The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame Page 6

  I tried not to sweat as Flacco weighed me with his bulldog eyes. “But we both know my hand was forced, don’t we, Mick?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

  “Looks like the cat’s got his tongue, Moe.” Electra spoke in an offhand, lazy tone. “Want me to cut it out for you?”

  I never saw her pull the long, ivory-handled folding razor, but it suddenly gleamed in her hand. She snapped it open it with a flourish, drawing closer. I tried not to flinch when the cold, razor edge rested against my cheek.

  “Looks like you did a good job making yourself presentable.” Her breathy whisper was hot and sweet when it tickled my ear. “But we can always find a spot you missed.” The razor slowly slid down my jaw, just at the point of drawing blood. I froze when it rested at my throat, knowing an awkward swallow would put some pretty bad stains on my collar.

  Moe raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’d start talking if I were you, Mick. Nate says he knows you, so I’d hate for you to get on Electra’s naughty list. Electra, why don’t you let Mick talk in a more comfortable manner? See?”

  Electra’s lips puckered in a sensual pout. We were close enough to kiss, but that was about the last thing I wanted from the Black Widow. She smiled regretfully as she drew back, snapping the razor back into folding position. I had to stop myself from touching my neck to see if she drew blood. I steadied my nerves by taking a heavy drag on the cigar instead. I ended up coughing like a rube, but it was still better than a bloody smile in my neck.

  I shakily exhaled smoke and ignored their amused smirks. “All right, Moe. You wanna know how the score went down?”

  He gazed at me over steepled fingers. “That would be preferable.”

  “Pike got on my bad side by setting up and murdering the Luzzattis, who happened to be good friends of mine. I didn’t have the firepower to take on his op, so I had to set up a sequence of events that would convince his boys to take a powder while I handled my business.”

  Flacco’s eyes never blinked. “And that sequence of events happened to be framing Pike for an attack on my crew that you in fact originated, forcing me to hit the mattresses with his organization and engage in a hostile takeover. That about how it went down?”

  Ben the Bear smirked, working his fingers so the tendons cracked like walnuts. No-Nose Nate shifted behind me, no doubt placing his hand on the concealed pistol in his pocket. I had forgotten about Scars because he had slunk into the shadows in the corner of the room like some half-starved vampire. His eyes glimmered with the anticipation of violence. The Black Widow wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, gazing at me with smoldering passion for something other than sex. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know what it was. I guess a normal person would have felt pretty intimidated right about then. But I was neither.

  I looked Flacco in the eyes. “Yeah, that’s how it went down. And I’m not a shade sorry for it, either. When someone crosses off folks I care about, I’ll put them down by any means necessary. I apologize if my business got mixed up in yours, but I’d do it again if the same situation repeated itself.”

  Flacco stared at me for a long, stress-building moment. Then he laughed. “You see? This man has a major set. You were right, Nate. Your friend: oobatz.” He made the appropriate whirly gesture as the others laughed on cue, killing the tension in the room.

  The laughter cut off as Flacco got serious, leaning over the desk. “Ok, Mick. Here’s the lay: Pike’s enterprises proved fruitful, so I benefited from your case of temporary insanity. He was eating alone anyway, didn’t want to be taxed. I would’ve had to come after him sooner or later anyway. And the crew that took the hit were animals–bad apples that were attracting too much attention. So the benefits to me outweighed the losses in your mad little caper. But whether you intended or not, you screwed me over and got away with it. The only people who know that are in this room, which is why you’re sitting there instead of being hauled out of the West River with your major set stuffed in your mouth. See? But don’t think that means you can walk around with your chest out like you’re untouchable. You’re not. From this point on until my daughter’s killer is found, you work for me. Capeesh?

  I shrugged. “I got no kick with that, Moe. I was on the case regardless.”

