The Invisible Crown (Hazzard Pay Book 1)

by Charlie Cottrell

  “What, no kiss?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes at him. The window rolled up with a quiet hum of electric motors as the car leapt from the curb and disappeared into the midday traffic.

  I scanned the crowd milling around the Plaza. Vinny was pretty easy to spot; he stuck out like the proverbial and literal 800-pound gorilla. I caught sight of him standing in a small access alley between two office buildings, knuckles resting lightly on the pavement, his eyes blank and expressionless. He looked about as conspicuous as one can without wearing a flashing neon sign that says, I’m a gangster, ask me about the benefits of organized crime. I understood why the Boss had chosen Vinny, though. Say whatever else you would about the big, dumb ape, he was a tremendously loyal, dedicated, big, dumb ape who wouldn’t take another paying job while he was working for you. He was also just too damn stupid for treachery.

  Of course, that stupidity cut both ways. He was also too dumb to remember more than a few words at any given time, so the Boss probably had to have written Vinny’s instructions down for him.

  As I made my way over to Vinny, I saw a slight man in his early- to mid-20s with headphones clamped around his ears and his attention devoted to a vid window opened in front of him approach Vinny, seemingly unaware of the gorilla’s presence. I felt a knot form in my stomach as I watched events unfold close enough for me to witness, but too far away for me to affect. The slender young man bounced off of Vinny, spinning away with a small yelp of surprise. Vinny rumbled to life, his eyes following the young man as he backed away quickly, making himself seem as small as possible and probably apologize profusely to the big ape. Vinny growled, audible even from a distance, and the kid turned tail and scampered off.

  To the untrained eye, it was all an accident, the result of a young man being lost in his own little world. But my eyes were not untrained. You don’t just bump into someone like Vinny. Even if you’re distracted, you notice an ape in a suit. You don’t rattle a cage at the zoo, and you don’t run into an 800-pound gorilla in a suit.

  Not unless you have some sort of ulterior motive.

  The second he caught sight of me, the skinny guy took off running. Apparently he recognized me, and I was right about him having some sort of sinister motive. He was light on his feet, but the crowd worked against him, slowing his progress and forcing him to dodge and juke to make headway. I simply plowed ahead like . . . well, like Vinny probably would have done, shoving folks to the side and causing a ruckus. People yelped in surprise as I pushed past, and eventually they started just backing out of my way as I came barreling through, giving me a clear run at the kid.

  He ducked down a side street, probably hoping for thinner crowds and more open space for him to run. I turned the corner in hot pursuit, the tails of my coat flapping behind me. In doing so, I violated one of the basic rules of a chase: don’t follow a guy down an alley if you aren’t just a step or two behind him.

  The kid was waiting for me as I came around the corner. He swung a fist as hard as he could, aiming for my face. If he’d connected, I’d’ve probably been laid out for good. As it was, luck was on my side: I stumbled a bit as I rounded the corner and came in slightly hunched over, trying to regain my balance. His fist sailed over my head and I turned my stumble into an awkward tackle, grabbing him around the waist and bearing him down to the ground. I landed on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs with a whoosh. He coughed and sputtered helplessly as I sat on his chest and pinned his arms to the ground.

  “So, care to explain what just happened back there with the gorilla?” I asked. His eyes darted involuntarily to his left hand; I reached over and pried the hand open to discover a scrap of paper crumpled up in it. I unwadded the paper read it. “I don’t think this belongs to you at all,” I said casually.

  “Hey!” he croaked, trying to breathe. I kept up the pressure on his chest just for fun.

  “Shut up, kid,” I snapped. “You’re lucky it’s me you’re dealing with and not someone serious, or you’d already be dead.” I got up, and the kid scrambled to his feet, huffing and puffing and clutching at his chest. “Get lost,” I growled, aiming a kick at his retreating ass as he hightailed it out of the alley.

