by Hot Ice(lit)
The tornaq was big but slow. I sent a backhand blow towards his guts with my own claws and heard him yowl with a gobble of bubbles breaking from his jaws. He doubled up and kicked away in a bloody spiral into the darkness. I lost no time gloating and darted in through the pipe. 'Thanks, bud,' I thought as I groped my way along the tunnel. 'Remind me to buy you a round sometime.'
Even as I drew my feet into the pipe I could hear the claws of another tornaq scraping at the mesh. I was inside just in time, and even though it snaked its arm in to snag me, I managed to keep out of its reach. And those tornaqs were big guys - with those shoulders, to say nothing of those wings, they wouldn't be following me in here.
Now I was getting low on air. I forced myself on, heart pounding, pulse thumping in my temples. I entered darkness along the pipe. I swam through turbulence and thunder, crawling and feeling my way in the cramped confines of the pipe as much as swimming. I hit the end of the pipe head on. Stars careened inside my skull and the shock of it made me cough out some air, but I stopped myself from panicking. Sure, this was a dead end. This I didn't need! But my body had taken over the situation, even before the thought occurred to my brain, my hands had already found a stopcock in the darkness.
Bubbles leaking from my nose, I strained to turn the stopcock. I could taste my own blood in the water, and the pains in my ears suggested I was bleeding from there as well.
'Turn, you son of a bitch stopcock, turn!' I screamed internally. My air was all gone and so - nearly - was I.
Then the stopcock turned and the weight of the water pushed the hatch open and I was riding a plume of water out of the hull of the Vidor.
Gagging and coughing, I sank low in the water, forced down by momentum. Clawing my way to the surface, my face hit air with a flurry of splutters.
I trod water for a moment to catch my breath and then struck out in steady pulls to swim to the wharf. A voice behind me, stopped me in my tracks. I turned, treading water, to see Monro on deck. I was pretty grateful not to see any signs of his tornaqs or other creatures. It made sense that they would keep a low profile. On the other hand, it might make sense for Monro to stall me while a small flotilla of tornaqs dragged me underwater. I turned my back on him and started swimming again, taking my time, but making good speed.
'You got away from me this time, Wolf.' Monro's voice floated over the waters, in a chilling wave. 'But you'll be back. And I'll be ready for you next time.'
* * * * *
Outside in the street the sun was shining. Mose had his window opened, and the clank of trolley cars running along, with their burdens of the unconscious masses only made me feel even more glad to be alive.
'Seems to me, my boy,' Mose was saying, 'that you're lucky you got out alive.'
I could feel the frown make my forehead tense. An anger like lava lurked beneath my human personality these days. I felt as if I was living with an unchained wild beast. I bit down on the anger and growled in reply: 'Monro was the lucky one, Mose. If he hadn't had all that supernatural muscle, I'd-a taken him there and then.'
Pyper was sitting at his desk, which was covered by big legal tomes, some open, some closed, with ribbons in to mark references.
'Go easy, Wolf, go easy. That's no crackerjack barrel that Monro is sitting on down there. It's not just another speakeasy or dive that we can get the cops to raid if we give them a good enough reason.'
Pyper flashed me a look full of worriment and concern. 'No, my boy, you ask me, what we've got is a heap o' trouble.'
'We got him dead to rights, Mose. He's smuggling diamonds. The Feds'll eat him up alive.'
Mose stood up, one hand on his back as if it hurt him to rise. 'The impetuosity of youth! You stick your neck out, Wolf, and you'll get your head chopped off.'
'Whaddaya mean?'
Mose patted one of his big, heavy legal books. 'I mean that I've had a chance to look into the situation since you climbed up out of the drink.'
He flipped through the pages. 'According to the statute books, he's not smuggling diamonds. Those diamonds are part of the infrastructure of the vessel and as such are actually not cargo. You try to book him on diamond smuggling and you are the one who's going to get salt on his tail.'
Before I knew it, my anger had spurred me out of my chair. I slammed the law book shut.
'There has to be a way to stop him, Mose! He's got enough ice on tap to sink another Titanic!'
Pyper patted me on the shoulder, paternally. 'Patience, my boy. We'll find a way to nail him. In fact, I've been doing some research into the myths and legends surrounding our new kid on the block - Malsum -'
I turned away in irritation. 'What good will that do?'
