by Chris Hechtl
After trying to puzzle out a few potential prospects and hitting up the kids for info without getting anywhere, they'd given up and gone to the diner. Unfortunately, the owner hadn't been in; the joint had been shut down since the waitress hadn't shown up for work.
“We do what we always do. Inform the boss, then we check the local fences. They've got the best word. They know the item's hot; they'll talk to us before they talk to the cops,” Ed said.
“They'd better, if'n they know what's good for ‘em,” Ackerman growled.
“You're a piece of work. If they hadn't spotted you …”
“Me! You're the one built like an ox!” Ackerman snarled.
“Whatever. We got made. Sucks,” Ed said. “So we do this the hard way.”
“Right. Boss Maroney. He'll want a bigger cut though,” Ackerman warned.
“It's the price we pay for working for him. You know better than to stiff the boss on a gig,” Ed warned.
“Yeah, still sucks,” Ackerman muttered looking away as they got to Ed's beat-up old ground car.
---*---
“Eric, I know we're looking for a big payday, but I think we need to unload this thing quick,” Connie urged, looking around Eric's room. He had a flat a bit bigger than her own, but she could barely tell. There was so much stuff laying around, including a couple filthy piles of what looked like rags or laundry.
His bedroom she didn't want to think about. And his kitchenette made her shudder.
“Yeah, I know. The more I think about it, the more I think we need to get it out of our hands and then lay low. The problem is, I don't know anyone who can take it. Anyone with the right amount of creds is either on the wrong side of town or is corporate.”
“Great,” she sighed.
“I can make a couple calls though,” he said, sitting down at his desk. He indicated a stool covered in magazines. “Just set ‘em down some … or that,” he said as she kicked the stool to dislodge the order, then took a seat.
He looked bemused to the pile. He'd had them in order. He'd picked them up in a couple of dumpster dives and had planned to sell them at a swap meet.
“You know, I can't sit,” she said. She got up and started to pace, then went to the bathroom. Her screech of disgust made him wince as his hand hovered over the phone. When no further cries of suffering came forth, he picked it up.
It wasn't like he wanted people to know he had a woman over. That part he might not mind actually; there were a few of the gay guys who had been looking at him like meat lately. He didn't swing that way. But he didn't want her to be screaming and ranting. It might give some people the wrong impression.
He made a couple calls but increasingly got desperate when he got a voice mail or a straight no. He checked his own voice mail after his third call to hear Hank pleading with him to turn it over to him or the cops. Hell with that. He had too much invested in it. So did Connie.
But was Hank right? Was it really worth his life? He shook his head. Better to sell it for some pence than to give it up to the cops. You get marked as a snitch, and it was like having a target on your back.
The thought of pence rhymed with fence. He heard Connie furiously swearing as she came out of the bathroom. She slammed the door open then went to the kitchen. “If I'm stuck here, we're cleaning the hovel. If I don't find what I need, I'm using your toothbrush,” she snarled, rooting through his cabinets.
She found an unmarked bottle of cleaner. She sniffed it carefully, then set it down. She went over to the pile of clothes and dug out a shirt. She held it with two fingers at arm's length as she walked over to the sink.
Eric watched her antics with bemusement until she stuck the thing under the faucet and turned it on. Once it was wet, he realized she was going to use it as a rag. “That's um ….” Her look of annoyance could have melted a block of any sort of metal so he shut up fast. “Never mind I guess,” he sighed in resignation.
“That's what I thought,” she growled, scrubbing. “It's like you don't know hygiene, and you've never cleaned a centimeter of this place. Gods of space is that growing or moving?” she demanded, voice rising again.
He grimaced and put a call in to Ch'cl'll's pawn and thrift shop. The Veraxin was an old friend who ran the local secondhand store. The store was a front for his real job as a bookie and fence of course. All pawn shops were, just like the fast food joints were fronts for smugglers and drug dealers.
