A Hard Rain

by Dean Wesley Smith

  I ordered the two to work together and report back in two hours. We now have thirty-two hours remaining. A solution must be found, and found quickly.

  Section Three: Back to the Beginning

  Dixon Hill stood in the massive entrance foyer beside the Luscious Bev and watched as Mr. Data came down the grand marble staircase beside one of Detective Bell’s officers. “I’m afraid, boss,” Mr. Data said, shaking his head, “that we have had no success.”

  At that moment Detective Bell and Mr. Whelan came out of the hallway leading to the kitchen area. “Nothing, Dix,” Bell said. “I don’t think Ghost had your gold ball gizmo.”

  “We gave the place a good going-over,” Mr. Whelan said.

  “As did I,” Mr. Data said. “No stone unturned, no rug left smooth, no safe uncracked, no bed left made, no—”

  Dixon Hill held up his hand. “We get the idea, Mr. Data. I too don’t believe the Heart is here.”

  “And no sign of Cyrus Redblock either,” Mr. Whelan said. “But we did find a few interesting-looking cell areas in the basement behind some secret doors.

  “More than likely where they kept the girl,” Bell said.

  “So what is our next step?” Bev asked.

  Dix looked at her. He had no idea what they should do next. Somehow he was sure the abduction of Cyrus Redblock and the taking of the Heart of the Adjuster were related. But finding out who took either seemed to be impossible.

  “You know,” Detective Bell said, “that Harvey Upstairs Benton might know a thing or two about this.”

  “Why’s that?” Dix asked.

  “He specializes in diamonds and gold. Since your gizmo is gold colored, it might be right up his alley.”

  Dix nodded. It might be a lead. Or it might be like this had been. Another dead end and more lost time in the search for the Heart.

  “Detective?” a man said from the open front door. “We found the woman’s body.”

  Bell glanced at Dix. “Give me a call if you need more help.” With that he headed out the door and down the front sidewalk toward the cliffs.

  “So what do we do now, boss?” Mr. Data asked.

  Dix glanced around at his people. “We spread out and get any information we can find. We’re quickly running out of time, people.”

  All of them nodded.

  “Mr. Whelan, I want you to take two others and go see if you can find out where Benny the Banger’s headquarters are located. Mr. Data, you and Bev do the same for Harvey Upstairs Benton.”

  “Don’t worry, Boss,” Mr. Data said, “we’ll sniff him out like a dead skunk, track him like an elephant in mud, seek the—”

  Dix held up his hand and Mr. Data stopped. Bev snickered and covered her mouth.

  “I’ll see if I can locate Slippery Stan Hand’s whereabouts,” Dix said. “We’ll meet back in my office in an hour, no matter what.”

  “Gotcha, Boss,” Mr. Data said, giving him a thumbs-up sign.

  “And people,” Dix said as two morgue guys wheeled the body of Ghost Johnson past them, strapped down and handcuffed, just in case. “Be careful.”

  “We only have one problem,” Bev said, touching Dix’s arm.

  “What’s that?” Dix said, turning to look into her beautiful, smiling face.

  “How do we get back into town?”

  Dix glanced out the front door at the dark, windswept night, remembering they had come with Detective Bell in his Dodge. And it didn’t seem likely he was going to be leaving any time soon.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to bum a ride.”

  “With whom?” Bev asked.

  Mr. Data took his mobster stance. “Doll, always remember what Mrs. G—once said. “In the history of crime and its detection chance plays the chief character.’ ”

  Dixon Hill just shook his head and headed out the door. “Come on, people. Let’s go take a chance.”

  What he didn’t say was that they were going to have to be very lucky and take a lot of chances to survive for much longer. Somewhere out in this crazy city was a small golden ball that they had to find. He knew the solution to this puzzle was right in front of him.

  He just couldn’t see it.

  Yet.

  The life of all his people and this entire city depended on him seeing the obvious, and doing it very soon.

  Clues from Dixon Hill’s notebook in “The Case of the Missing Heart”

  • Ghost Johnson does not have the Heart of the Adjuster, and if he comes back from his death, he will be in jail for a long time to come.

  • In this instance, the butler didn’t do it, and didn’t survive, at least until he comes back as well.

  • Attempting to reproduce art only results in poor copies and a critical audience.

  • I am convinced that progress has been made in this investigation, even though it feels as if the beginning is at hand again. Suspects have been eliminated.

  Chapter Five

  There Ain’t Nothin’ Like a Dame

  Section One: She Smells Like a Mystery

  DIXON HILL COULD SMELL HER long before he saw her. The clear odor of perfume hung in the hall outside his office like a dark cloud on a horizon, warning of a coming storm. He reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. It was as if someone had cut fresh flowers, dipped them in honey, and then run them over a wet dog. Twice.

  The cloying smell hung on everything like moisture after a hot shower. Even the stray cat batting at something at the end of the hallway seemed upset by the smell, and considering that cats love the smell of dead things, that was something.

