A few blocks further on, we came to the safe house. It was an old two-story townhouse, one of a few dozen identical units along 42nd Street in a neighborhood known as the Cut. No one was quite sure why it was called the Cut, but most folks who lived there could make an educated guess. It didn’t involve a preponderance of barber shops, let’s just put it that way.
I pulled a small ring of keys from my pocket as we stood on the front stoop and unlocked the door to the safe house. Maya slipped inside and I followed, closing the door and locking it before I activated the rather sophisticated security system protecting the perimeter. If anything bigger than a purse dog came within a few feet of the building, we’d know.
Maya emerged from the kitchen with a pair of coffee mugs as I was arming the security system. We both took seats in the well-appointed living area on matching recliners. I kicked the footrest up and leaned back, stretching and trying to work out the tension in my back. Maya sat huddled around her coffee mug, legs tucked under her.She looked tired, and young, and scared. I sympathized. I wasn’t feeling too great about our prospects at that moment, either, but I had to shake it off and solve this mystery before it got us arrested…or worse.
I sat up and dropped the footrest so quickly that Maya yelped in surprise. “Okay, Maya, can you pull up the article on Mrs. Montgomery again? I want to see what we can figure out about what happened.” She nodded and opened up a vid window, pulling up the article she’d shown me back in the office.
I gave it a cursory skim at first, just catching the broad strokes of the incident. She’d been found a couple of blocks from the Hotel d’Palm, her throat cut and her purse gone. Henry was nowhere to be seen, but the murder had been reported anonymously by someone who sounded male. I was a suspect because we’d been seen having a conversation earlier and that whole fight with Henry thing. The reporter had also figured out somehow that I was working a case for Mr. Montgomery at the time, though I noticed there was no hint of even the distant possibility that he might be involved in anything shady or underhanded. The guy was unimpeachable, apparently, the city’s golden boy who could do no wrong. I was never going to be Arcadia’s favorite son, but I liked to think that my reputation wasn’t so bad that people would actually believe I’d killed someone in cold blood.
Then again, I had just gone through a fairly public court proceeding where I’d been accused of exactly that. Sure, I’d killed Dresden Crowder in self-defense, and I’d been cleared of any wrongdoing in the death of Genevieve Pratt, but the taint of suspicion would cling to a person’s reputation worse than the smell of garlic and onions.
I rubbed my eyes with my palms and sighed heavily. “This is going to be tough. We have to find out who really killed Mrs. Montgomery and why.”
“Wouldn’t Henry be the most likely suspect?” Maya asked.
I nodded. “Yup. We should try to track him down, though I don’t want to do that without Kimiko’s help. He’s a bit too much for me to take on by myself, especially since I don’t seem to have any of my gear with me.” It was true: in our rush to get out of the office, I’d left anything even halfway resembling a weapon behind. I had my computer, my lockpicking kit, my wallet with a handful of small bills in it, and half a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Though light on assets, I had…um…
I’ll get back to you on that.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” I said. “Get a secure channel and call the office as soon as possible. Update them on what’s going on and where we are. Tell Kimiko I’m probably going to need her help. In the meantime, maybe I can contact Mr. Montgomery and get him to help us out. He’s our client, after all, and it wouldn’t do him much good if we got arrested. I don’t think he wants us talking about his possible marital problems.” I felt a little better. We had a plan of action. Sure, it wasn’t a detailed plan of action, but it was better than nothing.
Of course, no plan of action ever goes the way it’s supposed to. At least, not when you’re a private detective and there’s already a bounty on your head.
One of the windows exploded into so much glistening shrapnel as a small canister smashed through it and bounced across the floor. “Gas grenade!” I yelped and tumbled out of the recliner. Maya squeaked in surprise and leapt out of her own chair, scrambling around behind it as the canister started hissing and spewing a thick, noxious gas. We both started coughing and choking on the gas almost as soon as it reached us. These were professional-grade grenades, the sort the military only wish they could afford. I held the end of my coat sleeve over my mouth and grabbed Maya’s hand, dragging her out of the living room and down the hall to the rear exit.
Whoever was attacking was waiting for us there. The back door was bashed in by a small battering ram, the deadbolt shattering the wooden frame of the door jamb as the heavy security door slammed back against the wall of the hallway. Outside stood a man in Kevlar and riot gear, the battering ram dropping from his hands as he reached for his sidearm in its belt holster. I flung myself forward, tackling the guy and bearing him to the ground. I grabbed him by the wrist as he drew his pistol and wrestled with him for control of the weapon. It wavered between us, neither man able to capitalize on an advantage long enough to win. We were both so absorbed in our struggle that we completely missed seeing Maya step up and smack our assailant in the head with an umbrella. The guy cried out as she pulled back to swing again. He was momentarily distracted, so I kneed him in the soft bits and yanked the gun out of his hand. The guy rolled around on the ground, clutching at his groin with both hands and groaning in pain. I flicked the safety off of the pistol and held it on the guy. “Who the hell sent you?” I asked, breathing heavily. His own reply was a muffled moan of agony.
