I looked ahead and saw them, dozens of young men with black airbrush paint around their eyes--a tell-tale sign of an animal gang member--and their matty dreadlocks. Just as I noticed it, the Caucasian Rastafarians donned their rabbit masks in unison and ran at me, drawing weapons.
Casually, I moved out of the way. I knew they weren't after me. The Red Rabbit Gang was here to wipe out the remnants of the Blue Pill Rabbit Gang. A final showdown. Above me, I heard sounds I had never heard before and looked up. A hover-van was firing at the seventh floor with laser-cannons! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Immediately, I heard glass breaking, and laser rounds showered the attacking hover-van from the sixth and eighth floors.
My eye noticed something dive off the roof of the tower. I couldn't tell what the black shape was--it looked like a giant black hockey puck. It descended like a stone and crashed on the roof of the attacking hover-van. A second later, the vehicle exploded. The hover-van was a ball of fire with burning bodies falling to the ground along with chunks and fragments of the vehicle. I was not interested in being under metal rain.
Fortunately for me, I had an impeccable sense of direction and decided that I could run to the Hippo hover-van before they could lift off and ditch me. So I ran. Something told me to look behind me and I did. Running right after me was the two street punks my Hippo bodyguards had previously scared off. But now I was alone.
I had no idea what these two planned to do to me. Mug me? I wasn't going to stop to find out, so I turned into the alley the Hippos took me through to get from the dark back alleys to the main streets. I double-timed to the end of the alley just as the two appeared and started after me.
When I was a police intern, I remember one of the instructors saying to us, in one of their many boring classes, "it is never permissible to shoot first and ask questions later." Hell with that! I pulled my piece and shot the first one in the leg. The punk collapsed and the other grabbed and dragged him back the other way and around the corner. Then I heard yelling but I couldn't make out their words.
Behind me was the dim streetlight; the only thing that pierced the darkness. I needed to move closer to see if the hover-van was still there. I turned back to look up the alley and a dozen men appeared, all shooting. One shot barely missed my ear. I pulled myself back and just shot around the corner wildly. I heard yells, grunts, and splashing on the wet ground. I then sent another volley of gunfire their way and ran to that streetlight.
Of course, since it was not my lucky day, the Hippo hover-van was long gone. I was so screwed and all I could think to do was step back directly out of the light. What was I going to do now?
As I stood there trying to think, I had a very strange sensation. I felt I wasn't alone in the secluded dark back-alley. It was more than that. I felt I was surrounded by people--lots of people. It was weird because I couldn't see or hear anything, but the feeling was overpowering.
I couldn't ignore it. I flipped my pop-gun into the dark. The brief second that the pop-gun blast fired showed me that that my instincts were terribly right. Three men were hit by the pop-gun blast and fell back, with grunts. They were all wearing some kind of leather outfit that covered even their heads.
I started firing my piece all around me like I was mad, because I was going mad. Every random shot in the dark was hitting someone! Who were all these people?! I kept firing. I had no idea how many people there were but they were all around me.
A spotlight turned on above me and these dark alley people scattered into the night, but I kept shooting at them. I would never shoot someone in the back, but I ignored my rule in this case. A message had to be sent loud and clear: don't mess with me.
It was the Hippo hover-van. The side door opened and one of them grabbed me and threw me into the middle seat. The door closed and the vehicle jetted away into the night sky.
When you called a woman a hot mess, it meant one thing. When you used the phrase for a man, it meant something different. I was a hot mess, sitting there stewing in my own anger and germophobia. Five words repeated over and over in my head: "I want to go home." I did not want to say or do anything else. But, of course, life was not going to allow any such peace.
We drove a bit until they illegally air-braked the hover-car to the side. I had seen more criminality and violence in this single day than I had in almost 20 adult years of life. No wonder those in the crime world had such a short shelf life. It was amazing they lasted as long as they did. The two Hippos in the front seat turned around.
