“Getting into gunfights, having the shit kicked out of me, and being grilled by the cops? No thanks, find yourself another guy.”
He pursed his lips and gave me a look that said he didn’t like my remark. “I mean looking into the kidnappings of the Savans and the connection BluCorp may have to them.”
“Maybe you haven’t heard, but that’s not the deal anymore. It’s some wackjobs that want BluCorp to change their evil ways that did it.”
“You and I both know that isn’t true.”
“You might know some things, but all I got are some guesses.”
“And your guesses tell you BluCorp is behind all of this. The SFIS believes the same thing, but the kidnapping isn’t our concern. We’ve been investigating them for a few months, but it’s slow going. We know they are mixed up in something, but we haven’t been able to pin it down yet.”
“So you’re in the dark, same as most everybody. What if I stay solo, what’s to stop me from pursuing this on my own?”
“The SFIS, for starters. We can’t stop the cops from digging around, but we won’t let anyone jeopardize our investigation. The cops don’t want to use you as an asset anymore, we do.”
“So instead of working with the cops, I go to work for you?”
“You’re not working for us. We are providing some assets for you to use. We watch what happens. Hopefully what we observe leads us where we want to go.”
I knew what he meant. Sure I’d get some leads to work with, maybe a little extra info, but they’d still have someone looking over my shoulder in some fashion, probably Fell. I’d be working for them all right, I’d just be doing it for free, unless I could squeeze some creds out of them. But I would be on the case.
“What makes you think I’ll do any better than you guys?” I asked.
“We’ve been very careful to make sure BluCorp suspects nothing of our probing. Problem is, we can’t get too close. BluCorp hires some pretty high-speed security operatives, so we have to stay off their sensors or else they’ll know Security Forces are watching. You might get noticed by them, but they’ll think you’re still working the kidnapping case, and only the kidnapping.”
“Just how many days are you looking to retain me?”
“I can’t officially hire you.”
“You can’t officially impersonate a police officer either, but you did.”
“I cannot risk someone looking into your finances and finding Security Forces credits flowing into your account.”
I looked at my ceiling for a few seconds. Fell wasn’t stupid, but he must have thought I was. “You have a slush fund. You pay me in scrip. I keep my trap shut. Pretty simple.”
“I think you read or watch too many spy dramas,” he said. He gave me the same look an adult gives a kid who says he believes in Santa Claus. “We don’t keep bags of currency in the trunks of our cars.”
“So you want me to work for you without pay. For what reason? Civic duty? Patriotism?” I sneered. “I did the patriotic thing once. It didn’t work out that well, so no thanks.”
“Let’s not be hasty, Johnson. I am aware of your service under the former state. I can pay you. You get what, a hundred, maybe two-fifty a day?” he said digging into a lapel pocket.
He’d been doing a little checking, digging into my financials. What little there were.
“I used to. Lately I’m getting paid a little more than that.”
“I’m not a Savan or Harrison.”
It was obvious he knew a lot more about me than I knew about him.
“No. You work for Gulf City. They have much deeper pockets than any family.”
He sighed. “I’ll go two-fifty a day.”
“When things are tight I might help a near dead find a lost dog for a flat hundred creds. That’s because I need to eat and the poor near dead needs his dog. Street hustlers can swing two-fifty a day to hire me, and they don’t ask me to dig holes in BluCorp’s lawn. You’re telling me SFIS can’t do better than a street hustler?”
Fell stared out the window for a few seconds with an irritated look on his face.
We ended up settling for five hundred a day plus expenses. He paid me for three days in advance, but he wanted full days, so I’d start the next morning.
As soon as we agreed on a price, he asked me about a rumor floating around. “You know anything about a woman who heard a conversation involving Charles Savan at a strip club here in the Red Light? I hear she knows everything.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Miss Direction. She’s not a who. She’s a rumor that won’t die. She knows everything, that’s why everybody is after her.”
