Liquid Cool (Liquid Cool, Book 1)

by Austin Dragon

  "Then I heard you were wandering the streets and happened to come across some low-level street punk corner king. Everyone said it was random. Bull. Among other things, he's a weapons dealer on the street. This kidnapper, supposedly, has a very unique kind of gun. You were going to the only person you knew who would know that. Meaning, you must have bought at least one illegal gun from the guy. Meaning, you must have also seen his gun that night when he kidnapped your daughter. Mrs. Num, I don't have time for games. This kidnapper is a gang member called Red Rabbit, but there isn't anything funny about him. How am I going to find his Animal Farm Crime Syndicate that he's a part of, find their hide-out, rescue your daughter...how can I do all that successfully without the whole truth and nothing but? Your daughter could be getting killed right now, while we're playing games."

  That did it. Carol broke down into a sobbing mess.

  "She ran ahead of me. We were both running down the alley, but you know kids, and I'm no spring chicken anymore. She sprinted way past me. When she got to other end of the alley, she stopped and went around the corner, and I couldn't see her. I ran as fast as I could."

  We were all back in our chairs as Carol recounted the real story.

  "When I got around the corner, there was this man wearing a rabbit mask on his head, and his arms were metallic, and he was trying to grab my Lutty. He was holding some kind of machine gadget in his other hand. That's the only way my Lutty was able to fight him off. I heard gunfire in the distance. I jumped on him and started punching his head, but it was solid...like padded metal. He threw me off and grabbed my Lutty by the collar and ran off with her!"

  The VP had to calm her down.

  Her face turned mean. "Before he grabbed her, though, I pulled out my gun and shot him, over and over, but nothing happened. He laughed and told me that if he had a third arm, he'd show me what a real scary gun looked like. That he'd vaporize me and I'd find out why he was called Red." She got quiet as she lowered her head. "Then he ran off with her."

  My mannerism was to lean forward when I wanted to have a pointed conversation. With Run-Time, it was the opposite. He leaned all the way back in his chair, and he looked at Carol angrily.

  "Carol, why didn't you tell me the truth. Why did you do this? Cruz is right. Your own daughter could be getting killed. Why wouldn't you have told the police this before?"

  She hesitated for what seemed like forever. "I did."

  "What?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

  "I did tell the police what happened." We looked at her, confused. "They were right there at the scene. I told them everything, and then they threatened me and said the city police would arrive and told me what to say to them and anyone who asked. They said if I didn't do what they said, they'd arrest me and lock me up forever, and I would never get my daughter back."

  "The Feds?" Run-Time asked, which is what I thought, too. "The Feds told you to do this?"

  When Carol shook her head "no," it was the first time I had ever seen Run-Time scared. Because he was scared, his VP was scared, and they glanced at me.

  "I don't get it," I said. "Not the Feds? If not the Metro police and not the Feds, then who? What other police are there?"

  "Cruz, let's talk privately for a minute," Run-Time said and stood from his chair.

  "It's over," he said.

  He had led me out of his office, down the hall, and into a side conference room. The room was not as big as his office, but huge nonetheless.

  "What do you mean, it's over?"

  "Cruz, stop investigating the case. You'll be paid for your time."

  "Forget about that. What about her daughter?"

  Run-Time paused.

  "That is why you called me down here."

  "Can you really find the daughter?"

  "I can. I'm sure I can. But..."

  "But what?"

  "It's going to be extremely dangerous."

  "Then the police have to be brought in."

  "What police are not the Feds and not the city police? You might as well tell me now, because you know I won't let it go."

  "You have to let it go."

  "Tell me."

  "Interpol."

  I gave him a confused look. "Interpol? You mean international police?"

  "I guess they were international in the beginning. When cars drove on wheels on the ground. But the Feds, nowadays, are international."

  "I'm not following."

  "The Interspace Police."

  Now I understood. "The police from Up-Top."

  "Their authority includes not only off-world, but supersedes the city police and the Feds on Earth."

