Lunatic City

by T. Allen Diaz

  I stepped into the middle of the room and looked around

  “Can I help you?” said the woman standing in the doorway of one of the offices. She was a pretty brunette with brown eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’m looking for a place to rent.”

  “Well,” she said, “you’ve come to the right lady. What were you looking for?”

  “Just an efficiency.”

  “Sorry.” Her voice said this wasn’t that kind of place.

  “Well, what’s the smallest you can do? The missus and I are having some problems. I need something small.”

  “Oh, well, we have a one-bedroom.”

  “That’s me, one bedroom, no frills. Something top floor?”

  She frowned. “We do, but there’s a luxury charge for anything above the third floor. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  Note to self. “No ma’am. Don’t mind at all. I’m not looking to spend much time in that room, anyway.”

  She smiled. “Ok, would you like to tour one of the units?”

  This is where things could get complicated. I would have to provide ID if I wanted a tour. It shouldn’t be a problem: walk me around, show me a unit, I could case the joint with a building chaperone under the guise of potential tenant.

  But, even a fake name would require an accurate pic, linking me to this case in a way that made me uncomfortable. I just wanted to get Katsaros’ missing vid and get the hell away from this whole situation. It was shady, it was dirty, and it was getting on me.

  I forced a smile. “Maybe later. Still trying to work up my courage.”

  The woman smiled back. “I understand.”

  My pReC pinged. It was a CP, contact profile. I accepted it.

  “I’m Lori, if you decide to come back.”

  I nodded. “Sure, thanks.”

  The bottom three floors: that narrowed things a bit. I stood outside and thought about the options. Could they have pulled up stakes in the last three hours and left? Sure, but where would they go, and on whose dime? They didn’t have Angelo Katsaros bankrolling their every expense.

  This wouldn’t be one of six or seven safe houses. No, the only other option would be their own homes or the home of a trusted friend. I couldn’t imagine that they would think any of those safe after the BB fiasco. No, holing up here seemed the lesser of the evils they faced.

  They were here. I was certain of it. I was also certain that they wouldn’t mill around in the lobby or hang a sign out the window proclaiming ‘FUGITITVE SEX SLAVE INSIDE’! I was really, really close but I’d been really, really close to suspects before. I was going to be nervous until I was standing in their apartment demanding that video.

  The smell of food distracted me. It smelled cheap and greasy: the perfect meal for a starving cop. I looked across the street. It wouldn’t be an unobstructed view, but it would let me see most of the activity in the lobby.

  I decided that even if one of the guardians left, the quarry wasn’t going anywhere. I had time for a meal. Besides, I think better on a full stomach. I sat by the window that gave me the best vantage of the apartment building and ordered a coffee. The waitress brought me one. It was dreadful. “What’s this fish and chips thing you have here?”

  The girl looked back at the counter and leaned over the table. She spoke in a hushed voice. “We’re supposed to push it, but I don’t know how anyone eats that stuff. Try the corned beef hash. It’s not any more real than the fish is, but it’s a better imitation!”

  Better imitation! A resounding endorsement, if I ever heard one. “That sounds perfect. I’ll have that.”

  She smiled and walked back to the counter.

  I watched her and then turned back to the stakeout I was on. There was very little foot traffic. A family returned from a day of wasting money on lunar trinkets and a foursome of t-shirts and hats. Others came and went. None even resembled my quarry. It was an easy surveillance op.

  My fake corned beef hash was plopped in front of me. I looked down at it. If this was the better imitation, I couldn’t imagine what the fish must’ve looked like. And, the smell! It almost made me ill.

  I looked up at the waitress. She was standing there like a proud dog that had just brought me her latest kill. I forced a smile and asked for some water.

  “More coffee?”

  “No, ma’am, thanks. Water will be fine.”

  She walked back to the counter. I looked down at the plate before me. It seemed to gaze up and dare me to try it. I’d spent the better part of twenty years working The Floor. I’d been in life-and-death struggles with men three times my size. I’d been shot at on three different occasions. And, I’d had to wrestle the knife away from a drug-crazed addict trying to carve his name on his girlfriend’s face. But, I wasn’t sure I had the guts for this.

  I put the fork into the pile. I should’ve waited for the water, but I knew that it would be nasty too. I didn’t imagine that there was a culinary mission this place couldn’t fuck up. I put the food in my mouth, and I regretted it the moment it hit my tongue.

  “Pretty good, right?

  I made a noise, and tried to mask my revulsion. She plopped the water in front of me. It was brown: I could see suspended granules. I almost choked on the bite in my mouth and excused myself to the bathroom. I wanted to put my face under a running faucet, but not in this dump. I thought about licking my armpit to get rid of the taste, but I was afraid of what it would do to my skin.

  I turned and stepped back into the restaurant. I almost collided with a kid coming around the counter. We exchanged pardons, and I resumed my seat. The kid had two huge bags. Delivery! Of course! My mind raced. I needed a plan. I had one by the time he returned

  I caught his eye and motioned. He came over to the table. “Yes, sir?”

  I smiled and tried to be non-threatening. “Sorry about almost running into you back there.”