“He’s not, um, police,” Maya said, lowering her rainy-day weapon. “No insignia or anything.”
“You’re right,” I said, eyeing the guy. “He might be another assassin.”
“Oh, um, Kimiko told me last night to let you know that the, uh, bounty had increased.”
My eyebrows jumped up. “Oh yeah? What is it now?”
“Seven-hundred fifty thousand,” Maya said.
I frowned. “Still kinda low.” I knelt down next to our injured attacker. “I might have to kill some dumb sap to make an example and show them what I’m really worth.” That got the guy’s attention where my earlier questions had not. He looked up at me in eye-watering fear, shaking all over as he did the math and realized I was about to subtract him from the equation.
“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy. Probably didn’t even want to try to assassinate me. But here you are, and an example must be made. I can’t have people thinking I’m going soft.” I stood and pointed the gun at him. It was ready to fire, but I cocked back the hammer just for effect. It got the guy’s attention really well.
“Wait, wait, I’ll talk!” he yelped.
“What’s to say? You’re after the bounty. If I kill you, others will think twice about it. End of story.”
“No!” he cried, still curled into the fetal position around the more delicate and tender bits of his anatomy. “I’m not after the bounty. Mr. Montgomery sent me to get you.”
I scratched at my chin, but kept the gun trained on the guy. “And just how the hell did he know where I was? This is supposed to be a secret location.”
“He’s had people tracking you, following your every move ever since you took the case.”
“So why try to kill me, then? Wouldn’t that piss your boss off?”
“He wanted me to bring you in so he could talk with you, but when you jumped at me, I panicked! I thought you might try to hurt me.”
“Forget the ‘might try,’ buddy,” I said. I tossed the gun up, grabbed it by the barrel, and swung as hard as I could. I caught the guy across the face with the butt of the pistol grip, dropping him like a sack of laundry at mom’s house the first day back from college.
“C’mon,” I said to Maya, tossing the guy’s gun into a storm drain. “Let’s go pay a little visit to Mr.
Montgomery.”
V.
The nice thing about legitimate businessmen is that they don’t, on average, hire thick-necked thugs to guard them. That means a greatly-reduced chance of getting your own neck snapped like a brittle twig when you happen to look at the wrong person cross-eyed or, like, cough or something.
The downside, of course, is that legitimate businessmen employ men who are considerably subtler in their approaches, designs, appearance, and mental faculties, the thug I’d just taken out at the safe house notwithstanding. These guys can actually think their way out of a paper bag, and they tend to carry guns and know how to use them. These enforcers, generally called “security specialists” by people who think they are being very clever and surreptitious, are more innocuous than your garden-variety thug, and are generally better dressed (fewer bloodstains on their jackets, for one thing) and have better haircuts.
Legitimate businessmen also invest in really sophisticated electronic security systems, as Maya and I discovered when we arrived at Montgomery’s office building a few hours later. I didn’t see any sign of the police – though I had no doubt they’d been by to question Mr. Montgomery – but there would still be the boss man’s security detail to contend with. And that security system. It was a work of art, according to Maya.
“State of the art,” she said, staring at security panel next to a metal door in a side alley. We’d decided the front door wasn’t a viable option, given how much the APD seemed to want to have a chat with us, leaving us with entrances like this one.
“Think you can crack it?” I asked.
Maya shrugged. “Um, yeah.” She had her wrist computer setup, a machine far more powerful than your average personal device and loaded with all sorts of decryption and hacking programs. She attached a cable to her computer and joined it up to the security panel next to the door; the next several minutes were filled with techno-whatsits that I didn’t know a lot about. I strolled casually in a small circle while she worked, whistling chalantly and keeping an eye out for trouble. Eventually, all of Maya’s work led to the door quietly clicking open. I pulled on the handle and Maya and I slipped into Montgomery’s office.
I was hoping for a disused office or a utility hall or some other empty spot in the building. Instead, we found ourselves face to face with several of Montgomery’s security specialists, guns drawn and pointed at us.
“Hey, guys, is this the way to the bathroom?” I asked sheepishly before they grabbed us by our collars and dragged us off.
* * *
Maya and I found ourselves in one of the single nicest offices I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen some damn nice offices in my time. In Raymond Calthus’s office over in Eakin Plaza, for instance, an entire endangered rainforest had gone into the wood paneling and desk, and there was enough marble to make Michelangelo cry. The whole place made it abundantly clear that the individual who occupied that office was a man of wealth, power, and vision.
Montgomery’s office was…different. It was still opulent, still obviously crafted with care, attention to detail, and the most expensive materials available. But it was more…subdued, I guess. Calthus’s office shoved its extravagance in your face, making sure you knew the place cost more money than you’d earn in your entire life. Montgomery wasn’t so crass. Things were just…nice. Refined. His desk wasn’t really all that different than the one I used, though it was definitely made out of finer materials and better-constructed. It was the most uncluttered desk I’d ever seen, devoid of excess paper or the army of half-empty coffee cups that always ended up littering my desk. The walls were hung with paintings that looked like they came straight out of an art history book, with artists even I was familiar with. The other furniture in the room – two chairs on this side of the desk, and Montgomery’s own chair behind it – were gorgeously upholstered, and I was pretty sure they’d been hand-carved.
