The Coconut Swindle (Black Cape Case Files Book 2)

by Matt Abraham

  “I’d prefer answers.”

  “If they’re out there,” I said, “I’ll find them.”

  #

  On the way out Widow left her details with my secretary, but me in no better a mood than when she arrived. Sure, against all odds I had a client who wore the black cape, and solving her case would shine me up in the eyes of the powered villain community which would definitely help keep my agency running, but I didn’t see this whole thing coming together like she hoped. In fact, I had the feeling this was an open shutter.

  But Carl, my former partner and mentor, always told me to base my hunches on facts, not the other way around, so I turned on my computer and booted up Sandtrout, a piece of software capable of wheedling all sorts of information from databases across the city. I entered the names Leonard Thebes and Anthony Marcus, and pressed enter. It would take hours to finish, but when it did I’d have a report on everywhere the boys’ paths intersected. Ideally where they both worked, lived, and who they knew.

  That took care of their private lives.

  Now for their very public deaths.

  The first thing I’d have to do is visit the crime scene to see how they broke in. Then I wanted to learn what impossible technique they used to bypass the defenses. And finally, I’d have to know the cause of death. Once I had all that done I’d know if Widow’s theory was right.

  So, pocketing half of her cash I made for the door.

  As I passed by, Mrs. West said, “I don’t think she trusts you.”

  I slipped on my coat and hat. “Most dames don’t.”

  “But you’ll still help her, right?”

  I couldn’t stop the sigh. “We don’t help people here. We work cases.”

  Mrs. West glowered like only nuns can. “That’s not how Carl ran things.”

  “Well I’m not him.”

  “I’ll say. For thirty years he was the only person in this city that helped grieving black capes and their families find the answers they needed. The kind of people the law ignores. I don’t know where they’ll go for help, if you lose this agency.”

  “I’m keeping this agency afloat partly because Carl was like a father to me, and partly because I’m done with dark deeds.” I stepped through the door. “Not because I want to help grieving people.”

  Mrs. West tut-tutted. “That’s a wonderful attitude. Why Carl loved you I’ll never know.”

  I spun around and poked my head back in. “And yet why he didn’t love you is abundantly clear.”

  Mrs. West opened her mouth. But I was gone before she could use it.

  Chapter 3

  Wentorf Hall resides inside the Gold Coast City Museum, a five-story castle made of massive, gray stones. It sits on a grassy hill overlooking the downtown business district, and while the thirty million tourists that stroll through this burg annually almost exclusively come to spot a white cape, enough of them still stop in for some culture, and maybe a mug. So the cops would want the crime scene spotless as soon as possible, which is why I rushed there with minor regard for traffic laws.

  Parking out front, I ran up the white marble stairs, past the gold plated gates, and into the lobby where, towering high, was a statue of Poseidon. He cast his godly gaze over me and the other visitors as they moved back and forth like schools of fish, happily chattering in whatever language Babel saw fit to stick them with. Pulling my hat low I pushed through them, and fed a fiver into the donation box before making my way towards my target: the gem room.

  It was in the center of the first floor, and when I crossed its threshold, for a second I forgot why I was there. The highly polished brass ceiling was as shiny as the parquet floor, but the lush purple curtains softened the shine and absorbed the sounds so it felt quiet and intimate, like a giant potentate’s jewel box. The dozens of displays that ran around the room were filled with rare treats like tanzanite, black opals, and even a block of quartz Pinnacle pulled from Mars. But despite their rarity, or otherworldly origin, each shiny rock looked like a dull pebble next to the pride of the exhibit.

  Its display took up an entire wall.

  There were tools from its excavation on the left, while to the right sat pictures of the Danish family who first found it, but dead center, lounging on its pink pillow like an empress on her litter, as big as a bowling ball and sparkling like the promise of prom night, was the largest and most valuable diamond in the world: the famous Vandenberg Coconut.

  I dare you to gaze at it and not ooze some ahhs.

