Liquid Cool (Liquid Cool, Book 1)

by Austin Dragon

  There was Dot, with arms folded, glaring at Punch Judy, with her arms folded. Both in front of my office.

  There were those days when no matter what the city had to throw at you, you could keep your spirits up and go about life with a spring in your step. This was not one of those days. I was in a terrible mood, and the Dot-PJ show only soured my mood further.

  I looked at Dot and said, "She's my secretary, and that's all there is to it. Deal with it." I turned to PJ. "That's my girlfriend and wife-to-be, so you deal with it. I don't care how you two do it, but do. The feud is over, starting this second. This is about business now, my business. The next time I see the two of you together, all I want to see is smiles and butterflies in the air with a rainbow above you. Do you two know how important this is to me? Do you know how much pressure I'm under? My great detective agency could easily fail. You know how many businesses start and close in this city? Do you know how many detective agencies are out there, and I'm the new kid starting out? I'm so pissed, right now. Since I'm the boss, I'm going back home."

  I turned around, walked back down the hall, pushed the button, and got back into the elevator. I never even looked back at them.

  PART SIX

  The Case of the Nighttime Bionic Parts Thieves

  Chapter 23

  Mr. Smalls and His Boss

  IT WASN'T PEACOCK HILLS, where the city's biggest and best non-tech megacorps were housed (tech corps were all in Silicon Dunes). I was on Fat Street, where the second tier companies were clawing at each other to get into the top echelons of business. It wasn't the Dumps, and there wasn't any real street crime, as it was fairly well-patrolled by police, but still, it was grimier than I preferred. Easy's sister-in-law was probably right—I was a bit booshy.

  Today was my first shoe-leather day after almost a week of biz research. GW was my first real client—start to finish—and I had no one else since then, so I was on a mission, doing what all the business books tell you. Get off your butt and find your next client.

  "I'm here to see, Mr. Smalls," I said to the lobby receptionist.

  "He's expecting you?" she asked.

  "Yeah," I replied with a lie. "Here's my card."

  She took the card from my hand, read it, and looked up at me.

  "Detective?"

  "Yes, private detective."

  The woman almost seemed frightened. "I'll announce you immediately."

  People-Droid had been the seventeenth company or so I visited. I started at the first business tower on the corner and would work my way up each tower, then down the street. This was the first company of the third floor; I had 100 more floors to go, and each had six businesses, on average. I figured my shoe-leather soliciting would take me a few years to complete just this district.

  "Mr. Smalls will see you, Mr. Cruz."

  I knew I had stumbled into something. Every other business took my card and told me that the person I asked for would call me, meaning they'd throw my card in the garbage the second I left the office. At some point, one of them would undoubtedly call building security on me to have the "solicitor" (me) escorted from the tower.

  I followed the woman down one hallway to the first office on the left, which meant either my research was faulty or they purposely had misleading public information. If Mr. Smalls was the president, as their site said, he wouldn't be in the first office in the hallway; he'd be at the last office at the end of the hallway.

  She opened the door for me to enter.

  A man stood there with an annoyed look on his face.

  "Cruz," I said as I extended my arm, and he reluctantly shook my hand.

  "The detective?"

  "Yes," I answered.

  "That was pretty fast. Are your offices outside our doors?"

  "I would love to play along, especially if it led to a new client, but you must have me confused with someone else."

  "You're not the detective we called?"

  "I'm a detective, but no, I'm not the one you called."

  "Who are you then?"

  "I've been checking in with businesses to see if they could use my services."

  "Soliciting is not allowed in this building or any other, Mr. Cruz."

  "Talking to a person is allowable on the entire planet, as far as I know. We're just talking."

  "We have already called a real detective agency, so we won't be needing you."

  "Big firm, are they?"

  "One of the largest."

  "I can understand that, but I doubt you will be happy with their system."

  "System? What system?"

  "For the big investigation firms, new clients are considered one-offs, so they will send in their little flunky, entry-level agents who will come in here and do more talking than listening, trying to up-sell you on all kinds of other services you don't need, rather than being interested in the situation you originally called them for. Sole practitioner agencies, like mine—I'm the guy. President, CEO, COO, and detective on the go. I don't pass you on to any flunkies. I handle your business directly, because I want your business. Big firms want clients with ongoing, recurring business. That's what pays for their high overhead and exorbitant salaries. Me, no car payments, legacy office space, one employee—minimal overhead."

  "Mr. Cruz, that's all well and good, but I need an established firm to handle this matter."

  "I understand, but let me ask you this: Do you remember when you started your career and you were hungry?" I waited for his expression. He tried to maintain his poker face. "That's me now, not some version of myself twenty years later. I do have references, too, if it matters."

  "I'm sure your references will not be of the caliber..."

  "Let It Ride Enterprises, for instance."

  "You've done work for them?"

  "Run-Time is a personal friend."

  "I don't believe you."

