Mysterious Cairo

by Edited By Ed Stark

  I felt a little annoyed myself. "Angie's room is soundproofed, remember? All we heard was Bennie move up just outside the door — too early."

  "Oh. Yeah." Then he sat up. "— Bennie?! I forgot! Is —"

  "He's dead, Farastan. I don't think he even saw it coming."

  I don't like it when people pry into my private moments, so I won't report the next five minutes. Suffice it to say that Bennie was, unbeknownst to me, like a son to the Arab bartender. I did my best to console him, but I'm not very good at that, so I just stood back.

  Sometime during that moment, Angie came out of the back. She was shaking all over, and a little pale, so I gave her a shot. Bourbon, straight up.

  She shot me a hard look but declined comment.

  Farastan finished his story in a rush. He wanted to get out of there, I could tell. The "businessmen" from Japan had disappeared and, by the time the whore screamed, they had been replaced by ninjas and six dead bodies. They were like death on wheels — quiet wheels. Invisible wheels. Farastan said that they struck from the shadows, blades and darts coming out of nowhere. He thought most of the victims didn't even know what was happening.

  But Jules had. He doped things out pretty quick. Apparently, he'd put on his "dumb, confused" look, and "wandered" over near a ninja. Then, like a sneaky tiger — a big tiger, he'd lunged for the man. He'd had the same idea I had. Get in close, bash the crap out of the guy before he could do anything about it.

  But this guy had friends.

  From Farastan's report, Jules had demolished the ninj a he'd been working on, but the others had swarmed all over him. He'd taken several poison darts in the back and a few sword cuts before he'd gone down. He took two of the remaining ninjas with him — they were at least unconscious and probably dead.

  That was when Fast got his. The last ninja had stayed back, killing the few remaining patrons with darts and plinking at Jules. When Fast saw the big man go down, he pulled out his "barroom brawler" — a sawed-off shotgun — and headed for the fray.

  But the ninja saw him and reacted before he could get a shot off. Out of missiles, the assassin grabbed a nearby beer mug and hurled it at Fast. From across the room, it hit him square in the face and knocked him cold. The next thing he remembered was me waking him on the bar.

  I turned to Angie. She was still shaken by the carnage and, because I was not in a charitable mood, that was good. "Fast, shut the door. Bolt it, if you can." I didn't look to see if he obeyed, but he slid off the bar and hobbled in the right direction.

  Grabbing Angie by the elbow, I sat her in the nearest chair. Fortunately, there was no body right near the table — I'm not that cruel.

  "Now," I said, "you tell me everything that's going on."

  She looked confused and frightened. Battered as I was, I'm sure I made an intimidating figure — but it wasn't me she was afraid of.

  She caved in, though, knowing who that ninj a would've started on next had he gotten through with me.

  "What d'you wanna know?" Her voice was hesitant, halting.

  "Same as before, only without the games. Burban. Everything you know."

  "I don't really know much. A week or so ago, Ab-hibe came to us. He'd been hard before, pressuring us to move his liquor, but we'd paid him off instead — it was less than the stuff would've cost anyway. Now, he wasn't taking any." She frowned and got thoughtful. Her voice resumed some of its normal confidence — Angie's tough.

  "He seemed really urgent. He didn't threaten, but it was there nonetheless. He said 'Mr. Burban' had capitalized on some others' failures." Pausing again, her frown deepened, "it's funny. Den seemed to speak ... ironically." She chuckled grimly. "If that's possible for a snake."

  "Then what did he do?"

  "He just left. He took the normal payoff, and then some, and said he'd check with his bosses — bosses!" Her eyes lit up, "Bosses! That's it. Abhibe works for Burban! Nobody else!"

  Now she was fully animated. Before, she was looking at the small picture; now it was like a jigsaw coming together.

  For her, anyway.

  "So what does this mean?"

  "Well ..." oh, crap. I could see the catty eyes coming back, so I broke in.

  "No!" I shot, grabbing her elbow again. She winced, but I forced her to look towards her dressing room. The curtain was pulled back, and Farastan had started to clean up Bennie's remains — in the hallway. It worked, and I cursed myself that I had to resort to this tactic.