“Look C'cl'll, I've got some heavy merch. It's not hot, but it's big, bulky, and pricy. I bought it at the auction.”
“We bought it,” Connie growled.
He looked over to her and then back to the pickup. “Okay, me and my companion picked it up. It's come to my attention that it's worth its weight in platinum though. So, I'm looking to unload it.”
“Really? I usually don't handle such large transactions, kid,” the Veraxin stated, sounding bored.
“You'll want to for this. The question is, do you have the right players? I need at least 10K to keep my partner happy,” he said, shooting Connie a warning glance to shut the hell up.
“Ten?” the Veraxin clacked in surprise. “What is it?”
“It's … okay, I need you to keep this on the lowdown, buddy,” Eric implored.
“I am the soul of discretion most times. You know this larva. But I have to know what I'm talking about to find the right customers. Otherwise no one will be interested.”
“Okay, look, you know that auction yesterday? Well, me and my partner picked up this container. I did a bit of research and found out it's an antimatter container.”
“Antimatter? You know if it has any?”
“No idea, the screens busted. I was going to fix it. See, I called a buddy and he appraised it. Tried to get me to sell it to him for thirty but pay in installments,” he said.
“Yeah, right, installments,” the Veraxin clacked. “I've heard that one before. Used it many, many times,” he said. “Once they get the merch, you are left high and dry.”
“Right. I was going hang onto it, but Hank …”
“This is Hank McCoy?”
“Yeah,” Eric replied, pleased that the soft ball of a name drop had been picked up so readily. Having it appraised by such a highly-visible engineer would put some credence into his claim. “He wants it now to make sure it's got the goods inside, then he'll pay me through the government.”
“Kid, I know you want a big payday, but if you go that route you know the governor will screw you. He'll take half in taxes or just take it period.”
“Right. Which is why I thought I'd come to you. I figured you might know some people who know some people with the electric people. Wayne Electric, Power Enterprises, that company in Metropolis run by that bald guy, that sort of thing. Set up a meet. We talk, they check the goods, then we dicker on the deal. Minimum bid though is 10K.”
“I don't know, kid.”
“Hey, I'm going out on a limb here as it is. My partner's none too enthused by this. She wants to go to them direct, but I figured you being a broker and all,” Eric wheedled.
“Okay, okay, you talked me into it. I get 10 percent off the top whatever the deal is for setting it up,” Ch'cl'll warned. The Veraxin fence was old and elderly. He had a thing for jewels but took in just about anything worth a credit. His usual customers were the pimps and druggies who came in with minor thefts in order to turn a profit.
He was well known for keeping things quiet as long as the merch wasn't too hot. He was also known to have paid off the local flatfoots to look the other way.
“Yeah, I know the deal, wait, ten?” Eric's eyes narrowed. “The usual is five!”
“Yeah, but you are in a hurry,” the Veraxin clacked, then waggled his mandibles in a sign of humor. Eric grimaced at the sound of the soft clicking. “You want speed, you pay for it kid.”
Eric thought hard and fast as his jaw worked. Ten percent cut would drop his cut with Connie to nine, which split evenly would still give them each 4.5K. Enough of a pa
yday for anyone he thought. And it'd get the thugs off their asses once they put the word out on the street that the item was no longer up for grabs.
Doing something about the money though … he'd have to think long and hard about it. He'd like a 3D printer, but it'd go up in smoke. He'd been robbed twice in the past year. Each time he left his pad he had to worry someone would break in and take what they wanted. He'd been half fearful that the antimatter would have disappeared.
“Don't call me, kid. All right. Corner of Seventy and Westernly. Out in the open near the credit union.” He knew the mob didn't care about pulling a snatch and grab in broad daylight, but that area had a lot of exits including a freight line, bus stop, and two accesses to the subway. Being so close to the bank, the mob might hesitate about pulling something. “Cash, no checks. I'll meet ‘em at 2 p.m. on the dot today and then take them to where it's stashed so they can have a look-see. They don't have the cash or we don't come up with a deal and I'm like smoke, I'm gone. I see a cop or anyone else and I'm gone. If my partner sees me get roughed up, she's gone, and we're all out. Don't screw me, Ch'cl'll.”
