“Indeed.”
“Then you know everything about the mission. You should be helping me, not him.”
“That does create quite a quandary, doesn’t it?” Hunter raised the rifle.
I lifted a hand. “Hunter, what are you—”
He interrupted me by rearranging Frankie’s head at close range.
I jumped back. “Dammit! Hunter, what the hell?”
He turned calmly. “Franklin Newman was an undetermined equation which needed resolution. His knowledge was too deadly to be allowed to infect others with ill intentions. He was better off terminated.”
I glared at him. “I had things under control, Hunter. Frankie there was probably the only person who could understand the nature of Dr. Faraday’s work. How am I supposed to get my memories out of you now? Unless there’s something in your databanks that can do the same thing?”
“I’m afraid you were a mathematical genius, not a biological one. The physiology of the brain is not an area of our expertise. We’ll have to take our chances with recovering whatever we can from what Dr. Faraday left behind.”
“Everything he left behind was in that orb, Hunter.”
“Perhaps. Only time will tell.”
I glowered. “In the meantime I don’t need you killing off the entire population of New Haven. I know your memories may direct you otherwise, but I call the shots here, not you.”
Hunter grabbed Danny the Daisy by his ankles and dragged him to the edge of the dock. “That is the entire point. I cannot execute any action you are not subconsciously willing perform. Had you not desired Frankie Newman’s death, then he would still be alive.” He casually tossed Danny’s stiff into the river. I knew the Daisy would have hated that. The water soaking into his silk rags, that is.
Frankie’s stiff joined the Daisy in the realm of future fish food. His hair floated in a dark halo around what was left of his head. Despite what he’d done and planned to do, I still felt bad about him being rubbed out. We were brothers once, men working on the same agenda. Too bad it was one which was about as ruthless as I could imagine. I guess deep inside I knew he had to bite it. It was a fate neither of us could avoid. Frankie was a load of trouble waiting to happen. And me?
I shoot trouble.
The dark, scum-slicked waters of the West River sucked the stiffs down greedily, leaving only oily bubbles to mark their passing. I lit a gasper and turned to Hunter.
“So what now? We don’t have a way to harvest those memories, and the more I think about it, the less I’m inclined to want to. To be honest, I don’t much like you, Hunter.”
“That’s understandable. According to the data in my system, your dislike of self was the driving motivation behind your career and your actions.”
I funneled smoke through my nostrils. “Well, I guess it’s like Selene said. This is a place for new beginnings. No offense, Ace, but I think I’ll stick with what I got.”
“I have no control over your decision. I can tell you the Secret Service won’t just let you walk away a free man. You were…valuable to their operation.”
“Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Question is, what do we do about you?”
“Dr Faraday programmed me with a primary directive. That directive is to keep you alive. The repercussions of these last couple of nights will spread across the entire Haven and beyond. You will have need of my knowledge and my abilities, more than likely sooner than you expect.”
He looked around. “In the meantime I suggest we make ourselves scarce, as you might say. Those bodies will wash up somewhere, and with them questions you and I will not want to answer.”
“Sounds good to me. I need some time to think this gonzo trip over, anyway.” I turned, but stopped after a couple of steps and looked back. “How do I find you if I need you?”
Hunter had never moved. He stared into the dark waters. “I will be around. This is only the beginning of a fruitful association, Mick Trubble.”
I walked away with the sun at my back. When I topped the stairs I looked down, but Hunter was nowhere in sight.
I took a zeppelin home, since I was out of a ride and all. The sun shone though the buildings, none of its splendor taken away by the fact that the invisible barrier of the Haven separated us from its direct rays. I processed the maddening flood of information as the rounded giant ghosted silently across the sky.
I took a glance around. The other passengers read tablets or listened to streaming tunes from their datacoms, oblivious to the fact that their lives were a cocktail of memory implants and mental suggestion. They were trapped in their everyday routines, blissful in the ignorance of their mentally adjusted lifestyles.
I envied them. Because I was a basic stew of conflicting emotions. Maybe Frankie Newman was right. I might be just the byproduct of Dr. Faraday’s imagination. After all, the only thing we have to establish our identities is knowledge of self. And what did I know about myself?
Then I thought about Hunter Valentino. His complete lack of personality. The ruthless void of emotion he displayed when he slapped Mayor Beck around and shot Frankie down. I’d have liked to imagine that his being a synoid had something to do with that, but I really suspected his claim to emulate me was probably right on point.
Then there was that flashback I’d seen. I didn’t know the man who spoke about killing people like it was a favorite pastime. He wore my face, but was a complete stranger to me.
And if that was the person I was, did I really want to go back to being him? The answer was obvious. I told Frankie the truth when I said I believed in New Haven. I had to. I needed to believe second chances existed.
It was like Poddar said: nothing mattered if your life wasn’t happy. Well, my life had never been a walk in the park, but it suited me a lot better than being a Secret Service gunman with bad fashion sense and a deficit in personality.
