“We’re going back into the Deeps?”
“I don’t see any other choice if we want to get into Zaki’s and find Mouser.”
“I guess it’s better than being stuck in an elevator,” Ariel said.
* * *
Old Bill was happy with the pint if not the hour. He crawled out of his sleeping bag and led them into the cellar of an abandoned building. Its ancient cistern hid the entrance to a tunnel guarded by a young runner who could take them to Cassius.
“I won’t be where you found me when you come out,” Bill warned them. “Gotta keep moving, confuse the enemy. ‘preciate the drink.”
“We move around a lot,” The runner told them, handing Bishop a set of night vision goggles. “Different gates on different days. Random pattern. Don’t ever try to come in on your own. If the booby traps don’t get you, one wrong turn and you can be lost forever down here.”
As they moved, the runner swept the laser light on his rifle back and forth across their path.
“Are you expecting trouble?” Ariel asked.
“Rats,” the kid said. “They get really big down here. Keep an ear out behind you.”
He turned around and swept the corridor they’d just traveled.
“Did that one time over by the main sewer line and there must a’ been fifty of the ugly bastards sneaking up on us. We had to open up on ‘em. Still gives me nightmares.”
“Booby traps, hopelessly lost, giant rats. Check.” Bishop said. “Old Bill it is.”
Cassius met them in the computer room. He looked a little rumpled, as if he’d been roused from sleep. But he didn’t seem surprised to see them again.
Bishop apologized for coming back so soon after being introduced, but Cassius waved the apology away.
“I was just catching up on my reading,” he said. “Living underground is a little disorienting. We keep military time so we know whether it’s day or night topside, but in truth, eventually you make your own time. Sleep when you’re tired, eat when you’re hungry, work or play in between.”
He listened to the problem of the invitations with the same calm attention he seemed to give everything.
“Let’s see them,” he said.
Ariel handed over the envelope.
Cassius laid all three out on a light table, and started by running a black light over them. They fluoresced with a bright purple-white glow.
“This isn’t paper,” he told them, “It’s rag bond.” He turned a light on under the glass. “Practically the same stuff they use for currency. There are even flecks of color in it, and look at the watermark. It’s Zaki’s logo with a magnetic strip running through it. Let’s see what it has on it.” He ran a hand-held scanner over the invitation then hit a few keys on the computer next to it.
“It’s just like that strip on the back of a credit card. It carries a small amount of data, easily retrievable by a standard reader. The programming seems pretty standard. It has two code words on it. One probably identifies the person who gave out the invitation, the other is anybody’s guess. Do you know where these came from?”
“We only know it was a close associate of Zaki’s. He doesn’t know we have them.”
“Well, I hope that guy isn’t attending the same games you are and gets alerted that his ‘guests’ have arrived.”
“So they’re the real thing?” Bishop asked.
“The paper would be pretty hard to fake, so all three invitations seem to be genuine. But, here’s another risk. If I were Zaki, invitation or not, I’d take a finger print or ask you to show a driver’s license before I let you in. That way you could be run through a database to make sure you weren’t any threat to him and he’d also end up with a list of who’s been to the arena and when.”
“Another fly in the ointment,” Bishop said. “Is there anything you can do about that?”
“Funny you should ask.” Cassius waved a young tech over. “Olivia here will snap a couple pictures for the driver’s licenses, we’ll order up the necessary thumbprints and you’ll be good to go in twenty minutes.”
“Apparently, we also get a bracelet that goes off if we wander away from the arena.” Ariel added. “I was hoping to take a look around while everyone’s distracted by the competition.”
Cassius nodded. “I would guess the bracelet will be made of flexible plastic with a wire running through it that completes a circuit when it’s locked on. If the circuit is broken it sends out a signal. The trick will be getting the bracelet off, while keeping the integrity of the connection.”
Cassius pressed a button on a small intercom next to the computer. “Gary, bring me some of that filament tape from electronics. Make it the five-eighths.” Minutes later a young man appeared with an envelope and a pair of scissors.
“Two inches should do nicely, thanks.” Cassius held up the cut tape. “This is a conductive foil tape with paper backing. Peel each end back and stick them to the bracelet. Leave a big loop so once you cut the bracelet you’ll have plenty of slack. The tape maintains the circuit and voila, you’re free. When you come back, join the ends of the bracelet as tight as you can, and press the tape down over it. Hopefully they won’t inspect them too closely on the way out. I hope you’re not planning to try and break your friend out tomorrow night. It would be suicide.”
“We just want to get familiar with the layout,” Bishop said. He could see that Ariel was hoping to take it farther than that, but she didn’t contradict him.
“You know,” Cassius said. “Yamazaki Kiriyenko is kind of a hobby of mine.” He spun in his chair and tapped into another keyboard. An aerial view appeared on his flat screen monitor.
“This is a satellite view of Zaki’s compound. These buildings between the house and the arena are research labs and offices. As far as I can tell, the train comes in under this building here.” He pointed to the top of a large building that backed into the woods and shared the far end of the parking lot with the arena. Pipes, conduit and vents covered the roof. “But it could go as far as the arena.”