  Normally the rock’s visible from every part of the room, but today it was partially obstructed by a ten-foot blue police partition in the middle of the floor which protected the bodies I’d come to study. I took a loop around it to get the lay, but only made it halfway before stopping dead.

  Standing next to the diamond’s display, previously hidden by the partition, was Al Mighty. He was nearly seven feet tall, four feet wide, and while I could lift seven tons tops he could press thirty without a grunt. The costume he had on beneath his blood red beard was half orange, half white, and it shone with the distinct tinge of Wonder Weave. He struck an imposing gaze across the room, I suppose to remind us that the diamond was still as safe as ever.

  Obviously his presence wasn’t welcome, but it wouldn’t deter me. I needed onsite intel. So I got in line with the rest of the tourists and strolled past the Coconut, but while they all stared at the rock with wonder I studied the unbreakable Kessel Glass, searching for a ding or dent. But there wasn’t one. I mean not even a scratch.

  Once that was done I turned around and walked past the partition, trying to get a look inside. But there were no gaps between the panels, so I’d have to get creative. Keeping one eye on Al I turned to the nearest stone and pulled out my hand scanner, a useful tool that can record all sorts of clues from chemical residue to ambient light waves, and set its lens to X-ray. Dropping it to my side I pointed it backwards, and moved around the room’s perimeter, clicking away.

  When I’d completed one full circuit I changed the lens to zoom, aimed it at the shiny brass ceiling, and took a few more shots, using the reflection to get some normal pictures from above. Then, with the crime scene on film, I moved to the next room, leaving Al to gaze upon the rubes and rubies, because now that I’d seen how far the boys got, I needed to find out how they entered the museum itself.

  #

  The room next to Wentorf Hall was the Amphibia Theatre, a large kid-friendly auditorium. All around were scientific displays of oceanic specimens, while scale models of different whales hung from the forty-foot ceiling. To the right was a wall of blue windows that, despite being covered with iron bars, cast an azure hue that made the place feel like it was on the bottom of the sea. And while all that amazed the children, the most impressive thing was the floor. Supported by a marble perimeter, it was a single sheet of bulletproof glass that protected a fully functioning, yet perfectly isolated, ecosystem packed with water and green bioluminescent algae.

  And dangling a few inches from the center of that magnificent floor was a rope. The other end was hanging from a vent in the ceiling, which opened above the model orca. I walked to it, aimed my scanner up, and snapped a few pictures. They’d serve fine, but I wanted a closer look, because if Widow was right, then that vent would be able to hold the weight of three men. And yet from where I was standing it didn’t seem too sturdy, though I’d have to wait until the cops buzzed off before I could sneak up to the roof for a peek.

  So I wandered the room, looking at the displays, wondering how many I’d see before the cops left. But I barely made it to the far wall before noticing that, in every display, I saw the same thing. It was the reflection of a blond man, in a brown suit, with a bulge in his jacket that could only come from a pistol. And the way he was staring at my back reminded me of how a starving man leers at pork chops.

  Now I’ve never been good at math, but I know that if you add all that up you get cop. I always double-check my work though, so I spun his way.

  But
instead of scoping me Blondie was looking nonchalant at a nearby trilobite.

  Yep, I’d been made. Damn it. My rooftop visit was now canceled and I had to beat a retreat before the badge alerted Al Mighty and he put me in traction. But I didn’t want to lead him to my car, so before I escaped I’d have to shake my new pal like a British nanny.

  Leaving the Amphibia Theatre, I walked down the long hall to the Egyptian wing, the busiest part of the museum. It was also the largest room in the place with a lofty pyramid squatting in its center, painted ankhs decorating the ceiling, and lining the walls on all sides were dozens of statues on square pedestals. I walked through it all at a slow pace, dragging my friend with me. And as he followed my scent I searched for an opportunity to leave him behind.

  It presented itself quick.

  Right in front of me, two large tour groups were coming my way from opposite directions. One was following the flag of Japan, the other Brazil. They were seconds away from converging on one another. I paused for a moment, and spun around.