"You owe us the other half of the money," the one in the passenger seat said.
Here we were, hovering twenty or more stories in the air. They'd pitch me out of the hover-van if they had even an inkling that they wouldn't get the rest of their payment. They didn't care that they gave me only half the bodyguards I hired and left me behind to get killed by three different groups. But they would say quickly, "We came back for ya, didn't we? You're alive, aren't ya?"
"You know where to go," I answered. "The video-booth. I call for your money there."
The Hippos watched me before turning back and around. The hover-van lurched and dipped a few feet before flying forward. I heard a shotgun cock in the seat behind me. If it was meant to scare me, it worked but I kept my composure.
We arrived in Wharf City and pulled up alongside a line of public video-phone booths. I got out and, of course, three of the Hippos got out too and walked right with me. But instead of picking up a phone receiver, I just raised my arm.
A sidewalk johnny nervously appeared from behind the booths with a bag in hand. He threw the bag to me and I threw the bag to one of the miserable, fat cyborgs. The sidewalk johnny backed away. I stood there and watched them with a big frown on my face. One of the Hippos shook the bag as if he could really tell if it was all there with a simple shake.
"Nice doing business with ya," the main Hippo said.
I knew that any words out of my mouth, with the mood I was in, would most likely get me killed by them. I kept my mouth shut; noticing that my sidewalk johnny "friend" had vanished already. The three of them chuckled and hopped back into their hover-van and sped away into the sky-traffic.
I ran.
My sidewalk johnny's other job was to keep a pre-paid hover-taxi waiting and ready, which he did. I ran to it and jumped inside as quickly as possible. We arrived at the Concrete Mama and I ran inside past all the lobby johnnies to the elevator. I ran out of the elevator to my apartment--9732. When I was in, with all the locks locked, I could feel my normalcy returning.
When you have a city in a region with more water than the oceans, the government wants you to waste water. "Take five showers a day." "Take a shower every hour." I still couldn't grasp the fact that there were still people in this city who showered only once a week, not even daily. I was not into soaking in some kind of body detergent, anti-bacterial, anti-germ suds. Whatever filth it dissolved off your skin, you'd be sitting right in the middle of it. I never understood the bath thing. My fave was a super shower of luke-warm water shooting out of the main floor and ceiling vents, and side nozzles blasting out waves of hot steam. My super sauna shower. I knew I'd be in my bathroom for at least 90 minutes.
Was I being a big baby? Or was the danger of the day not to be taken lightly and I was right to be unnerved? That was the internal debate I had to resolve. I was a detective now, so I had to expect to frequent bad places like Mad Heights from time to time on a case. I couldn't melt each time.
Who were those leather-suited people in the dark attacking me?
The question popped into my head. I had never experienced something so crazy. All these people standing in the dark around me. What the hell! I had to find out who or what they were, or it would bug me forever. Phishy would know.
My beautiful shower was over and I got into the nicest, cleanest, fluffiest white clothes and then I glided over to my bed. I dove in and pulled my super-fluffy comforters over me and that was it. I was in for the day. I was not leaving this bed. I was
traumatized and I needed time to regenerate, as the saying goes.
Turn off the video-phone!
I jumped out of the bed and ran to it. It rang.
The call was one of Run-Time's VPs--the West Indian one. Run-Time wanted to see me. Suddenly my planned day had been re-planned.
I wouldn't know until much later that my mad time in Mad Heights put me further ahead in the story than anybody else.
At Let It Ride headquarters, Carol revealed what she revealed and Run-Time revealed what he did, especially by not saying things directly. One of Run-Time's VPs was going to take Carol home. The other was going to take me to Metro Police with part of the Run-Time entourage.
"Mr. Run-Time will meet us there," his West Indian VP said to me.
It was me, her, and four other people that ended up loading into a waiting Let It Ride Enterprises hover-limo that seemed longer than my own apartment. We got comfortable; the VP sat across from me. In fact, all of them were sitting across from me.