After I scoped the zones for evil eyes, I tapped a sequence on my holoband. A thin drive slid open, and I removed the miniscule chip which lay inside.
I had told no one about what I found near the fragments of the orb. No bigger than a fingernail, the thin data chip looked innocent enough. But I knew better. Inside of it was the mind of Dr. Faraday; the research and developing projects which had cost him his life. It was the Grimoire, the real one.
Something else was probably buried in the nanobytes of collected data. The memory transferring process he pioneered. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to use any of it. But better in my hands than anyone else in New Haven.
I placed it back in the drive shut it away.
After getting off the zeppelin, I managed to get back to my office without getting mugged. The first thing I noticed was Maxine parked beside the joint, shining like new. Seemed as though Mr. Beck had decided to clean out his swimming pool. I almost shed a tear.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Maxine.”
“Thank you Mr. Trubble. It’s good to be back.” I was so ecstatic that I almost missed the big change in my office as I entered.
“Good morning, Mick.” Angel sat at the desk my android secretary used to occupy, dressed smart and sexy as a cliché. “I started some java for you. You take it black, don’t you?”
“Angel? What are you doing here, sweetheart? And where’s Pris?”
“The android? She was a pile of scrap. Consider her retired. After this whole ordeal I didn’t see the point in the old gig. I’m starting to enjoy life on the wild side. So when I heard about this opportunity, I jumped right in.”
“Opportunity? What—?”
She tapped my dropped jaw. “An open mouth catches flies, sugar. The opportunity offered by the person who runs this place. You know—right inside.” She nodded toward my office.
I frowned as I pulled out the Replacement Killer. “Stay here, doll. I got some cleanup to do.”
“Mick, what are you—?”
I ignored her as I kicked in my door and swept the place over. It was worse than I expected.
The joint was…completely clean.
The desk was polished, the walls repainted and a new table was stationed in the middle of the room. Even the carpet looked new. The trash had been emptied, and the computers looked completely updated.
"Just getting back?” Ms. Kilby looked up from where she sat at the desk. My desk. Poddar lounged on the sofa with his leg in a cast. My sofa. Rob offered a bottle of brew from where he sat at the table. My table. My brew.
I gratefully took it.
"Yeah. Had to feed the fishes. I see you've made yourselves comfortable."
"Yes, well, if you're going to be working for me, I thought I'd set the standard for how things are going to be from now on. My employees won't be working in a pig sty."
"Wait." I sputtered. "Your employee? Sister, this is my joint!"
"Was. But you were in foreclosure, and I bought the lease. You didn't see the sign on the door?"
I took a peep. "Kilby's Troubleshooting and Investigation.”
Actually, it didn't sound half bad.
"Sounds awful," I said. “What’s with the ‘investigation’ part?”
“Come now, Mr. Trubble. There are a lot of unanswered questions hanging around this little caper of ours. We’ve all discussed it. And we won’t rest until we find out the truth.”
I shrugged. "Some stones are better left unturned, but hey –it's your place. Have a blast. Me? I’m a solo act."
"Aw, sit down," Rob said. "What's the point of trying to save face? And besides, you know you'll miss us the moment you walk out that door. Plus, Stinker's taken a shine to you now. Be a shame to let her down.”
She barked her agreement as he scratched between her ears.
Poddar nodded. "Some things can't be argued against. We're a team now. You might as well accept it."
Angel stepped in from her office. “I hope he does. I’d hate to think I’m out of a job already.”
“I’ll think about it.” I turned to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I’m about forty winks short of a nights’ sleep. Even a man like me needs a day off now and then.”
I grinned despite myself as I slid into Maxine’s comforting interior. If Angel just gave up her association with the Gutter Girls, then I’m the new mayor of New Haven. Her presence along with Ms. Kilby’s takeover sent a message from Selene which said she was going to be keeping a close eye on my activities. Which in association meant the Gestalt might know my every move.
Still, best to dance with the devil you know than one you don’t. At least I had an idea of what Selene’s angle was. I’d stack my charm and rugged good looks against those odds any day. I figured after spending enough time in my magnetic company, they’d all be seeing things my way in no time.
When I got to my pad, Natasha opened her door from across the hall. With her raven locks tumbled across her face, she looked about as lovely as a newborn sunrise.
“Mick Trubble! I thought that was you. I was so worried after all that thunder last night.”
I tipped my Bogart. “Sorry to stress you, doll. Things got a bit rough, but then again I’m a rough and tumble type of guy.”
“Well I’m glad you’re not full of holes and blood and all that. I’d be awful sad. Case closed?”
“That’s right, sweetheart. Case closed.”
“Well come on in and have a cup of coffee with me. I just made a fresh pot.”
“Sounds like a dream.”
So much for sleep, but I couldn’t pass up on the offer. Coffee with Natasha was about the best way to wrap up a case like that one. When it comes to mean cup of java, no one can whip up better. And then there’s her unique style of chatter which somehow feels like coming home. It was funny, though –as I sipped and listened, I didn’t really feel like things had ended.