  "You can check, but I think you really should compare my presentation to the flunkies they're about to send you. But Mr. Smalls, I understand you need to make the best business decision for your company. Here's my business card—it has my mobile on it—and if you change your mind, I'll get myself back to your office. I want to establish a good clientele of corporate businesses, such as yours."

  The man took my card and glanced at it.

  "I'll let myself out, but thank you for the opportunity to present."

  I left the office.

  I didn't expect to ever hear from the man. I just consigned myself to a very, very long day of shoe-leather soliciting. That's all I could do. I had to make my own connections. No one would do it for me. Every business guy and gal I ever met said the same thing: Starting a business is brutal, but once you get your first client, number two is easier, then comes number three, four, and five. Then you reach a critical mass where those first ones start sending you business automatically. But be prepared for the initial orgy of unfiltered, soul-crushing rejection. Well this day was already that, except for the brief chat with Smalls.

  I had already done the other offices on the floor, so it was up to the fourth floor. As I exited the elevator, I felt my mobile vibrating.

  "Liquid Cool Detective Agency. This is Cruz speaking."

  "Mr. Cruz." It was Smalls' voice. "You can return to my office. My boss has decided not to go with the other detective firm we called. We'll give you a chance. When can you get back here?"

  "I'll be back there in a few minutes."

  GW's case was a missing person. Mr. Smalls' case was corporate espionage. When I returned, I was escorted all the way to the office at the end of the hall. Waiting for me were more people in suits, male and female, than I had ever seen in one room in my entire life. Run-Time had three VPs. This company had like fifty, including Smalls. Probably one of the many reasons they were a second-tier company, rather than a first.

  "I'm going to make this brief, Mr. Cruz," Smalls' boss said from his seat at the head of the long conference table. He was a much larger man, in a black pinstripe suit and wearing blue-
tinted shades. "I want you to find out who's stealing from our warehouse."

  All the VPs were sitting at attention around the long conference table and turned from him to look at me in unison. It was funny to watch.

  "Find them and then do what? Police?"

  "No police. Notify our internal security," he answered.

  I knew what that meant. It meant the internal security would be judge-jury-executioners. I heard all about the world of corporate espionage. Stealing was rampant between the megacorporations and if they used the phrase "internal security" and "espionage," as in the case of stealing, it meant the security were on-the-payroll gangsters, who made people disappear permanently. The corporate world, government, the streets—they were all a bunch of criminals. But as long as they paid me; I had bills to pay.

  I nodded. "All I need are the details, and I'll get on it today. If I can recover any of the products stolen, do you want them recovered for an additional fee?"

  "Do you even know what products we make, Mr. Cruz?"

  "You make cosmetic bionic parts—the best in Metropolis. My fiancée has one of your models—NS model."

  "The neck and trapezoid replacement model," one of the female VPs said.

  "Yeah. She was in a terrible accident as a teenager, and it saved her life."

  It was like a giant arctic cloud had lifted from the room. Suddenly, they were interested in me. Suddenly, they liked me. I realized this is what business was all about. Connections. If you knew someone they knew, went to a school they went to, used their product and had some human interest story to go with it, you were "part of the team." It was so simple. Smalls was more interested in me, because I knew a fellow businessman. Smalls' boss and company were more interested that I knew someone who directly used their bionic (and very expensive) product. No one really seemed to care whether I was any good as a detective.

  Smalls said as he glanced at his boss, "I'll get him fully briefed on the situation."

  "Mr. Cruz," his boss interrupted. "You're not a mindless solicitor then. You seem to know all about my company. Do you also know about our problem?"

  "I do. And who's stealing from you."

  Smalls and all the other VPs looked at me with surprised expressions.

  I said, "The only way for someone like me, a new detective in the industry, to get new clients, beating out established detective firms, is if I'm willing and able to do a lot of work the established firms won't. I have to be able to walk into a business, knowing all about their case before they tell me a thing—basically have the case solved. That's the only way, because the expectation of performance is so much higher for us new guys than the established firms."

  "You're a smart man, Mr. Cruz," Smalls' boss said. "Who stole my products?"

  "Your neighbor."

  "My neighbor?" Smalls' boss looked at the other VPs. They looked at me.

  "The Tech-Human company across the hall?" he asked. "Those motherless sons-of-bitches, I knew it."

  I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on the table. I looked right into the eyes of Smalls' boss, all the way across the table. "Your neighbor," I repeated.

  Now, he knew who I meant, and a look of disgust came over his face. The two of us were the only ones in the room who knew what I meant.

  Smalls' boss stood from the table. "Cut Mr. Cruz a check for his retainer and have the second one ready for when he concludes the case, and a third for a bonus."

  "Yes, sir," Smalls said as he stood too.

  All the VPs around the table stood in unison.

  "Anything else, Mr. Cruz?"

  "If my work is to your satisfaction, I'd like to get a business review, too."

  "Fine, fine." He turned to Smalls. "Handle that too."

  Chapter 24

  Mr. Wan

  MY OFFICE WAS MY DOMAIN. I did all the decorating, had the furniture moved in, had stupid pictures on the wall to cover it, and all the secret stuff, like hiding my big shotgun underneath my main desk where I could get to it easily.