  “That’s the second reason why I’m willing to give you a pass. You’re a man that gets to the bottom of things. I remember that missing kid case–the Mannering girl. Brass was all over that, but you were the one who turned the right stones over. Got the job done. I got all kinds of operatives, but they don’t exactly have a subtle touch. But you…you got a knack for these type of situations. So you do whatever it is you do. Just make sure you report back to me. Because I’m not looking to put nobody behind bars. No deals with the brass, no lawyers, no trial. This is Omerta, you understand? Whoever made a move against my little girl is gonna pay in blood, and I want to be right there when it happens. Whether it’s a single person or an entire family, mark my words: they are going down.”

  I stood, making sure to tilt my Bogart just the way I liked it. “I’ll make sure to stay in touch.”

  “You’ll do better than that.” Flacco jerked a thumb behind him. “Benny here will be your partner. You’ll work the case with him, and he’ll keep me informed.”

  Ben the Bear’s face split in a wide grin. “I appreciate this honor, Zio. I’m all over this, I swear.”

  No-Nose Nate rubbed a finger alongside his metallic prosthetic. “You sure you don’t want someone else, Moe? The kid hasn’t had a lotta experience with these kind of gigs.” He ignored Benny’s sullen glare.

  “Benny won’t let us down.” Flacco gave his nephew a meaningful glance. “Will you, Benny?”

  Benny shook his massive head. “No sir. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Mr. Trubble out.”

  I didn’t say anything, but inside I winced big time. Flacco had just handicapped me with an obvious rookie and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. You didn’t just refuse the Don of New Haven. Not if you wanted to keep all your parts inside of your body.

  A gleaming floater slid up outside the window via the transparent lift from the garage. It was an onyx dream of sleek curves and vintage design. The chrome gleamed, reflecting the winking city lights, while the interior was cushioned red leather. Although the floater was equipped with the standard propulsion kit to fly across the city, the shell was a throwback–Bentley Mark VI Cabriolet, if memory served me right. Which it always does. I remember everything except my past, and when you have a talent like that you take full advantage by stuffing it with trivial nonsense like antique cars and weapons from the pre-Cataclysm age. What else is a photographic memory good for?

  “Benny will take you where you want to go,” Flacco said. “Consider him your personal soldati. He’ll watch your back just as he would mine.”

  The rest of the crew had smirks on their faces. Flacco didn’t mention that Benny would spy and report on my every move as well, but I guess he figured it was too obvious to say out loud. I just nodded politely, because I was at the point where I’d do anything to get out of Moe Flacco’s immaculate office and back into the smoggy air of New Haven.

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Flacco.”

  The office window slid open, allowing us access to the lift. I strode to the shotgun side, which felt strange because I was used to being behind the wheel. But control had been steadily yanked from my grasp ever since I laid eyes on Scarlett in that nightclub.

  Ben the Bear gave me a fierce grin when he slumped in the driver’s seat. “This is gonna be something, Mr. Trubble. I can’t wait to get started.”

  “Start by getting us outta Dodge, kid. We got a lot of work to do.”

  Benny pressed the DIVE button on the steering wheel. The glass floor beneath the floater hissed as it slid open, exhaling vapor from the pressurized controls. We dropped into the pouring rain and winking lights, joining the air traffic toward the beast of steel and concrete that lurked beneath
us.

  Chapter 6: Falling Hard

  Air traffic was thick as usual. We zipped past the interconnected islands of the Uppers where the wealthy crust lived their self-important lives high above the less advantaged who had to scrounge around underneath. The lights were brightest at that level–nonstop advertisements and holographic projections in flashing electric hues. Lanes of computer-directed traffic whizzed all around–gleaming floaters in varied styles from classic to the more ultramodern versions that looked like metallic insects. Zeppelins claimed the highest levels, drifting above everything like metallic whales.

  “Where do ya wanna go first, Mr. Trubble?” Ben the Bear was a lot more cordial when he was away from the family. Although he sat behind the wheel, he didn’t do any actual driving. Transit Control wasn’t big on manual operation in the skylanes, so their computers seized control of all flying vehicles to avoid accidents and hasty getaways. Benny had the crate in Touring Mode, which kept us on the scenic route around the city.

