Empire State

by Adam Christopher

  There was a roar overhead, and the alley was lit in shocking red and blue. Nelson stopped photographing the body and looked up, along with Kane and Rad.

  A police blimp passed overhead, almost low enough to touch the roofs of the two buildings that formed the alley's walls. It slowed, and spun on its axis, and two white search lights stabbed downwards on Rad, Kane and Nelson, before playing over the rest of the alley. The trio quickly shrank back into the shadows in the corner, next to the body behind the dumpster. Rad tried not to look. He pulled his white hat off in case it acted like a beacon.

  The blimp drifted on, but after a few seconds they could still hear its engines thrumming a small distance away.

  Rad pulled his hat back on. "Come on," he said and, holding his breath and praying to whoever would listen, he helped the other two slide the dumpster back against the wall. The remains of Sam Saturn were hidden once more. As much as it rubbed him the wrong way, Rad knew they had no choice. The poor girl had to stay right where she was, for now.

  "Time to leave," he said quietly. "Maybe they're coming back to clean up."

  Kane and Nelson hurried out of the alley at a jog. Rad watched until they disappeared around the corner, then followed.

  TEN

  IF KANE FORTUNA SAID HE knew someone, usually with a nudge and a wink and a whisper, then in all likelihood he was telling the truth. The star reporter was a walking telephone directory, a gold mine of contacts and addresses and numbers. He knew people above the law, he knew people under the wire. He knew normal, everyday people, and he knew the interesting folk of the city.

  Rad wondered if he knew two goons in fedoras and gas masks, but he didn't ask.

  Sam Saturn's death was caused by a robot, and the robot had arrived on the ironclad anchored in the harbour. That much was clear. Now Kane wanted to go take a look at the ship, and on this point Rad wasn't so sure, because if the robot was on land, and if it was malfunctioning (and it had to be, otherwise why would it kill a random member of the public and dump the body behind a bin in a wet alley?) then it needed to be found and put out of action. A single robotic sailor with a squeaky set of cogs in a city like the Empire State...

  Rad stopped walking, and pulled off his hat to rub his head. With a robot on the loose, by this time tomorrow they could all be dead. Him. Kane and Nelson and the staff of the newspaper. Jerry. The two guys in gas masks. Everyone in the city.

  So OK, maybe there would be some clue on the ironclad, but maybe Kane was getting too far ahead. Interfering with such matters could get them both killed, if the malfunctioning robot didn't get them first anyway.

  Kane said, "You look a little peaky."

  Kane strolled back to Rad, and Rad put his hat back on. The rain had broken at last, but the air felt thick and clammy. For the nth time, Rad had lost a day. How Kane could put up with working all day and all night, he never knew. Maybe that's what made him good at what he did, and good he was. The best.

  "I need some sleep and I need some goddamn daylight. How do you do it?"

  Kane shrugged. "Lots of coffee?"

  "Huh," said Rad. "Don't remind me. I used a month's ration in two days."

  Kane whistled. "That's gotta be tough. Two weeks until the next ration book."

  "Yeah, yeah." Rad waved Kane on. "Come on, we there yet?"

  The Upper East Side was not an area Rad was used to visiting. The people who could afford to live in these digs could afford a better class of detective for their sordid private affairs. At least he assumed their affairs were sordid. What else was there for these people to do?

  Tall, wide apartment buildings were dotted around private green yards bigger than most municipal parks in the rest of the city. Each gated and locked. Expensive and classy, but it didn't feel very friendly and Rad didn't feel comfortable.

  They'd parked Kane's yacht of a car several blocks away. The Upper East Side was watched carefully, not just by the police blimps which cruised over this part of the island in notable numbers, but by a private army of security guards. Authorised by the City Commissioners and empowered to use just as much force as the regular law, they were not people you wanted to attract the attention of. Two well-dressed guys on a stroll, said Kane, were much less conspicuous than a slowly crawling car.