  "I take it this is a bad thing."

  "They could come down and blow up City Hall, and there wouldn't be anything the Mayor, Metro Police, or the Feds could do about. Their power is global, in the truthful, nonmetaphorical sense."

  "Then I have to go after the girl."

  "If you know where she is, let's tell the police and let them handle it. That's the only play we have. You do not want to be involved with Interpol. This isn't a request, Cruz."

  "Run-Time, the girl."

  I could see the battle in Run-Time's mind. "Cruz, no megacorp, no criminal cartel, no elected official—the Mayor, the City Council President, the Director of the Feds...none have the kind of power these people have."

  "I understand."

  "You get on their bad side, and they can jam up everyone you know. You understand what I'm saying?"

  "You."

  "Yes, me, but that's not the everybody I'm talking about."

  "Yeah," I said, softly.

  "Marriages don't work out so well when one or both parties are in a space station prison."

  "Okay, we do it your way, but I can still try to get the girl. I never was one for the political stuff. That's your specialty. Whatever is going on shouldn't include a little girl being kidnapped and held against her will."

  "Why do you think the girl is alive? Even I think she's dead and, especially now, that I've heard Carol's real story."

  "It's better I don't answer that, until we see how this all plays out."

  "Cruz, do not say anything about what Carol said. It would put her in danger."

  "I wouldn't do that. The only thing on my mind is getting her daughter. She's had enough danger for a lifetime."

  Chapter 45

  Blue Pill Rabbit

  I WAS MAN ENOUGH TO admit it. I was scared.

  No, this wasn't me after I spoke with Run-Time in his offices, and we went back to see Carol on her way. This was me two days earlier after I left my three detective pow-wow with Box and Rexx. Red Rabbit was in Mad Heights. That's where I was going. The reason I could promise Run-Time I'd lay low was because I had done all my dangerous detecting stuff the day before. Of course, I didn't tell Run-Time that.

  When you live in a big city, such as Metropolis, you learn your place. You knew where your people hung out—working class, wealthy class, sidewalk johnnies, skaters, hackers, speed racers, etc. You learned where the city-crawl dancers, the biker enthusiasts, historical societies, etc. hung out. Then there were the mean streets, and all the groups that hung out there. You learned where you could go and where you couldn't go in the city, if you didn't want a beat-down or wanted to stay alive.

  Like in Hell, the criminal world had levels of bad, then you got to the really bad, then to true evil; beyond that, you didn't even want to know. Mad Heights wasn't the hangout for the truly evil, but it was for the truly bad and the truly violent.

  When we were kids, growing up, was the first time we ever heard about Mad Heights. When I was on the race circuit, albeit brief, one part of our illegal hovercar race passed through the area. It was a big scandal. The guy who organized the race was killed. The rumor was that he was killed by Mad Heights gangs, because he didn't pay for passage through their turf. That talk made adults run away chicken. Imagine what we did as kids. You even mentioned Mad Heights, and we'd want to run and leave town.

  And
now I was going there.

  I was tempted to bring Punch Judy into it, but I couldn't do that for many reasons. One, she was a felon, and I couldn't put her into that situation. She needed to stay far away from that world for her own personal mental sanity. I was her second chance at a normal life, and I couldn't be the one to ruin it. Second, she was a gang member. True, most people didn't consider posh gangs to be real gangs, but if I took her into such a situation, and we were confronted by trouble, she'd revert to her old gang instincts. Guns, gangs, cyborgs. Not good. Posh gangs were at the bottom of the totem pole of criminal gangs, along with white-collar, couch-potato gangs doing crime via mobile computer alone, so that would make PJ more violent in dealing with another gang.

