Lunatic City

by T. Allen Diaz

  “Scruples?” She was mocking me.

  I took a deep breath and searched for the words. “Something like that.” I looked into her eyes. “I’m not sure how to get out of this. But, I really think that this girl needs me. He’ll just grab someone else and have him run her down, and then she’ll really be fucked.”

  “So, you plan to find her and then hide her again? How are you gonna get paid when your client realizes you’re playing him? You plan to do this for free? How are you gonna live? What if he kills you?”

  “I don’t know! I need to figure this out, but I also need to find out as much as I can about this girl. Can you help me, or not?”

  Her mouth twisted in thought. I didn’t like the looks of what she was thinking. “So, you want me to help you find this runaway sex slave in the hope you can find a graceful way out of this without getting one or both of you killed? If this goes wrong, you could end up in Pandrom.”

  “I know. That’s why I need your help.”

  Dana took a long breath and looked out at the crowd. “What’s her name?”

  *******

  I strode away from Fernando’s. Miriam had really put a damper on our dinner conversation. No decent person could be a ‘fan’ of sex slavery, but Dana’s hatred for it seemed to go above and beyond righteous abhorrence of a detestable human sin and into something horribly personal. I didn’t have the courage to ask about it.

  I walked through the crowd on the first level and looked up at the neon lights filtering from above The Street. I missed Suzanne, already. Yeah, she hated me, and yeah, our life together was miserable, but she was really good with these predicaments.

  I once heard that Lady Justice should be blind, but I’ve always disagreed. I think that she should see everything and take it all into consideration. What she can’t be is cold or stupid. I’ve known my share of judges and lawyers. I’d settle for blind.

  Suzanne always understood that. She didn’t judge me for letting people go free that the law mandated I incarcerate or for putting men in jail I knew the law would vindicate. There are times a man has to do what’s right. I’ve been a party to street justice on more than one occasion. It’s sometimes the only way for it to reach the untouchable.

  I think she liked that about me, once. I think she saw me as some kind of knight in shining armor. She liked the fact that I stood up for the victims of Tycho City, and against the real, if not always the legal, criminals.

  This was different. This was serving a criminal, in every sense of the word. How could I do his bidding? How was I going to take his money? How could I not? She might have some insight on the matter. On the other hand, she might just shame me for ever agreeing to take Katsaros’ blood money in the first place.

  My pReC flickered. I answered. A narrow face with dark eyes looked back at me from my retina. He had brown hair and wore an easy smile that suggested we’d be fast friends, but his dark eyes belonged to a shark.

  “Parker,” I said.

  “Mr. Parker, my name is Linus Piper.” I could see glimpses of an office behind him: some kind of globe, books and a rich wood bookcase. I knew his next words before he said them. “I’m a lawyer.”

  I made some kind of grunting noise.

  “I understand that you have some legal issues.”

  “Yeah? You working pro bono these days, Counsellor?”

  The man’s smile had a good-natured ‘come on, buddy,’ look to it, but I knew insincerity when I saw it. “I’ve actually been retained by Angelo Katsaros.”

  Katsaros!

  “He seems to think that you’re about to be in dire need of more than one lawyer. I believe I can help you.”

  I stood there, frozen, on the pedestrian walk. People muttered curses and pushed by me, clipping my shoulders as they did. What was this guy saying?

  “Are you offering me your services as a divorce lawyer?”

  “We have a family division, but we have a labor section, too.”

  A labor section! I tried to find words, but they weren’t there.

  “We can help you keep your job, Mr. Parker. How would you like that?”

  How would I like that? I forgot all about my moral dilemma. “Do you really think you can do that?”

  This time, his smile wasn’t so good-natured. “It’s what I do.”

  “When do you want to meet?”

  “How about right now?”

  *******

  Piper’s office was every bit as obnoxious as I expected. It was on the twentieth floor of one of The Upper City’s smaller buildings. But, that did little to take away from the effect it had on me, a civil servant bottom-dweller.

  It had thick carpet and rich wood. Crown molding circled the top of the rooms. The walls were painted a dark brown. There were vases and busts. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls. The secretary who sat at the desk looked like she might have been chosen as part of the décor: petite but shapely. Her dress was classy enough to be appropriate for the office but form-fitting enough to promise that she wasn’t built for business attire.

  “Good evening, Miss. I’m here to see Linus Piper.”

  Her smile beamed from inside ruby lipstick. “Mr. Parker?”

  I tried to return it. “Yes.”

  “Head straight in. He’s expecting you.”

  I nodded and pushed my way through a pair of dark wood doors.

  Piper was standing behind his mahogany desk. He wore a plain short-sleeved button-up and fancy cargo shorts.

  “Mr. Parker.” He moved around the desk and stuck out a hand. “Linus Piper. It’s a real pleasure.” He gestured towards his dress and gave a smile that was supposed to be sheepish. “I hope you weren’t expecting me to be in a suit. That stuff’s for court. The office is much more casual, especially at night.”

  I nodded and spotted a ruby shadow on the collar of his white shirt. If I thought the dress was casual now, I should have been here an hour ago. I glanced at his desk. A picture of a pretty blonde woman and two boys was there. One was six, or so, the other in diapers. I decided I disliked this man.