  On second examination, Benny was younger than I took him for. His massive size put a few years on his meaty face, but he was a young cat, barely out of his teens. I understood his excitement when he got the assignment. He probably had never gotten a mission on his own before and was practically giddy with the prospect of sinking his teeth into the case.

  “Home, Ace. It’s been a long day.”

  Benny’s enthusiasm wilted. “Home? Fuggetaboutit. I thought we were gonna jump on this gig. My uncle’s not gonna like–”

  I shot the lug a narrow-eye glance. “Moe ain’t my Pops, kid. And I’m not one of his soldatis, either. I’m a freelance operator, emphasis on free. Moe put me on a case I was already on in the first place, so don’t give me no lip about what your Godfather does or don’t want. You work for me now, don’t forget that. So when I tell you to head home, you head home. Pipe that?”

  He slumped in his seat. “He’s my uncle.”

  “Say what?”

  “Moe’s my uncle, not my godfather.”

  “I know that, Ace. But I was using it as a title. You know, like the Don. The Main Mug. The Big Boss. You know, the Capo di Capi. You ever see any of the old movies?”

  Benny shrugged his massive shoulders. “Not really. I just call him Uncle.”

  I took a glance at him. He seemed pretty out of sorts for the lack of action. In fact, he looked downright sulky. It was almost hilarious to observe.

  “Hey kid, don’t go nance on me. I’m beat, and I gotta think things over. Part of investigation is mulling over the details. We’ll kick ass and take names tomorrow.”

  Benny brightened up a little. “You think so?”

  “It’s practically a guarantee in my line of work, Ace.”

  A broad grin split his face. “Ok, Mr. Trubble. So where is your crib located?”

  “The Luzzatti.”

  His fingers paused over the positioning system. “That’s in the Flats, ain’t it?”

  I grinned. “Aw, what’s the matter? Afraid of a little action in the less swanky part of town? Can’t live your whole life in the Heights, you know. I thought you were ready to get your mitts dirty, kid.”

  “I ain’t scared of nothing.’” He quickly punched in the locale into the console. The floater dropped, lowering into the lanes headed toward the darker part of the city. “Just didn’t know, is all.”

  I tilted my Bogart over my eyes. “Of course you didn’t. Do me a favor, will ya? Wake me when we get there. Been a long day.” Lulled by the buoyant movement of the floater, I drifted toward naptime.

  “Uh, Mr. Trubble?”

  I shifted irritably. “Whaddya want, Ace?”

  “You might wanna check the heads-up display. Like pronto.”

  When I blinked my eyes open I immediately knew things were about to go downhill. The screen that opened across the interior of the windshield revealed a silhouetted figure whose features were obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and a flogger with the collar turned up.

  “Hello Mick.” I couldn’t tell if the voice belonged to a male or female. It was filtered through some type of scrambler that disguised its true tone and cadence. “You like to be called ‘Mick’ now, don’t you?”

  “Who the hell are you? How’d you get this number?”

  The laughter came across as crackly static. “Anything coming back to you? Any sudden flashes of clarity from the past?”

  I jabbed a finger at the screen. “Listen, pal. You’re boring me with the cloak and shadow shtick. Howzabout we sit down somewhere and talk things over a drink? Better than ominous calls and veiled intentions.”

  The figure tilted its head. “But it wouldn’t be as much fun, would it? I want to know who you really are, Mick. I want to know if any of the real you is inside of that ridiculous façade Dr. Faraday created.”

  I felt my blood turn cold. “How do you know that name?”

  “Let’s play a little game, Mick. Remember the trials you went through before you became an agent? Think you can shake the rust off and think on your feet? Let’s see if you still have what it takes.”

  The screen went dark. I scratched my head, trying to ignore the knot that had formed in my stomach. “Benny, I think we need to–”

  “Mick, we got trouble.” Benny nearly choked on the words as he pointed to the side window.