"Mr. Cruz, if I may, and I don't want to offend you..."
"What is it?" I asked the VP.
"If you could let Mr. Run-Time do the talking?"
"Who are we going to talk to?"
"It will be a private meeting of the Chief of Police, his top aides, and the Mayor's liaison will be there too."
"What about the police detectives handling Carol's case?"
"They won't be there."
"Why not?"
"They've briefed their superiors."
"That makes me very uncomfortable," I said. "When I was a police intern, back in the day, I quickly learned that the only thing the superiors do is sit at a desk, laugh at the Police Chief's jokes, and stand behind him when he gives a press conference. What's different today?"
The VP smiled ever so diplomatically and the other guys looked on quietly.
"The street detectives are doing the work and have the answers. Why again, won't they be there?" I asked.
"We'll relay your discomfort to Mr. Run-Time," the VP said to me as she unflipped her mobile and started typing.
"Thank you."
As soon as we walked into the swanky executive conference room of the Metro Police on their ground level, I looked for them. Not a police officer in silver and blue to be found. Only a sea of police majors, captains, lieutenants, and deputies. There were even a few ranks I never saw before. I bit my lip and stayed quiet as I was led in by Run-Time's people.
Then the Feds came in, dressed in black suits, with a group as large as the waiting police. Then there was a commotion and in came in the Mayor with an even bigger entourage. I found the whole thing annoying.
As the three groups approached each other, I noticed Run-Time standing in the back with one of his other VPs, the Lebanese one, and a few other people. The greeting of the police, Feds, and the Mayor's group was something out of a sitcom and took forever. When they were done, the accusations could commence.
"There were no Feds on the scene," one of the federal agents said.
"We have on good authority that the identified kidnapper of this girl was purposely allowed to escape the scene," a police deputy said.
"Feds allowed a kidnapper to get away? Why would we do that? Anyways, we were not on that scene."
"Our officers in the field say there were Feds on the scene."
"We were not there?"
"So my officers are liars?"
"We're saying it wasn't the Federal Police and we don't who was there that you claim was there."
The back-and-forth was becoming more heated.
"What are we planning to do to rescue this girl?" I said out loud.
The West Indian shot a look at me and the entire conference room went quiet. Everybody was staring at me.
"Do I need to repeat the question?" I asked.
"No, you don't," said one of the police majors as he approached. "Who exactly are you and why are you here?"
"I'm the consultant on the case for the mother."
"Consultant? You mean like a pretend detective?"
"There's nothing pretend about a kidnapped child."
"Do you have any children, Mr. Cruz?"
"So you do know who I am. Then you know the answer to that question. I'm sorry, but does one have to have children to want children not to be kidnapped, or when they are, for them to be rescued."
"I got six, Mr. Cruz, so I think I can empathize with the situation a hell of a lot more than you."
"Do you empathize more than the mother who has been driving herself crazy trying to find her daughter because you are doing nothing?"
"Nothing? My officers are doing plenty!"
"Then why aren't they in this room instead of you!"
"Because I'm the boss, Mr. Cruz."
I was about to snap back at him when a hand rested on my shoulder. It was Run-Time.
"Mr. Cruz has identified the kidnapper."
The revelation caused an uproar as officers and agents drew near.
"Who is the kidnapper," a Fed asked.
"This is still our case," Chief Hub said to him and he turned to me.
"I can tell you the name, but there's a problem," I said.
"What problem is that?"
"He's a Fed C.I." I could feel Run-Time's death stare as I was playing with political fire--telling half-truths. But as long as it got them to act, I would never repeat Carol's revelation.
"What did you say? We don't have any C.I.s working that area and none that would kidnap a girl. That is a fat lie," a Fed said.
"Red Rabbit is the gang leader's name."
"Red Rabbit?" a police lieutenant started laughing.