  Dix stared at the door to his outer office, not sure if he should go in or not. He had told his people all to meet here, and he was early. He had had no luck finding out information about Slippery Stan Hand. It was as if no one had heard the name before, or wanted to hear it again.

  He squared his shoulders and looked at the door with his name etched in the glass. “Face this like a man,” he muttered.

  He turned the brass knob and pushed open the door, half surprised the door moved easily through the thick air. Inside the smell was just as bad, but thankfully the room was empty.

  For an instant he was sure he could see a lilac-colored cloud in the room, then it vanished. More than likely his imagination, but considering all the strange things happening in this city at the moment, a cloud of perfume in his office might be possible. It certainly smelled possible.

  He pushed his way through the odor like a salmon swimming upriver, and shoved open his inner office door.

  The sight that greeted him set him back on his heels.

  A young woman, wearing a tight skirt, a sheer white blouse, and a flowered, wide-brimmed hat, sat on the edge of his desk, smoking a long cigarette in a black holder. With her big brown eyes and long brown hair swept back off her shoulder, she was the most perfectly beautiful image of a woman he had ever seen. And it was clear from every detail of her being that she knew it.

  And flaunted it.

  From the way she held her cigarette, to the way she draped her purse over her shoulder, to the skin showing on her crossed legs, she knew the effect her look had on men. Every aspect of this woman was aimed at putting a man off his guard, controlling that man, and getting her way.

  For the second time since reaching his office, Dixon Hill squared his shoulders, firmed up his resolve, and pushed the door closed behind him.

  He flipped his hat onto the wooden rack, took off his coat and hung it on the stand, and moved toward her.

  “You’re sitting on my desk.”

  “I was wondering why I was enjoying it so much,” she said, batting her eyes at him, long lashes fluttering in the breeze like torn flags. Her voice was as smooth as glass, not too low, not too high, and very seductive in tone.

  Dix moved around behind her, making her turn and slide off the desk to see him. “Well, I have an appointment in a few minutes,” Dix said, his voice level and his gaze holding hers, “and I don’t appreciate strangers
coming into my office and making themselves at home.”

  “I’m Jessica Daniels,” she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m hoping we won’t be strangers.”

  He ignored her hand and sat down, pushing his chair back away from his desk and putting his feet up. He needed to be rude to get this woman out of his office and out of his way. There wasn’t time for the games this woman would play. Maybe on another day, under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed the

  sparring, but not today. He had to find the Heart of the Adjuster and find it fast.

  “So why come here?” he asked.

  She laughed at him, her laugh perfect and refined. “I was told you were a man who got to the point. I see that was an understatement.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Dix said.

  Her lower lip extended and rolled downward as her entire face went into a slight pout. Dix was sure many men would find such an expression hard to resist. To Dix, it only made her look like she had slept on her face on a hard pillow.

  He waited until she finished her show, then a few beats longer, letting the tension in the room thicken like a ripe fruit in the hot sun.

  Finally she said, “I came to hire you.”

  “I’m busy on another case,” he said. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

  Again the pout was back, this time with even more effort behind it. Dix had a hard time not laughing at how stupid she looked. For a woman who clearly spent a great deal of time in front of a mirror, she should have known better.

  “Why don’t you like me?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” Dix said. “I don’t know you.”

  “So why are you being so rude?”

  “You really want or need an answer to that question?”

  She stared at him as she stood in front of his desk. Then she started around the desk.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said, his voice as low and as cold and as mean as he could make it. He didn’t change the position of his hands behind his head, his feet up on the desk, but he didn’t need to.

  She stopped in her tracks like a deer frozen in a headlight. He could see the stunned look in her eyes behind all the eyeliner. She was clearly confused. She must have never had a man treat her like this before.

  She turned to face him, took a deep breath which exaggerated her assets to the fullest degree, then said, “Yes, I would like an answer.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dix said.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  He let his feet drop to the ground and his chair scoot back, but he didn’t stand. “I’m always rude to anyone who thinks they can come into my office and control me. Just a small pet peeve I have.”

  “What makes you think I wanted to try to control you?” she asked. “I came to hire you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dix said. “I know you want something from me, but I doubt it was to hire me. Otherwise why bathe in too much perfume, wear undergarments meant for ladies of the night, and a dress so tight it leaves nothing to the imagination?”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it, like a fish out of water gasping for life. So Dix went on.

  “You are a woman who is used to having men fall at your feet and do your bidding. You expected me to do the same.”

  He looked her up and down, making his motions large and exaggerated, like a house painter checking to see if he missed anything on a wall.

  Then Dix smiled. “And at another time, I might have enjoyed the game and a few dances around the hardwood. But at the moment, as I said, I’m busy. So please take your perfume and your purse and hit the stairs, if you can get down them in those heels.”

  She blinked twice, and as she did the I’maseductress act dropped off like a coat on a hot day. Her brown eyes turned cold, her face aged right under the makeup, and her posture shifted to one of pity-me defense from complete control.

  Dix saw it all, noted it all, but didn’t move. He knew any action he could make would be too late.

