Night Call Page 16

  In the corner of my eye, I noticed a Green-eye staring at me. This one didn’t look like it was worrying about the windows; it seemed awake. While Allen was watching the doors to the elevator, the Green-eye approached, reaching inside its janitorial jumpsuit. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Its eyes blinked red for a moment.

  Then it pulled out a slip of paper. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “She’s expecting you,” the Green-eye said quietly, handing me the paper. Its voice sounded alien compared to Allen’s. Then it backed up and resumed its duties.

  The slip of paper bore an address. Apparently, she wanted updates and was in no mood to wait.

  How would I ditch Allen so I could go and meet her? It would be suspicious to do so right after this. Then again, if I didn’t, she might use Allen as an example of why I should be more prompt the next time.

  “I have to go meet with Toby. Make sure Jaeger is all right,” I said. Allen was still watching the elevator doors. “You good?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to say I was impressed with your theorizing back there with Dr. Bush.”

  “Thank you, Allen.”

  “Might I accompany you to see Toby and Jaeger?”

  “No.” Shit, I said that too quick. “No, I have other business to attend to, and I’d rather we split up and cover more ground.”

  “But I have nothing to do without you, Detective.”

  This machine is going to be the death of me. “Fine … fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

  The elevator opened, and we stepped inside. Turning around, we saw that the secretary was standing there, waiting to see us off. She smiled and waved. “Please take your time coming back, Detective.”

  As the doors began to close, she relaxed into a scowl just a little too early. Moments later, the small box rocketed downward, trapping us under the thumb of the Plate once more.

  CHAPTER 13

  I WAS GOING TO SEE A BIT MORE SUN before the day was over. I parked the Talbot on the southern side of 98th street and got out, leaning against the car and craning my neck. I was so used to seeing the great steel slab of the American Dream hanging over us that I rarely ever looked up. This little trip to Harlem was much more relaxing than my previous escapade there had been, so I christened the calm moment by lighting a dart in my filthy fingers.

  I could’ve stayed there just looking up. Harlem might have been dangerous at any time of day, but sometimes it was much more tranquil than the city I’d learned to love and hate.

  “Detective, what are we waiting for?” Allen was getting impatient in the passenger seat, its eyes shifting back and forth nervously. It’d never been out from under the Plate.

  “A signal. I’m choosy about how I meet my friends, so I often go out of the way to set up meetings in places I trust.”

  Allen fell silent, watching the street through the broken window.

  My attention was suddenly drawn by the sound of someone knocking on the door of one of the buildings on this side of the street. Two knocks, twice.

  Our signal.

  The building in front of us looked like it had been bombed out: busted windows, holes in the roof, one entire wall torn out.

  “Wait here.” I threw the half-smoked cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, then walked toward the source of the sound.

  I grasped the handle of the rotting wooden door and pushed. The sound of creaking hinges filled the space. Inside, it was dark; the other end of the room was almost pitch black. I closed the door behind me.

  Seconds later, a blinding light pierced the darkness, causing me to recoil. I raised a hand to shield my eyes. Once my eyes had adjusted, I tried to focus. Squinting, I made out a lone figure sitting in a chair with hands folded, one leg resting on the other. The chair was a luxurious one, with dark wood and red cushions, a real antique far older than either of us. The industrial lights shining in my direction made the darkness even darker, obscuring her face and upper body, but I could see the legs of several of her people hiding behind her.

  She must have been waiting for some time, or perhaps she’d had other clients earlier.

  “We never have these talks anymore, Elias. I’ve missed you terribly.” Her voice was throaty but still unmistakably feminine. She could have been a singer, but she’d had greater aspirations than that.

  “Afraid I can’t say the same for you, darling. I do appreciate the tip you gave me, though.”

  “I’m the Eye of New York for a reason. I see everything.” She huffed with laughter, amused by her own name. “It was the only information we could find, unfortunately. Our reach extends far, but we have our limitations. And intelligence sometimes works against us. Our sentries are afraid to skulk by the 5th. One buzzer and they panic.”

