could possibly own a real one. Far as I knew, they went extinct long before the entire world went down the drain.

  "Enkidu is old but his teeth are still strong, and he is quite protective of me. And my girls. He absolutely hates guns. I'm sorry to have you treated like this, but you aren't a man that takes to being prodded gently, are you? You needn’t worry about your manliness. They were only softening you up for me."

  "I'm sorry, but have we met?” I tried as hard as I could to be dignified while lying on cold concrete with a tight hold on my boxers.

  Her cherry lips curved.

  “Perhaps we have. Amilyen az adjonisten, olyan a fogadjisten, as they say in my homeland. ‘As one greets, so will one's greeting be returned’ is the literal translation, but it can be taken to mean ‘give as good as one gets.’

  She raised an amused eyebrow. As you can see, my girls translate it in the latter sense. I am Selene. Do your self-esteem a favor and put your pants back on. You and I have much to discuss, and little time to do so.”

  Chapter 6: Selene

  I knew something was up when I stepped into the dame’s wheeler. The first thing that hit me was how big the interior was. I had thought somehow the wolf, three psychotic Gutter Girls and Selene had been crammed up inside. But when I got in, the interior was as spacious as an extra stretch limo. Which made me wanna get right back out, because that just didn't make sense. I mean, it would take some seriously expensive tech to create such a convincing outward illusion…

  "Don't bother, Troubleshooter.” Selene's voice was coolly amused. Her wolf sat beside her and stared with reflective amber eyes. "Appearances are deceiving. You just have to accept some things are the way they are."

  Kelly cranked the ride as Poddar and I sat on the cushioned leather. Jen rode shotgun while Christina lounged beside Selene and the wolf. She had an amused smile on her delicate face. Me, I didn’t really want to think about the Gutter Girls, or my close encounter experience with the nefarious Bitchmaker.

  It was fully dark by then. Downtown was glimmering jewel of winking phosphorus. The ride floated over the road so smoothly it felt like a skimmer. Maybe it was. Like the dame said: appearances were deceiving.

  I felt a little better when Christina poured some darb vodka into a couple of heavily ornamented glasses. You can always tell the grade of liquor by the glasses a body uses to pour into. Obviously Selene was used to the very best, and nothing salves damaged pride like a few shots of quality feel-good in a bottle. It would've been better if her wolf didn’t stare at me like his next meal, but you can’t have it all. As I slipped slowly, I thought about what I knew about this particular dame.

  I'd heard stories, of course. Everyone with half an egg in New Haven knows about the Wolf Mistress. Like most of the more notorious residents, she was rumored to be on the downside of major pressure from the Secret Service. Tired of being hounded in every major Haven, she and a few others like her decided to lift stakes and take their business to a place where the brass couldn’t touch them. Like Vegas of old, New Haven was born of that alliance.

  Sure, the bureaucrats and highbinders were in place to acquire the necessary funding and licenses, but anyone who’s been in New Haven long enough knows who really runs the show. An elite, highly secretive guild of former exiles and rogue agents known as the Gestalt. A few familiar names were rumored to be in that highly exclusive club. One of them was Selene.

  Supposedly she ran an empire funded by black market energy vending, since the major problem in New Haven is not enough energy to go around. The Commerce Bureau is supposed to run things, but every sap knows they gotta fork over like everyone else.

  Selene commanded an army of dangerous dames who infiltrated the entire framework of New Haven. Housewives, secretaries, nurses—any dame with a pulse could be secretly affiliated with the Gutter Girls. Not much happened that Selene didn’t have her fingers dipped in. She was kinda like Tommy Tsunami in a way. Made me wonder how the two of them were tied together.

  As if reading my mind, she cast her jade irises over her glass. "Where is Tommy keeping the leg?” There was a glitter in her gaze and a sheathed dagger in her voice, waiting to bare its edge. Poddar cleared his throat and nudged me with a hard elbow.

  Not that it was necessary. Without the Mean Ol' Broad or the Replacement Killer, I felt pretty naked and out of my element.

  And there's only so far even I'm willing to push my luck.

  "Look, things got outta hand before I could even clap eyes on this leg, whatever it is. Tommy was yelling for his goons to get it out safe while I was scrambling to get out of the burning building. Honestly, that's all I know. Maybe I could be more helpful to you if I knew more about what the hell I'm caught up in."

  She studied me for a moment. "Do you remember anything beyond the last few years at all, Mick? When you look into the past, what do you see?"