“That’s funny,” he said, but he didn’t laugh. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Detective Blanc and I chased the rumor as far as it would go. If she existed, don’t you think the cops would be sitting on her? She’s a nice diversion for whoever keeps floating that rumor out there, or maybe somebody wishes she was real because it would be easier that way.”
He bought it. He told me to keep digging and he’d be in touch.
I watched him get in his car and drive away. I noticed Blanc’s police sedan was still sitting out there as well. I thought about seeing if Preston could move a hot cop car, but I decided I would call the police station the next day and get them to recover the thing.
I decided to call Gene and see if he might know anything about Fell or anything else that might help. From what Blake relayed to me I knew I needed to be careful with what I said.
“Dickerson,” Gene said using his customary answer.
“Gene, It’s Rick. I need a favor.”
“Hello to you too. What kind of favor?”
“Did those two torpedoes have any info on them that might lead to who wanted Detective Blanc dead?”
“Which two torpedoes?”
“You know good and well what I’m talking about.”
“Oh, the possible murder victims. The department hasn’t decided if there are charges pending or not in the killing of those two, so you might watch what you say. And no, I ain’t telling you anything.”
“Why are you being such a hardass on this?”
“Why not? You aren’t helping us any. IA tells me you are giving them eight versions of the hardass routine, so quid pro quo, asshole. Go drown your sorrows in the Port o’ Call or whatever shitpit you drink in these days and leave the police work to the police. Got it, tough guy?” Gene said bitterly.
“Yeah. I got it. They got you dancing to their tune these days, I see. Fuck off, sellout,” I growled before I hung up.
I put my phone down on my desk and smiled. Gene would meet me at eight o’clock that evening at the Port o’ Call. Frenchy Lafitte owned the place and was an old acquaintance of Gene and I, so we’d be on friendly ground.
I think Gene was concerned his phone calls were being monitored for quality assurance purposes by his fellows in law enforcement. That’s why he said that jazz about IA. If someone was listening in they couldn’t know Internal Affairs was off my back. Not that it mattered, but if someone was concerned about me they might think I was limited in what I could do if the cops were breathing down my neck.
Gene entered the Port o’ Call and waved when he saw me seated in a booth along the wall. He smiled, then gestured at the bar.
I watched him greet Frenchy. He obviously remembered Gene, but Frenchy wasn’t the sort to forget old friends. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but I could read the body language well enough to know what passed between them.
Long time no see. They shake hands and clap each other on the shoulder with big smiles on their faces. Gene’s probably the only cop on the GCPD to have that happen in here, ever. Have one on the house, Gene. I couldn’t. I insist. You can’t refuse when Frenchy insists. Thanks, Frenchy. Sure, Gene, don’t be a stranger.
Gene walked over and I could see he was bothered by my appearance, but he hid it well.
“This pl
ace ain’t changed a bit,” Gene said as he sat across from me. “Even Frenchy looks the same.”
“Too bad we can’t say the same,” I replied.
He laughed. “Ain’t that the damned truth. We picked the wrong lines of work.”
“No shit. I guess it isn’t too late to open a bar.”
“There’s an idea. We should consider it when I retire.”
“I’ll be too old to be your bouncer and too poor to be your partner.”
“I think you may be too old now, old pal. I heard you got put through the ringer, but jeez, what the fuck happened to you?”
“I assume that’s not an official question?”
Gene glared at me. “You need to ask?”
“It’s been awhile. Sometimes people change.”
“No shit. But not you, shithead.” He smiled. “Ain’t no cops in the Port o’ Call and the Red Light’s got its own set of rules.”
I told him a more or less honest version of my tale of woe and adventure.
“Holy shit, Rick. Who the fuck are you mixed up with?”
“IA, Henry Bartram, the Savan family, the Harrisons, Langtry, BluCorp, Arc Tau Security, and Security Forces Intel.”
