by Matt Abraham
Copyright © 2016 by M.A.Schnetter. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2016
Cover art by Dan Strange at thinkstrange.co.uk
Acknowledgments
This novel is dedicated to Mickey Spillane, for all the palaver.
Also to Bob Gouldy, for the first letter of encouragement a reader ever sent.
To Dave Arlington, for a valuable piece of cover advice.
And finally, to Robert Grey, for deeds of wonder worked so well he’s to be made an Honorary Citizen of Gold Coast City,
entitled to all the rights and benefits this title grants.
Chapter 1
White collar regs love to meet in the grime. I prefer my office, but the snooping business is consumer-centric, so it was at the request of my only client, Toby Teenie, that I was standing in muck under the crosstown bridge at one AM, with the stink of still water up my nose, and a large, brown folder in my hand. Fortunately it wasn’t long until all three hundred pounds of him pulled up in a little red sports car. He threw it in park, dislodged himself, and came waddling over to me in his tailored Italian suit like a pregnant yak. “Did you really get them?”
I held out the brown folder. “What’s it look like?”
Moving fast for a soft man, Toby snatched his prize and peered inside. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m telling everyone I know about the Dane Curse Detective Agency.”
I grimaced at the thought. “I’d rather you didn’t, if-”
A blast of black lightning streaked down the road beyond the bridge. It sent a fierce gust of wind that smelled like ozone and scattered the trash at our feet.
Toby froze. “Who’s that?”
“Doctor Velocity, I think.” Keeping a sharp eye out, I took a few seconds to be sure before saying, “But she’s long gone, we can rest easy.”
“Not her,” Toby said, and pointed over my shoulder. “Him.”
I turned around. A navy blue sedan was creeping our way. It stopped thirty yards out. The door opened and a guy stepped onto the street. Thanks to the bright headlights I couldn’t see his face, but the silver Thompson machine gun he held stood out well enough. “Hey Toby.”
I looked at the fat man. “Friend of yours?”
Toby stood frozen, save for the thick beads of sweat running down his cheeks like clotted cream. “That’s the guy who’s blackmailing me. I told you he couldn’t know I was involved, and you led him right here.”
“That folder was the only thing in the safe,” I said. “He’d have put it together.”
The blackmailer laughed. “Your bulldozer’s right. Though maybe if he hadn’t ripped my safe open I wouldn’t have noticed so fast.”
Toby turned to me. “Why didn’t you pick the lock?”
“My way’s faster,” I said.
“Be that as it may, my boss wants those photos back, plus what you still owe.” He aimed his weapon at my client. “And I’ll take both now.”
Toby looked at the envelope and said, “Alright.” Then he deflated like a punctured parade float, and shuffled towards the man.
“Toby,” I said, “you take one more step and I’ll break you in two after I’m done with him.”
The guy took his machine gun off my client and put it on me. “Shut up. Or I’ll add some red to that gray suit.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“No? You may tear through steel, but super strength don’t make you bulletproof.”
I stood firm. “The photos stay here. And if you threaten Toby one more time I’m going to pull out your spine and choke you to death with it.”
“Choke me to death…” The unknown man tsked. “Everyone’s a white cape in this town. Hey Toby, be sure to mention this to the next hero you hire.” He raised the Thompson and pulled its trigger. The fully automatic cannon made a loud rat-a-tat and spit a series of slugs into my gut.
I looked down. There were now a lucky number of holes in my white shirt, each one belching out a line of smoke like an old slot jockey. I leveled my gaze at the shooter. “Is that gun a Tommy, or a Tammy?”
“What the hell?” The guy looked at his weapon. Then he aimed higher, and blasted away.
I snapped my face to the side as another half dozen bullets bounced off my cheek, doing less damage there than they did to my shirt.
“God damn,” he said, “you’re invulnerable.”
“That and angry.” I reached into my jacket and plucked my Thumper, Rico. He’s a meaty handgun that holds four different bullets: high-velocity, target seeking, explosive, and electro-stun. Each one’s connected to a different trigger in the grip, and aiming at the blackmailer I loosed a stunner.
But my lead went high, and hit the wall behind him. “How the hell?”
Even though I couldn’t see his face I swear he smirked. “Not the only cape under the bridge tonight, huh?”
“Maybe not. But I’m the only cape with a Kapowitzer.”
The guy lowered his heater and took a step back. “A Kapowitzer?”
Slipping Rico back home I pulled the right side of my jacket open to reveal Lois, a futuristic silver pistol. “Yeah, let’s see you dodge scatter shot.”
“To hell with this.” Leaving his bravado behind, the guy jumped into his car and reversed fast.
I sprinted after him. And in three long strides I caught up. Reaching low I grabbed his bumper. He dragged me a few feet like a water skier, but I bore down, and lifted the front of his car off the ground. The rear tires kept spinning, but he was at a full stop.
“Going somewhere?” I said.
“Yeah,” the guy yelled. “Away.”