  On the drive over from Kane's building, the reporter had given Rad a little information on who they were visiting, but nowhere near enough to satisfy his curiosity or, Rad hated to admit, his suspicions. When they'd pulled up, Rad had leaned over to the driver's side and gripped the steering wheel with one hand just as Kane moved to get out.

  "Now hold on," said Rad. "Remind me about this guy."

  Kane slumped back into the driver's seat and slid his backside around on the soft leather to better hold a conversation. They'd parked with other cars on an average street a few blocks away from their destination, but Kane had drifted the bulk of the vehicle away from the nearest streetlight. The pair were deep in shadow, the windshield nothing but a black oblong when seen from outside. If anyone was watching.

  "Captain Carson isn't just a 'guy'," said Kane, exasperation but also a hint of excitement in his voice. Whoever this "Captain" was, Kane seemed to take some pride in having his acquaintance.

  "He lives here with a friend. Both confirmed bachelors, both with unique experience and, more importantly, the skills and equipment we need to get in under the cordon and get onto that ship." Kane paused, fixing Rad's small brown eyes with his own large blue ones. "Do you want to solve the murder of Sam Saturn or not?"

  Rad hrmmed. "You gonna tell him about the body?"

  Kane shook his head. "No need, for now. I called in a favour at a precinct uptown. Friend of mine has it on ice and can keep people away."

  "I thought the police weren't interested?"

  "Not officially, but I have friends."

  Rad smiled. "Handy," he said, then he pulled at his lip. "I don't know if you thought about it too much, but there might be a real, genuine reason for the ironclad to be in quarantine. Not just because it's an embarrassing secret for the Empire State. What if it's brought back some disease, or some germ weapon from the Enemy? Maybe it's out there in the harbour in the dark for a reason?"

  Kane's face cracked into a huge grin. He bumped a clenched fist gently into the steering wheel, twice.

  "Exactly, detective! That's why Captain Carson is just the man for this. Come on. When have I let you down?"

  Rad coughed and shifted himself back over towards the passenger-side door. "Well, there was that one time..."

  Kane slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Get outta town!"

  Both exited the vehicle, snicking the doors closed as quietly as possible. Sticking to the night shadows cast by the wet, dripping trees on the curb, they slipped off towards the pricey end of town.

  "Can I tempt you to a shortbread, detective?"

  The plate was offered. Rad regarded the silver tongs held delicately between the thumb and ring finger of the left hand of the elderly gentleman in whose plush house he now sat, and eventually nodded. The old man smiled broadly and let out a satisfied sigh, dropping a yellow-brown confection onto the saucer of Rad's teacup. Seated next to Rad on the red leather, Kane closed his eyes, his smile threatening to evolve into a full laugh.

  Captain Carson had welcomed Kane into the house like he was a long-lost friend. Rad stood out of the way of the hugs and handshakes and the talking over each other for a full minute; but after a brief introduction from Kane, Rad found himself on the end of this affection as well.

  The Captain, as he insisted on being called, had led them from the gigantic front door, itself at least a storey and a half high, down a corridor laid with carpet so thick it was like walking on marshmallow, and into a parlour not entirely dissimilar to a miniature version of a tearoom, which Rad had once seen in one of the city's larger, more expensive hotels. Rad and Kane were invited to sit together on the settee, while their host slumped into a matching armchair so deep he practically vanished betw
een the curved wing-like arms.

  For an old man, Carson – the Captain – was what you might call sprightly. Once a tall, broad and muscular man, the Captain had managed to retain his solidity along with a full head of hair, now snowy white, which matched his finely trimmed, full moustache. Although evidently relaxing in his own home, he wore a two-piece suit in khaki drab, with the trouser legs tucked into almost knee-high brown boots. The jacket was belted at the waist and had silver buttons; Rad counted six down the front, along with one each on the four square pockets that sat two on the hips, two on the breast. Above the right breast pocket was a row of coloured insignia. Rad didn't know exactly what they meant, but he knew military decorations when he saw them. One bar, in bright red and yellow stripe, matched the colours of his tie, knotted expertly over a white shirt. The sagging skin of the Captain's neck hung over the collar, twisting left and right as he turned his head. The old man obviously took pride in his appearance.

