by Matt Abraham
“So he’s the one who killed the boys?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I’m sure he planned the heist and the cover up, but those dead kids were smart thieves, they wouldn’t have attempted the heist without a third man who could’ve gotten the stone from behind its display, and Scourge doesn’t have that ability.”
“Maybe they didn’t know that. Maybe it’s like Ms. Marcus says, an assassination.”
I looked over at Mrs. West. “You mean someone paid Bundy to put together a team all in the hopes of murdering two boys?” Interesting. But, “No. Nobody hates them that much. Though I do believe a woman’s behind all of this. Bundy said so.”
“But Bundy Strong’s a liar. Isn’t it possible he’s the one pulling the strings?”
“Very possible,” I said. “But that would mean he had enough money to hire Gunmetal Gray to protect Scourge from me, and I don’t think he has that kind of dough.”
Mrs. West snatched my arm. “Hold it. Gunmetal Gray’s involved?”
“Yeah, she knocked loose a tooth before Al put my nose on the back of my head.”
“Wait.” Mrs. West squeezed. “You fought her? And survived? That’s amazing.”
“Not really. She only spared me because Scourge wanted Al to finish me clean.”
“Still, Gunmetal Gray…” The old dame sat back and chewed on the fat I just cooked up. Finally she said, “So Bundy’s probably underground now, right?”
“Yeah. But I’ll swing by North Point later anyway, see if I can’t locate him. Maybe get some payback for the second suit he’s damaged.”
“If he’s not there how will you find him?”
I thought about it. “Only two things can help, the chemical that burned Thermite, or maybe if I could find, and search, the place the boys lived for a clue. Not that I’m in any shape to do either.” I tipped my hat over my face. I didn’t want to say it out loud but my body felt like a bag of broken pottery.
“I’m certain you’ll figure it out.” Mrs. West got to her feet, and slid my hat off. And then, I kid you not, she laid both lips on my forehead.
I popped my peepers. “What was that?”
“A kiss.”
“I didn’t know you gave those out.”
Putting her hands on her hips she smiled. “I know we don’t get along, but you’re a good egg. Harder boiled than most, and currently scrambled, but a good egg. Carl chose you well, former black cape helping people-”
“I don’t help people, I-”
“Work cases. I know. But that can be the same thing sometimes. And maybe I’m too hard on you because of how much more time you two spent together, or how things worked out between him and me, but I want you to know, before I leave, that Carl chose the right man to keep this place going.” Mrs. West walked to the door.
“Hey.”
She stopped and looked at me.
“You got a lock of hair out of place.”
Mrs. West winked. “We both know this bun’s perfect. Now let me go get you some real booze. We’ll say it’s my going away present to you. In the meantime, lie down.”
She left, and taking her advice, I kicked my feet onto the couch, and tipped my hat over my eyes. Truthfully, I was done for the day. And it was barely eleven. I needed some rest. So I closed my eyes. It took no time at all for the sleepy wet heavies to settle in.
But then, because fate has an extra large mean streak, my phone rang.
I glanced at it sideways from under my hat.
And the bells tolled again.
I willed them to stop. But they chimed twice more with no sign of fading, so I reached out and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“You’re supposed to say ‘Dane Curse Detective Agency.’”
“Monday?” I said. “You out of the hospital yet?”
“They’re discharging me now.”
“So they got a free room?”
“They do,” he said, “but how about an adventure instead?”
“I’m still sore from my last one.”
“Sorry to hear it. I guess that means you don’t want to follow up on the accelerant we found on that thumb. Turns out it’s a rare chemical called nitro-tri-phosphorus. And only three places in town are licensed to sell, store, or produce it.”
I sat up and pushed my hat back. “Just three? You’re sure?”
“Just three. Now come on,” Monday said, “you want to go shake some trees?”
Truthfully I wanted to crash on the sofa and sleep until my body knit itself back together. But there was no time to rest. No time to heal. I had things to do, and those things didn’t include waiting around for Scourge or Gunmetal Gray to come find me. Instead I had the chance to find them, and the person paying their fee. And this time I’d truly have the advantage of surprise.
“Shake some trees?” I said. “No. I’m going to uproot them. Now make sure your car’s got a siren and pick me up.”
“Good man. I’ll swing by your office in thirty minutes.”
Pushing down the pain from my beating I stood up and grabbed my coat. “Make it ten.”
Chapter 29
Scooping up all my tools I went downstairs to wait for Monday. He arrived fifteen minutes later in a white sedan. I slid into the passenger side and said, “The Ritz, and step lively.”
Monday pulled into traffic. “You weren’t kidding about that hospital bed. What happened?”
For obvious reasons I kept the dance with Al to myself. “Fell down some stairs.”
“What, all of them?”
“No.” I laughed. It hurt. “Anyway, I’m surprised you’re free. I thought for sure you’d be investigating the whole Mayor Greenie thing.”
“There’s enough cops on that beat.”
“Any leads yet?”
