I whispered my suspicion to Blanc after they walked out.
“Do you think they could be connected to the kidnapping? If not, does it matter?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know. It just came to me. If we could figure out who those two worked for maybe we can dig around a little and see if there is a connection.”
“How do you intend to do that? You going to ask to use the receptionist’s computer?”
I smiled. “Something like that. Wait here,” I said. I stood and walked to the receptionist’s station.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Do you have a water fountain or something like that?” I asked.
She smiled. “Right over here,” she said, pointing to her right, to a table with dispensers and disposable cups. “We have coffee and water.”
“Thank you,” I said. I turned to leave then stopped and asked, “Are those your kids?” as I pointed at the photos behind her.
She beamed. “Yes they are! I am so glad you asked.”
People who put pictures of family, pets, cars, or whatever in public view are almost always itching to tell you about them. Unless you are ready to get an earful, don’t ask, ever. It’s best not to even be seen looking at them.
“They’re very cute,” I said. “I bet they keep you busy.”
“Oh, I could tell you stories. This one is our youngest,” she said as she turned around and took a picture of a small boy on a bicycle off the shelf and held it up so I could see it up close. I leaned over her work area and pretended to be interested.
“He was learning to ride a bike that day. This one,” she said turning away again to switch pictures, “was taken at the park.”
I tuned out what she was saying and began glancing at the papers on her work surface and the image on the computer screen every time she turned to switch photos as she continued the epic of her family’s activities. I picked out the words Arc Tau Security, Lawrence Freeman, and William Leahy. It appeared Teasdale was looking at a contract for the security company.
Finally she stopped.
“Well, thank you for sharing,” I said.
“You are welcome,” she said nicely. “Do you have any?”
“Any what?”
She tapped the image she still held in her hand with a long bright red fingernail.
“No. I don’t have any photos of your children,” I replied.
She stared at me for several seconds, then laughed. “That’s very funny.”
The phone on her desk rang and I was able to return to the sofa where Blanc was waiting.
“Did that go as planned?” he asked with a grin.
“Pretty much,” I said. “Arc Tau. You know anything about them?”
“Security? I’ve heard of them, but that’s it. You got something. How did you manage that?”
I told him what I had done.
“Very good. They didn’t mention that technique at the academy.”
“I can get away with it, but the courts might frown on you doing the same.”
“Mr. Teasdale will see you now,” the receptionist said to us.
She led us through the same doors the two mercs had used, and down a hallway to some double doors.
“Mr. Teasdale is in there,” she said gesturing with her hand.
We entered and a slick looking middle-aged man stood up from behind his desk and said, “Gentlemen, welcome aboard. Please have a seat.”
The guy looked and talked like a politician. It would not have surprised me if he ran for governor or something someday. I glanced at the wall behind him. There was a photo of him on a sailing yacht, wearing a yacht cap—complete with scrambled egg gold braid embroidery—on his head. My guess was the boat in the photo belonged to him and his ‘welcome aboard’ was bait for us to ask about the tub. Don’t ask. Ever.
We sat in chairs situated in front of his desk.
“You are here about Mr. Rooney,” he said.
“That’s right, Mr. Teasdale. It is my understanding that he is in your employ?” Blanc asked.
“That is correct. Before you continue, I would advise you that Mr. Rooney is also my client as of last night.”
“So asking you if Mr. Rooney was working on your behalf when he allegedly attempted to bribe a police officer would be out of bounds,” Blanc said.
“Yes it would,” Teasdale said with a satisfied tone. “If such a ridiculous accusation were true, I might be incriminating myself if I were to answer.”
“Hypothetically speaking, if he was acting on your behalf, would your representing him now be ethical?”
“I believe so. That is something the prosecutor could bring to the attention of the bar association if it was a concern. But that would only be if there were some evidence of such.”
“I see,” Blanc said. “I guess we are finished then.”