“Wouldn't dream of it, kid; it's bad for business. I'll set it up.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Ch'cl'll muttered as he hung up.
---*---
“I set it up as you asked, boss. I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to come to me, but he's in a hurry to unload it,” Ch'cl'll stated over the phone.
“Broad daylight, in front of a bank. The kid's got balls,” Akeman said. “But not much brains. Doesn't he know all fences go to the big boss?” he asked, jerking a thumb to the crime boss.
“Apparently not. We'll educate him,” the boss said. “I own the bank; we can close it for a late lunch,” he said simply. “The same for the laundromat and stuff in the area. Get our people into position,” he ordered.
“Want we should just pay the kid? It'd be simpler,” the fence stated.
“Why?”
“We can get the money back later,” the fence urged.
“No. We do this my way,” the boss said, hanging up. He turned to Akeman with cold black eyes. “This thing better be worth it.”
“Whatever it is, other gangs are getting interested, boss. And Gordon's on the case. He's sent his flatfoots into the area knocking on doors. We got them stalled and chasing their tails but not for long,” Bronco said, scratching at his itchy fur with a long dagger.
The boss sent him a fulminating look, then cursed softly. When he wound down, he sat back heavily. “Damn it, I hate not knowing.” His meaty fist clenched and unclenched. “We don't even know if it's worth it!”
“I know. But with everyone interested, it's gotta be worth something,” Akeman said.
“Any sign of the bat?”
“Not during the day,” Akeman said, shaking his head, but nervously looking to the windows and exits. Every hood in Gotham looked over his or her shoulder as the sun began to set. Crime had come to a virtual standstill at night.
“That doesn't mean much, trust me,” the boss said, shaking his massive head. He made a puttering sound with his lips then shook his head once more. “Set it up. Quietly. I want snipers and a snatch team. We grab them, load them in a van. Once we squeeze the kids for what they know, we can dump ‘em.”
“No witnesses?”
“I'll consider it. They've given me enough of a headache over this,” the boss growled.
“What about calling for help?”
“Tell our friends at the switchboard to have some work done,” the boss said, smiling evilly. “That'll shut down the entire block so the cops won't get called until we're clear.”
“Understood, boss,” Akeman said with a nod.
“This had better be worth it,” the boss said under his breath.
---*---
“Gotham. It had to be Gotham,” Nohar muttered, trying to get personnel moving. It seemed like they were moving at a glacial pace, and he didn't like it. It was too easy for some idiot to open that container and boom!
One thing he did also put into motion was a moratorium on such sales in the future. Planetary Security was going to go over the records of the sales, and they were going to go through every future sale to keep the stuff or something like it from getting into the wrong hands. He'd already briefed the governor, but he didn't have high hopes there.
What really sucked was that he'd pulled his forces out of Gotham to train and properly equip them while also using them in raids in Metropolis and Landing. He'd intended to do a sweep, saving the worst for last.
Gotham definitely qualified as the worst. It was the cesspool of the planet, a sick gothic city that continued to stagger along, somehow defying the odds and staying alive despite all the corruption, public indifference, and crime doing it's level best to kill her. He'd known that just about everyone in the city was corrupt on one level or another; they were like sharks feeding on each other. It was why when he'd been a PI; he'd done his best to steer clear of the city.
Now though … he shook his head. “Anything from Hank?” he demanded.
“Nothing. He can't get through,” Syed said shaking his head.
“Damn it.”
“The entire phone network is down. They said something happened, copper thieves or water in the line.”
“Yeah, right,” Nohar scoffed. “Wanna bet someone shut the comms down to keep people from calling out? Did you try the cell towers?”