"As the law enforcement of the city of Metropolis, you surely know about animal gangs and their increasing presence and violence in parts of the city." That quieted the chuckling. "This Red Rabbit is extremely dangerous and has killed multiple people," I said. "And we know where he is."
"Chief Hub," Run-Time said calmly. "We're here because we believe this information should be given to you personally so a clear, effective attack and rescue plan can be formulated."
Chief Hub nodded. "Exactly." He turned to his deputies. "Get a white board in here." He looked at me, then at the Feds.
"We sure as hell don't have any C.I.s who are animal gang members in a rabbit masks," the lead Fed said.
"Then why did the kid say that?" a police captain asked.
"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?"
Chief Hub walked up to Run-Time, who remained at my side. "Run-Time, thank you for bringing the information to us. You can let Ms. Num know that we'll take it from here, but she shouldn't have unrealistic hopes."
"I understand."
Chief Hub looked at me. "Run-Time, this is the first time I met a friend of yours that I strongly disliked. But there is a first for everything."
I chose not to respond.
I remembered the man when we first came in because he was the only one wearing dark glasses. He was obviously some agent type from the comm-device in his ear, but he wasn't standing with the cops and was there before the Feds and the Mayor and his people came in. Who was he?
Chief Hub was getting ready to start scribbling on his white board when the room began to shake and the red emergency lights started flashing. That same lone agent man held up his hands and said, "Please be calm ladies and gentleman. There is no danger here."
No danger? The entire building was shaking. Monolith towers were the muscle-bound, steroid-fed version of skyscrapers. Earthquakes didn't shake them. They were built to withstand an asteroid hit or nuclear blast. Police One was shaking and then we all saw it from the window--a massive shape was descending from the sky.
Every cop, agent, and aide was on their mobiles as the spaceship stopped its descent to hover above the Police One and City Hall towers.
That man walked up to the Mayor and showed him what looked like a badge. He showed it to Chief Hub and the lead Fed too. Then we all waited. People were looking at each other, but the Mayor s
tood silent and still with his eyes fixed on the door.
They came in--Interpol. Back in the day, the International Crime Police Organization (they dropped the Criminal from their name after a major scandal) was always handicapped by the fact that they could never supersede the authority of a given country and had to be asked in. But when humans launched off Earth to populate space stations and lunar colonies, Interpol became the Interspace Police Organization and somehow their authority superseded any local, state, or national authority. We had hover-vehicles; they had real spaceships. We had lasers; they could vaporize your building up with a laser blast from orbit.
They were all dressed in white suit uniforms and identified themselves to the Mayor, Chief Hub, and the Fed agent-in-charge. They led Interpol man talked quietly with the three of them for a moment and then stepped back.
Chief Hub stepped forward and with a displeased look said to the room, "We have been informed by Interpol that the principals involved in this case fall into their jurisdiction and as such we will cease all operations involving this matter."
"Meaning what?" I asked out loud and all eyes were on me again.
"Meaning what I said," Hub replied, angrily.
"We have a kidnapped girl or have you forgotten!"
The Interpol man stepped up. "We have that under control, but more importantly, we're in the middle of a major operation involving thousands of agents here on Earth and Up-Top at the highest of security levels. We're dealing with the safeguarding of billions of life, not simply one person."
"Says who?" I asked.
Now the Interpol guy was mad at me. "Says the planet Earth."
"The planet Earth all convened and gave you the authority to forsake a kidnapped girl?"
"Mr. Cruz, the real world is so much more complex than black-and-white absolutists like you want to accept."
"Oh, so you know who I am, too. I wonder what that is all about, then? I know you came down here in your fancy spaceship, but on planet Earth, we don't let child kidnappers go scot-free. If you like these animal gangsters so much, take them and all the other criminal scum off the planet and they can all live with you Up-Top."
Liquid Cool: The Cyberpunk Detective Series Page 23