  “Then get better men … or whatever you use.” I pulled out another dart and bit onto it.

  A shadowy figure emerged, blue lights in its eyes shining as it raised a match to light the cigarette for me. “Thanks, bud.”

  “Smoking again? You only smoke when you’re nervous.”

  I didn’t answer, puffing away to prevent myself from instinctually throwing it down. “What do you want?”

  “You have yet to deliver, Elias. This shouldn’t be hard for you. You’ve done jobs far harder than this one so many times before, and far quicker. Perhaps you’re getting old?” I couldn’t see her face, of course, but I had a feeling she’d smirked.

  “I’m fine, darling.”

  “Or maybe you’ve been emotionally compromised? I’ve heard that you’re quite obsessed with the other Redeye killer being a Swinger model. We both know how you take coincidences.”

  “Don’t start.” I paused when I heard her chuckle, but she allowed me to continue. “We met one of the perps, but the other two are supposedly in hiding. They’d formed another racketeering ring deeper than the one Stern was running. They split from him in ’27, so as far as association goes, it’s as dead an end as we can get.”

  “And the only reason you know that is because of me.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair impatiently. Her patient tone wavered a bit. She must have taken my last comment as an insult. Now I felt a cold sweat creeping over my body.

  “Look, I’m not here to make excuses. I’m here to say that if you want this solved cleanly, I need more time and more information. Besides, I didn’t factor you of all people into this case. I thought this would be easy, open and shut. Pop a few rounds and everyone goes home laughing. But when I saw the Red-eye’s empty head, I got suspicious. As soon as I saw Jaeger, my gut didn’t like it one bit. And then, when you decided to give me some charity finding Stern, I knew this started and ended with you and your ragtag group of Brunos.”

  She stood up and walked past one of the lights. Her silhouette dragged across my field of vision. Long hair worn down, sharp chin, broad forehead, lips like the best of dames’. She could kill you with looks and guns alike. In the dark she leaned over and whispered something to one of her associates, and the scurrying sound of shoes against concrete echoed as they ran out of the room. I caught the hint of a shimmer on her arm. Perhaps it was a bracelet, or maybe she’d decided to do some Aug-ing. She’d never give me the satisfaction of knowing.

  She returned to her chair, resting one elbow against her knee and leaning her head in her hand. “Did you dispose of Stern?”

  I hesitated. There was no hiding things from her, though, so I might as well save her the trouble of looking. “I let him go. He’s out of the city by now.”

  A loud crack rocked the room, and I nearly jumped out of my britches. One of the arms of her chair was reduced to a misshapen twig. I stared as her hand relaxed and released the tangled mess of wood.

  “You had explicit instructions,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “And I told you I’d take care of it. But not everyone has to die to solve a problem.”

  “Maybe in your line of work. Not in mine.” My calm responses were beginning to make her voice rise in volume
and harden in tone.

  “Maybe if you stopped putting hits out on every poor bastard that gave you a mean look on the street you might see that this could be a setup. Those two dirty cops might be innocent.”

  “Innocent? Of the murder? Or of cutting in on my business?”

  “Maybe both.” I dropped the cigarette, my backbone returning. “This has the scent of G-men all over it. This Masters guy … he knows how Automatics work, forced some poor guy to modify the towers at GE, and his name has been popping up far too often in my investigation. He’s controlling it all, I’m sure of it. But those other men don’t need to die.”

  “Mercy is a sign of weakness, Roche. You of all people should know that. So when you find Belik and Morris, make sure they aren’t breathing. The same with Masters, if he’s part of this.”

  “You’re putting a hit on a federal agent? That’s dangerous, even for you.” She didn’t respond. “Any reason you’re throwing me into the fire and not one of your lackeys?”

  “I can’t have his blood on my hands, unfortunately.”