  “No worries,” said the kid. “I’m always hustling around here. My fault.”

  I smiled. “Far be it from me to get in the way of a kid trying to make some bills.”

  The kid smiled.

  “You deliver over there often?”

  The kid’s smile dropped. “Often enough.”

  I pulled out a twenty. “I wanna buy my friend a meal and take it over to him. I’m just not sure which apartment is his.”

  I could see the kid doing the math. Something wasn’t adding up, but twenty bills had a way of making up the difference. Not for this kid, though. I could see that I was gonna have to give him a story. Why not the truth?

  “I’m looking for a missing girl. Every moment that goes by is another moment that someone who isn’t me gets a chance to find her. If they do, having to choke down another meal from this place will be the least of her worries. You understand?”

  He stared hard into my face.

  “I don’t mean them any harm, honest. But, I need a break and I’m asking you for a favor.”

  The kid looked across the street and then back at me. “What’ve you got?”

  I showed him the pic of Tommy Henson and I knew at once this kid had delivered to him before.

  *******

  The kid said they ordered breakfast, lunch and dinner from the place and I developed new-found admiration for their toughness. He’d only ever seen three different faces: two women and a man. I showed him pics of Cyndi and then Lenny. He nodded, and my heart began to race. I bought the kid’s hat and apron for fifty bills and waited for them to place their order.

  I stood in front of apartment 311. My heart was racing. My hands trembled. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to close the net on a suspect, even if this one was a harmless, innocent girl I was really here to help. Somewhere deep in my brain a voice cried that I was making a huge mistake, that I was missing something, that I should slow down. I knew where this girl was.
I could reel her in slowly.

  But I couldn’t. I wanted to get inside, do what I had to do to get Katsaros’ missing vid, and close the book on this chapter. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I was too close to being on the wrong side of the line, too close to being really dirty. I didn’t like it.

  I knocked on the door. “Delivery,” I said and looked down so the peephole could only see my hat and apron.

  The door opened. I tipped my head up and looked into the eyes of Tommy Henson. He had been wearing a wide-boy am-I-glad-you’re-here grin, but that all changed when he saw me. He tried to close the door, but my foot had beat him to the jamb. I grabbed the door and pushed. He was leaning hard, but to no avail.

  He might beat me in a foot race, but he wasn’t gonna out-power me in a wrestling match. I bulldozed him back and stepped inside, letting the door sweep by and slam behind me. Tommy tumbled backward, almost to the floor. I shoved him into the wall, breaking a closet door. He toppled onto the carpet.

  The women were scampering for the back wall. Their movements felt practiced. Cyndi stood between us. I admired her courage. She tried to take a fighting stance. I didn’t have time to be gentle so I feigned with my right fist. She moved to protect herself, but I’d drawn back and brought my left foot up.

  I caught her chin and her head snapped back. I was afraid I’d broken her neck, but I didn’t have too much time to fret. Lenny was opening the window. I leapt across the room in a single jump and gripped her around the waist and tossed her back into the apartment.

  Tommy was there with his stun gun.

  “Not this time,” I said and side-stepped his thrust. I turned my back to him and gripped the arm with the stun gun and elbowed him in the face: once, twice, three times.

  I didn’t have time for this. I gave him a backwards head butt and twisted the gun free from his hand. He was clawing for it. I spread my legs and zapped him on one of his. It gave me no little pleasure listening to him grunt as he convulsed and fell to the floor. Cyndi had recovered, and was herding Lenny out the door.

  “Cyndi!” I shouted in desperation. “I’m here to help!”

  She paused half a step, but she was still pushing.

  Lenny stared back at me. She looked so scared.

  I felt like a horse’s ass. “I’m the only one who knows about this place. Where else are you gonna go? You have to be out of money. We can work this out. Promise!”

  She stopped in the hallway and appraised me.

  “I’m not the enemy. I swear.”

  “You’re working for Katsaros,” Cyndi said.

  I didn’t flinch. “Technically. But, I’m my own boss.”

  She chuckled at that. “He has a way of making you think that.”

  Cyndi was the second woman to tell me that. Maybe I should have considered the possibility that she was right. “I’m here to help you guys. Really.”

  I could see her weighing my words against some formula in her head. “Ok.” She looked at Lenny. “Come on Lenny.”

  *******

  Tommy held a cold pack to his face.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He just looked at me. Those pretty-boy good looks were gonna be taking a vacation for a while.

  “So, you said you could help us,” said Cyndi.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I have a thought or two on that.”

  She was sitting on a crate pulling duty as an all-purpose table and chair.

  Lenny sat on another. She watched me the way a mouse might watch a snake. It didn’t do much for my self-image.

  “How are you doing?” I said to her.

  She drew away from me and didn’t speak.

  “She’s scared of you, detective. Wouldn’t you be?”

  I’d be something. I looked at Cyndi. “I think we should talk. Alone.”

  Lenny reached up and grabbed Cyndi by the arm, but I could see she agreed.

  “We’ll just be an hour,” she said. “No more than that.”

  There was a pleading whisper.

  “It’ll be fine, Lenny. Tommy will be here. Won’t you, Tom?”