  The small gun appeared from somewhere on her body and she held it pointed at his head as if she knew what she was doing and how to use it. He had no doubt from her posture now that she did.

  “Well, Mr. Hill,” she said, her voice lower than a moment before and much rougher, as if she had smoked three packs a day for years. “I see that my act was convincing, just not effective.”

  “The stairs are still behind you, through the two doors,” Dix said. He put his feet back up on his desk, his hands behind his head, as if beautiful women pointed small-but-deadly guns at him in his office every day. “But I really would take the shoes off before attempting them.”

  She laughed, cold and low and rough. “Why are you so anxious to get me out of here?”

  “As I said, I have another appointment coming in a few minutes.” He looked at her cold eyes and steady hand on the gun. “Besides, your perfume is making me sick to my stomach.”

  “I could make you a lot sicker,” she said, waving the gun sideways to make her point.

  “I doubt you’re going to do that,” he said.

  “And why not?”

  “You wouldn’t get what you came here for.”

  She studied him for a moment, then laughed again. The gun vanished as quickly as it had appeared, to a location Dix couldn’t quite see. Clearly this woman was a pro. She knew her tricks.

  “So let’s just talk until your appointment arrives,” she said. “Would that fit in your schedule?”

  “It would seem I have little choice, so go ahead. What would you like me to do for you?”

  She moved around the end of the desk and sat on the corner, exposing her smooth legs and giving him an interesting angle looking up at her. He figured she had made the move to make him uncomfortable, so he didn’t change position. Behind him, outside the window, the rain had returned, pounding the street below like a drum. It filled the room with a constant background noise.

  “I have heard,” she said, “that you are looking for Cyrus Redblock. Is that correct?”

  “Actually,” Dix said, trying not to show his surprise at her question, “I’m looking for a small, gold-colored ball. I just thought Cyrus Redblock, or whoever took him, might be able to help me find it.”

  She nodded. “What I want you to do is help me find Cyrus.”

  Now Dix was really surprised.

  He lowered himself back to a sitting position, which brought him closer to her legs and her perfume. So he stood and moved away, hands behind his back, as if thinking.

  Then he turned back to face her. “Why?”

  “I could tell you the reason I had invented for the woman you saw when you came in,” she said, smiling at him, her eyes still cold, her expression hard, even as she batted her eyes.

  “No, please,” Dix said. “Truth.”

  “I want to kill him,” she said.

  The harshness and coldness in her words seemed to suck the heat from the room and push back the sounds of the rain like someone had dropped a blanket over everything. Dix was amazed frost didn’t form on the inside of the window.

  “And then,” she said, going on slowly, her voice low and raspy, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife, “I want to make sure he stays dead, even if I have to keep killing him every few hours myself.”

  “It would get old and tiring, I’m sure,” Dix said.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” she said. “I would actually enjoy it, to be honest with you.”

  He could tell from her eyes that she meant what she said. And that made Dix shiver. This woman was colder and meaner and angrier than he had thought.

  They stared at each other for a moment, letting the cold build. Finally Dix asked. “What did he do to you?”

  She smiled, but the smile did nothing to warm the room. “As you said to me, that’s a question I don’t think you want or need to know.”

  Dix stared at her for a moment, then decided she was right on that. H
e didn’t need to know. It was clear she hated Cyrus Redblock and wanted him dead. That was more than enough.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  “So, can I trust you to tell me when you find him?”

  “No,” Dix said. “I have no reason to.”

  Again the gun appeared in her hand like she was a magician pulling cards out of the air. “Is your life, and the lives of your friends, reason enough?”

  Dix shrugged. He didn’t dare let this woman see a touch of weakness. “It might be, I suppose, if you told me who you were working for.”

  The gun actually dropped a fraction of an inch, but her expression stayed frozen, as if her makeup had hardened into a false shell. Her working for someone had been an educated guess on his part, but her reaction told him he was right.

  “I told you, I want him dead,” she said.

  “I’m sure you do,” Dix said. “I wasn’t questioning that. I was asking who you were working for. You be honest with me and I might be tempted to tell you if I find Redblock.”

  She lowered her arm, but didn’t put the gun away this time. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, any more than her phony act when he came in had reached convincing. “I understand, from word on the street, that you were just looking for him.”

  “Slippery Stan Hand?” Dix said, actually surprised, and not caring if it showed in his voice.

  “My boyfriend,” she said, her voice soft again. “Stan Hand, the smoothest touch on the west coast.”

  “So Stan doesn’t have Cyrus Redblock, I gather.”

  She looked at him, her eyes cold, her anger making her almost shake. “No, Redblock had Stan. Took him and killed most of Stan’s men yesterday, in a shootout.”

  “Yesterday, before someone took Redblock?” Dix asked, doing his best to make sense of all this new information. Or even believe it.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And Stan’s men ain’t doing the walking dead routine. They’re starting to smell.”

  Dix wanted to ask how she could smell anything through her own perfume, but kept his mouth shut.

  “So will you help me find Redblock?”