“I hear the only thing they got is that picture, and the fake name she used on the catering sign in sheet.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really. Let’s focus on the task at hand. Here.” Monday pulled a piece of paper from his jacket. “I got it from the Center for Biotechnology and Information. They’re the spots that have nitro-tri-phosphorus.”
I took the sheet and read the names. “Chemi-Labs, Panier Solutions, and Allen-Fox. Who’s first?”
“The furthest one out,” Monday said. “Chemi-Labs.”
Monday aimed our car east, and after thirty minutes of freeway cruising all the glittering buildings turned into rolling, green hills. A little further out and those hills melted down to flat fields. Past them, rocky outcrops grew into mountains. And finally, when Gold Coast City was so small it looked like a drop of mercury on green felt, we pulled up to Chemi-Labs, a six-story building made of dull glass and cement.
We walked into the lobby, past a few plastic plants, and up to a receptionist who could’ve passed for Mrs. West’s mother. She gazed at us over her thick glasses. “You were expected twenty minutes ago, officers.”
I said, “Then you should’ve opened this plant closer to town.”
Monday pulled off his hat and stepped to her. “I’m sorry for the delay. We’re here to meet with a representative from the chemicals department.”
She looked at me before turning to Monday. “I’ll show you to him.” The lady stood up, led us down a long hall and into an office. “Pete, your twelve o’clock is here.”
We walked into an artwork-free room where two chairs sat in front of a cheap desk. The man behind it had black hair, a thick mustache, and a white short sleeve dress shirt with no tie. As the secretary closed the door he said, “Hi guys, I’m Pedro Jimenez, but everyone here calls me Pete.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Detective Monday. This is Dane.”
Pete smiled and motioned towards the chairs. “Please.”
We parked and Pete said, “I’m sorry, but the person who contacted me was vague, what’s this about exactly?”
“Earlier this week some nitro-tri-phosphorus was used in the commission of a crime,” Monday said, “and since you
’re one of the few sources in town…”
“Ni-tri in a crime?” Pete leaned back and whistled. “That’s interesting, but I guarantee it didn’t come from us.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“Because nitro-tri-phosphorus is one of the most volatile chemicals known. It takes a trained, experienced engineer just to keep it from igniting during transport, and none of our men have removed any in weeks. And if a layman did, well, you’d have heard the explosion. All the way in Oregon.”
I said, “So you can’t just skim some off the top with a spoon?”
“Uh, no,” Pete said. “It requires a specialized level nine canister.” He looked back and forth between us. “Tell you what, why don’t I take you on a tour of our warehouse? That way you can get a better idea of how this stuff works, and why we aren’t the source your looking for.”
“Is that possible?” I said.
“Of course. And besides, you came all this way, we wouldn’t want to bore you. Just give me one quick moment.” Pete grabbed his phone. “Hi Stella, could you let the warehouse know I’m heading over there now for a ni-tri demo? Thanks.” He hung up and said, “Follow me.”
Pete led us from his office, down the hall, and outside. There was a cement walkway that hooked right, and led to a larger building with a silver door and a keypad. Pete swiped his ID across it and the readout turned green. Then he entered a six-digit code.
The door opened and we followed him into a small, silver cage. To our left, behind a pane of bulletproof glass, stood a security guard. He leaned over, pressed a button, and through the speaker said, “Name and purpose for visit.”
Pete pressed his ID to the glass. “Pedro Jimenez, plus two for inspection.”
The guard clicked off the mic, then grabbed his phone. After a terse exchange he nodded, hit a buzzer, and the door in front of us popped open. We walked through it and into a chilled, bright changing room that smelled like hospital soap. On one wall was a series of lockers, while on the other hung half a dozen HAZMAT suits and helmets. Pete pointed to them and said, “Put one of those on.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because we’re heading into an atmosphere that’s nearly devoid of oxygen.”
“Yay.” I slid my suit on, careful to ensure I didn’t snag it on anything, and once we were all geared up Pete led us to another door, and swiped his card over another pad. Just like outside it turned green and unlocked. He put the card in his breast pocket, and all three of us entered the chemical storage unit.
The place was big, and mostly made from stainless steel. On the far wall were five giant vats. Pete brought us to the one in the center. On it were dozens of red and yellow warning signs like it was some shiny, modern King Tut’s tomb.
“This is it, our complete collection of ni-tri. See here?” He pointed at a slim line of glass that ran up the tank with different numbers marked off in red. “This is the gauge that tells us how much we have. And this.” He pointed to a screen on its side. “This is who takes it out and when. A drop can’t be removed without it being logged, and you’ll notice nobody’s gotten any in over a month.”
I looked at the dates and the volumes. They matched up. “Would it be possible to switch out the liquid somehow?”
“Not from our tank. Watch.” Pete swiped his card again, and entered his code on the pad. The nozzle hissed. There was a row of metal tubes hanging off the vat to our right. They were smaller than the one found at the crime scene, but otherwise fairly similar, and Pete plucked one. “Now we’re ready to extract the liquid.”
“You’re going to do what?” I said.