'Well, for a start, Malsum had a brother. Name of Gluskap - Red Indian legends are full of Twins - one good, one evil.'
Interested in spite of myself, I turned back to see that not all of the books on Mose's desk were law books. One of them was a big book of mythology and legendry. Mose had it open to a page showing a mythological scene in Indian-style drawings of some sort of giant fish being ridden bareback by a figure in Eskimo kit.
Mose explained, his short finger stabbing to the guy riding the giant fish: 'Gluskap wore the white hat, and Malsum was one of the black hats. There's a legend where this Gluskap killed a sorcerer called Winpe - chased him by riding a gigantic fish -'
Mose turned to another marked page in one of the other books. 'The Eskimos had a name for a gigantic fish. A sort of Mother-Goddess of the Deep. They called her Siitna -'
Uneasily, I eyed the illustration, originally drawn on bark and painted in primitive pigments. It showed something that was mostly mouth and tail. Sweet temper and apple-pie were obviously not high up on her list of motherly attributes.
I wasn't sure why, but I reached forward and closed the book.
My anger had gone, departing on wolf-feet deep into the forest of my crowded soul. 'I need a hook, Mose - a lever of some kind. Monro isn't invincible. I just need to know his weaknesses -'
Pyper gestured to a pile of hand-written notes and nautical diaries. 'I still have the dairies and papers of Captain Clarke. I've never managed to read them all the way through - maybe there'll be something in there to help us.'
I picked up my new hat and put it on. 'Thanks, Mose. You do that. Meanwhile I'll talk to a few people around town. We can't lie down under a bastard like Monro.'
I left the office, my gloved hand on the doorknob, ready to close it behind me.
Mose called after me: 'By the way, Wolf - how's the hand?'
I glanced warily about and saw that Rosie wasn't at her desk. Bringing my gloved hand up, I held it before my face, and flexed my fingers. Even that gentle movement stirred the power within, and claws poked out through the brand new creaking leather of my glove.
I glanced at Mose and held his gaze.
'Still up to scratch, Mose.'
Pinching the brass door knob with a negligent gesture, I left deep grooves over its smooth expanse. Behind me I heard the outside door open. Rosie came in with a tray carrying the coffee percolator and cups.
I tipped my hat as I passed her by. 'Looking good this morning, Rosie.'
Outside, across the street, I glanced up at Mose's window. Mose stood there, looking pensive, his white shirt in the shadows of his office like ivory inset in ebony.
* * * * *
I walked the few blocks to the precinct station, enjoying and savouring the heat that prickled through my shirt. I was still making good on my promise never to complain about the heat. A winter in Alaska can change a guy. As I walked up the steps into the police station with its low railing demarking the public area and little swing gates separating the official area, I thought of Johnny Legrasse.
Johnny Legrasse and I go way back.
I leaned on the counter and addressed the bald-headed, moustached desk sergeant. 'Is Inspector Legrasse in, Sarge?'
'He's always in to you, Wolf.'
As I walked away, I could hear the desk
sergeant whisper softly to another cop: 'Hey, Akeley, you get a good look at his hand?'
'Whatsa matter with it? Did he get it caught in some sort of machinery?'
The desk sergeant replied: 'Nobody knows for sure. At least, some people do know -'
But then I was out of earshot and heading down the corridor where Johnny had his office. I was pretty certain I wouldn't have been able to hear that exchange before my little trip to Alaska.
I opened the door without knocking and said to the cop behind the desk, with an open file before him.
'Hey, you're an Inspector, ain'tcha? What do they get you to inspect?'
Johnny jumped to his feet with a broad grin on his face. 'Come in, Tom, come in!'
I clapped him on the shoulder, noting that despite the warmth of his welcome he still had the presence of mind to close the file he'd been reading. 'Geez, you're really in the doghouse now, ain'tcha! Your own office, a desk, Christ, they even gave you a filing cabinet. Who says police graft is a thing of the past!'
'Tom! It's been too long! What're you doing with yourself!'
'Trying to keep my head above water -'
Suddenly I felt the walls were closing in on me. 'You got time to take a walk down to the harbour?'
Johnny eyed me warily. 'If you insist.'
