The Fox, the Dog, and the King

by Matt Doyle

  I blink, walk calmly over to the bin, and remove the neatly folded piece of tissue, scanning the words carefully.

  ONE DOGFIGHT TO END FUERZA’S REIGN. ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY. GLOVES WILL BE SUPPLIED AT EVERY CHECKPOINT. USE AND THEN REPLACE. FIRST CHECKPOINT IS AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE WEST SEWERS. ESTIMATED WALK TIME IS TWENTY TO THIRTY MINUTES. FIGHT BEGINS AT 17:00.

  No date means this is a temporary message, set for today only. Whoever’s named in that envelope is trying to take Fuerza down for who knows what reason, and he’s trying to do it by running a damn dogfight.

  “Diu ,” I growl, screwing the napkin up in my hand.

  I’m shaking with anger. Rather than storm out of the building and risk making a dumb decision, I decide to stick around and try to calm down a little first. If nothing else, Bert will no doubt be enjoying the buzz of scanning the area for signs of dangerous activity. It may not be the busiest street in New Hopeland, but the flow of people is at least constant enough that there will be plenty for him or keep an eye on, which will hopefully shake off some of the frustration he’s been feeling. Frustration? Is that even the right word? I’m not even sure how far along the accepted AI scale he is. I shake my head. That thing’s like the Kinsey Scale for neuroscientists and robotics engineers. Way above my head.

  I sigh. There’s nothing quite like reminding yourself that you’re a long way from understanding how the things around you work to bring you back to reality. I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder and turn to see the waitress standing there with a worried look on her face. “Is everything OK?”

  “I hope so,” I reply, mentally kicking myself for scowling at an innocent. “Is there any chance I could get another cup of the same?”

  “Of course,” she replies, her smile returning. “The gentleman in the suit insisted on paying for your drink too, even though I told him you’d already paid, so technically, we owe you one.”

  I blink. That was unexpected. “Oh. Well, thanks to him, then.”

  “I’ll have it with you soon. You just sit down and have yourself a break. It’s good to chill out once in a while, right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it is,” I concede and walk back to the table. I slide into the seat and pick up the envelope that Sunglasses gave me. It isn’t overly packed out, but with the way he’s held himself, I expect that’s more to do with only giving me what I need, rather than not being thorough enough. There is definitely something unnerving about the guy. He’s got a similar feel to Devin if you’re ever unfortunate enough to encounter him at work. He doesn’t come across like an assassin, though, more someone who could be an assassin if he really wanted to. There wasn’t a hint of any doubt in his voice when he told me that he could kill me before Bert could bust in too, and that makes me believe him all the more because it’s amazing what a bit of confidence can push you to achieve.

  My drink arrives nice and quickly, and I peel the envelope open and pull out a small wad of papers held together by a paper clip. Flicking through the pages, it reminds me a lot of the reports that the police hand out when they’re planning to take down a Mr. Big, better known, to me at least, as the Canadian Technique. The idea is to set up a fake criminal organisation, seduce the suspect into joining, and gain their trust enough that they confess to whatever crime it is you’re trying to pin on them. To get things moving, a good deal of time is spent on surveillance, learning as much as you can about the suspect so that you can play into their habits. Judging by what’s in front of me, someone within Fuerza’s group is adept at knowing what his staff get up to. If I didn’t have a job to do, I’d spend some time questioning whether this was a new improvement for the man himself, or whether he was never as ridiculously inept as he seems to begin with. Actually, no, if I didn’t have a job to do, I wouldn’t have these papers in front of me at all. Not that it matters. The only thing I can be sure of is that Fuerza is not himself part of a Mr. Big.

  According to the file, the ringleader of this little escapade is named Malcolm Castleford. He’s a plain looking middle-aged man with prematurely greying hair and a thick moustache that not only puts Hoove’s to shame but adds a few years to his appearance. The photo is similar to what you’d find on most ID cards but, even without seeing anything below the upper chest, I can tell this isn’t the man who carried out Fish’s dognapping, at least not directly. His shoulders are a little too thick with the beginnings of excess weight for him to fit the average look of the man because “average” around here means in a little better shape than this guy appears. Though that doesn’t matter either. If he’s pulling the strings, then it’s him I need to get anyway.

  The initial profile shows that Mr. Castleford holds a couple of accountancy qualifications, though not as many as the major players. That would be why he’s also listed as acting as Fuerza’s Financial Executive, a role that the brackets after the title show as encompassing accountancy, general money management, staff finances, and investments. By this, I mean that people with fewer qualifications tend to either be content with their position or just starting out. Being in his late forties, Castleford seems too old to be starting out, though I’m not ruling out him being a slow mover. The firms who insist on their staff having more letters and acknowledging bodies after their names are at the top of the game and will absolutely not take on anything clearly dodgy because, since the IRS crackdowns of the late twenty-second century, they’ve all been under close scrutiny as a matter of course.