“Come on now, I don’t want to bore you.” He pushed one end into the vat’s nozzle, then gave it a half twist. The slim tube clicked, and the vat gave a quick blast, like it was trying to get my attention on the sly. Pete pulled it free, and the vat powered down. He pointed back to the gauge. “See, the nozzle and the indicator are linked, and it records my ID and the amount extracted. Now, follow me.”
Pete led us to the center of the room where a table sat. On it was a silver thermos and a metal bar. Looking at me Pete said, “You hold the bar out, and I’ll spray it.”
“Whoa,” Monday said. “Is that safe?”
“It’ll be fine. That canister there is filled with a gas that’ll kill the fire before it really gets going. You ready?”
I grabbed the bar and held it out. “Go for it.”
Pete aimed the small metal vial at the iron bar. “Watch this.” He clicked the button on its side and a mist sprayed out, lightly coating the end of the pole.
A few seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
Then a few more ticked by.
I pulled the rod up to my face for a closer look.
“No.” Pete stepped forward right as the steel burst into blue and orange flames. A wave of heat passed through my suit and I smelled plastic burning as Pete grabbed the bar and held it as far from himself as possible.
“Damn that was hot.” I looked at my hands. “Am I on fire?”
Pete looked me over. “No. We’re just a little singed.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem. But look.” The metal bar he held was burning like an Olympic torch, its tip engulfed in flames.
“Amazing,” Monday said.
Pete nodded. “And how. You want to hand me that thermos?”
Monday grabbed it from the table and passed it over.
Pete traded him the vial of ni-tri for the thick canister, then pointed it at the glowing metal and pressed a button on its side. A white gas flowed from its end, covering the fire and killing it like bleach on daffodils. Then he placed both the rod and the container on the table.
“So that’s that.” Pete turned to us. “Ready to go?”
Monday held up the vial of ni-tri. “I’d like to look at this for a moment.”
“Sure. When you’re finished just put it with the rest.”
Monday studied his new toy as I walked towards the exit with Pete.
“What exactly was in the spray?” I said.
“Argon. Inert gasses kill the flames. It’s what’s in our atmosphere right now.”
I thought it over. “How come the iron burned in the first place?”
“The low percentage of oxygen in the air isn’t enough to completely quash the fire, but it does weaken it significantly. Now if the ni-tri was in an oxygen rich room that reaction would’ve been ten times as powerful.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. That’s why this place gets flooded with argon in case of an earthquake.”
“Makes sense, one big ruckus and it’d burn like a candle.”
“A candle? If one of these vats went up it would be on par with Hiroshima. That’s why when you remove it you need a grade nine container.”
“Like that vial.” I nodded back towards Monday.
“No, that’s a grade six.”
“Six?” The hairs on the back of my neck all jumped up. “Is that safe?”
Pete chuckled. “Not outside. Not even a little bit. But in here, it’s fine.”
“So whoever used the ni-tri in our crime had to know what they were doing?”
“That’s correct. It can’t be safely handled by just anybody.”
“Thanks for the tip. Hey Monday, you ready?”
The cop was at the table, holding up the metal bar. “Yeah, let’s motor.”
Pete grabbed the knob and pulled the door open, and all three of us walked back into the locker room. Then the seal shut and Pete said, “Go ahead and disrobe, it’s safe.”
I unzipped my suit and stepped out of it.
Pete did the same. “So where’s your next spot? You must be going to-” He stopped and stared at Monday with huge eyes. “Don’t. Move.”
Monday had his front zipper halfway down. “What’s up?”
I looked over and froze. Inside Monday’s breast pocket was the vial of ni-tri.
He looked dow
n. “Damn it. I think I just slid it in there, force-”
“We got to get it back inside right now.” Pete snatched the thin canister and sprinted to the storage room’s entrance. He ran his keycard over the pad. But it glowed red. “What the hell?” He tried again. But the screen kept its crimson gaze.
“What’s the problem?” Monday said.
Pete spun around. The cool middle manager demeanor was replaced with a look of terror. “My key card. Its magnetic strip was damaged by the heat.”
“So?” Monday said. “I thought a grade nine container could hold it safely.”
“That’s a grade six,” I said. “It’s safe inside the lab, but not out here.”
Monday’s smile melted off. “What do we do?”
“We have to get this outside,” Pete said, “and as far away from here as possible.”
“So open the exit already,” I said.
“My card’s not working.”
I pointed at the exit. “Try anyway.”
Pete charged to the door that led to security. And ran his card over the lock. It glowed the same reddish hue as the one to the lab. “I told you, we’re locked in.” Pete lashed out and hit the large, red button on the wall. The lights flashed above us. A loud siren screamed.
“No we’re not.” I pulled out Lois. “Stand aside.”
“What’s that shoot?” Pete said.
“Hot light.”
“Don’t. An energy blast inside here could be just as bad as the ni-tri igniting.”
“Fine.” Sliding my pistol back home I threw a shoulder into the door. And bounced back. Then I grabbed the knob and pulled.
“That lock can handle ten tons,” Pete said.
Monday said, “It was an accident.”
I punched the door. Again and again. Without leaving a dent. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”
“No,” Pete said. “We’re going to die.”