Suddenly the car felt a lot heavier, like some invisible force was pulling it to the ground. I fought hard, but the metal tore free from my hands and he shot backwards at an impressive pace. Then he hit the brakes, spun his sled a perfect one-eighty, and tore off into the night.
As his taillights shrank I returned to my client. “You could’ve mentioned that guy had telekinesis.”
Poor Toby was green, and shook like he had some awful palsy. “God damn it. Why didn’t you shoot him with the Kapowitzer?”
“You ever seen one go off?” I said. “Her blast would’ve leveled the block.”
“The block? Who cares about the block?” Toby wiped his slick brow dry. “Do you have any idea what I’ve already given them for these pictures?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. You asked me to fetch those and fetch those I did. Now give me my lettuce.”
Toby steadied his sausage link fingers long enough to reach into his pocket and produce a white envelope, thick with bills. “Here.”
I grabbed it, and started counting the dough. “Thanks.”
“Oh no, thank you.”
The sarcasm got my attention, but when I looked up to give Toby the stink eye he was already waddling back to his car with the folder full of shame tucked under one arm. He opened the door and said, “By the way, I won’t be suggesting you to my friends.”
I went back to counting. “Got a lot of those, do you?”
Toby slammed his door and drove away.
I wasn’t sad to see him go. But I wasn’t thrilled either.
Because like I said, he was my only client.
Chapter 2
The alarm clock’s short hand was tickling ten when the sun got the nerve to kick open my eyes. Throwing the covers aside I got out of bed, shuffled
off to shave the face an ex of mine called “knobbly,” and once I had the undergrowth pruned, I slapped on a gray suit and hat with a black overcoat, filled my twin shoulder holsters with Rico and Lois, and headed out the door.
My matte black Jalopy was parked out front. I got into it, and headed towards my office wishing I had sunglasses every mile of the trip. Not because of the daylight. No. It was the town itself. That’s the thing about Gold Coast City, whether morning, noon, or night it’s got a shine that shames Vegas at Christmastime. Some think it’s because of all those big, silver buildings in City Centre that twist as they climb through the clouds. Others believe the glow comes from the aura of our frontier past that’s still rife in neighborhoods like Blackwood and Cobbles. And the tourists swear it’s because we have more capes per square mile than any other burg around. But the simple truth is Gold Coast City is the greatest jewel in the world’s tiara, and it shines accordingly.
Even in Falling Rock, where my office is located.
I pulled up outside the brick Tanziger Building, hopped out, and took the elevator up to the fourth floor where my suite resides at the end of the hall. And while I have no problem locating it, others think it’s nearly impossible to find because over my door, hidden in the smoke detector, is a deceit device which produces a hologram of a dead end. From a distance it can fool the sharpest eye, but once you get close enough, like within five feet, the illusion stops working, and clear as day you’ll see a glass door with the freshly painted words Dane Curse Detective Agency.
I marched through it, and into the waiting room, to find my secretary at her desk. She had on the tailored peach suit I always mistake for pink, and her silver hair was pulled into a bun you could confuse with a cue ball. Keeping both eyes on her romance novel she said, “Carl never came in this late.”
I closed the door. “Good morning, Mrs. West.”
“Morning? It’s practically noon.”
Pointing at her hair I said, “You got a lock out of place.”
“What?” She snatched a mirror from the desk and studied her do from every angle. “Where?”
I shrugged. “My mistake.”
Scowling, she replaced the looking glass. “It’s not surprising you have no respect for precision.”
I hung up my coat and hat, then pulled out last night’s kale. “Here, this should cheer you up.”
“Is it from that awful Mr. Teenie?” She took the money and started counting. “You know, Carl never had to work for regs, either.”
“Yeah. You’ve mentioned. So how long will this give me?”
“Until you need another client?” She finished and did some math in her head. “Six weeks.”
“That’s all?”
“If you don’t run the electricity too much. Whatever happened to all that money you made with Dread Division?”
“I blew every kroner on a dame.”
Mrs. West rolled her eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Probably because you’re just so smart. Don’t bother me unless it’s important.” I walked out of the waiting room and into my office, closing the door behind me. On my desk was the day’s copy of The Chronicle, and a brand new bottle of whiskey. I sat down, cracked the booze’s seal, and poured myself three fingers. It wasn’t nearly enough to give an invulnerable like me a buzz, but still, I took a sip.
And spit it back out.
Earl Grey.
Mrs. West switched out my liquor with tea. But the seal was unbroken. So how did she do that?
The urge to scream rose, but I beat it back down. No reason to let that batty dame know my goat was got. Instead, I dropped the bottle into the trashcan, and turned my attention to The Chronicle. Splashed across its front page was a story about Hard Drive, a black cape who was killed the day before in a melee with Al Mighty. Below that was a puff piece on tomorrow night’s Save the Finch gala, and at the very bottom was a story covering the progress of I-93’s construction.
Finding none of that interesting, I tossed the paper in with the tea and leaned back in my chair, figuring a nap might put me to rights. But before my eyes were halfway closed the phone rang.