  My blond tail had already turned aside, and was gazing at a nearby mummy.

  I used the moment to slide between the passing parties, and as they crossed paths the two groups cut me off from the cop. I ducked low, and keeping mum and humble, charged across the floor and slipped behind the statue of a jackal faced man. Seconds passed.

  Then Johnny Law sprinted by.

  Peeking around my cover I watched him go.

  He ran to the center of the room. Searched right. Then left. And when he didn’t spot me he raced to the end of the room and disappeared through the door to Aerospace.

  And now with my shadow properly shunted, I slipped both hands into my pockets, abandoned my cover, strolled down the hall, and ambled out the main gate.

  There’s something about beating a lawman. It makes the sun feel warmer. The air smell sweeter. I took a deep breath of both and bounced down the stairs feeling easy and free, with as much spring in my step as there was on the breeze. But upon reaching the bottom I stopped short.

  The cop was already there. Leaning against my Jalopy.

  I walked over, shaking my head. “That’s some nice work, officer.”

  He gave me a hard look with his baby blues. “It’s detective.”

  “That explains how you found me.”

  “A big ogre like you’s not too hard to find,” he said. “Though I have to admit, that was one sly fake you made around Anubis.”

  I looked back at the museum. “Anubis? That wasn’t Pharaoh?”

  “Life’s not Pharaoh.”

  I laughed hard for real. “A funny cop’s rare. No wonder they got you in a museum. So what can I do for you?”

  “Keep away from the Coconut.”

  “And if I don’t? You going to get your pal Al?”

  “I don’t need a white cape’s help to arrest you,” the cop said. “Just like I don’t need any more dead thieves on my watch.”

  “Wait, you think I’m casing the joint, learning from their mistakes so I can do better?”

  He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to.

  “Listen, you got nothing to worry about, copper. These days I walk a path that’s straighter than a beam of light.”

  He waved a finger in my face. “Light bends, genius. Now stay away, or prepare to spend a lot of nights in the pen.”

  I stepped around him. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Take it.” The cop snatched my sleeve. “It’s worth a lot more than the fin you paid to play.”

  “Good to know.” I swatted his hand off me. Then I got in my Jalopy, and pulled into traffic with an eye in the rearview.

  The cop was mugging my plates, scribbling the number onto his notepad. Fat lot of good it would do. It’s registered to an address that doesn’t exist, so my identity would remain clandestine. But still, I was shaken.

  That cop tagged me so early he not only knew how much I put in the donation box, but also which car I drove.

  He was rarer than I thought. Smarter, too.

  So I’d wait until the Viking was off shift, and return after sundown for my peek at the roof. In the meantime I’d print up the pictures to see how the boys died. But to put them into context I’d need some information about Wentorf Hall’s security system. I also needed a drink.

  Fortunately there was a place I could do both.

  Chapter 4

  Henchmen’s was a speakeasy that catered exclusively to the black cape set. There’s no better place for a powered thug to go for a finger of Octane, or info on the underbelly of Gold Coast City, but it’s always best to be on guard because it can run rough on the smoothest of days.

  I entered the empty dive bar that served as its front, and the door hadn’t closed behind me before the far wall parted like I was strolling with Moses. I stepped through it, made my way down a darkened hallway, and after slipping between two red curtains I finally arrived inside Henchmen’s proper, my second home.

  Thanks to its rough-hewn wooden walls the place smelled like a catcher’s mitt filled with sawdust and beer. The juke in the corner was pumping out an old swing tune loud enough to rattle the plaque from my teeth, while the bar on the right was stacked three deep with black capes all drinking and fighting and making a fuss. The rumpus looked like a real fun time, but I aimed my loafers to the booths in the back.

  And as I went the drinks stopped clinking. The conversations died. Someone even quieted the juke.

  I turned to the crowd.

  Every eye was on me.

  Opening my jacket I pointed to the hanging hardware within. “If anybody’s nervy enough to run gums, there’s literally no better time to do it than now.”

  The gang traded dark looks and risky whispers.