  Given his age and mid-level list of certifications, my guess is that Castleford wanted to make it to the big time but missed the boat for whatever reason. That would mean he has enough ambition to want to make some big money but is smart enough to know that his chances to do so are limited at this point. Accountancy is a young man’s game, or so they say. If you’re in that position and are willing to get your hands dirty, then moving money for a crime lord can give you a good opening. In addition, at least seventy per cent of your own work would be perfectly legit, and it would only be the money you had to physically get involved in gathering that would have the potential to land you in hot water. But hey, even then, some trouble with the law would only prevent you returning to the straight and narrow. If anything, it would give you a badge of honour to wear for the Underground stuff.

  Of course, with ambition comes risk for the employer if you’re a man like Allen Fuerza. The Tapping message was clear in stating the aim of tonight’s entertainment , and I use that term with all the disdain it deserves in this case, is to bring Fuerza down. There’s no confirmation in any of the paperwork as to why he wants this outcome or what exactly he hopes to achieve, though that doesn’t surprise me. Right now, I’m damn near working as a troubleshooter for the lowest branch of the crime tree, though Fuerza knows that’s only out of necessity on my part.

  Sunglasses has given me a pretty comprehensive list of Castleford’s regular movements and haunts, and assuming he isn’t just really good at blagging things, he could have taken Castleford out at any time. And that worries me, since what it means is that there’s more going on here. I doubt they’re worried there’s something in place to ensure the plan goes off regardless of whether or not Castleford is caught, as having me deal with it wouldn’t change that. No, Fuerza has a reason to keep Castleford alive. What was it Sunglasses said? Their aim is to resolve said conflict in a manner that is of benefit to Mr. Fuerza? They must think Castleford can still be useful in some way. That’s the only thing that makes sense.

  Let’s see what he has on the people he’s blackmailing. The ones whose definite involvement they were able to confirm all had similar things going on; financial deals with people outside the organisation. That wouldn’t normally be a problem. Plenty of criminals have their fingers in a lot of legitimate pies, even the small-time perps Fuerza surrounds himself with. In this case, though, the deals are with people known to be involved in organised crime outside of Fuerza’s control. The notes say Fuerza was already aware of them thanks to his own watchdogs , as well as Mr. C
astleford himself.

  That must mean Castleford has been keeping himself in Fuerza’s good books so he can take him by surprise.

  As additional information, the notes say that the deals are with two types of people. The first are people already a short way above Fuerza in the chain of command, which he doesn’t object to because they probably aren’t going to move on him. The second are all new transplants to the Underground, both from outside and inside New Hopeland. The key here is that they aren’t a threat, and so a little collusion isn’t going to harm his own business.

  Good old overconfidence , I tell myself, then frown.

  I drum my fingers on the table and stare a hole through Castleford’s photograph. Am I overthinking this? Even if Sunglasses isn’t faking his efficiency, and even if Fuerza is exaggerating his stupidity, he really isn’t the sharpest knife in the Underground’s armoury, I’m certain of that. What was it that Devin said? There’s rumblings down below? Somehow, I can’t help but feel like I’m being used here. That leaves two questions; who’s doing the using, and if I want to find out, how loud do I have to shout to avoid causing an avalanche but still attract the yeti I’m interested in hunting?

  “First things first,” I grumble. “I get Fish back. After that, maybe I’ll know whether to keep poking this one or try to back off.”

  Try to back off? That’s different. Smart too. Lori would be proud.

  Chapter Six

  THE ENTRANCE TO the Western sewer tunnels is technically just within the bounds of the city, though most prefer not to think of them as such. The fact is, humans like to think of things as being nicer than they are. Even those in the know about how New Hopeland operates are stuck with that need to view the world around them as pleasant. So, some people choose to disregard the tunnel entrance due to the smell. Others don’t like the look of it, either because the general aesthetic sets them off or, in the case of those who stick to the modernised areas of the city and avoid the retro-focused spots, because it’s too old-fashioned for their tastes. Then, there are those who can’t quite bring themselves to dislike it for such silly reasons, and they instead choose to place the blame on the fact that the area is often used as a pick-up point for illicit goods. Of course, minor laws make it more likely that someone from outside the city will be dealt with to the full extent of the main laws, so those who live here and wish to collect such goods usually have to walk fifteen feet away from the tunnel entrance in order to pick them up. Why? Because, like I said, the entrance is technically still within the city limits, regardless of how many citizens say it’s not.

  Thankfully, the entrance is also in an area with plenty of convenient things for me to hide behind. I am well aware that I don’t know exactly where the Tapping Gloves are hidden, and as far as I can tell, around twenty people are going to be coming here looking for them. Yeah, they’re low-end Fuerza goons, so they aren’t exactly going to be appearing on any most wanted bulletins, but twenty idiots versus one idiot with a Familiar still weighs in the favour of the larger group, even if I do have the PD monitoring my location. Speaking of which…

  “Another three just went in,” I say, keeping my voice low and my finger pressed to the transmit button on my earpiece. “That makes twelve in total. Are there any other visitors heading this way?”

  I release the button and the earpiece crackles a little before a voice responds, “Two more cars are pulling in and heading your way. You’re lucky that it’s such a quiet area. If this had been Main Street, we’d have never been able to tell who was or wasn’t heading in until they were almost on top of you.”