We caught a trolley down to the West Wharf while we caught up on each other's recent past. Johnny knew I'd been to Alaska, though not the reasons why, and I had chosen to keep in touch with him only by phone until I'd settled back in. Johnny brought me back up to date with his family. He'd added another son to the family tree, bringing it up to five, with Aimee still keen for more and holding out for that elusive daughter.
I decided that it was time to tell Johnny why I'd been keeping out of his sight lately. He didn't believe it until I showed him my hand, and the way it could cut strips out of most anything with the least of effort on my part. Then I told him about Monro's part.
By the time we'd chewed the fat, I'd found us a good vantage to overlook the ships in the harbour. We were leaning on the parapet railing of the Mercer Building, with the Vidor below us.
I wound up by saying: 'So, you see, Johnny, that's my problem. I can't touch Monro.' Johnny nodded in sympathy, tossing away his cigarette stub. 'Yeah, the same old story. You need the evidence.'
He was rubbing the back of his neck, in disbelief, staring down at my gloved hand. 'And, hell, I believe you, Tom, but then I've got a pretty good reason for acceptin' the supernatural.'
I nodded, lips tight, eyes slitted. 'Your old man - yeah, I heard about his Everglades Raid of '08.'
Johnny looked down at the Vidor. 'Let's take a closer look.'
As we walked along the wharf towards the Vidor, Johnny said, 'But I'd never get the man-power to mount the kind of operation you'd need to nail Monro.'
I shook my head. 'It ain't necessarily so. All you need is a swab for the lab from that altar. He's sacrificin' people to that goddamn statue of his.'
Johnny Legrasse turned away to look out over the litter-strewn and oil-stained waters. 'I can't just walk in and take a blood test on his altar, Wolf. I'd need a search warrant, and for that I need to show a judge just cause. Any other way and it's inadmissible evidence. If I go in there with anything less, then I'm in violation of the Freedom of Worship Clause in the Constitution.'
I had to fight to keep the growl out of my voice, the disappointment out of my eyes. 'You're lettin' me down, Johnny.'
'Now, if you could tie this in to murdered bodies, but you don't have a single corpus delicti. It's the way it's gotta be.'
He put out his hand. We shook. He walked away.
* * * * *
As I sat at a table in the dock-side eaterie, The Green Mermaid, I thought my options over. Johnny Legrasse wasn't the only string to my bow. He had been the nearest-to-legal I could think of. But since it hadn't panned out, I'd set up this meeting instead. The Green Mermaid has old-fashioned bulls-eye windows. They cast aqueous shadows over my table as I sat there with my elbows on it, nodding to encourage my companions to talk.
My hat was slung on the back of my chair, and I kept my gloved hand under my right elbow. Sitting opposite was a white-bearded sea-captain smoking a briar pipe and accompanied by a man in a watch-cap.
The captain was explaining something to me as if he thought I was stupid. I'd let him think I was stupid because you learn more things that way. 'To run a ship the size you're talkin' about, Mr Wolf, you'd need a minimum crew of ten.'
The engineer chimed in with his quaint Scottish burr: 'An' thot's no' countin' the stokers, Hector.'
I reached into my waistband and pulled out a wad of notes and threw some cash down, letting them get a good close look at my gloved southpaw.
'Thanks for your time, gentlemen,' I said as I rose and put on my hat. 'Next round's on me.'
I pulled my brim down and tapped it with a forefinger. 'I'll be in touch.'
As I walked out of the diner, I knew I'd set in motion the first of a whole train of events I'd need in order to bring Monro crashing to his knees. What I really need now, I thought, is some sort of diversion.
* * * * *
The sign on the door read: R Quaid Private Detective Agency.
'Well, well, well, if it isn't Tom Wolf -' said Rebecca Quaid as I stepped into her office. 'I never thought I'd see the day when you'd come looking for back-up.'
Becky is a good-lookin' dame, with her hair cut into a Veronica Lake style. But even though Becky is good on the eye, I kept most of my attention on her chief muscle, Vinnie Van Zee. Vinnie and I used to be sparring partners way, 'way back, when we both had dreams of glory in the kingly art. Nowadays, Vinnie has put on some weight, and he smokes Cuban cigars. He looks like a gorilla and he's always on call for anyone who's looking for somebody who can put the opposition off just by looking tough.