  I tilted my Bogart back, allowing a clear view of the airbus that hurtled across the opposite airlanes straight toward us. The long, massive metallic beast was usually packed with passengers and floated slowly from one stop to the next. This one appeared to pick up speed with every passing second. The headlights were twin moons, blinding me to anything except the approaching collision.

  “What the ever-lovin’ hell?”

  Floaters are programmed with evasive maneuvers in emergency situations, which was the only reason we didn’t get plastered like bugs across the airbus’ windshield. The side thruster pulsed, slamming me against the interior panel. The airbus still clipped us on the backside with a crunching sound. We span toward blurry lights and buildings while fragments of the fender whirred around us. I tried not to think about the swirling alcoholic contents in my stomach because things were drastic enough without throwing airsickness into the equation.

  “Dive, kid. Get this crate on the ground!”

  Benny’s eyes rolled in his head as the floater revolved in a tailspin that threatened to send us into the nearest building or turn us into street pizza if we couldn’t get it under control.

  “I can’t…it’s in autodrive.” I couldn’t see clearly, but it looked like tears streamed down his face. He looked outside the window and gave a very unmanly scream. “We’re gonna die. Oh God…”

  I leaned over and actuated the steering controls so they slid over to the passenger side. “If all you’re gonna do is sit there and cry, you can get out right now, boy. Saves me the trouble of shooting you when we land.” I clicked over to manual operation. The floater’s holographic aide flickered on, revealing a headshot of a cute blonde dame who was too perfect to be anything but a synoid.

  She smiled. Thank you for activating the Help System. Warning: manual control is illegal except for emergency situations. Please be advised that–

  I thumped the console with my fist. “Whaddya think this is, a walk in the park? Stabilize this crate and find the nearest place to land safely–pipe that?”

  Initiating emergency landing protocol. Stabilizing with backup thrusters.

  The sensation of imminent death lessened when the floater quit spinning and sputtered into a semblance of controlled flight.

  Warning: suspected threat approaching. Evasive maneuvers limited by engine and thruster damage.

  “Where the hell is it?” I frantically peered out the window, but couldn’t spot the airbus. The rain was gleefully intent on reducing our vision to blurry streaks of light and mammoth shadows. I tapped the patented Instavision button in the corner of the window to clear the distracting drizzle and light up the view, but still couldn’t cl
ap peepers on the attacking tank of a floater.

  “I don’t see nothin’!” Benny's side windows were completely fogged up, and he appeared on the verge of tears again. What a load he turned out to be.

  We found out where the bus was right about when the heavy hunk of junk slammed directly on top of us. The rooftop buckled without much protest, crushing the windows in a glittering display of hovering glass. Benny shrieked like a baby with a ruined diaper as we slid to dashboard level to avoid being becoming human pancakes. The stomach-clenching sensation of sudden descent told me we were on a one-way trip to the land of sudden stops and dramatic explosions. The cityscape blurred as we plummeted toward the concrete jungle below.

  Warning. Life-threatening impact imminent. Please assume crash positions. Chance of survival: four hundred eighty seven million to–

  I managed to squirm around so I could yell at the smiling hologram. “Damn the odds! Divert all remaining energy to the rear thrusters.”

  Diverting.

  “What are you doin’?” Benny’s eyes were golf balls of fear in his head. “We’re falling even faster now!”

  I introduced his meaty jaw to my right cross, knocking him out cold. As he slumped peacefully against the headrest, I tried to judge the time we had until impact. I figured about a second and a half. Most people couldn’t do much in that amount of time.

  I’m not most people.

  “Fire rear thrusters now!”

  The thrusters pulsed, pushing us from the weight of the airbus and firing us down the mostly lifeless street. The airbus slammed down behind us, splintering the asphalt and shuddering the nearby buildings from the wake of impact. Dust and rubble erupted in a cloud that could be seen for miles. The Tesla motor was guaranteed not to explode like the gasoline vehicles before the Cataclysm, but the collision sure didn’t do the neighborhood any favors. One of the buildings leaned drunkenly before imploding in a rumble of concrete and glass, burying the majority of the airbus in the wreckage.