Gene looked at me like I was bullshitting him at first, but as my list went on his look made it clear he questioned my sanity.
“How did you manage this?” he asked, then he shook his head and put a hand up. “Wait, don’t tell me. You are one guy mixing it up with all that? You are trying to extricate yourself from this, right?”
“I’m trying, but I think I still have a job to do.”
Gene looked at me for several seconds then took a swig from his beer. “I was right. You haven’t changed. Not one damn bit. Yeah, you got a job to do all right and you’ll see it through if it kills you. Somebody on that list of yours got you good and mad, didn’t they? You’ll pursue this even if you weren’t getting paid. I bet you aren’t getting paid right now. You’ll put your head down and bore right into this till you win or you can’t do it anymore. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to lie to him and I sure as hell wasn’t going to say he was right. It’s hard to be told how you are viewed by people close to you.
We stared at each other for awhile.
“I am getting paid,” I said.
He laughed. “I don’t know if I should feel sorry for you or be in awe,” Gene replied shaking his head.
I started to say something. I don’t know what it was, but Gene cut me off with a wave of his hand. “I can help,” he said. “I know some things that might keep your dumb ass alive. I know we don’t keep score, but the chestnuts out of the fire scale are way in your favor.”
“There’s no scale, Gene. I’ll take any help I can get,” I said.
“Well, that shoots down my first theory.”
I smiled. I knew what was coming.
“I guess you’re not insane or brain damaged. My tank is dry,” he said holding up his empty beer bottle. “I’ll get a refill and we’ll get to work.”
When he returned, we went down the list, item by item.
“You got nothing to worry about with IA. You saved Blanc’s tail, and that earns you points. Blake and her partner will be around here for at least a little while. They’ll cover High Town and be crawling up Bartram’s ass in the meantime. Varuna and Fudge, Rick?” he said with a laugh. “I heard about that. She won’t admit it yet, but Blake thought it was funny. Who is next on the list? Bartram?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s feeling the heat burning up his ass. Between being suspended and the press digging into his past, I know he ain’t enjoying life right now. I’d be willing to bet he’s behind the attack on you and Blanc. That hit is an awful lot like one he is rumored to have set up when he worked a district in Old Houston. Did in a pimp named Ruby with the same setup, a pair of droppers with a backup at distance. There’s a rumor there was a blaster squad come into town for something the other day, and I’ll bet this is it.”
“Bartram has those kind of connections?”
“Not really, but he was rumored to have done some kind of favor for the O’Hara mob out east sometime back. I’m thinking he called that in. Or maybe he’s working for somebody with connections, but I think the attack was his idea. I’ll almost guarantee you that the two shooters you dropped in the Blanc incident will trace back to the O’Hara guys.”
I trusted Gene’s instincts. Mobsters from out east. How did I end up in the clutches of Arc Tau if the shooters were gunsels doing Bartram a favor?
“You think there are more of them, these O’Hara guys?”
“I don’t know. I’ll look into it. They might just pack up and go. They lost two guys already, so if they’re smart they get out while they are still alive,” he said raising his eyebrows, hoping I got his message.
“The Savans and the Harrisons,” Gene continued. “You know the deal. Old money and big power. I probably can’t tell you anything you don’t already know. I mean you’ve talked to one of them. That’s more than I can say.”
He took a long pull on his beer. “Where were we?”
“Langtry.”
He glared at me. “You know what I know about those assholes. Next.”
“BluCorp,” I said.
“That’s right. You do know their security is mostly rentals from Arc Tau, right?” he said with a mean smile.
I grimaced. Were the Arc Tau guys that nabbed me and worked me over doing it for their own company or BluCorp, or was there no difference between the two.
“Yeah, buddy,” he nodded as he continued. “You got two teams from the same merc group out there, and if they’re the ones that nabbed you, then you have to ask yourself a question.”
“Are they one big happy family, or working against one another,” I said. Gene knew the deal.