  "All right!" Now she was scared — mad scared. I hoped she hadn't figured out what I already knew — the ninjas were there for me, not the club. "I think somebody's managed to muscle in on Burban — so fast and so hard that even Abhibe is going along. Rumor is that the underworld is under siege — the Icarus Club, 'Nails' Nash, and now Burban have been defending themselves over the last few weeks. We've been on pins and needles around here."

  That was for sure. A place like the Northside straddled the fences. It wasn't a haven for criminals like Nash's place, but it certainly wasn't an angel dive. You came here if you wanted honest entertainment — mostly honest, anyway — or you needed to straddle the Cairo fence.

  Hell, it's why I come here.

  When a gang war — or, in this case, outside interest — starts, it hits the criminals hard, but these places even harder. They get caught confused and in the crossfire. Plus, all they got is themselves. Like me.

  I sympathized for Angie, and for Fast, and I mourned their losses. But I had something I had to do, and it had to be done now.

  "Listen," I said, "I think I've figured this out — most of it, anyway. It started with Burban disappearing but not informing his 'loving wife,'" Angie looked puzzled. Hell, I was just talking out loud, "then Nick gets moved on. He'd never come after me without a good reason — he knows I pay my debts. He was told to move on me — right now and hard." I gestured towards an empty corner. "Remember Nick's boys? None of their bodies here. They were just here to finger me. I think ."

  Angie waved her hands and broke in, "I don't understand; how do you know that Nick was moved in on? I can follow — barely — what you're saying about Burban, but what does that have to do with us? And by us, I mean the Northside."

  Fast had finished with Bennie, and he chose that moment to sit down. Great. Now I'd have to tell them. I wasn't sure whether having Farastan bolt the door was such a good idea now.

  "Jennie Burban—Max's wife, came to me today. God, was it only this morning? She said Max had disappeared, but she knew he wasn't dead. I believed her, and I still do, for reasons I won't go into. Anyway, I'd actually turned down the job of finding dear Max — 'cause even though I believed her, I'm not an idiot — and who else but Abhibe, apparently her keeper, shows up.

  "I get bashed on the head by my client, and I wake up tied to a chair. Abhibe explains to me it would be better if I minded my own business. He gives me a song and dance about Jennie fooling around and trying to make Mr. Burban look bad. It rings pretty hollow, but I pretend to buy it.

  "Then he slips. He not only says 'when Mr. Bur-ban returns,' but he freezes like he was choking on a chicken bone. Like I should care when and if Burban leaves town."

  I shook my head. It all comes down to that. Den Abhibe making a careless slip in my office writes my name on a contract and over a dozen "innocents" win a free trip to the morgue.

  "So?" Angie prodded. She's bright, but she likes things spelled out.

  "So," I continued drily, "Abhibe runs back to his new bosses and tells them I'm a liability — oh, I'd manage not to get wasted then and there because of an old trick and a tommy-gun," Angie waited impatiently for me to stop patting myself on the back. "Anyway, they then decide to eliminate me."

  Now Angie was doubting me. "Then why didn't they just send some goons — or even a Nile villain — after you? Why use Nick at all? Or the ninjas in the Northside?"

  That had me stumped. Nick I could understand — work through a third party — but he hadn't liked being told what to do. "That's it
!" I cried.

  Angie looked hopeful, but I had to dash it, "Well, part of it, anyway. Don't you see? Edgy was Nick's way of getting his licks in. He was in a position where he had to use his boys to front for a hit — but Edgy coming first, out of character, put me on edge. Instead of going quietly into an ambush, I got my neck-hairs up and went to talk with you."

  I let that sink in. Now I'd see how "reasonable" Angie could be.

  Pretty reasonable, it turned out. She sighed, "And the Northside got caught in the middle. Oh, Jack," she was starting to break down, but fighting it, "we've got to get out of here."

  "Yeah. You and Fast got somewhere to go?"

  She nodded, "We've got some friends, we can go to —"

  I held up a hand, cutting her off. "I don't want to know. I'm going after them, Angie. I think I know who's behind this and though they don't remember me, I know them. We've got to end it here, or it'll never be over."

  And it won't be over then, my mind reminded.