  I sighed and adjusted the tilt of my hat. The scrap of paper had my instructions from the Boss on it, just as I’d assumed. “Well, guess it’s time to go see Coco,” I said, making my way out of the alley and back across the plaza to Vinny. The gorilla was standing exactly where I’d last seen him, having apparently decided nothing that had happened just a few minutes earlier warranted any sort of investigation or concern. I noticed the throng of people walking around the plaza were all giving him a wide berth, which was really just common sense in action.

  “Hey, Vinny,” I said as friendly as I could as I approached. The gorilla eyed me and gave a growl in recognition. “Are you missing anything, Vinny?” I asked.

  “Nur,” he rumbled.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, holding up the scrap of paper.

  Vinny stared at it for several moments until his memory provided the necessary information. “How you get dat?” he asked.

  “That kid that bumped into you took it. I took it back.” The gorilla growled angrily, and I reached out and patted him companionably on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Vinny, everything’s taken care of now.” Vinny subsided, the growl in the back of his throat dying out. “There, there, big guy,” I added. I gestured at him. “C’mon. We need to track down Boom-Boom. He’s our only lead now.” I turned to hail a cab, and Vinny started to hoot in alarm behind me. I turned to ask him what was wrong, but the big ape had disappeared down an alley.

  “Vinny?” I called out, concern creeping in around the edges of my awareness. Vinny ignored me and continued into the alley. “Crap,” I muttered, reaching into my shoulder rig and loosening the popgun. Going into a dark alley is a great way to get yourself caught and killed, but if I wanted to keep my muscle, I was going to have to do it anyway.

  The alley was empty as I entered, Vinny nowhere to be seen. That was cause for even greater alarm, and I drew the popgun as someone stepped up behind me and caught me smartly right behind the ear. I slumped over into insentient darkness, and the last thought running through my dimming conscious mind was that this case was not anywhere near worth the number of head injuries I was suffering.

  XII.

  I came to in the familiar scene: chair. Rope. Bad lighting. This was going beyond cliché and into a whole new realm of absurd.

  “Really?” I mumbled to myself. “Can we really not just skip all this crap and have a regular conversation like civilized people?”

  “No,” replied a voice in the darkness. I craned my neck around, trying to find the speaker. His voice was thin, nasally, and the auditory equivalent of a cringe. I wanted to punch the owner of the voice in the throat.

  “So, who’m I speaking to this time?” I asked. “Are you the new guy’s hairdresser? His sommelier? The guy who picks out his ties?”

  “No. I’m the man who’s going to replace the Boss,” the man replied.

  “Well, I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lying,” I said.

  “Your obstinacy is not admirable,” the man said with a sneer. “All you are doing is setting yourself up for more pain.”

  “And your ten-dollar college words just make you sound like a jackass,” I shot back. “If you’re gonna do something to me, go ahead and get it over with. Otherwise, shut the hell up and let me go.”

  The man chuckled. “That won’t be happening, Detective Hazzard,” he said. “You’ve become a nuisance, and I’m done toying with you. You killed Guido and Billy Sunshine, and I wasn’t done using those two yet.”

  “Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” I said. “They died ’cause they were dumb. I just happened to be there when it happened.”

  “I’m sure,” the man replied. “Regardless, you’ve become intolerable, and I am going to remove you from the board.” I heard the familiar click of a gun being cocke
d, and heard the hollow sound of footsteps coming my direction. They stopped just behind me, and I felt the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of my head. “Goodbye, Mr. Hazzard,” the man said.

  I waited for the bullet to end everything. And kept waiting.

  Then I heard footsteps retreating from behind me.

  “Detective,” a voice said beside me. I turned to see one of the Boss’s ninjas, his hands already untying the knots holding me to the chair. “I am glad I arrived in time.”

  “Me too,” I said, relief flooding my body.

  “When we did not hear from you, the Boss suspected the worst and sent me to find you,” the ninja continued. He finished with the ropes, and I stood up and rubbed my wrists. They were raw from too many sessions tied to a chair by asshole bad guys.

  “It’s a damn good thing you did. Thanks.” I looked down at the man who’d been about to kill me. I didn’t recognize him, but the ninja did.

  “This one is just a flunky, detective,” the ninja said.

