Liquid Cool

by Austin Dragon

  I had gone my entire life without ever even getting a speeding ticket. No arrests, no jail time, nothing. No trouble with police, ever. Now I had gotten shot at three times in a space of two weeks! I had to get smart fast, or I’d get dead faster. There were no other options. I was in a job industry right on the ground floor of the city’s mean streets. The streets obviously didn’t like me.

  How did that poem go? “These Mean Streets, Darkly. With its Cornucopia of Clients and Villains, Starkly.” It was the opening quote in my How to be a Great Detective with 100 Rules I had now purchased to be my industry bible on my newly chosen vocation.

  I needed to think about all this carefully. This detective life “ain’t no joke,” as they say. This was a job that immersed you in the grime and crime of the city, and there were no two ways about it. People would shoot at me and I’d have to shoot back at them. There’d be fisticuffs and all kinds of violence.

  Mr. Wilford G. was lucky making it to 92. I, as a modern-day detective, better get as mean as the mean streets of Metropolis, or I’d be meat in the morgue. I had to decide fast. Be a detective and embrace the life, or quit it now and forever. Whatever I decided had to be final. Mr. Wilford G. said it in his book. There’s nothing glamorous about this life—nothing. Some felt it was fantastic, but then they weren’t private eyeing for a living.

  I took a deep sigh and made the hard decision. I would quit. I wasn’t cut out for this, and I was getting married. Dot wasn’t cut out for this life. A lot of people would be disappointed, but I was the one dodging bullets. They like it so much, then they could be the detective. I’d go back to my hovercar restoration gigs.

  Wait! I couldn’t. I already did the full order for all my business cards—and PJ’s too. Oh snaps! And the payment was non-refundable.

  Chapter 27

  Bugs

  I KNEW I DIDN’T HAVE long, so I had to make it count. I didn’t go home that night, but stayed in the office and made calls. It’s exactly when you’re down on the ground that people want to kick you. I would not go out like that. While I camped out in my own office, I must have made almost two dozen calls to contacts all across the city to people I knew. I told them what I wanted, and it was an urgent request.

  Recommendations came flowing in and I had a crew knocking on my door before midnight. It was Bugs. He reminded me a lot of the late 92-year-old Mr. Wilford G. The man came in wearing overalls over his purple suit, holding a contraption with one hand and a telescoping wand in the other. He was old-school, which was exactly why he was so much in demand. Listening device detection, motion detection security, intrusion defense security, video surveillance, door and wall defense security, door and lock augmentation, trap door and panic rooms. He did everything that had to do with office security.

  Even Run-Time used him, but Bugs wasn’t considered an elite clientele operator. He wasn’t even listed in the Yellow Pages, but he was always working—all word-of-mouth. Those in the know knew he was the best, and everyone was content with keeping the secret amongst themselves. I knew about him because of Dot’s boss, Prima Donna, so I felt comfortable talking to him. I didn’t want all my legit referrals to come from Run-Time and not-legit referrals to come from Phishy. I had to build my own Rolodex on my own.

  Bugs brought his crew—a two-man team. It would take them until early morning to finish installing all the equipment in the office, outside the office in the hallway, and all the other spots Bugs said were a must for me to take control of my total office security. I was never going to be sucker shot at in my place of business, inside, coming, or going, ever again.

  While the men worked, I kept my head buried in the books studying my newfound vocation, specifically, private investigation and the law. I needed to know it as well as criminals knew it when talking to law enforcement. I needed to know where the legal line was, so I could avoid it, or when needed, know when was safe to step over. Technically, I was a borderline criminal anyway, operating as an unlicensed detective with illegal weapons and a cyborg secretary, barred legally from using her bionic arms to sort out any variety of low-lives in her way.

  My feet were up on my desk, books stacked up on my desk, and my mobile computer in my lap, when PJ peeked in. Strangely, she was always on time.

  “Who are all these men?” PJ never said good morning.

  “They’ll be finished soon. Have Bugs show you the controls for the buzzer and your workstation has three video monitors now. One for outside the door, one showing the ground floor entrance, and the third shows our elevator.”

  “You won’t have any money left after all this. You better get new clients so you can pay me.”

  “When I have legit clients coming up here, no punching. The police have us both flagged now. Things they let slide before, they won’t now.”

  “What about metal detectors for the door? These men going to do that?”

  “They did that already. Have Bugs show you that, too. And they installed some secret compartments too, for weapons.”

  “I want to keep my rifle under the desk handy. It will do me no good hiding in a secret compartment. I need it next to my hand for quick-draw situations. I don’t have that fancy pop-gun like you.”

  “Wear long sleeves, and you can have one too.”

  “I hate long sleeves. Long sleeves are for squares. I got nice arms and they deserved to be shown off. If punks see the muscles, they won’t be quick to cause any trouble.”

  “You want to show off fake arms with fake muscles.”

  “Ah, you’re just jealous. Go get someone to cut off your arms, and you can have cool arms too.”

  “Have Bugs give you all the entry codes for the door and alarm system. And the bypass code for the metal detector arch. I don’t want it going off every time you walk under it.”