  Well that was about the last question I felt like answering.

  "Water." I muttered the words as I stared out the window. The streams of rain across its dark surface didn’t improve my mood. "Black choppy waves. Voices calling out. You know, random bunk like that. I thought I'd get it back. The memory, I mean. But it doesn't come. Maybe it never will."

  I remember everything. Everything except my past. Events beyond two years ago are just fog. There was a hole where something happened, but I had no luck in recollecting what it was. I figured it had to be either pretty important, or else something so grim I’d blocked it out to stay sane. I try not to think about it too much. Some folks would consider it a blessing to forget their past. Considering all the jams I can recall, I figure I haven’t really missed out on much except a lot of trouble.

  Selene looked at me like a bottle of nail polish that may or may not match her outfit. "So you settle for being a drunken gambler who makes a living by getting in and out of trouble."

  "I’m a Troubleshooter, sweetheart. It's an honest living.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, it's a living. But instead of gabbing above my head, why don't you tip your mitts on the grift I’ve been flimflammed into?”

  "No one put a gun to your head, Mr. Trubble. Just the promise of profit. You’re the one who dove in headfirst without thinking about the consequences. So try to concentrate on what’s important. Like finding Ms. Kilby, and the leg."

  I frowned. "Look, what's the deal with this leg? What the hell is it?"

  Enkidu stiffened at my irritation. He growled a warning.

  I adjusted the tone of my voice. Just to be safe. "I meant to say, would you mind telling me a little more about what this leg is?"

  The old wolf seemed to be satisfied, and settled back. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “It will probably be easier if I show you.” She set her glass down, reached for the hem of her kimono and pulled it up, exposing a nice swath of pale and shapely leg. I’ve had worse times.

  “Listen, I’m down to shoot the woo as much as the next man, but this is hardly the time for—”

  “Maybe you should switch brains and look closer.”

  I did. That’s when I noticed the prosthetic. Her entire right leg had been replaced. Flesh colored, state of the art tech, but it was still a bionic leg.

  “You mean it’s an actual leg? What the hell?”

  “Now your rather sluggish mind may actual comprehend the kind of people you’re dealing with. I was at home; the one place where I can take my ease. No one has ever breached my security. Ever.

  “Next thing I knew I woke up in a tub of ice with my leg missing, and a note saying it would be returned as soon as possible. It took some time for my operatives to trace the ghost trails to Tommy Tsunami. Being a cautious man, he’d be on
the lookout for my Gutter Girls. We needed an unpredictable element, an agent of chaos who could tip the scales in our favor. That’s when you were activated by my handler, Ms. Kilby.”

  I took a slow sip as I thought things over. It really was some darb vodka. “Only your grand scheme blew up in your face. Now Ms. Kilby is missing, along with your shapely leg. Well that just breaks my ticker, but what does any of it have to do with me?”

  She tilted her head. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you? And here I thought you were just bluffing. While Tommy and I have always had a…wary relationship, he would never step over the line like this without powerful desperation to drive him. If he is responsible at all.”

  “Whaddya mean, if? You think just because he’s a member of your little society, he won’t go rogue? I’m telling you, I heard him ordering his men to protect the leg.”

  “Just because he was in possession of my leg doesn’t mean he was the one who nabbed it in the first place. Tommy is a man who takes advantage of any wild card thrown his way. But he’s affiliated with the same people I am. There are rules. He’s definitely a player, but I want to know who dealt the card.”

  I finished my drink. “Ok, sister. This is a great story and all, but you got all you can get from me. I’ve sliced my fingers, caught some hot lead, and had my dignity severely damaged all in one night. So I’m nixed on any more time in your rather attractive company. I’m gonna find me a bottle of hard juice, a sweet chippy who likes to skate around, and call it a night. Thanks for nothing, have a nice day.”

  I leaned back and nodded confidently to Poddar, who seemed to avoid my gaze for some reason. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was embarrassed.

  Selene’s eye’s glittered as she leaned forward. “You’re not through with this and you know it, Mick. In fact you’re so thick in it it’s a wonder you can breathe. You have contacts and you have knowledge, whether you can remember it or not. I want that. And you want to know why your memory is lost. I can help with that. Along with the payment that will keep the Goryachevas from fitting you for a nice New Haven trench coat. It’s my print and code that will authorize the payment, after all—not Kilby’s. Face it, with all your troubles and Tommy Tsunami to boot, this is your best option. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Tit for tat."