  As Kane had said, the Captain didn't live alone, but Rad had only met his companion when he brought the tea and cookies out. Tall and wide, and clad in a dark blue suit, the man was introduced as Byron. Rad stood and shook hands politely, hoping that his smile looked genuine enough to be accepted. Rad watched his reflection gulp in Byron's polished faceplate, and he quickly sat down.

  Byron's helmet was nearly entirely spherical and looked like it was made of copper, with brass hatches inlaid apparently at random places all over its surface. In addition, there were taps and bolted ports, also in brass. The front of the helmet was a big black glass window. Byron's face was completely hidden, and when he later spoke his voice came out from somewhere in his chest, from under the suit.

  Rad gulped again, sipped his tea, and took a bite of the delicious-looking biscuit. It tasted like nothing on Earth. Rad began to cough, his eyes wide as he looked first at Kane and then at Captain Carson, sitting in his chair, with Byron standing by his side.

  "I apologise, detective, I should have warned you!" Carson threw his hands up dramatically, then, if Rad wasn't mistaken, winked at Kane. "Wartime, I'm afraid. There aren't enough ration coupons in the world for the sugar and butter needed for a fine shortbread, so I'm afraid Byron had to make do with... what did you use this time, Byron?"

  The Captain craned around his chair to look up at his servant. Byron inclined his round head a little.

  "Sawdust, sir."

  "Ah!" said the Captain, as if that explained precisely everything. "Sawdust shortbread again. Well, they look very nice. My compliments, Byron."

  Byron nodded. "Sir."

  Rad's mouth had seized up. Captain Carson gestured with his own teacup. "Best washed down with a cup of the old char. You needn't skimp, plenty of that. Nobody drinks it these days so I happily swap ration coupons with the neighbours so they can have their coffee. Ghastly stuff."

  Rad gulped the hot brew with thanks. Even after draining the cup, he felt a gritty residue stick to the sides of his throat. Byron swept forward on the thick carpet and took the cup and saucer.

  "Allow me," he said, and left the room.

  "Thank you, Byron," said Kane. He adjusted himself on the settee and addressed their host.

  "Captain, I'm grateful that you could see us. I'm afraid, as pleasant as this is, this isn't a social call."

  The Captain said something into his cup, but when his face re-emerged he was smiling. "Of course, my dear lad. It must be said, you only ever come here looking for help. However, I will not begrudge you this, for the pleasure of your company is so great." He nodded at Rad. "And of course I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance, detective. I have heard much!"

  Kane grinned and glanced sideways at his friend. Rad smiled tightly and shifted in his seat. Byron returned with Rad's cup refreshed. Rad muttered his thanks and took a gulp of the searing liquid before speaking.

  "Well now," he said, a puff of steam punctuating each syllable. "It's a very great pleasure to meet you, Captain, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm on the back foot, so to speak."

  Rad turned pointedly to Kane, although he continued to speak to the Captain. "Thing is, I don't know much about what's going on, and what's more, I've had what you might call one of those weeks." His eyes met Kane's. Kane blinked slowly and Rad continued. "I've been a private detective for years, and I ain't never had problems like this."

  "For how long?" The Captain's smile was suddenly tight. He paused, holding his cup, waiting for the answer.

  "Excuse me?"

  "How long have you been a private detective for?"

  "Years. Like I just said."

  The Captain sipped his tea. "Ah yes," he said, smacking his lips. "But for how many years, exactly?"

  Rad set his cup down on the saucer with a loud clack. It was late, again. He didn't have time for this.

  "For as long as I can remember. I'm a PI through and through."