  He gestured with a hand and kept the ice pack on his face with the other.

  Lenny gave up the fight, but I didn’t think it was because she agreed.

  I led Cyndi towards the door. My pilfered bag was sitting on the floor. I reached down and picked it up. “I believe this is mine.”

  Cyndi offered no protest.

  I paused at the door and looked back at the duo sitting in the sparse room. Tommy held the compress on his face. Lenny looked at me as if I might eat her in one bite.

  I tried to smile, but neither of them seemed in the mood, so I closed the door.

  *******

  We walked down the street in virtual silence. I offered to eat at Phil’s, but Cyndi declined. She said that that stuff was tearing her up from the inside out. I had no doubt it was.

  We chose a chain restaurant named Ambrosia. It was light years ahead of Phil’s. I was pretty sure that dog turds would be a culinary delight after that wannabe hash.

  I let Cyndi sit first and then took a spot across from her. She was studying me with that critical eye.

  “You sure are tough to find, Miss Travis.”

  She smiled. Her eyes were very pretty. “Not tough enough.”

  I chuckled. “You knew me. At The Bartholomew.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been covering the trials and tribulations of the TCPD, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And I thought it was just me.”

  She smiled again. It was a pleasant sight. “One of my sources thinks there’s more to your partner’s death than meets the eye.”

  “Oh?”

  “He thinks you killed him.”

  I tried to not react. “And you?”

  Her lip curled, but it wasn’t as pleasant as before. “I think there are too many things I don’t know to draw those kind of conclusions.”

  It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I respected her caution. “I don’t suppose you’d accept my word that I didn’t?”

  “Well, you haven’t killed us, so there is that.”

  I smiled.

  We ordered food and I couldn’t resist trying to settle a personal curiosity. “You said you’re investigating the trials and tribulations of the TCPD. What did you mean by that?”

  She was attacking her food with an aggression I rarely saw outside of the force. Reporters, it seemed, didn’t get much time to eat either. “Well, you know I do the political circuit.”

  I nodded, descending on the slimy patty sandwich in front of me.

  “I’m trying to do an exposé on the LAC. I’m sure that’s no surprise to you.”

  It wasn’t.

  “I’m trying to find the link between them and the TCPD’s troubles.”

  “You think they’re backing the investigation into TCPD corruption to lay the groundwork for their private police force?”

  She raised her eyebrows in salutation. “You really are a detective.”

  I smiled and shrugged.

  “I think there’s a lot more to that story, though.”

  I waited.

  “The Lunatics are in it too.”

  I chuckled and shook my head.

  “You think that’s so far-fetched?”

  “Only if you live in the real world. Why would Katsaros want to get involved with The Lunatics? Even he couldn’t survive that type of association.”

  “Katsaros does business with The Lunatics every day. Poor Lenny is proof enough of that.”

  “So Katsaros wants Ramirez’s rent-a-cops to turn an even blinder eye to his sex-slavery?”

  Cyndi shook her head. “That’s not what this is about. It’s about Katsaros’ two favorite things: money and power. He wants to run this town, not just
be a wealthy influence. That’s what the LAC is all about: it owns Mayor Ramirez.”

  “That’s nothing new. Politicians have always—”

  “No,” she said. “You don’t understand: Ramirez’s policies come right out of the LAC’s minutes. According to my sources, that man hasn’t had an original thought since puberty.”

  “So, how does that relate to the TCPD?”

  “Katsaros isn’t the only member of the Council, you know. There’s Hailey Rhonson, CFO of TRS, and Linus Piper, prolific Upper City attorney.”

  That’s when it came into focus. “The co-op! He wants to own the police department! What’s his holding in TRS?”

  “Now you’re thinking, Mr. Parker. Lunar investment laws prohibit me from legally accessing that info without the approval of the board and the major stockholders, but I’m very suspicious that Mr. Katsaros is a primary owner.”

  “And Piper?”

  Cyndi shrugged. “He’s known to do a lot of work for Katsaros and Rhonson. He also has corporate retainers with Katsaros Hospitality Inc. and TRS. I’d be willing to bet partial ownership in the private police department would help with the conviction rating of his criminal division. It could certainly up his customer count, especially when you factor in the money they get for running Pandrom.”

  “So, they try to drown the TCPD in bad press—”

  “Oh,” said Cyndi. “Oscar Foxx, CEO of Lunar News Group, also on the LAC. I’m less sure about his direct affiliation with TRS. Suffice it to say that he doesn’t run with any of my stories.”

  “So, they ruin the name of TCPD and create public outrage and an atmosphere where privatization might be seen as cheaper, more efficient, and less corrupt, making millions if not billions in public contracts and giving them ownership of the police department. That makes great conspiracy theory, but this is the real world.”

  “And what makes that world go round, Mr. Parker?”

  “I know. But being outrageously wealthy and influencing, even writing policy, is one thing. Penetrating the TCPD on this level is something completely different!”

  “Because you cops are a bastion of blue integrity? How the hell do you think I’ve been able to get info for my story? How do you think I ever get any real information from your department? How many of your cops do off-duty security gigs to help ends meet?”