Through the opaque glass wall that separated me from Mrs. West I heard her pick up the receiver and say, “Carl Cutter… I mean Dane Curse Detective Agency. Yes he is. Really? I’ll inform him.” She hung up, walked over, and popped her head through my door with something on her mouth that almost resembled a smile. “Dane, you got a client on the way up. And it’s a black cape.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Because it’s no joke. They’ll be here soon so straighten your tie. And that mess above it.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could use it she closed my door and was back at her desk.
Then someone tall entered. They traded muffled pleasantries with Mrs. West, strode to my door, and knocked twice.
I said, “It’s open.”
The door swung aside and in walked a woman. She had a long, flowing overcoat atop a tailored black suit that hugged her hips like an old friend it hadn’t seen since high school. Her broad brimmed hat cast a shadow over a pair of almond eyes so smoky they could teach a Navajo communications course, and with two full lips as red as the menace that scared my ma she said, “Mr. Curse? I’m Mandy Marcus.” She closed the door and crossed the room with one hand extended.
I stood up and shook it. “Nice to meet you. Please, take a seat.”
“Thank you.” She obliged, and removed her hat releasing a waterfall of thick, brown tresses that splashed off her shoulders. “May I ask where Mr. Cutter is? I thought this was his agency, but the name on the door says otherwise.”
“Carl’s gone,” I said, sitting down. “He retired a few weeks back. Did you know him?”
“Of him. The black capes I’ve talked to say he…” She took a few seconds to find the right words. “They say he could be trusted.”
Trusted. That was cute. “Yeah. He was good like that. So what’s this about?”
Ms. Marcus shrugged off her overcoat revealing four arms in total. And that was all I needed. Mandy was The Widow, a member of an all dame spider themed squad of black capes called the Spinnerettes. I’d met her boss Six Eye, along with Trapdoor, and the venomous Redback, but I never shared space with The Widow. “It’s about my brother. And his partner.”
“What’re their names?” I said.
“Leonard and Tony.”
“And their other names?”
“Thermite and Firewall. They were killed last night.” Her eyes went shiny. “Trying to steal the Coconut.”
“The Vandenberg Coconut?” My jaw fell slack near python wide. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m very serious. Their bodies were found a few hours ago-”
“Outside the museum.”
“No,” she said. “Inside. On the floor of Wentorf Hall itself.”
“On the floor of Wentorf…” was all I got out before my throat closed up. I took a hard swallow to get it greased. “I’m sorry, how’s that even possible?”
“I’m not sure. I saw it on this morning’s news. The police are saying that Tony and Leo broke in to steal the diamond, but instead killed each other before the job was done.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
“No.” Widow’s eyes got dry and narrow. “It does not.”
“Uh, you’ve seen the Coconut, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well if there’s anything that could convince me to turn on brother, mother, or country, that rock’s it.”
“But you’re not Leo or Tony. A third man killed them. I know it.”
“Alright,” I said. “So you think someone circumvented the world’s most difficult, and secret, security system in order to gain access to a room full of gems worth billions, only to kill their two partners without taking a thing?”
Her smile was so wry she could’ve used both lips to make a Reuben. “I don’t know what happened. I just know they didn’t kill each o
ther.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because those two have been inseparable since grade school. They got special together. They put on the black cape together.”
“So far that’s not enough.”
“Well this should be, when they were picked up on a burglary that got them half a decade in Impenetron the state made them a deal: the first person to squeal on the other gets to go free. But neither one did. Even though this offer stood open for every day of those five long years. That’s how I know they didn’t kill each other.”
“They wouldn’t talk to walk? Ok.” I grabbed a pad and pen. “That is something.”
“So you’ll take the case?”
“I will. Now, tell me everything you know about the boys.”
Widow relaxed and settled into her chair. “My brother Anthony, Firewall, was a converter, and he had talent. I don’t think there was a computer system he couldn’t mentally interface with by touch alone. We weren’t particularly close though. Maybe we’d talk once a year. Exchange birthday cards. I visited him in Impenetron early on, but after a few months he refused to see me or accept my letters. I didn’t even know he was out. His partner Leonard Thebes, Thermite, was a flamer. He couldn’t fly or anything, just produce regular fire from his skin.”
“And their current address?”
“I don’t know.”
“Place of work?”
She shook her head.
“Ok. You mentioned a possible third man, did the boys have any enemies? Someone who wanted them dead?”
She looked at her lap where all four hands were doing the busy fidget. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I put my pad and pen down gentle. “That’s ok. I can find out the rest myself.”
“Thank you.” Widow got to her feet. “I appreciate your assistance. Obviously I won’t be going to the police.”
“No one who comes in here can. But before you leave,” I said, “I’ll need a retainer.”
“Will this do?” Mandy reached into her pocket and produced a wrapped stack of bills.
I took the dough and read the band. “Ten thousand? Yeah, and you’ll get back change.”