More like had just got started.
Enjoy the Troubleshooter?
Thanks for checking out this installment of the Troubleshooter series. I truly hope you enjoyed your time in New Haven. I’d love to keep writing these novels, but I need just a little help from you. Reviews help a great deal in spreading the word, which in turn helps sell more books. Which in turn allows me to keep writing. It doesn’t have to a long process: a simple 3-4 sentence review works wonders. Thanks again for reading, hope you stick around for the next installment.
All the best,
~BC
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bard Constantine firmly believes he’s living in the wrong age, so he creates timelines he feels more comfortable in. With this novel he introduces Havenworld, a retro-futuristic dystopian age where humanity survived a terrifying Cataclysm by means of city-sized constructs called Havens. More info on this world and upcoming novels can be found on the official Troubleshooter website as well as his Facebook page. You can also follow him on Twitter. For preview of his other works, turn the page…
More By the Bard
Blade Runner meets Bogart in this blend of science fiction and film noir grit which continues the adventures of Mick Trubble: the hard-drinking, chain-smoking, wry-witted private eye of the future.
Mick has little time to digest the revelations of the New Haven Blues Case. After a chance meeting with an old flame, he is sucker-punched by being framed for her murder. In no time his mission to clear his name gets him tangled with the Mafia on one side and the police on the other. Even worse is the growing realization that the mysterious killer is someone Mick has ties with, a vengeful ghost with an agenda that includes making Mick the most miserable man in the world.
Caught up in a deadly game of cat and mouse, Mick is forced to change the rules in order to come out ahead. His desperation will bring him ever closer to truths about his past that he never wanted to unearth, and face to face with someone he never expected to see again. With time running out, his chances for survival grow ever slimmer. One way or another, everything will come down to a deadly encounter with the most dangerous dame.
Purchase here.
Now that you’ve read the debut novel, don’t miss the exciting prequel:
In the prequel to New Haven Blues, Mick Trubble is a partial amnesiac who barters favors in order to survive. His deals place him at The Luzzatti, an apartment complex where he works for the owner and eventually befriends the family. In short time his search for answers is distracted by taking cases and by his conflicted feelings for Natasha, Mr. Luzzatti's daughter.
But Mick's peace is short-lived, because Mr. Luzzatti is caught in a business deal gone sour, resulting in murderous loan sharks looking to rub him out along with his family. Mick has to quickly gather his wits and resources in able to protect the Luzzattis before they become the next victims of New Haven's most notorious hitman: the Red-Eyed Killer.
Purchase here.
When a freak storm engulfs a flourmill, the workers learn quickly there is much more to fear than just heavy rain.
Something else arrives with the storm—macabre creatures who alter their shapes and features with every attack. In order to survive the night, the employees will have to rely on a man whose sanity is questionable. For he claims to have faced the same attacks before, over ages of time. He calls it an Aberration. A doorway that opens to a realm of nameless evils. What lies beyond wants to smother our world in darkness and perverse terror. It grows stronger with every passing moment, and all that stands between it and our world are the workers trapped in the building.
Each individual will be pushed to the very precipice of madness as reality distorts and the bizarre beings mount their attack. In the end, survival may not be enough to survive the Aberration...
View and purchase here.
How to Speak New Haven
So you’re new in town. Yeah, I can tell. Well you’ve come by the right man for the wire on this place. Don’t wanna stick out like a nun at a cathouse, do ya? Thought not. So you might wanna get down on the lingo around here. You probably guessed folks in New Haven speak a little differently than the other Havens. Whil
e this isn’t required reading, here’s a quick rundown you can reference in case you get a bit mixed up. That way if a cat tells you to rotate your heels or else he’ll fit you for a New Haven trench coat, then you’ll know what he’s gabbing about, pipe that? Here goes:
Ace/chump/Killer /Mack: nicknames for a man
Bag or tag: Nimrod terms for live or dead capture
Bent: angry, upset, out of sorts
Berries/lettuce/cabbage/bread: money
Bing ward: segregation cells, solitary
Biogun: an expensive firearm that is powered by the user’s body via cables inserted in the forearm or into a holoband.
Bogart: a fedora
Boozehound: drunk person
Bracelets: handcuffs
Brass/feds/fuzz/button boys/boys in black: cops
Broad: a woman, usually an unattractive one
Bruno: bodyguard
Bum: Useless
Bunk: nonsense, foolishness
Butter and egg, fat cat: rich, loaded
Buy the farm/bite the big one: die
Canary/songbird: female singer
Cataclysm: a period of time when most life on Earth was destroyed by environmental and nuclear forces
Cathouse: brothel
Cement shoes: cement blocks poured around an unlucky rube’s feet. Once the cement cures, the rube is tossed in the river to drown.
Chew: eat
Chin music, skull music: the sounds made when someone is punched in the face or head
Chin up: check out, investigate
Chisel/flimflam/rib up: frame, set up
The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues Page 18