“Considering all the stuff on the roof, I’m thinking that’s the main lab. You can see the earth rises up to cover the first floor on three sides. The train used to stop at a little platform by the house but Zaki changed the route so it can enter the property without being visible. If he’s still experimenting with nano-biotics I imagine the clean rooms are also underground.” He hit another key.
“That was a stored image. This is real time.” The second view was darker and suffused by the greenish haze that the use of infra-red, night vision filters produced. Bright globes of light spotted the perimeter of the buildings and parking lots.
“This is from a spy satellite. It can get close enough to see people moving around on the ground. The property is patrolled by armed guards with dogs. And occasionally at night, we see something the size of a small chimpanzee with wings flying around. They seem to feed on the deer Zaki keeps on the property.”
“Gargoyles,” Ariel said. “Like the ones on the roof of the Hauptmann store.”
“I’d really like to know what Zaki is up to, since he ‘retired’” Cassius said. “I hope you’ll come back and let me know what you find out.”
“Will you help us stop it?” Ariel asked.
“I’ve watched demons and their collaborators insinuate themselves into the power structure of this city for the last ten years. Demons and technology have all the makings of a holocaust for the human race. If you can convince me we can stop it, you have my total support.”
- 20 -
“Cool.” Ariel said. She was admiring her new thumb print. The polymer resin clung to her finger like a second skin. “This should do the trick. What about your friend, Rain?”
“I think he’ll be fine as himself. They’ll just think he’s a corrupt cop with a gambling addiction. Especially when they see he’s with us-- a guy who’s mobbed up and his bimbo girlfriend. You do have other clothes, don’t you?”
“Please,” Ariel said. “Candi
Banderoni,” she read off the fake license Cassius had given her. “You can tell what she’d wear just from the name.”
“I’m thinking Spandex.” Bishop began to round the corner onto the street where he’d parked the orange Falcon.
“Holy shit!” he said, backing up. “There are cops everywhere.”
“What?” Ariel tried to get around him to take a look, but he pushed her back. “There are cops all over my car. The trunk’s open.”
Ariel took a cautious look around the edge of the building. “They’re loading a body onto a gurney,” she reported. “Looks like somebody small wearing a striped suit. Whoops, they just zipped him up.” She thumped Bishop on the arm. “You drove us around with a body in the trunk? What were you thinking!”
“I didn’t put a body in the trunk. I never opened the trunk. It was hard enough opening the doors. Why would I put a body in the trunk of my car?”
“To get rid of it? It did look familiar.”
“I didn’t kill anybody and put them in the trunk of my car!”
“Shh! The police are right there. Let’s put some distance between them and us.”
When they were several blocks away Ariel said, “You know, you might have killed that knife thrower in the alley last night. I know we couldn’t find him, but there was blood and he might have died later. Maybe it’s him.”
“If he died how did he get into the trunk of a car he didn’t even know I was going to be driving?”
“Maybe the car repair guy put the body in the trunk. Or maybe it’s part of the curse. Dead midgets in striped suits do seem to be following you around.”
“He’s not a midget, he’s a short gypsy. And how do we know he’s going to stay dead? He hasn’t before.” Bishop winced. “That car has my fingerprints all over it. I need to get back to my apartment and report it stolen -- or maybe not. If I was already home how would I know it was stolen? Maybe I should wait until morning? Damn! I was a cop. They’ll identify me from my prints in an hour. Then they’ll come to my apartment to ask about the car. I really need to get home. And you need to take this.”
He handed Ariel the Glock. “If he died from a bullet wound, I want this gun as far away from me as possible.”
He started to jog toward the subway entrance. “Pick you up at the café at six thirty,” he called over his shoulder. “Remember, wear something sexy.”
Ariel was left on the street, shaking her head.
- 21 -
Bishop entered his apartment without turning on the lights. It was two o’clock in the morning and he was supposed to be asleep in his bed, oblivious to the fact that his loaner had been used to transport a dead, homicidally inclined, knife throwing, circus freak.
He tore his clothes off, threw on his sweat pants and a t-shirt and rolled around under the covers of his bed, trying to make it look thoroughly slept in. Eventually he drifted off into a fitful sleep.
The doorbell rang at five thirty a.m. Whoever was down at the front door was leaning on the bell. Bishop staggered over to the intercom. “What?” he said.
“Frank Bishop?”
“My name is right next to the bell, pal. Are you drunk or something?”
“Mr. Bishop, this is Detective Suskin from homicide. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Who’s dead?” Bishop asked, hoping he was sound sufficiently puzzled.
“Sir, if you’d please let us in we can discuss that in person.”
“Come up,” Bishop said, pushing the buzzer. “But I’m warning you I’ll need coffee first.”
Detective Suskin and Detective Carter took seats at Bishop’s small kitchen table and accepted cups of coffee. Their eyes probed the parts of the apartment they could see.
Bishop poured himself a big cup. He didn’t need to fake being tired, all the missed sleep had been adding up, he needed caffeine.
“What’s this about?” he asked Suskin. “Who’s dead?”
“What kind of car do you own, Mr. Bishop?”
“A Honda Accord. But it’s in the shop.”
“So what have you been driving?’