  "Yes," said the Captain, apparently satisfied. He nodded at Kane, as if to indicate understanding. Kane turned his face away from Rad a little.

  Rad deposited his spent cup on the small table in front of the sofa. "Oh, now hold on a minute. What gives, Kane?" He jerked an elbow towards the Captain. "What have you been telling this guy? And what is it with guys in helmets and masks and stuff?" He looked up at the servant's face hidden behind the black curve of his odd helmet. "The last few days I've been tapped by guys in gas masks, been rescued by a rocket-powered crime fighter, criminal, take your pick, who should be dead – who is dead – and then I get my first case in months, a simple missing person job, only for the superstar reporter here to turn the body up in less than twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, an ironclad returns, a robot from which, says Kane, killed my missing person. And now I'm sitting in a mansion eating sawdust and talking to an old man and his... friend."

  Kane set his own cup down on the table. His big eyes blinked, but he didn't smile. "Rad, please."

  Rad stood up quickly. "Please what? I'm sick of this pussyfooting around. Someone needs to tell me what in the goddamned hell is going on."

  "Detective."

  Rad turned and looked at Captain Carson. The old man seemed tiny, enveloped in his enormous armchair. Rad was tall as well as broad, and even though the parlour was as spacious as a fancy restaurant, he seemed to tower over his host. Byron stood, gloved hands clasped in the front. Rad saw nothing but his own reflection in Byron's black glass faceplate.

  "Detective," the Captain continued, "I can see that your friend Mr Fortuna has done you something of an injustice, and that you are owed an apology and also an explanation." He drained the last of his cup, placed it on the table along with the two others, and then stood from his chair. Rad took a step back to give him a polite amount of personal space. The Captain straightened his tunic, and brushed his moustache with the thick fingers of his right hand.

  "Please be assured, we are all friends here. I have known Mr Fortuna for some time now, and he has had reason to come to me for advice and assistance over the years. I have, shall we say, contacts, dear boy!"

  The Captain patted Rad on the shoulder. "Come with me. I'll explain," he whispered with a wink, before nodding to Byron. Byron bowed, turned, and walked away out of the room. Carson gestured for Rad to follow. "Please. I think you'll find this very interesting."

  Rad shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and fingered the rabbity felt of his rolled-up fedora. Kane and Carson were both smiling at him, and Rad realised that this house was as strange as the Pastor's church meeting. He sighed, and shook his head at no one in particular, and followed Byron through the door.

  Captain Carson's house was huge. After walking down hallway after hallway, Rad realised that what he had thought were other houses or apartment buildings on the hill on which Carson's own house sat were actually extensions of his own residence. To afford all this real estate Carson had to be one of the richest men in the Empire State. This was old money, well-heeled and well-established.

  Byron led the group into a large hall, so
mething like a long dining room; the surprising width of the room and the dizzying height of the ceiling dwarfing the narrow table at the centre of the chamber, laid for a meal with elegant settings. Byron turned immediately on entering and stood with his back to the wall in a corner, while the Captain clapped his hands and strode briskly to a vast glass-fronted cabinet that stood along the centre of the left-hand wall, sandwiched between dozens of portraits and photographs in a mix of monochrome and sepia tones.

  "Welcome to my collection." The Captain beamed at the detective, and cast his hand along the wall, indicating the items on display. "Somewhat vain, true, but then it seems silly to hide it all away, especially when there are precious few opportunities for exploration now, what with 'Wartime'." The Captain pronounced the word oddly, as if it wasn't quite the right descriptor. Rad picked up on the tone, but didn't think much of it. He was too engrossed by the pictures before him. He ignored the portraits – most of which were clearly of the Captain from his glory days as a young man with wide strongman's neck and shiny black hair. In nearly every picture, a slightly younger man with blond hair stood at Carson's shoulder. Rad rolled his tongue around behind his teeth for a spell, then his eyes fell on a landscape photograph. There was water, and towering cliffs captured in brown and cream. Rad whistled.