  “What can I do for you?” said Piper.

  I hesitated. I didn’t know that I wanted this man doing anything for me, at all.

  Piper’s friendly façade cracked. “There are only so many hours in the day, Mr. Parker. I have plenty to do tonight.”

  “Yeah, I see that,” I said. “Where do you wanna begin?”

  His eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “How about we start with your impending divorce from Suzanne.”

  Just hearing the words spoken aloud filled me with sadness. I moved to a plush sofa and sat.

  Piper studied me with those dark eyes. “Drink?”

  I nodded and didn’t speak again until I’d sipped the smoothest scotch of my life. “I—” the word came out hoarse. I cleared my throat. “I don’t want a divorce.” I looked away, the emotion irresistible.

  Piper waited for me to get myself together. I wiped the corner of my right eye with a finger and looked at him. “You can have my job if I can keep my wife.”

  Piper smiled. It seemed sad. “That’s beyond my power, my friend, but I don’t think you could really give up who you are.”

  I thought about Tsaris and Rodson, Keelan and company, and what Debbie had said about Rick knowing David Carson. “I used to think like that, but I think you’d be surprised.”

  He gave a nod and patronizing smile. “Well, let’s assume for a moment that we can’t stop the gears of disunion from turning. Let’s discuss the classic strategies that I think we’ll need to employ here.”

  *******

  I left Piper’s office exhausted. It took almost an hour to get home. I opened the door. Suzanne’s lavender body spray greeted me. I stepped inside and drew a deep, bittersweet breath.

  They were out there, somewhere. Suzanne an
d Maddy. God, how I missed them! I moved to the bedroom and wished for a window out of which I could gaze. Instead, there was just the thumping and bustle of the people above me.

  I thought about Piper and his secretary. Suzanne and I had had passion once. We’d had some incredible moments in this room. Madison was conceived right here on this very bed. It was an old bed.

  I just wanted them back. Maddy and her giddy little giggle, her dangerous and growing fascination with boys. My little girl had become a little woman while I’d spent my life with Tycho’s seedy underground.

  Suze had gone from being my best friend and lover to bitter, disenchanted rival. I’d had no idea. It all seemed to happen so fast. But now, with the walls toppling in around me, it seemed so obvious: I had driven them away.

  The emotion from Piper’s office returned and I bawled in the dark with nothing to comfort me but Suzanne’s smell.

  Chapter VII

  I woke just after three, emotionally spent and physically exhausted. But, I knew that sleep was going to be nothing more than a tease. I had to go out and earn my keep.

  I grabbed some clothes appropriate for my destination and a bag with a suitable change of attire and some tools of the trade. I walked down to the fifth floor shower and found a stall. Not too many people were here at this hour. Most of them were coming, not going.

  The cab cost me a healthy portion of my expense account, but it couldn’t be helped. My quarry wasn’t one to keep regular hours, and I had to make sure I got her at her most honest. That meant a little privacy.

  I leaned against the wall of the car park, several blocks away. I was ten stories up and had a bird’s-eye view of the whole scene. I was pretty sure that I could see her car parked on the roof. It’s what I’d have picked for her: red and white coupé with black flash vents.

  I had been here for hours passing time with the cabbie. She was, like most in her profession, polished and refined in appearance. Most of these people were ex-military. They wouldn’t let just anyone fly these things. It was a high-paying skilled job.

  “You a PI?” she said.

  I didn’t take my eyes off of the car I was watching. “Something like that.” I glanced at her. “UN?”

  The bitterness in her smile was all the answer I needed. “LDF”

  The Lunar Defense Force was a small force of ships and soldiers assigned to interdict smugglers and provide space-farers with rescue services. They were disbanded over concerns of loyalty ten years ago after some damned fools rumbled about secession. Like we could live and function way out here without Earth.

  “Your private charter?” I said.

  “Yeah,” said the woman. “She’s mine.”

  I smiled and stuck out my hand. “Frank.”

  She took it. “Shannon.”

  “Good to meet you, Shannon,” I said and turned back to my view.

  I spent the next seven hours learning that she had served seven years in the LDF and had been one of the Secesh advocates. No one was perfect. She had a boyfriend and a girlfriend who didn’t know each other. Seemed like a damned waste to me. Her mother was dead. She hadn’t spoken to her father in years.

  She loved flying more than anything else in the world and didn’t especially like people—something we had in common. She was forty-five and lived in a bottom-end topside apartment. Her cat was a tabby, her dog was a Chihuahua, and her bird was dead.

  I told her I was going through a divorce.

  “And do you know what she told me?” she was saying, but I wasn’t listening anymore. Allyssa Ramacci strode through a door on the roof in my tenth hour and moved to the red and white sports car. I set the algae posing as yogurt aside and smiled.

  Shannon noticed my change in demeanor. “Something up?”

  “Yeah. It’s time to go.”

  Ramacci drove to different parts of town, apparently to shop. I was concerned that we had been spotted, but she finally descended to the roof of the Paradise Lost Hotel, a Katsaros-owned establishment. I smiled at the irony.