Montgomery sat behind his desk like a supervillain, fingers steepled and elbows propped on the arms of his chair. There wasn’t sadness in his eyes, exactly, but there was something strange in there, considering he’d probably just been informed of his wife’s death. Most of his enforcers were arrayed behind me, though two stood on either side of Montgomery’s desk, flanking their boss and keeping their eyes trained on my every move.
“Man, if this is your bathroom, the rest of this place must be ridiculous,” I said, dropping down into one of Montgomery’s chairs. The chair creaked faintly as the (probably imported) leather shifted under me.
“Detective Hazzard, can’t you see I am in mourning for my dear, late wife?” Montgomery said. His lips twisted into a vile smirk. All pretense of the polite, well-mannered gentleman who’d come into my office the day before was gone. A façade, just as I’d suspected. It’s a terrible burden, always being right about people.
“Yeah, you seem real torn up about it,” I replied, deadpan.
“Well, this was not an unexpected turn of events,” Montgomery said.
“You expected your wife to die last night?” Maya asked, flabbergasted.
The lizard-like smirk twitched briefly. “My dear, my wife was a woman of few scruples. I knew she was up to something devious, possibly even nefarious. It did not surprise me in the least that she came to such a tragic end.” He briefly took on the appearance of an emotionally-wounded, heartbroken widower, his hand over his heart and his eyes turning heavenward as if to watch his wife’s soul ascend.
“Yeah, that’s all great and all, but I think we have a few things to clear up,” I said, leaning back in the chair and crossing my legs. “First off, I didn’t kill your wife.”
“Of course not, detective. The thought had never crossed my mind,” Montgomery replied smoothly.
“Right. Second, you hired me for this job. The only reason I was anywhere near your late wife was because of you.”
“Admittedly. But what does any of that matter to me?” Montgomery asked.
“I need you to tell the police I was working for you and that I didn’t kill your wife,” I said. “They came in and busted my door down this morning.”
“That is regrettable,” Montgomery said, his voice completely devoid of anything like sympathy or regret. “But I believe that is a problem I can make…go away for you.” Montgomery stood and walked around the desk, taking a seat on the corner of it and posing like he was going to be on the cover of Smug Assholes Quarterly or something. The guy was starting to come across as even oiler than regular politicians. I mean, I knew the Man of the People thing was all an act – no one could be that good all the time – but I didn’t realize he was this much of an asshole. But that was life: every time I thought I’d seen the lowest depths humanity could sink to, they revealed themselves to be the Mariana’s Trench of horribleness. There were always deeper depths.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked with forced casualness.
“There’s a trinket I need for you to find. A gemstone called the Jewel of Hakido.” I heard Maya gasp beside me. I looked over and saw that she had her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
“Am I supposed to know what that is?” I asked.
Montgomery sighed. “You pride yourself on being ignorant of culture, don’t you?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Only when it annoys people,” I said.
“The Jewel of Hakido is one of the most famous gemstones in the whole world,” Maya said. “It’s massive and worth a fortune.”
“A large fortune,” Montgomery corrected, sliding off the desk and walking back around to his chair. “The Jewel of Hakido is a world-renowned work of exquisite art, missing for the past thirty years. Many thought it sank to the bottom of the ocean with Heather Wallis, the Jewel’s former owner, when she died mysteriously and suddenly on her yacht several years ago. But I have reason to believe my wife was searching for – and had found – the jewel before her untimely death last night.”
“And that’s why she was killed? For the rock?” I asked.
Montgomery fr
owned at my description of the jewel but continued. “Yes, I believe she might have even had it in her possession with the intention of selling it last night. I want you to find her killer…and the Jewel of Hakido.”
I chuckled. “Seriously? That’s like asking me to find a needle in a stack of needles at the needle factory. Arcadia is full of assholes who’d steal a massive jewel and kill someone for it. I mean, it’d be easier to find everyone who couldn’t have committed the crime.”
“But I know who the buyer was supposed to be,” Montgomery said, that lizard grin flickering across his face again. “It was the Boss.”
I blinked twice rapidly, then glanced over at Maya. I could see the confusion in her eyes, too. I hadn’t intended to buy any gemstones last night. I think I’d remember that. But Montgomery didn’t know I was the Boss, so I had to try to play this cool. I just hoped Maya would follow my lead.
“The Boss? You think so? What would he want with the Jewel of Hakido?” I asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
Montgomery shrugged. “Why do the rich and powerful do anything? Because we can. Regardless, you are going to track that gemstone down for me, detective, and you are going to steal it for me, or you are going to die.”
VI.
I sat and stared at Montgomery for a moment to see if any other threats were forthcoming. Then I laughed at him for a full minute.
“Do I…amuse you, detective?” Montgomery asked.
“You…want me…to steal from the Boss? And you think threatening me with death is enough motivation? God, maybe you’re dumber than you look.”
“Excuse me?” Montgomery roared, rising from his chair.
An Ill Wind Blows Page 4