“Right. Be strange if they were working against each other, but we’ve seen stranger things. Maybe individual teams do whatever they are hired to do, even if it’s against their own.”
“Arc Tau?”
“You know as much as me, maybe more since you’re ex-mil. Mostly they get sent into shitholes around the world to stop the locals from messing with the business of corporations. In Gulf City it’s mostly corporate security. Making bigwigs feel secure because they’re surrounded by tough-looking guys. I wonder why they call themselves Arc Tau?”
“Probably because they think it sounds tough and mysterious.”
Gene laughed. “That’s probably as good an explanation as I’m likely going to get.”
“Any connection between Arc Tau and the O’Hara gang?” I asked.
“I doubt it, but I’ll look into it. How in the hell did you get mixed up with SecFor intel?”
“A guy came to me earlier today with an offer. He flashed the right kind of ID. Answered the questions the right way, but I can’t confirm who he is.”
“What do you have on the guy?” Gene asked.
“Name, description, ID number.”
“Give me what you got and I’ll look into it tomorrow morning.”
I jotted it all down on some notepaper and gave it to Gene.
“Gabe Fell. I’ve heard that name,” he said looking at what I’d written. “Never met him.”
“While you’re at it, can you look into a pair of guys from Arc Tau named Lawrence Freeman and William Leahy. Arthur Teasdale has some dealings with them. Blanc was going to look into it, but you know.”
Gene nodded and wrote their names on the notepaper and slipped it into a pocket.
“How long has it been since you’ve been in High Town?” I asked.
“A few years. I miss the place.”
“You miss the place or what you used to do here?”
“Probably both. I felt like I was doing something here, something useful.”
“Training at the academy doesn’t do that for you?”
“Yes, but the trainees leave and you don’t often see if what you taught the
m stuck or not.”
“I think it did with Blanc. I was going to call you about him, but never got the chance.”
“Then there’s that. The kid is probably done being a cop after a few days on the job. Or if he comes back, well, who knows.”
“He was doing something right, Gene. On the job for such a short time and he earned an assassination attempt. It took quite a bit longer for that to happen to you.” It was my turn to give him the mean smile.
“Don’t remind me. That’s the part I don’t miss.”
Gene and I swapped lies for awhile before he had to get back. We said we’d try and stay in touch. Maybe we meant it this time.
~~~:{o}:~~~
Chapter 9
on the QT News Service - World-at-Large, Local, High Town
Arrest of Clowns from Local College Raises Questions
The arrest of seventeen students, graduates, and faculty from High Town’s Zombo Trussler College of Clowns in connection with a plot to overthrow the rulers of the Duchy of Nawlins has many baffled.
One of only two clown colleges on earth known to offer a doctorate program, it is shocking to many in the Gulf City area to hear that people affiliated with such a well-respected institute of learning would be involved in international intrigue.
Man on the street interviews recorded opinions that ranged from supportive, “I don’t believe any clown would be involved in such a thing. Clowns make us laugh and feel better about ourselves and the world we live in,” to suspicious, “Who the hell wants to be a clown? Those assholes at the college are doing it willingly, it’s not like they are forced into it. They’re getting training in clownery. Hundreds of people get clown training every year, but how many actually get jobs as clowns. There’s something fishy about that. Think about it.”
on the QT - Print, mobile, webnet, vid, radio, and coming soon, interpretive dance!
---o---
I chatted with Frenchy for a short while before I left the Port o’ Call. I was walking back to my office when I got a call from Teddy, one of Lacey’s bartenders.
“Rick, there’s a cop named Bartram in here that keeps asking about Lacey. She’s in her office, but I told him she’s not here and I don’t know where she is. Told him she didn’t say when she’d be in. He keeps checking every fifteen minutes or so. Keeps asking if she called, so I guess he believes she isn’t here.”
The Lowdown in High Town: An R.R. Johnson Novel Page 15