Blanc called Lieutenant Weaver while we made our way to the skycar after the elevator ride down and relayed to him the sparse amount of information we managed to gather. Weaver said he’d put a couple of detectives on looking into the mercs if and when he could spare somebody.
It was late morning when we got back to High Town and by the time Blanc was finished with his paperwork it was lunchtime. We decided to go to the Skyline. We took Blanc’s assigned ground sedan to my office, then walked to the diner.
As we were paying our lunch bill on the way out, Blanc got a call from High Town dispatch saying Nan Jones was trying to get in touch with him. She had some important information that she didn’t want to discuss over a phone. We headed to Cassandra’s when we left the diner.
A couple of minutes later dispatch called Blanc and told him Nan called again and asked that he meet her at Oleg’s, a skuzzy combination pool hall, strip club, and bar, half a block up the street from the Crank Case and Dante’s. They said she’d explain why when he got there.
We both thought it a bit hinky, but maybe Nan was scared, or Cassandra’s was under surveillance. In any case, we were going to be on our guard.
Half of the joints in that area were open 24/7 and that time of day there was the usual mix mash of people ranging from down-and-outers to businesspeople in suits.
Two of those suit-wearing types saw Blanc’s badge on his belt and approached us on the sidewalk to ask him if he could help locate a mobile phone one of them had lost. We stopped and Blanc looked at his phone, checking the police database to see if there was any report. It didn’t feel right to me, but there was nothing that justified me to start punching, stabbing, or shooting.
The two guys glanced at one another and I knew something was up. I decided to move first and risk getting called crazy if I was wrong. I stepped to my left to put a brick wall behind the two guys instead of pedestrians and went for my pistol as I yelled, “Gun, Bob!”
The two guys went for weapons under their jackets, as did Blanc. The guy closest to me was bringing a hand blaster up and out from under his jacket. I put two slugs into his chest, which staggered him, but he was still trying to bring his weapon to bear. I put my sights on the middle of his head and put him down for good with a single shot.
I heard the high-pitched spitting sound of a blaster shot coming from the other guy’s weapon and the rapid snick-snick sounds of Blanc’s needler.
I turned as the first guy went down and saw Blanc falling and the other guy staggering with needles in his neck and face. I didn’t give him a chance to fire again and put a bullet through his head.
Looking at Blanc, I saw a growing pool of blood on the sidewalk under his head with little curls of smoke coming from the wound. I felt sorry for the kid, he had a lot going for him.
I knelt next to him and keyed the emergency services number on my mobile phone. When they answered I opened my mouth to speak and a blaster bolt went sizzling by and hit the wall three or four meters away.
I dropped to the sidewalk and rolled behind one of the dead gunsels. I looked up to see where the bolt came from. I spotted another gunman in the entrance to an alley across and up the st
reet fifty meters away crouched behind some trashcans. He fired again. The bolt came closer this time, but still missed. I took aim and fired, hitting the gunsel in his left arm. He staggered and I fired again, narrowly missing him as he turned to his right and ran down the alley. I led him as he ran and fired again, but I ran out of open air as the bullet plowed into the face of the building, red dust puffing in the air as he disappeared behind the bricks. I was on my feet and running in pursuit of the bastard in an instant, yelling into my phone to get an ambulance for Blanc, not that it would help.
As I ran, I swapped the empty magazine in my pistol for a fresh one, dropping the empty into my jacket pocket. They cost money. I approached the alleyway, leading with my pistol, and saw the wounded gunman climbing a dilapidated wood fence that blocked the passage. I fired at him as he dropped to the other side, bullets punching through the rotting wood, then I charged. I climbed the fence and peeked over and saw the guy was limping now. I wondered if I had hit him or if he just landed badly. It didn’t matter except that I knew he wasn’t going to be outrunning me now.