“My mechanic gave me a loaner. It’s an orange, ’82 Falcon. It’s parked down at the curb. I can’t wait to get rid of it, it’s a death trap.”
“What time did you get home last night?”
“Eleven, eleven thirty. Why are you asking me this?”
“At twelve twenty-seven 911 got a call from an individual who claimed he saw a man putting a body into the trunk of an orange Falcon. He gave the dispatcher the license number.”
“What? You’re welcome to take a look at the car. I’ve only had it for twenty four hours. I’ve never even opened the trunk.”
“We’ve already looked at the car, Mr. Bishop. A deceased male was found in the trunk.”
“There’s a dead body in the trunk of my loaner, parked at the curb in front of my apartment?” Bishop got up and looked out the window. “Oh,” he said. “Where’s the car?”
“Patrol found it parked on Third Street. The trunk was unlocked. The car is registered to one Tony Torchetti. He owns a car repair shop. We found your fingerprints on the car. They were in our database. You used to be vice.”
“Right, the good old days. Now I’m private. The last I saw the car it was parked in front of this building. Can I ask you again, who’s dead?”
“We haven’t identified the body yet.” Carter pulled out a photograph. It was the knife thrower in the striped suit. He was definitely dead.
“Never seen him before,” Bishop said, wishing it was true.
“M.E. says he’s been dead about 24 hours.”
“Well somebody must have stolen the car to dispose of the body. I didn’t kill him and I don’t know who he is. A ’82 Falcon must be pretty easy to hotwire.”
“That’s the strange part, Frank. Can I call you Frank?” Carter asked. Bishop gave him a weary nod, hoping the good cop would hurry up and turn the questions over to the bad cop so they would finish up and leave. “The wires were intact. Whoever drove it must have had a key. Do you still have the keys to the car, Frank?”
Bishop went into the bedroom and fished them out of his trouser pocket, Carter was right on his heels. “Take them,” he said. “The car is a hazard. I’ll get a rental.”
“Do you have a gun?” Carter’s eyes took in Bishop’s clothes on the chair, the condition of the bed.
“Yes, and a license to carry it.”
“Were you carrying it last night?”
“No, it’s locked in a box in my closet. Would you like to see it?”
* * *
“Wasn’t fired or cleaned recently,” Suskin said after thoroughly trashing Bishop’s closet.
“Unloaded.” Carter added.
Bishop yawned. He wasn’t faking it.
“Anyone see you last night, Frank?”
“I’m investigating the disappearance of some kids. I went by the runaway shelter and talked to Sister Catherine. Stopped in a couple of other places, asked some questions. Routine stuff. Did you find any of my finger prints on the trunk or anywhere inside it?”
“No.” Carter said.
“Well, there you go.”
Suskin handed Bishop back his gun. “Don’t --”
“Leave town,” Bishop finished. “I’m going back to bed, detective. Make sure the street door locks behind you when you leave. It needs to be adjusted or something.”
Once the two cops were out the door, Bishop lay down on the bed, but he didn’t sleep.
- 22 -
Rain pulled the Dowager Queen into the loading zone in front of the Caf’. Bishop could see Rain had some serious doubts
“What is this place?” he asked.
“Kind of a neighborhood hangout. You know, computers, coffee, bad food. Ariel works with some of the kids that come in here. I’ll go get her.”
Ariel saved him the trouble by appearing at the top of the stairs at almost the exact moment Rain turned off the ignition. She had taken Bishop se
riously about dressing up.
The Raptor’s black skirt was tight across her hips but the rest of it, what little there was, was cut in such a way that it flirted across her thighs as she walked, exposing long legs that ended in red, three inch heels. Her low cut, red blouse had the same effect, clingy but draped so it swayed back and forth with the motion of her breasts. A single gold chain adorned her throat and her earrings sparkled against the sleek darkness of her hair.
Rain gave a low whistle as Bishop stumbled from the car to hold the door open for her.
“Gentlemen,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat of the old Mercedes.
Bishop noticed he had suddenly come into possession of a small evening purse, three invitations and a red silk shawl, all in an instant of total distraction. He got into the back, making awkward introductions over the leather seats.
“How did you two meet?” Rain asked, pulling away from the curb.
“We got involved in the same case,” Ariel told him, cutting off any explanation Bishop might have come up with.
“You’re a P.I. too?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Ariel’s a fan of the martial arts,” Bishop added. “She, uh, teaches kids self-defense.”
“I have a black belt,” Ariel said, smiling sweetly over her shoulder at Bishop who changed the subject.
“So,” he asked Rain. “Did the Captain survive the night?”
“You didn’t hear?” Rain said.
“What? You mean he didn’t survive? Sister Catherine will be very upset. She hates having to perform acts of contrition.”
Rain grinned. “You wish. He got a visit from the boys downtown. I have the feeling he’s not holding up his end of something, at least not to their satisfaction. The weasel’s been scurrying around whimpering and wringing his hands ever since. He doesn’t know whether he should jump ship and start sucking up to someone else, or hang in and hope everything blows over. It’s hard being a career rodent, nobody cares if you get your tail caught in a trap.”
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 18