  “Wait, so this isn’t the guy staging the coup?” I asked.

  “No,” the ninja replied. “This man is not important.”

  I gave the prone form of my assailant a kick for retribution. “What next?”

  “The Boss wishes to speak with you to discuss your lack of progress,” the ninja replied soberly.

  I frowned. “Look, it’s not my fault all of his plans have fallen through so far. Maybe he should make better plans.”

  “I cannot comment on the quality of my master’s plans. Perhaps if they involved someone more reliable . . .” Was the ninja throwing shade my way? I followed him the rest of the way in grumpy silence.

  * * *

  The ninja blindfolded me and led me to a vehicle, which could’ve driven around the block for half an hour or taken me across town, I wasn’t sure. When the blindfold came off, I found myself in the empty room with the two-way mirror and the speaker again.

  “You have not made very good progress, Detective Hazzard,” the Boss’s harsh, mechanical voice said through the speaker.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault Billy Sunshine and Guido were so incompetent they got themselves killed by their own explosives,” I replied testily. “I’d’ve loved to have asked them some questions, but your guy made sure he knocked them both out and then dropped a warehouse on their heads. I’m pretty sure neither of them walked away from it.”

  “What do you mean, my guy?” the Boss asked, his surprise clear even through the vocal distorter.

  “The old Hispanic guy? Kinda short, broad-shouldered, looked ex-military. Kept offering me tips and information and assistance the past few days, then went and got himself blown up saving me.” I felt a sharp pang of guilt at that thought, though I hid it deep inside. No reason to show weakness or anything that might be construed as weakness in front of the crime boss.

  “I do not know that man,” the Boss replied thoughtfully. “He must have been operating independently of me or the Organization.” That in and of itself was unusual; almost no one operated freelance in Arcadia. Unless he wasn’t a criminal. Stranger things had happened.

  “So, I guess that’s it for us, huh?” I said, tipping my chair back on two legs.

  “Why would you say that?” the Boss asked.

  “Well, with Guido and Billy Sunshine dead, Wally Stewart’s killers have been brought to . . . well, I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘justice,’ but probably the closest thing we’re gonna get.”

  “Have you forgotten our bargain, Detective Hazzard?” the Boss hissed. “You agreed to rout out the person responsible for the coup attempt in the Organization. You are far from finished. You need to go out there and find out who those two were working for.”

  I stood up and began pacing the small room. “I still don’t understand why I’m risking my life for you.”

  “The large pile of cash?” the Boss guessed.

  I shrugged. “I’ve gotten this far in life without that. Why would I need it now?”

  “Because I will kill everyone you hold dear if you don’t.” I felt my blood run cold as the Boss continued. “I hate resorting to threats, detective, I really do. But if you will not cooperate, I will be forced to take extreme measures. It is vital that you discover the identity of my rival and deal with them.”

  “Whoa, now, you want me to kill a guy for you?” I asked, my voice rising in volume and pitch. “I’ll do a lot of questionable things, but I will not kill someone.”

  “This is not your world, Detective Hazzard,” the Boss replied. “Things are done differently here.”

  “You mean, without due process.”

  “I would expect the same treatment from him if he were to discover my identity and come for me,” the Boss said simply. “This is how things are in our world. Dangerous rivals are eliminated so they cannot pose a threat in the future.”

  “And you can sleep at night with that?” I asked.

  “The sleep of the just,” the Boss said.

  “I’m not sure I can do that,” I answered, still uneasy.

  “When the time comes, you will have a simple choice: kill my enemy, or become my enemy. It will be up to you.” The door to the little room opened, and the ninja stood there, blindfold in hand. “Go. Find Boom-Boom. Find his employer. Destroy my enemy, and you and yours get to live.”

  “Is this what they mean by ‘an offer you can’t refuse’?” I asked.

  “This is exactly what they mean by that,” the Boss replied coldly.

  XIII.

  “The Boss is a complete jerk,” I said, collapsing onto the couch in the corner of Miss Typewell’s office.