I dropped to the other side and sprinted after the man. He rounded a corner ahead to the right. I rounded the corner wide, wary of the guy trying to catch me short, but he was still running gimped up. I was closing on him at a good clip when he suddenly veered right into a doorway. I was hot on his tail and as I cleared the doorway, I saw him hobbling up the stairs ahead. I brought my pistol up to plug him.
That’s when the lights went out.
~~~:{o}:~~~
Chapter 5
on the QT News Service - Local, High Town
Shootout in Red Light Leaves Two Dead, Cop Seriously Wounded
A midday shootout in the Red Light near Oleg’s left two dead, two missing, one wounded, and a hundred unanswered questions about what happened.
Robert Blanc, High Town District Detective, suffered a head wound in the fracas and is in guarded condition at Bagwell Medical Center.
The two dead men have yet to be identified, nor have the two missing men last seen fleeing the shootout. If you know anything about this incident, let on the QT know, because when we know, everyone knows.
on the QT - We’ll be there before the smoke stops coming out of the barrel.
---o---
I came to sitting in a straight-backed wood chair. That wasn’t the first time that happened to me. My hands were cuffed behind me, around the back of the chair, the steel biting into my wrists. That wasn’t a first either. My ankles were tied to the rear legs of the chair and my shoes and socks were gone, along with my jacket. My shirt was untucked, so I figured they had searched me while I was out.
The place smelled like it hadn’t been used in some time. Not a musty smell, it simply smelled of disuse. The floor was plascrete, old and stained. It had been recently swept though, I could see dust lines left by a broom. They cleaned the place up just for me it seemed. Maybe I should have felt flattered, but I wasn’t. I was scared and mad.
I looked up. Directly above me was a bright light in one of those cone-shaped shades, while around me there was darkness. I had a sense there were people in the shadows, but I couldn’t see anyone.
A voice from the darkness said, “Rex, he is awake. Proceed.”
Rex. It had to be one of the thugs that nabbed Charles Savan from Lacey’s. I heard the footsteps of what I thought was a big man plodding toward me, his shoes squeaking despite the traces of grit on the floor. As he entered the light, I could see I was wrong. The bastard was a mountain of a man.
“I’m gonna ask you some questions,” the giant said.
“I’ll answer in small words so you might understand, chubs,” I said.
He glared at me. I smiled back, but he didn’t take the bait.
“There’s a whore heard a conversation. You know what I’m getting at. What’s her name?” Rex asked, clenching his fists.
They were still chasing a rumor that Sarah knew something, whoever they were. “Carol Pulaski, I lost my virginity to her in the eighth grade,” I said. That was my standard answer when asked that kind of question under duress.
“What?” the goon asked. There was a befuddled look on his face. I guess I confused him, but that probably wasn’t much of a feat.
“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t her first though, ‘cause she sure seemed to know what she was doing. She did this thing with—”
“Rex, he is diverting you,” said a voice from the darkness. The same voice as before.
The goon started with body shots. That’s smart. You want to make it so a guy can’t breathe. The problem was I happened to be the guy. After a few minutes, the giant gave me a few love taps to the face, splitting my lip.
“You gonna talk now?” the goon asked.
It was hard to breathe, but I was ready to chat a little. “Yeah, I’ll talk,” I gasped. “Where was I? Oh yeah, Carol Pulaski—”
“The grape, Rex. Work his grape. Knock the smart ass out of this tough guy,” said a different voice from the darkness. “Keep him awake though. He must talk.”
That’s the problem when you’re a known tough guy. If you fold early and start singing, they know you’re lying. The way this game is played was simple, if you wanted to lie and maybe get away with it, you’d have to take some hits. Fortunately for me I could take a punch, but this goon could really bring the blows. When my ivory started getting loose I knew it was time to start talking, but they kept the goon at it till I was spitting teeth. I was sure they would have him keep at it even after I spilled, keep him at till I was dead, so I decided to play a different game. I’d play dumb. I was good at that game.
“Okay... okay, I’ll talk,” I mumbled as blood dripped from my mouth.