  “Ah … there we go.” I smirked, and I could sense her blood beginning to boil once more. “There’s the kicker. You’re powerless to stop him, because everyone and their mother in Lower Manhattan would know that you were the one to pull the trigger, and then you’d have a war on your hands. Status quo, just like Robins. Now I remember why you keep me around.”

  “Yes, for that reason, and because your name still carries weight.”

  “Which name? Elias Roche, or the Iron Hand?”

  Once again, she didn’t respond.

  “I’ll do your dirty work, and you know I can set the price for these hits.”

  “Indeed, I do.” She was grinding her teeth. “I’ll have your payment ready when the deeds are done.”

  “Good.” I turned to leave, but the click of a hammer made me stop dead. Always had to have the last word, didn’t she? “Fuck, what is it now?” I said, turning back.

  A skittering of feet was followed by faint, indecipherable whispers. I could see her head nodding before she spoke again to me. “Your partner. Has he any idea of our … acquaintance?”

  “None the wiser. I doubt he’d understand, anyway.”

  “Try him sometime. He’s no regular Automatic, after all. I’m sure you two would do well to stay partners.”

  “How did you know —”

  “I have ears where I cannot see, and eyes where there is nothing to hear.” She lifted her arm and the shadow of a heavy revolver became visible in her grasp. “And an Iron Hand to reach everything. I’ll be in contact soon to see what’s become of these suspects of yours … perhaps I’ll give your friends at the 5th a ring, just so they keep an eye on you.”

  “We don’t need to involve them any more than I already have.”

  “Why not? Robins knows you work for me, as does anyone there with half a brain. If I want something done by someone — anyone — I will call it in.”

  She reclined in the chair, relaxing her grip on the weapon. Her associate who had run from the room returned with the same haste, running up to her and whispering in her ear. “Speaking of which, there’s a deal being done at the Crossroads. You have thirty minutes. Good luck, Elias.”

  I kept my mouth shut as I opened the door and sprinted back to the car. I slammed into the door of the Talbot, got in, and kicked the beast into gear.

  Allen nearly jumped out of its seat. “Detective! What is it?”

  “We have an ID on Belik and Morris in Times Square. We need to get there, pronto. Hold on to something.”

  “Like what?”

  I hit the clutch and pulled it back as I gassed it, firing us off like a rocket, southbound once more. Once again I was speeding away from northern Manhattan, but this time I was running toward something. I almost crashed into a crumbled brick shithouse, but regained control and kept motoring.

  The Crossroads of the World was where you could find anyone.

  I punched the gas harder as I careered around SoHo to Greenwich Village, meeting one of the many avenues packed with cars heading north. The Crossroads of the World — Times Square — was just up ahead, the only place in town deserving of that kind of name. We crept forward in the Talbot and soon saw the golden pillars of Times Square come into view. I got closer to the sidewalk, hitting the gas and then cranking the handbrake, and the Talbot slid across the pavement and came to a halt, the tires colliding with the raised sidewalk. Looking ahead, I could see the scramble of civilians around the square. As soon as the intersection lights turned red, the street was fair game. There was no way my car would get through that. I grasped the handles on the roof of the car and hopped out through the open window. Allen was about to follow, but I put my hand up. “If things go pear-shaped, I’ll need backup. And I’d rather you do that from here.”

  “How would you have me help, Detective?”

  I leaned back through the window and pointed to the console with the gear shifter. “Listen to everything I say — and I’m making it quick. No repeats.”

  “Of course, Detective.” Allen sat attentively, watching my finger like a hawk.

  “If things go south, there’s a pull switch on the shifter, near the grip … here. This will give the motor a kick and shoot some extra Fuel Gel into the engine to get you moving. It could be handy for saving my ass, or someone else’s. Got it?”

  “I’m not adept at the operation of automotive vehicles, but I believe I have everything under control,” Allen said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  “Make sure you’re gassing it when you pull it, too. I don’t need you fucking my car up.”