  The Animal Farm Crime Syndicate was a real criminal organization, born out of pop culture, and evolved from hooliganism. Back in the day, packs of deranged juvenile delinquents congregated around rugby, American football, international football, and especially—known for their ultra-violence—hoverhockey stadium games, to cause all kinds of mayhem. These hooligans evolved, all right. These delinquent punks roamed their part of the neon jungle in complete control of its criminal life—drugs, prostitution, gun-running, contract killing, and illegal gambling were their main scores. Gangs always needed something to mark themselves. For some, it was tattoos or chopping off a particular finger, but for the new animal gangs, it became wearing their animal masks.

  The animal gang I had to find was the Rabbits. They'd have some kind of adjective before their name, but since I wasn't wise to gang life at all, avoiding it like the plague all my life, I wouldn't know much about their habits and turf. The Animal Farm Crime Syndicate wasn't the most powerful or smartest of criminal cartels; there were just so damn many of them, which is what made them formidable.

  Back to what I was saying before—I was scared. Under no circumstances was I going to drive my Ford Pony into that place. A hovertaxi was also not an option. I needed to hire a guide and bodyguard all in one. What I was quickly realizing is that I didn't know people who knew people who knew criminals. Phishy and Punch Judy didn't count; he was a slider, and she was an ex-posh gang member from another country. I couldn't hire someone to go into Mad Heights to protect me. I had to hire someone who already lived in Mad Heights to protect me.

  "I'd like to start this month's evening meeting of the Metropolis Soldier of Fortune Meet-Up Club by everyone going around the room and giving us your name and a little something about yourself. It's customary that first-time visitors go first. Any volunteers?" he asked. The man looked like his skin had been cooked over an open flame. Survivor of a war? Or victim of a bad plastic skin job?

  I raised my hand.

  "Thank you, young man. Tell us about yourself."

  I stood from my chair. "My name is Cruz, and I'm a detective, new to the biz, in fact. I didn't know where else to go, so I came here. I'm going into Mad Heights, and as many of you know, it's not the nicest part of the city. But I have a real case that forces me to go there and track down members of a particular, and particularly deranged animal gang. But you don't go into Mad Heights without bodyguard protection. I bet with all the law enforcement, military, and mercenary experience in this room, there's got to be at least one person who could help a young guy, like me, starting out. I'm so inexperienced at this that I don't even know people who know criminals or anything about that world."

  "Then you're in the wrong business, sonny," one man said and the room erupted in laughter.

  "Probably true, but it's too late now. I already have my business cards." My quip got additional laughter.

  "You can hire them you know," a man said in the back on the other side of the room.

  "Hire who?" I asked.

  "You can hire animal gang members as bodyguards. Anybody can."

  "How do you do that?"

  "Call 'em."

  "Where?"

  "They advertise in the Club's cybernet magazine, along with every other criminal in the city. Between body armor and bombs—bodyguards," the man said.

  Once I started this, there was no turning back. It was like boarding a lunar flight and then panicking and wanting off the spaceship. Tough! You were sealed into the craft and were along for the ride, and there was nothing you could do about it.

  That's how I felt when my hovervehicle of bodyguards arrived. Again, I was burning though money like I was made of it, and it was worrying me, but I put it out of mind. It was a hovervan plus, and the door opened, and the first one jumped out. The man was huge! On his head was a hippo mask. I had hired four members of the Hypernova Hippos as my bodyguards for the night. Back in the day, the Horses and Pigs ran the show, but not for a long time. The man was a cyborg, but the technology interface was just plain awful. Oversized arms, fat pot belly, fat legs with cables and wires half sticking out from their clothes. I didn't like it, but I couldn't back out now. I walked past him and jumped into the van's second seat.

  The man got back into the passenger seat and slid the door closed. The only illumination inside the hovervehicle was from the front window. There were two Hippos in the front, and there two sitting behind me in the rear seats. They all just sat there quiet.

  "What's the job?"

  "Before I answer that question, since you refused to talk to me on the video-phone, what's the Hippos relationship with the Rabbits?"

  "Relationship?" the Hippo in the passenger seat responded. "The Hypernova Hippos think the Riot Gear Rabbits are the dirt between our toes."