  “What about your girlfriend? She’d set off the metal detector too.”

  “I got that handled.”

  “What about cyborgs with that new fancy nonmetal metal bionics?”

  “The metal detector detects all metals and all alloys. They can’t make bionics from wood or glass yet, so we’re covered.”

  “What about plastic? That’s what they use Up-Top. I don’t expect higher-end clients and criminals to come into this dump, but you might as well get your money’s worth.”

  “Nah, they say it’s plastic, but it’s an alloy. To be as strong as it has to be, it has to be an alloy, not any cheapie plastic they use for toys and average hovercars. And Up-Top doesn’t use bionics, they use biotics. They grow body parts in hospitals.”

  “We don’t have that down here, this cheapskate planet. But it’s okay, because bionics is better. Cyborgs are superheroes, not squares like Up-Top.”

  “Forget Up-Top. Just don’t get caught illegally using those bionic arms, or you’ll get thrown in jail again. You can’t get paid a salary from jail.”

  It was an hour later when I realized the madness that was Punch Judy and I talking about nothing. Bugs was done and he interrupted us. He led PJ back to her workstation first to show her all the modifications and controls. It took him about forty minutes to show her the full scope of her power over all things security, before Bugs returned to my office.

  “Punch!” I yelled as Bugs’ eyebrows rose.

  “What?” She popped into my office, and I threw the box to her.

  “The business cards,” I said.

  She looked at the box, smiled, and disappeared.

  “Sorry about that. We’re a shouting office.”

  Bugs chuckled. “I noticed.”

  “How does it all look?” I asked.

  “You’ll be able to hold your own against even a full-scale office invasion.”

  “That’s what I need.”

  “We’re also taking care of all the wire maintenance. This building is centuries old, so we have to bury all the circuitry deep to keep it away from the bundle mess of every other floor, and businesses that don’t even exist anymore, but the wires are s
till there. So keep an eye on that. But only if you see issues with operating performance. You need not do anything else beyond that. You really are spending a lot of cash on all this.”

  “Don’t remind me. Do you need me to walk through everything again?”

  “I’ll walk you through everything again, and you can tell me if I miss anything for you.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  He dug into his pocket and produced a small wooden box. “And I can’t forget this.”

  He handed me the box, and I looked at him. “Do I open it?”

  “All the systems I use are analog. I don’t trust that Up-Top, digital, supposedly-the-state-of-the-art technology. You want to rob me, then you will have to come right up to my place to do it. Not some hack with you in your underpants from a far, far away land. Do not bring any digital technology into this office. But if you do, use what’s in the little box.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll know when you need to. Throw it in the top drawer of your desk until then. Now, let’s do the final walk-through, so I can get home to the wife and kids and then get some sleep.”

  Chapter 28

  The Realtor

  I WAS READY. PJ WAS ready. And thanks to Bugs, my place of business was ready. It wasn’t crooks and creeps I was worried about, but the return of one man.

  It was an especially rainy day when he returned, three days after my third incident of the violence in my new detective life. PJ knocked once on my office door, before opening it to peek in. She was uncharacteristically professional, which meant she somehow knew the stakes involved. I stood from my desk and PJ gestured the Realtor man in.

  He said nothing, but walked to my desk and sat in one of the two chairs.

  I sat back down and immediately reached into the top drawer of my desk.

  “I was expecting you,” I said.

  The Realtor man was here again and it wasn’t for anything good. I figured he had a document in his jacket to give me my 90 days’ notice to get the hell out, but I couldn’t let him serve me with that document.

  I opened the folder and turned it upside to place in front of him. “I took the initiative in assembling these for you and my unknown patron. A copy of the police report and their findings. The victim, known on the street as Tower Cracker, had a criminal record going back 15 years. Apparently, he had a habit of office-invasion robberies. Unfortunately, for him, he tangled with the wrong people this time. The next page is a photo of my shotgun. Ordinarily, it would be crazy to make a record of the weapons you keep for self-defense, since it’s technically illegal, but I thought, in this case, it was necessary, and it’s all confidential. This office is anything but defenseless. My secretary can defend herself, me, and the office space. I can defend myself, her, and the office space. Finally, I have the receipts of the modifications I made to the office—video camera outside the office, the elevator, main entrance, even the parking bay.”

  This was when the Realtor paid attention. I let him sift through the paper receipts and examine each one.

  “As you can see, the surveillance and security systems installed are substantial. The last page is a bio of the firm that did the work, and their client list. They are reputable and tops in the industry. I…”

  I stopped talking when the Realtor man closed the file. He folded it long ways a few times and put it inside his jacket pocket. For a moment, I glimpsed an envelope already there—I bet that was the eviction papers. He patted his jacket over the spot where the file was in his jacket and stood.

  He didn’t look at me, this time, but maintained a smirk as he spun around and left the office.

  That was the fourth time I dodged a bullet.

  I never saw that Realtor man again.

  Chapter 29

  The Government Guy

  “MR. CRUZ, A MR. STACKLESS is here to see you.” Punch Judy was using her professional voice again, which meant that whoever Mr. Stackless was, he was important, in her eyes, at least.