  I sprinted away from the car, heading into the crowd. Even half a block away, the lights and sounds of the square were dizzying. Huge screens and billboards nearly reached up to the bottom of the Plate, and a cacophony of people, machines, and advertisements bombarded one’s ears. There was never a time these streets weren’t congested — maybe around three a.m., the traffic let up for a brief moment, but the rest of the time it was bumper to bumper. Every two minutes all the traffic lights went red, and a sixty-second scramble ensued, with pedestrians climbing over cars to get from one side of 7th Avenue to the other. Almost everyone in the city filed through here at some point, and yet spotting a specific person in this mess of a city centre was near impossible.

  I reached the great neon district of Lower New York, with its blinding propaganda and advertisements hitting me like a brick wall. “The newest Automatics, safe for all, built Green-eyed.” “Drink Coca-Cola — all the celebrities are doing it, too.” “Police took out another smuggler trying to cross the mostly frozen Hudson River.” “War veterans are meeting at the Legion Hall in a week.” Under the Plate, these were our sun and moon, seeing as the rich had robbed us of our true light. I’d have to check out that last one, see if any friends from the Great War had survived this long.

  The Times Building was one of the infamous Control Points for the Plate — yet another reminder of how close, yet far, the Upper City was to us. Some Upper City executives liked old Manhattan, and preferred to commute to work by walking through Times Square and using an executive elevator. It was obvious their nostalgia was clouding their judgment about how dangerous this city had become; bumping into the wrong person or taking one wrong turn could end up corpsing them.

  Still, because these executives lived close to the Times, the few blocks around the city centre were ritzier than the rest of the Lower City. The streets were clean, the buildings refurbished, and people carried themselves differently. Even the Automatics that came here were more diverse than just the standard Grifter model. Blue-eye female Hoofer models were abundant here, walking alongside top-heavy male Boomer models that often worked construction or maintenance. Ritzy folks down here could afford Titan models, gorilla-like Automatics that followed their every move and had the strength to crush anyone who got in their way. I even caught a glimpse of a rare Moller, one of the most human-looking Automatics. It loo
ked uncannily female, though its porcelain-like face and small, shifty eyes made my skin crawl when I locked eyes with it. I suddenly realized how far I was from the Talbot, and how nervous I was about letting Allen into the driver’s seat. It was my backup, after all, and if they ran, I needed someone faster than I was on foot.

  I had to focus.

  The lights in the centre of the square hit red, and the scramble began as the crosswalks opened and people and machines ran this way and that in a free-for-all. Some people, drunk and stupid, ran headlong into others. Businessmen and gangsters tried to keep to the outside, avoiding the local cops who patrolled the area on foot. Standing in the centre of it, everything was a blur, with faces changing a mile a minute, making me feel as if I were looking at the world’s longest police lineup and had just one minute to make the ID.

  But a lot can happen in a minute.

  Like catching a glimpse of your target. A sickly, thin man was walking between five others, all of them wearing dark suits and carrying heavy briefcases. One was shorter and fatter than the rest, his face obscured by a hat and a tall collar. He leaned in to say something to the sickly one, whom I recognized as Belik, so I figured that he was Morris.

  The other four men with them all wore identical suits and dark glasses and had the same erect posture that made them look like floating statues.

  I carefully drew my handgun, keeping it close to my side as I weaved through the pedestrians to get closer. Being stealthy in Times Square was easy enough, but men as jumpy as Belik and his associates had an edge when it came to spotting threats.

  And luck just wasn’t on my side that day.

  Belik’s eyes met mine for a brief second as I raised my weapon. The rest of the men instantly sensed something and turned to me as well. Now I recognized another one of them — a tall, lanky asshole in a black hat. Masters.

  Morris and Masters each grabbed Belik by an arm, and the three of them took off running. The three men who had stayed back lifted their briefcases, grabbing the black boxes and pulling them apart. As I should have expected — the briefcases were Foldguns. Seconds later, the sleek, angular shotguns rested in their hands, ready to pump me full of lead. Each man loaded a shell into his Foldgun’s chamber with a distinctive crack sound that was almost as loud as a gunshot and mistakable.