The goon leaned down and spoke into my ear, “What’s the woman’s name?”
I shook my head, like I was clearing the cobwebs out. “Woman?”
“That’s right. The woman. Her name.”
“Savannah, Savannah Pupil,” I said quietly, looking at the floor.
“She’s nothing,” said the ‘work his grape’ guy. “The woman who talked with Savan, that’s what we want, Rex.”
Rex punched me in the gut, hard. “Not her, shithead. We want the woman that talked to Charles Savan. Who is she. Her name, spill it.”
That confused me. If they weren’t looking for Savannah and trying to find her real name, then who were they looking for? I hoped this meant they were chasing a phantom.
“Mimom, that’s her name,” I gasped.
“That her last name?”
I nodded.
“Okay, what’s her first name?” he said putting his mitt on my left shoulder.
“I... she’s from Restructured Indonesia,” I said still looking down.
The goon tried to grab me by the hair, but I kept what hair I had left short, so he had to settle with putting his paw on the top of my head. He lifted my head up and growled, “I don’t care what she is. I want her first name.”
“Ufuct, that’s it. That’s her first name.”
“Ufuct Mimom?”
I laughed as I looked the goon in the eyes. “Yeah, I did. She wasn’t bad.” A dumb play. Juvenile as hell. The kind of shit that makes a thirteen-year-old boy mad.
Somebody in the shadows laughed. It sounded like a small dog coughing.
The goon was a mama’s boy and it just dawned on him what happened. I could see it in his eyes as his rage built, then his face went red, bordering on purple. I kept laughing, even louder, mocking him. He went ballistic. The last thing I remember before the lights went out was one of the voices from the dark yell, “Rex, no! We need the name.”
Played it dumb. You can’t spill if you aren’t conscious. I won by a knockout.
Sometime later I woke up in a dark room, face down on the floor. I was awash with pain. My hands were still cuffed behind my back and the ropes on my ankles were still there, but not tied to anything. I could hear the murmur of voices and maybe some laughter, but I didn’t think they were close
. I knew this was the only chance I was likely to get, so I made my move.
Inside the waistband of my pants, under the belt, I kept a little military can opener with a short piece of stiff wire attached. It would be easy to miss if a guy weren’t specifically looking for it. If a person practiced enough, they could learn to pick handcuff locks with it. Convenient? Yeah, that’s why I carried it, and when you have a lot of free time between jobs you might as well put it to good use.
I peeled my face from where the congealed blood stuck me to the floor, and went to work on the handcuffs while someone pounded on the inside of my skull with a hammer. In a couple of minutes I was free of the bracelets. I discovered I was locked in and sharing a room with a pile of broken furniture, mostly wooden tables and chairs. In no time I had a meter long wood club in my hands. It felt solid enough. I thought about waiting until someone came to check on me, but considering how rocky I was already feeling I felt my time was winding down. I started making noise. When it brought no response, I started getting a bit louder and louder until I heard someone stomping toward the locked door to my cell.
Through the door I heard a voice yell, “Don’t be stupid, Rex. We need info from the guy.”
The mama’s boy was coming, and coming mad. I smiled and could feel how many teeth I was missing. I heard him unlocking the door, and as the doorknob started to turn, I began my swing with the piece of chair.
The door burst open and the goon rushed in, catching the end of the club in the forehead as my ribs flared in pain from the exertion. The club broke halfway down its length as the mama’s boy stopped momentarily with a surprised look on his face and blood running down his nose.
I wasn’t going to give him a chance to build up another head of steam so I drove the broken end of the club I still held in my hand into his face as hard as I could. His face crumpled inward like someone stomping on an upside down pie plate. The big man dropped like a sack of crap to the floor.
I could hear footfalls coming my way, so I quickly searched Rex for a weapon. He was carrying a little stub needler. A big mountain of a goon and he carried a stinking needler. Well, it was better than nothing.
The Lowdown in High Town: An R.R. Johnson Novel Page 10