  Punch Judy ruled the reception area. It would be like an ex-posh gang member to have an haute-couture interior design decorating sense. With her punk rock playing in the background on an infinite loop, she had turned the barren space into some hipster, scenester receptionist-waiting room of the stars. Psychedelic posters on the wall, her fancy "modern" glass desk with see-through glass drawers, and a boombox on top along with her own mobile computer. All of her workstation was behind a metal barrier, but it didn't look like a barrier with the decorations. The waiting area had these geometric, purple couches around a glass table on a shimmering, neon powder blue rug. The reception table had French fashion magazines, which I thought was stupid because how could people read them, but then I realized—fashion magazines—so that meant lots and lots of pictures with few words, so it didn't matter, and numerical prices were universal.

  Now, she was working on her own do-it-yourself neon light sign. I don't know where she found it, but she was busy at work, making a LIQUID COOL sign for the space she designated right on the wall behind her, outside my office. It would be the first thing people would see. She even had another box in smaller neon letters to make DETECTIVE AGENCY. I was impressed.

  There was a knock on the door.

  I was glad I had turned over office door security to her. I still didn't know why a paranoid, like me, who checked my car and home doors multiple times with my OCD self, would so carelessly leave my new office door unlocked more than once.

  PJ walked to the door and opened it. We hadn't connected the door buzzer yet, because we still had to get the hallway camera.

  There he stood. Dot's father, Mr. Wan.

  He ignored Punch Judy as he walked past her. His eyes avoided me too as he walked in. He casually held his hands together behind his back as he strolled around. First the reception area, then to PJ's desk, then he walked into my office. PJ and I looked at each other, and then I bolted to my office. Just as I was about to go in, he came out. Mr. Wan strolled to the door, opened it, and closed it behind himself. We looked at each other again.

  "That's China Doll's father?" Punch Judy asked.

  "Yeah."

  "You are not in good standing with him. I would not marry her if I were you. You marry her; you marry him."

  "Don't say that. I'm trying not to think about it."

  Chapter 25

  China Doll

  "WHAT'S IN YOUR BATHTUB?"

  I sat with my back to the door as I gazed out the droplet covered window, wearing some new headset gadget PJ got me. Normally, people didn't like talking on the v-phone, unless they could see the other party. Texting was the exception, but you surely didn't conduct business by texting. The video-phone headset was an eyepiece, a metal band around one side of your head, and a small arm attachment with a microfilm thin video screen. Quality was perfect, but I had PJ return it to get a less than perfect model. I didn't want them to see my eyes too clearly, so I could look out the window and they'd not realize it.

  "There's a gator in my bathtub?" the woman on the other end of the video-phone said and then started to laugh.

  "Why are you calling a private detective? Shouldn't you call Animal Control?"

  "I want to hire you to find out who put this gator in my bathtub."

  "Maybe it just came up from the sewage pipes."

  "Mr. Cruz, this is a seven-foot-long gator."

  "Is it a gator or a crocodile?" I asked.

  "Very sharp question, Mr. Cruz. I can't remember which is which, so let's stick with gator. Will you take the case?"

  "I'd be stealing your money. Believe me, Animal Control will want to find out exactly where a seven-foot gator or croc came from too and how it found its way into your bathtub. They'll do the detecting for you for free. So here's what you do."

  "What?"

  "Video tape it with your mobile first, send the footage to the local news, and tell them to get there fast before Animal Control. Then, when the camera crew gets there, before
you let them in, call Animal Control. You'll be famous for a day and will have the government find out who put that water reptile in your tub."

  "Boy, Mr. Cruz. You're so smart. That's exactly what I'll do."

  "Liquid Cool is all about helping people. Even when there's no real case for us to take. Now, go do your video-taping."

  "Yes, sir."

  I hung up the video call and pulled the video call headset off of me. "PJ!"

  She appeared at the door laughing.

  "I do not want any more crazy calls like that!"

  "There's a gator in my bathtub," PJ said with her fake American Free City accent, or what she thought people who live in Free City sounded like, and then she laughed.

  I SAT AT MY DESK STARING out the droplet covered window with my cup of silk coffee in hand. There was no view, but the line of monolith office tower buildings across the street with their tinted windows. However, I had a deep sense of satisfaction. It was almost like a dream I prayed would never end. I was just some laborer, legacy baby one moment, now I was a self-employed, business owner with an employee.

  "Surprise!"

  I was startled, but the smile never left my face as I turned around to see Dot peeking into the office from the door. She waltzed right in.

  "Look at this," she said, looking around my space. "This is cool. You have a real place of business."

  I set down my cup as she rushed me, threw her arms around me, and planted a kiss.

  "Very impressive, Mr. Cruz," she said as she looked around again, then back at me. "You are a detective now. How do you like it? Wait."

  She ran over to my door and closed it.

  "I don't want to hear no animal sounds in there!" PJ yelled.