  "You two go; I think the Northside should be as safe as anywhere, regardless of the outcome. You won't be in danger," yeah, right, "it's me they're after."

  For a moment, Angie looked her age—tired, battered — and then she looked beautiful and smiled. She knew what I was going to try to do. "Start at Nick's. They'll have to report there."

  "We could question the ninja," I said half-heartedly.

  She shook her head, "No, he did himself."

  Leave it to Angie to "forget" that. Damn. That clinched it. I had to get going.

  I nodded and stood. "Show me the way out?" She smiled again, and the old Angie returned.

  "Certainly, sir; anything for a regular customer."

  Angie showed me the secret exit from the Northside, and I kicked myself for not figuring out its location before — it was so obvious I'd never even considered it.

  But I promised her I wouldn't tell.

  She surprised me even more by giving me a kiss that made my wounds go away. Yeah, she knew what I was doing. She almost made me regret it, but she gave me something to do it for, too.

  Life just stinks sometimes.

  Actually, I disagreed with Angie, but saw no reason to disabuse her of the notion that I'd be going to Nicks. Sure, if I was a pulp hero, I'd head there, walk into an ambush, bash some heads, and go from there. But, I'm not. I'm a Core Earth detective who's been living a pulp lifestyle — and these new guys were messing it up.

  Only one crew could be so devious. Angie, with her heart and soul in Cairo, couldn't see it. I did, and I knew they had to be only one place — the top.

  Heading towards the old Republic Palace, I turned south on Nubar. I continued through the square into the "better" residential areas of Cairo. It being night, I had to avoid several patrols and I even got to watch a flaming battle between a couple of pulp bozos. I hoped they'd help me shake any tail I might have picked up.

  I moved east for a little and then back north. I was within sight of the Citadel when I reached my destination. It was a large mansion, of western design — which suggested transformation or post-invasion building—and it was surrounded by walls and lights.

  The Burban Estate.

  The Lion's Den.

  Spending a little time going over security, I was not surprised to see high-tech cameras of a disturbingly familiar design hooked up where guards had once stood. The fence itself was undoubtedly dry—too much trouble fighting the Cairo reality — but the camera could be done with a little reality manipulation.

  These guys were that tough.

  But they couldn't be everywhere.

  The gate was covered, and so was the delivery entrance. But I'm sure my good buddy, the disappearing Max, had more entrances to his lair. It took me over three hours and some "extra effort," but I found a small tunnel under the Cairo sewer. Not the most pleasant of ways in, but safer than any others.

  Sliding through the bars of the sewer, I plodded through the liquid goo. I didn't bother holding a handkerchief over my nose — I've been in worse places. I did draw my gun, though.

  I had just passed one of a number of alcoves, when I spotted him. There was a man, lying on his back in the muck, breathing shallowly. I pointed my gun down the passage, in case this was a trap, and moved forward. There was no way to move quietly, but it didn't matter. If anybody was there, I was dead.

  As I approached the figure, a grim smile tugged at my lips. So, there is justice after all.

  "Hello, Den, old boy."

  It was my pal "Iniquity" Abhibe lying there in the slime. He was still conscious, but he'd been shot and stabbed I don't know how many times. Despite my grim sense of irony, I shuddered to think what he'd gone through.

  His hand lifted out of the muck, holding something that looked like a gun. He was so hurt he couldn't even point it at me. I slapped it aside. Splash.

  "So, Den, no welcome from your old friend Jack?"

  He glared at me and coughed. Blood. I dragged him to a drier spot and propped up his head.

  "Why," he croaked. It wasn't a question.

  "Why not? You must know you're dying. I'm one of 'the good guys.' I'll make you comfortable.

  A pause, then, "You've gotta get those bastards, Reynolds."

  Yeah. As if I plod through sewers for the fun of it. "Really, why? What'd they do?"

  There was some life in the old boy yet. He spat at me, but the blood-and-saliva mix fell short. "Not for me, then, but for the girl. She's still there."

  Ah, Jennie. Another fond memory. I shook my head. Sure, I knew I was going anyway, but maybe I could get something out of the bastard anyway. "You mean the dame that crowned me with my last Scotch bottle. Uh-uh!"