I nodded to Vinnie, and replied to Becky, 'Yeah, well, times have changed. I'm on a case that needs a 24-hour surveillance team, and even on coffee and speed I can only work 25 hours to the day.'
Vinnie rumbled from somewhere deep in the bottom of his vault-like chest: 'I hope you're gonna pay up front, Smiler. We don't take just any job that sashays in through the front office.' Becky tapped her painted fingernails on her metal paperweight. 'Ease up, Vinnie. I'll do the talkin'.'
I took a seat and took my time getting comfortable, finally plaiting my fingers and pointing both forefingers to my chin. 'Yeah, Vinnie, why don't you go find yourself a banana to play with.'
Vinnie leaned over me menacingly. 'Why, you -'
Becky picked up her hawk-shaped paperweight and slammed it down on her desk. Judging by the similar dents already showing on the leather, I guessed this was a routine she and Vinnie performed for every customer.
'Shaddup the both of ya!' shrilled Becky. Then she recovered her lady-like poise, stroked her hand back over her hair, very sultry, before going on, 'But Wolf, you gotta admit he's got a point. You ain't exactly known for your stretched limos and penthouse apartments. What sort of finances are we talking about?'
I reached inside my coat. Vinnie pulled out his gun, snarling, 'Hold it right there, Laughing Boy! You pull anything out of your coat that ain't green and crinkly and I'll blow you all the way back to Galveston!'
I grinned and pulled out a leather bag. 'Whoa, Becky, I'd get a good long leash for your gorilla here. He's jumpier than a whole hill of Mexican beans.'
Her eyes were on my hands, as I spread the diamonds on her leather-topped desk. She has nice eyes; blue, they are; I've seen several lights in them in my time, though she's a lady and I ain't talkin' out of turn. But right now she was pop-eyed with greed. I sneaked a peek at Vinnie: he was goggle-eyed with lust.
I leaned back and let them finger the gems. 'Does this cover your retaining fee?'
Becky picked up one of the gems. 'This baby'll get you our full resources for a week, Wolf.'
'A week! But there's easily six gee's' worth of sparklers here!'
&
nbsp; Becky took her eyes off the gem in her fingers and fastened her eyes on mine. 'Correction: hot sparklers. I'll check it out with Murray the Fence, but don't count on your luck. The Quaid Private Detective Agency is a legit organization and we'd like to keep it that way.'
Vinnie held out both huge hands as I dribbled the gems out of my fist.
I shrugged. 'Okay, here's what I want you to do -'
* * * * *
As I tied my hair back in front the mirror, I looked at myself. My time in Alaska had let me shed a few pounds, toughened me up. I had scars from the Alaskan journey, and newer ones barely closed, but dry and healthy since my run-in with Monro's supernatural goons.
I checked out the shelf in front of the mirror. Hair dye, make-up, eye-patch. I muttered, 'Exit Tom Wolf, P I -'
After the make-up job, I put on the black wig. Then the eye patch and an inspiration - a black moustache. ' - and enter -'
I tied a cravat about my neck. Slipped into a hired frock coat, 'way too gaudy for my tastes. When I turned back I was dressed like a Mississippi river gambler: shoe-string tie, striped waistcoat, frock coat and cane. I still had to wear a black glove on my left hand.
'Black Jack McGinty, all the way from Emerald Oisle, begorrah.'
Black Jack McGinty, once I got used to his grating Irish accent, was a man who liked his action hot and his women fast. My mother warned me about guys like him. Bad company. He was right at home right now in the Jitterbug Club, which is a low-dive with match-tray girls and black tap dancers on the stage. I never did like the Jitterbug Club, but ole Black Jack McGinty fits in real swell. Still, you get to meet all sorts of interesting types there. The sort of guys who breaks legs for a sawbuck and ask you first before stealing the gold from their target's teeth. They are gentlemen of colour, Creoles, Quadroons and Mulattos, but Black Jack McGinty is a black Irishman who can outdrink anybody in the room and then outfight them afterwards.
On the other hand the Sesame Club is practically a home from home for him. The sultry torch singer tends to sing too many Parmesano songs, but while Black Jack McGinty is talking to all the mob types in striped suits, business can be accomplished. Provided he can show them he's a made man, and can shovel down two plates of Mamma's own recipe spaghetti platters, and still have the energy to show a guy a good time. They're businessmen, one and all, and they know the colour of money when they see it.