  “Take me down to the street and stay close to the roof. I might need to get out of here in a hurry.”

  “Ooohhh! Exciting!”

  I smiled and stepped out of the craft. She was climbing towards the rooftops and I wondered if she might just fly home to be with her tabby and Chihuahua. I had to chance it.

  Paradise Lost was like every other hotel here in Tycho City. It provided lodging for the masses here to piss away their money on cards and slots and sports. There were shows and family ambiance, but it always felt like putting a ball gown on a street urchin: you could make her look respectable, but sooner or later she would open her mouth.

  I moved through the throng, aware that my every move was being recorded. I’d tried to look like a tourist: flashy silver and blue shirt that blared how ‘Loony’ I was about the Moon. The faux denim hat I wore had been bought months ago at one of the rip-me-off-please gifts shops that were almost as common as slot machines in this part of the city.

  Vertical-slotted glasses were the current rage, I couldn’t begin to say why, but I didn’t care. It kept my eyes shielded and every little bit helped. I fit right in with the masses. I didn’t go straight up. I spent more of my expense account on gambling and trinkets, and, when I was ready to make my move, I bought a pair of tropical drinks in brightly colored glasses.

  I could reach the thirty-second floor with the community elevator, but I chose to get off on twenty-five. I pulled up the hotel floor plan on my pReC. There were thirty-six floors. The top floor was a single penthouse. I didn’t think Ramacci would warrant that kind of respect, but I didn’t expect her to be slumming with the tourists, either. That only left three floors of possibilities.

  There was always one weakness in the security of any hotel like this: the stairwell. It had to be there; it had to allow access from above and below. And, it couldn’t remain locked in case of fire. I left a smoke bomb in the hallway trash can. Few things scared people in a high rise more than fire. I didn’t really like using it as a ploy, but sometimes the master had to be served.

  I was just reaching thirty-two in the stairwell when the alarms started to sing. The magnetic locks on the doors restricting my access to the top floors deactivated, allowing me to pass without molestation. Abracadabra.

  I figured it just as easy to start on thirty-three. The corridor was shorter and more luxurious. You could pad a bed with the carpet. The ceilings were higher and gold fixtures hung from them. The doors weren’t painted. They were dark, varnished wood.

  The two smaller apartments had names etched on gold plates: ‘Dalton’ and ‘Reeves’. One had a worried-looking man standing in his door.

  “False alarm,” I assured him. “Someone smoking Hookah.”

  The big door was unlabeled. No one appeared at the door. That’s the one. I had to finish my search. All of the other flats were either labeled or felt wrong. I ran about assuring these frightened rich boys that the alarm was false.

  I soon stood before the familiar door. Its doorway was still empty. I was afraid that she might not be here. She might be gone. What if she’d left? What if she was down at the restaurant? If she wasn’t here, I’d have to wait.

  I reached into my bag and pulled from it a pump sprayer. I misted the sensor panel next to her door. The finger prints were still there. I eyeballed the size of the print and pulled a special glove-wrapped gel mold. I agitated it a little and gave it a few moments.

  It soon reached body temperature. I aligned it with the prints and pressed. Seconds passed… nothing. I eased the pressure and reached to pull the door handle. Bzzzzt.

  I pushed the door open and stepped into an austere foyer. There was no mirror, no furniture, just a plain tile floor. I closed the door and smelled something cooking.

  I could see her living room through the doorway. There was a couch and a rug. The light came f
rom a tasteful but inexpensive floor lamp. The rest of the room came into view. A pair of French doors led out to a large balcony. The kitchen was to my left. It stood silent and empty. Leftover food still steamed in a frying pan.

  A wide, tiled hallway led to another pair of drape-shrouded French doors, no doubt her bedroom. I heard a scrape and a clink from the balcony. I turned and moved as quietly as I could. I thought for a horrified moment that she might be entertaining but didn’t dare stop now.

  I reached the doorway. She was sitting in a deck chair, the kind with a foot rest, looking out at the city. She was sipping from a champagne glass.

  “I knew you’d come.” She didn’t even spare me a glance.

  I didn’t speak.

  She looked at me. “That fire your doing?”

  “It’s no fire—smoke bomb in a trash can.”

  “Yes,” she said. “They told me.”

  I nodded.

  “You in the habit of breaking into the homes of ladies you barely know?”

  “You’re no lady.”

  She turned back to the cityscape, wounded pain reflecting in her eyes. “I could turn you in, you know. I could call the police—your friends. Wouldn’t they like that: you breaking into a whore’s home?”

  I felt like shit. “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Yes you were, detective. I’m a whore, and you’re a bitter has-been cop who’s pissed away his family and everything that means anything to him.”

  I didn’t feel guilty anymore.

  She looked back at me again. “We had a briefing on you before our visit. Simon is very thorough.”

  “Then why isn’t Simon running this girl down?”

  “Only Katsaros knows the answer to that one. He’s taken quite a shine to you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You should be terrified.” Her voice was hard and flat, like her face.

  I tried to ignore her. “You said you knew I’d come.”

  “Want a drink, detective?”

  “Sure.”

  She poured me a glass of champagne and gave me an inviting smile.