  “No takers?” I said. “Lois and Rico will be real-”

  “That’s enough of that,” someone behind me barked.

  I turned around to see my first real smile of the day spread across the face of Dastard Lee, last surviving member of the Derby Vicious Boys, and the owner of Henchmen’s. She had on a black striped shirt with a pair of cammo pants, and running down her thick, white mane was a streak so black it could’ve been painted on with pitch. “Hey Dane, what’re you in for?”

  “The usual,” I said. “Booze and a chat.”

  “Well your timing’s perfect, we got both on tap. Follow me.”

  Lee led me to the furthest booth in the back as the music and chatter resumed in our wake. I sat on one side. She took the other, and waved to the barman.

  “Pretty chilly reception,” I said.

  “Considering what’s happened you can’t expect summertime.”

  “Guess not.” I dropped my hat on the table. “But what’s up with this crowd? Kind of busy for a weekday afternoon.”

  “It’s Hard Drive’s wake,” Lee said. “But skip that noise, where’s Cutter? You got him stashed in your pocket or something?”

  “Nope. Snooping solo.”

  “I heard that, but didn’t believe it. This burg won’t be the same without the man who solved the Night Jack murders.”

  “No,” I said, “it won’t.”

  A barman with skin as dark as onyx, and two giant white eyes, arrived at our table. He dropped off an ice water for his boss, and a pint of whiskey with a beer back for me. I swallowed the liquor in three quick gulps, then started sipping the brew. Together they provided a gentle buzz.

  “So you’ve had your hooch, let’s make with the chat.”

  I leaned in. “You hear about last night’s pass at the Coconut?”

  Lee’s eyes got so bright they could’ve brought a blind seaman safely through British fog. “You know I did.”

  “You think there’s anything strange about it?”

  “Not really.” Lee half cocked a smile. “Do you?”

  “No. But the cape who hired me does.”

  Lee turned bubbly. “A cape? Hired you? That’s great.” But then she lost her fizz. “Why? It’s pretty clear those two dunces we
nt for throats once they laid eyes on the diamond.”

  “You know, I thought the same thing at first, but that pair did a nickel in Impenetron together, and were offered a way out if they ratted. Neither one did. Seems Denmark rotten they’d go all Caining Abel now, especially before filching the diamond.”

  “There’s nothing odd about it. I was so sparkle struck the first time I saw that rock, if I had a baby in one hand and that gem in the other, and you told me I could keep the one I didn’t smash, I’d have pulled a Lady Macbeth faster than you can say ‘the king grows mad.’ And the smart money says those boys felt the same way, I don’t care how flummoxed they left the prisoner’s dilemma.”

  I just sort of nodded.

  “But,” Lee said, “you’re Carl’s boy so you’re still looking into it, and you came here to learn what makes Wentorf Hall so scary from the Coconut’s original fan.”

  “Absolutely. Nobody knows that system better than you.”

  “Well, except the curator herself. And the people who built it.”

  “True,” I said, “but they’re not answering my calls.”

  “That sounds like them. Ok, I’ll give you a quick tutorial, but listen good, I’m running a business here and I don’t got time to repeat myself.” Lee rolled up her sleeves. “Now, there are three issues facing any team trying to gain access to the Vandenberg Coconut: the entry, the interior, and the display itself.

  “First, the entry.” She grabbed my empty pint and placed it between us. “Wentorf’s walls, doors, ceiling, and floors are all reinforced with sheets of Trumite, so you can’t teleport or tunnel in, you got to walk.” She tapped the glass. “Right through the door. And its sixteen-digit encrypted code. But if by some miracle you do that…” She pulled the coaster from under her water and put it next to my pint. “You got the floor. It’s composed of thousands of weight sensing tiles that’ll pick up a pound faster than a Scottish miser, and over top of this floor is a series of motion sensing lasers.” Lee took the bottle of mustard from the condiments and squeezed a few yellow lines on the coaster. “The gaps in the grid are tighter than a gnat’s ass, and both are controlled by an independent system set into the far wall.