  He really got animated then, saying a few curses I hadn't even heard, "Very well, then; for yourself! They know what she told you, just as I know, now! They're coming for you, anyway." Then the light finally dawned. He finally saw my condition and figured out why I was here, "ah, they already tried!" A cruel smile played across his lips.

  "Yeah."

  The smile vanished in a fit of coughing. Five, maybe ten minutes, tops. He knew it, I knew it. The question was, did he want me or them worse?

  An easy answer. "After our 'meeting,' I went back. Burban was ... back," he shuddered, but I don't think it was his wounds, "their leader was with him. He said I 'failed him.' He ordered me killed."

  Den looked sad and puzzled. Two expressions I hadn't expected from this multiple murderer and gangleader. He continued, "They're so different, Jack. So ... cold. Except their leader. He's ..." More coughing. I reached out, but he waved me off. "Anyway, I broke for it. I took a few with me, and lost the rest in the catacombs below the mansion. I got out here, somehow. I was so frantic, I missed the — uhhhn!"

  A spasm of pain racked him. He didn't have long. With a fierce strength, he pulled my arm until my face was inches away, "get them, Jack. Don't let them have

  //

  He was gone.

  "Don't let them have"what? I thought Burban's empire? I wasn't sure if I cared. The super-growth serum? Again, it was meaningless to me. I looked at Abhibe's dead stare as if the answer was there.

  Nothing but death.

  Rummaging through his clothes, I found a little cash, a set of keys—with door labels! Bless your failing memory, Den! — and, not at all to my surprise, a necklace.

  It was the same one Jennie wore. That was why Den was so concerned. My faith — or lack thereof — in human nature remained intact.

  I started walking again, and then remembered. Searching the filth, I found Den's ray gun. I wasn't sure what it did, but it looked pretty simple. Point and pull the trigger.

  I thought about testing it, but there was a meter on the handle; the bar was over three-quarters down.

  Hurrying now, I sped down the passage. If Den had laid here long, it meant that the new owners of the mansion hadn't been told of the passage. That meant Burban wasn't cooperating. Maybe he'd be another unlikely alley.

  I turned right, left, r
ight, and then a long straight away. The lights were getting dimmer — I thought it was funny that the sewer was lit better than the street above — so I figured I was nearing the entrance to the Burban "catacombs."

  I'm not sure how I managed it, but I think it was seeing the blood-stained rag near the ladder. My foot slipped, my ankle twisted, and I threw myself back just as these long metal spikes came through the floor.

  Damn! I should have gotten Den's hint—some of his wounds weren't caused by 'stars or knives or bullets. He'd careened down the ladder and landed right on the pressure plate. I wasn't sure if it was weird science or just devious tech, but it didn't matter. I got up out of the filth and edge around to the ladder.

  I climbed up the ladder very carefully.

  •k -k -k The sewer ceiling opened with a key from Den's ring into what appeared to be an oversized barrel. There was another latch on the inside, but this one could be opened from here. I pushed it open as quietly as I could and poked my head out.

  I was in some sort of underground storage facility. The "catacombs," as Den called them, was really a giant underground room stacked with boxes and bags of supplies and other things. I was tempted to root around for a little bit, but I knew that would just be trouble. Den had lost his pursuers here; they might still be looking.

  Still, finding a way out would be trouble. It looked like this place had been arranged in an intentionally confusing manner, in case somebody needed to do just what Abhibe had done. Except he forgot the last bit. I could spend hours in this place, and I just didn't have the time.

  But then again, I didn't have much choice.

  Climbing out of the barrel and ignoring the stiffness in my limbs, I made my best guess at which way was out and took off in the other direction. I don't know if my paranoia was warranted, because I hadn't gone ten steps when —

  "Welcome, Mr. Reynolds. So nice of you to join us!"

  Spotlights came on. Bolts were drawn back. Goons stepped out of the darkness and figures lurked within it. At the top of one of the piles of goods, a light reflected off a glass shield. Squinting, I looked up.

  On top of a platform about twenty feet up stood a man in a business suit. He was old, maybe sixty, but he had the well-fed expression of a wolf leader. He was surrounded by a glass cube, which I could only surmise was bulletproof. It looked like there was a door out of the cube on the other side.