  “The leader of the Organization? The criminal mastermind himself, a not-nice person?” Miss Typewell gasped mockingly. “Who could have possibly imagined that!”

  “Your sarcasm is duly noted and will be reflected in your next paycheck,” I replied, pulling my hat low over my eyes. “Now, it’s going to appear that I’m taking a nap, but really I’m thinking very, very hard about this case and my part in it.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, I opened my eyes once more, having had a good, long think. I hadn’t reached any new conclusions or revelations, but I did feel more rested and more than a little ravenous.

  Miss Typewell had already left for the day, and it was dark outside. I stood and stretched, adjusted the tilt of my hat, and went out in search of food.

  Old Town, as rundown and economically-depressed as it was, was still home to some decent eateries. I was fond of old-school diners, and Spiro’s was my greasy spoon of choice. The place had to be thirty years old at least, as was the menu, and the very walls were stained with the residue of a thousand griddled and deep-fried meals. Most of what they served was hearty, stick-to-your-ribs fare, the sort of stuff you felt settling into your stomach like a conquering army. I loved it. Miss Typewell was dubious at best and refused to even think about drinking their coffee. The place was nearly empty, save for a couple of regulars sitting on stools along the counter. I slid into a booth and placed an order for corned beef hash with the waitress, who was only just this side of a million years old but still spry.

  I opened up the files the mystery man had given me in a vid window and started poring through them again, hoping I’d missed something that would reveal a useful clue this time around. After ten minutes, my food arrived and I hadn’t found jack squat. I minimized the window and dug into my food.

  I almost choked on my eggs when the mystery man sat down across from me.

  “How the hell are you still alive?” I asked as he settled in. He looked like hell; his face was black and blue with bruises, lacerations criss-crossed his face and arms, and his left arm just . . . ended right below the elbow. He didn’t look like he should still be alive, let alone sitting up in a dingy diner.

  He shrugged, a motion that should have set off a series of painful intakes of breath, muffled cursing, and possibly passing out. That’s how it would’ve gone with me, anyway. For this gu
y, it was just a shrug.

  “I am . . . resilient,” he said, as if that explained how he’d survived the explosion that had destroyed the warehouse and a good chunk of the pier. “I tossed the bomb away at the last minute. My hand was severely injured, but a doctor removed it. I’ll have a new, fully-grown synthetic replacement by the end of the month.”

  “Not really much of an explanation,” I said.

  He shrugged again. “It is the best I can offer,” he replied.

  I gave him an appraising look. “Just who the hell are you, anyway?” I asked.

  “A friend,” he said.

  “That’s not really an answer.”

  “Again, it is the best I can offer,” he said. “Telling you more would put us both in great danger.”

  “That sounds like a convenient excuse,” I muttered. “Do you at least have a name you go by? Something I can call you instead of ‘that guy who keeps popping up’?”

  The mystery man sat silently for a moment, then replied, “You can call me Xavier.”

  “Nice. Not your real name, I assume?” He didn’t reply. “So, Xavier, why do you keep saving my hide? What do you gain from it?”

  “Hope,” he replied earnestly. I burst out laughing.

  “Damn, that’s hilarious,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, are you amused by your current situation?” Xavier asked.

  “It’s a gallows humor, I assure you,” I replied, taking another bite of my meal. No reason to let Captain Optimist ruin dinner.

  “Detective Hazzard, you should know that I’ve come here to kill you,” Xavier said quietly. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth, and stared at the guy.

  “That seems a bit counter-intuitive, Xavier,” I said, lowering my fork and meeting his level gaze. “I mean, you’ve been going to all that trouble to save my life over and over again. What gives?”

  “It’s . . . programming,” Xavier replied, as though his thoughts were on some inner struggle. “My mind, my actions, are not always my own, but I exert what influence I can. It’s taken every ounce of will I have to aid you as I have thus far, and every fiber of my being currently cries out to drive a knife into your throat right now.” There was no boasting there, no threat, just a statement of pure, simple fact. Xavier was a man who knew his own mind, and he knew his mind was just the firing of a neuron away from deciding it was time to kill me.