  I smile. That’s Lieutenant Hanson for you. When it comes down to it, she’s the no-nonsense, take no prisoners type, but when the action hasn’t yet started, she’s chatty, even if it means having to point out the obvious to her. “Yeah, well, I doubt it’s going to be quiet too much longer. If it’s clear after this group, I’m gonna have to head in after them.”

  “You sure you don’t want to wait until all twenty are accounted for?”

  I had considered that but decided against it. “Negative. If I use the Gloves myself, you’ve gotta arrest me. I’d have rather followed the smaller group, but if this lot are on the way, it makes the risk that they’ll catch up to me too great, especially if the other group moves slowly. I’d rather know that there’ll be the option to hide and pick up where I left off if I lose the targets.”

  “Negative ?” she snorts. “Somebody’s all professional today.”

  “I’m always professional. Couldn’t you tell?”

  “Two months ago, Tourniquet. You, a Tech Shift chick who I happen to recognise as one of your clients, and a whole lotta alcohol. You were real professional then, weren’t you?” I freeze and feel a blush rising. When I don’t reply, Hanson laughs and says, “Don’t worry, the others are out having a smoke, so it’s just me talking to you. I’ve wanted to catch you with that one for so long, but you’re always surrounded by people at the station, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of those clowns.”

  “How did you…? You were there?”

  “Guilty. I would’ve come over to say hi, but you looked like you were having a great time, so I figured I’d leave you to it.”

  “I…I can’t believe you…”

  “Sure you can.” She laughs again. “C’mon, Cassie, we’ve known each other since you started working down this way. If you’d known I was there, then you would absolutely have known I was gonna ride you for it. You may not have a badge or an academy certificate, but you’re one of us. That makes you fair game. Besides, I don’t play with just anyone, only the really cool people, so it’s kind of a badge of honour for you.”

  “Gee thanks. Why bring it up now, when I’m about to head into a potential snake pit?”

  “A couple of reasons. It’s the first opportunity I’ve had, and I don’t know when another one’s gonna come along. Then there’s the tenseness in your voice. I figured that you were a little nervous and this would lighten the mood a bit. Plus, when a colleague’s feeling like that, it’s good to remind them that we’ve got their back, even if we don’t always outright say it.”

  The two cars drive by the sewer entrance and park next to the four that arrived before them. Four people get out of the first one and three get out of the second, then both groups converge to talk nervously among themselves. That leaves at least one more person to come, so my safeguard is still in place. That’s good. “Ya know, you’re right. I think you were the first person on the force to have to deal with me, weren’t you?”

  “Probably, yeah.”

  “And in all that time, I’ve had one thing I wanted to ask you and never did. Mind if I ask now?”

  “Shoot.”

  “What is your first name, Lieutenant Hanson?”

  She laughs and dodges the question with another. “How many are there?”

  “Seven. It looks like they’re about to go in, so unless there’s another car heading this way, I better get down there.”

  Hanson pauses then says, “No, you’re clear. Give us the signal when you need us to bust in, and I’ll let you know if anyone else turns up. Oh, and if the Tapping kills the earpiece, don’t worry too much. It’s set up to reset itself automatically. Good luck, Cassie.”

  I nod, realise that the good Lieutenant won’t see my response, and decide not to answer verbally out of embarrassment. Instead, I pat Bert and say, “First priority is to disarm and subdue, do you understand?”

  “Caw.”

  “I mean it, Bert. No maiming, unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Caw.”

  And with that, I creep out from behind the mass of rocks that have been hiding me and slide my way down the hill. The smell hits me at about twenty feet from the entrance. It’s vile. It’s also an annoying distraction because I’m going to find that really hard to block out. That’s a problem because I’m relying solely on my own eyes and ears here. Well, more my ears, because it’s near pitch-black inside. I�
�d have let Bert do the tracking, but there are disadvantages to that. If he’s scanning for movement in an area of low light, his eyes take on a very bright, very red glow, which is also very, very obvious. His movements during the process are also about as quiet as the finale to most firework displays. That’s not entirely his fault. When you’re made of metal and have a generally boisterous attitude, noise is a given. It’d be fine if we were trying to scare the people we’re tracking, but no, this one requires subterfuge.

  With Bert sitting silently on my shoulder and his eyes in a low power setting so as to avoid being seen, I make my way in, walking slowly and listening as intently as I can. The—I’m gonna say water because I don’t want to think about what else it might be—is running, adding to the ambient noise. The walkway is a little slippery too, which will make moving quickly difficult if I need to do so. On the plus side, the same things will apply to the group ahead. On top of their nervous chatter, the running liquid will help mask my own movements, and the lack of a decent footing on the floor should mean they don’t get too far ahead of me. They also seem to be heavier footed than me, which gives me another sound to latch on to. The tunnels aren’t entirely without lighting either, but what’s there is poorly maintained and doesn’t serve much purpose other than to offer a faint glow at the edges of the stone walkways and gently bobbing items in the slop. It means I’m also stuck having to keep one hand on the damp wall. Damp? More like cold and sticky.