  She led a small man with the horn-rimmed glasses into my office and directed him to one of the open chairs in front of my desk then left.

  “Mr. Stackless,” I said as I shook the man’s hand. His hands were clammy and disgusting. I suppressed my germophobic impulse to immediately soak my hand in cleansing acid. “How can I help you?”

  The man, from the time he entered my office, was looking around. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t like him.

  “I’m with the government, Mr. Cruz.” Now, I had a reason not to like him. He sat in the chair and pulled a small notebook from his jacket. “I understand you’re a detective.”

  “I’m a consultant. You have to be licensed to be a detective in this city.”

  He stared at me.

  “I am not amused by your cleverness, Mr. Cruz. You are passing yourself off as a detective, accepting money as a detective, and getting written up in police reports as a detective.”

  “I’m a consultant, sir.”

  “But, I have the proof here,” he exclaimed, holding up one of the lobby business cards.

  “Can I see that?”

  He handed me the card, and I studied it. “So?” I gave it back to him.

  “You call yourself a detective.”

  “That’s not what the card says.”

  He looked at the card again:

  LIQUID COOL

  Consultant Agency

  D. Cruz

  Private Consultant

  He looked up at me angrily. We stared at each other for a while. Swapping cards like a magician was a trick I learned as a toddler. I was surprised he fell for it.

  “I’m going to bust you, Mr. Cruz. I will report you and haul you into court.”

  I stood from my chair, walked around the desk, and sat in the empty chair next to his.

  “Mr. Stackless, you do whatever you like. I’m not some sidewalk johnny, ignorant of the laws of the land. When, and if, you falsely bring a lawsuit against me, as you claim, just remember when it’s thrown out of court as frivolous, I will countersue you and win. Metropolis courts have a lot more important things to worry about than business cards. I’m sure the judge will tell you that in colorful language and may even ask why your government division is using its scarce resources on such nonsense. And one more thing, Mr. Stackless.”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Get the hell out of my office.”

  I went back behind my main desk and sat. He glared at me as he stood from his chair. PJ opened the door—Bugs had also installed a silent buzzer under my desk, so I could signal when I was finished with a client.

  “Judy, escort this bum from my office. Then get our attorney on the line and create a file on this man. He’s threatening a frivolous lawsuit, so have the lawyer prep the counter-suit paperwork. Mr. Stackless works for the government.”

  “Oh, big money damages then.” PJ was the best at playing along.

  The man stormed out of my office and past her. PJ didn’t even follow him, but closed the door behind her.

  Some government guy comes in my office, trying to threaten my new livelihood. Shot at three times. Spending a fortune on the best surveillance and security systems, and I had no fortune. No way in hell was I giving up my new occupation now. I was committed for the duration.

  Chapter 30

  Officers Break and Caps

  IN THIS CITY, ONE OF worst things that could happen was to get on the radar of the police. Then, you were a marked person, forever. It was a vicious cycle I had seen growing up. Get in trouble once, and the police would forever look at you as a source of trouble. It was a place you didn’t want to be. And that’s where I was.

  PJ was in her professional mode when she led our “good friends,” Officers Break and Caps, into my office. Seeing a “PEACE” officer always made your heart skip a beat, even the hardened thug who pretended not to be scared of anything. They were Metropolis’ government soldiers in the never-ending war on crime, and they were, when they
had to be, a nasty piece of work, able to obliterate a perp or hovercar single-handedly. They had to be scary. The citizens of Metropolis, including me, demanded it. You couldn’t stop the criminals we had with anything less than a police force that was nothing short of hell on earth.

  But still, my heart skipping beats wasn’t good. The policemen stopped in front of my desk.

  “How did I know we would be seeing you again, Mr. Cruz,” Officer Break said.

  “What did I do this time, officers?” I asked.

  “We have a complaint that you attempted to assault a government agent…”

  “Oh, Mr. Stackless.”

  “Yes, Mr. Cruz, Mr. Stackless.”

  I turned the folder in front of me on the desk and opened it.

  “Here are pictures of Mr. Stackless parking his hovercar outside the building, walking up the stairs to the elevator, exiting the elevator, walking into my office.” I flipped the photos. “Here is him leaving my office, exiting the elevator, walking down the stairs. Notice his appearance and demeanor. Doesn’t seem to match with the state of someone who has been threatened with assault. Oh, here are my personal favorites. Mr. Stackless chatting it up, or is it propositioning, some underage girls…”

  “You have a good day, Mr. Cruz,” Officer Break said as both officers turned and left.

  PJ’s head popped into my office.

  “I’m going to give Mr. Stackless a visit,” I said.

  Chapter 31

  The Government Guy

  THE METROPOLIS OFFICE of the City Clerk. It was the depository of the city’s database of every micro-business, small to large business, and every multinational megacorporation, current and out-of-business, for hundreds of years. The amount of data they housed must have been staggering, and because of the confidentiality of that much information their offices were more like Fort Knox than anything else. They were insignificant file clerks elevated to super-star status, including their own Metro police building security detail, because of those files.