“I did, but they are down too,” Syed stated.
“Well, there you go.”
“It doesn't matter; Hank gave me the number. It's a land line to a building. We know what building but not where in it. Apparently everyone in the building shares the same number. Piracy. Same for electricity and water.”
“Wonderful. Well, at least we know which building to start our search. Get with the navy. Find someone who can lend us a hand. The marines might need to be called in if this gets into a shooting war.”
“Are you seriously …,” Syed stared and stuttered to a stop when the Neotiger turned glittering yellow eyes his way. “Okay, boss,” he said with a nod. The governor hated any sort of Federal involvement, mainly because the Feds couldn't be bribed or steered. That was tough.
The Feds hated involvement in what was supposed to be a planetary affair. But antimatter was a different story. It fell under the WMD clauses of the Federation charter. They'd step up, if only to make sure their own people weren't caught in a major blast.
Not that he didn't think Gotham didn't need a good enema. Just an explosive one of that nature was a little bit of overkill, right?
He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out or not.
---*---
Eric tried to call Hank but realized his phone was being blocked so he hung up. He looked at it dubiously. The bee of a connection had been absent each time he'd tried to call out. Either they'd cut the lines or something funky was going on. Slowly he turned to Connie. The girl was scared; he could tell.
“It's this or nothing then. We unload it, and they'll leave us the hell alone.”
“Yeah, for a song,” Connie grumbled. He eyed her. “But it's better off away from us, and if I can make what I got into it, that's enough for me I suppose. Better a living pauper then a dead one,” she said.
“True.”
“Hang on a minute,” Eric said, feeling the hackles on the back of his neck stand up.
“We're going to be late!” Connie growled, pointing to the door.
“Somehow that doesn't really bother me much,” Eric said. He turned and climbed the stairs instead of going down.
“Where are we going? We need to go down. What, are you going to take the chute again? Please tell me.”
“Oh, zip it. Not the chute. I want to get a lay of the land, okay? I don't want to walk in blind,” he said.
“Oh.”
Together they fell into silence as they climbed the stairs to the rooftop. The girl was exasperated by his cautious antics but followed anyway. It wasn't like she had
a choice in the matter. She couldn't carry the package alone.
He jimmied the door and then walked out into the evening air.
Eric led them over to an isolated corner where they found a telescope covered by an old battered tarp. He pulled the cloth off to expose the brass and glass device, then wadded the tarp up before he tossed it aside. “I used to come here with a couple Veraxin and human buddies to see the stars and stuff in orbit. It's a lot better in the country though.”
“Stars, right,” the girl scoffed, noting the nudey bar nearby.
“Well, it did have other perks,” he admitted with a grin.
The girl rolled her eyes. “So why are we here?”
“To check on things.” He turned the telescope and looked.
“Okay, all good?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. Then he spotted something, movement where it shouldn't be. A shape that looked wrong. He was careful to look closer without giving himself away. What he saw made him swear under his breath. It was a person laying down with a hunting rifle. A sniper. “Oh hell,” he muttered. The body form was familiar … and the haircut … when the man looked up it was a dead giveaway.
“What? What is it?”
“There is a sniper on the roof covering the meeting site,” he explained brusquely. “We go out there, we're dead meat.”
Her eyes went wide with fright. “Oh. Um …”
“And another one further away.” He moved the telescope to look at a couple of the alleys where he would place people out of sight and out of the way but in easy response time to the meet. Each were positioned to cut off any sort of retreat. He didn't have a good enough angle for two of them, but the third gave him the results he'd expected. His jaw tightened. “I'm seeing hoods on the street a block away. They just went into the alley there.”
Constance grimaced. “Are you sure they aren't cops?”
“No. I recognize Scarface from here.” He made a face, still looking into the viewfinder.
“Oh, shit.” Constance practically sobbed, biting her lip. She wasn't sure what the hell to do—obviously not go to the meet.