  "That's a very nice image. The job is I need to find one, question him, and get the hell out of there when I'm done. That's it. You are here for insurance. If someone tries to mess with me, you come in and stop them."

  "Why do you want to talk to a Rabbit?"

  "I told you all I'm telling you about the job. Do you want it or not?"

  The Hippo chuckled. "Why? Are you going to find someone else? We don't take the job; you're up the creek without a boat."

  "You're right. I have no back-up plan."

  "Let's up the price then, since we have no competitors."

  "Let's not, because I'm paying what we agreed, but if the Hypernova Hippos are dishonest, like the Jackals..."

  "Hey! We're not the Jupiter Jackals. Price as agreed but you pay before we lift off."

  "Half now, half when we return."

  "All now."

  "I was born at night, but not last night. I pay all now; you throw me out of the van. And just so you know, I shot my first man dead when I was five years old. I prefer talk only, but I'm capable of a lot more. I may not be a Mad Heights man, and you're here as my reinforcements, but I'm not some Chicken Little scared of his own shadow. More than your protection, I need your expertise. You are Mad Heights men. Half now, half when we get back. We can even go to the bank and do an escrow account if you like."

  "Give over the half then. And forget the bank. We don't do banks."

  "We get back, I'll make the call and have one of my sidewalk johnny friends bring up the bag with the other half of the money."

  "Mr. Cruz, you know what it feels like to have your ribcage crushed in by a Hippo death hug?"

  "Is that what Hippo cyborgs do? No, I don't know and don't expect to know what that feels like, ever. Do the job I'm hiring you for, or I have a few threats up my sleeve, too."

  "You have nothing you can threaten us with."

  "Do you want to exchange threats or do you want to do a job and get paid for it."

  The Hippo in the passenger seat turned to look back at me.

  "Money."

  I gave him the bag I had inside my jacket pocket. He didn't even count it, but threw it to his feet. The driver started up the hovervan, and within moments, we were flying into the sky traffic.

  As I sat there, sandwiched between the two animal gang members, I realized there was another hole in my new career as a detective—I would need muscle. I hated strangers, but I had no choice with this Hippo crew. That didn't mean that, after this excursio
n into Mad Heights, I wouldn't start putting together a list of people I could trust to back me up when needed.

  When we flew into Mad Heights airspace, I felt my chest tighten. I had seen it from the air from this angle before on television. There was a legitimate reason it was called Mad Heights, besides it now being a madhouse of crime. The neighborhood was old and existed before the building codes were formalized in the city. It looked like a mad group of builders had put the town together. There were skinny towers next to monolith towers, twenty foot towers next to two hundred foot ones. It all looked...mad. If a construction crew was high on drugs and could do whatever popped into their minds, Mad Heights was what they would have come up with. Adding to the madness were the neon signs of all sizes and shapes—no standard like other towns.

  Our hovervan departed from the sky-lane and every second that went by the neon signs got fewer and fewer.

  "We're going to set down in a back-alley," the Hippo in the passenger seat said, turning his head back. "You're not afraid to walk in the rain?"

  "I do it all the time," I answered. "That why I wear my hat."

  It was not just a back-alley. They chose an alley so secluded I wondered if it was even part of the city. The only light was from a street lamp yards away. The Hippos piled out of their hovervan, and I jumped out too, immediately being splashed by muddy water and realizing I had jumped right into a puddle. The Hippos chuckled.

  I wondered when they would do so. Two Hippos stood and took off their ridiculous hippo masks. When I saw their ugly faces, I almost said out loud for them to pull the masks back on. The fat, pudgy faces stared at me with beady little eyes. They'd airbrushed their face from their foreheads to their noses to give that better effect with their masks on. Their hair was a crew cut, except for the edges, which were tied and cut in a style to, I guess, look like hippo ears. The hairdo looked stupid, but when you're a criminal, who can effortlessly pound someone to death, you can look stupid.