I holstered the Mean Ol’ Broad and walked away. Big Louie’s voice followed me out into the hallway.
“Mick. You can’t… leave me here. Mick!”
Smoke billowed from the room and into the hallway. It was so thick that I nearly tripped on something on the way out. It was Joey; still laid out cold from the uppercut I’d served him.
I paused.
Chapter 8: Fishing for Pike
I set Joey down a few yards away from where Big Louie’s flophouse had gone up in flames. We both were half-choked on smoke, and I was worn out from carrying his heavy, half-conscious frame.
He looked at me through half-closed lids. “Why… why did you drag me out?”
“Got no beef with you, Joey. It was Big Louie I was after. That deal’s done. Why throw you in for a bonus when I didn’t need to? I’m not a mug who holds grudges. Unless you get on my bad side, that is.”
“I… owe you one, Mick.” He broke into a fit of coughing. I patted him on his shoulder as I stood up.
“Yeah, you do. You can start by telling the brass that you never saw me. Stay frosty, champ.” I left him where he sat winded and walked over to the hoversled. My datacom beeped in my ear. I glanced at my holoband and tapped the com.
“Tell me something.”
Hunter’s monotone voice fizzled in. “The contracts that you drew up have been liquidated. Is there any other business that requires my attention?”
“Not at the moment, Hunter. I’ll keep you on standby.”
“As you wish, Mick.”
“Oh, and Hunter? Thanks.”
“Not necessary. I am merely serving my purpose.” He clicked off.
I hopped on the hoversled and headed for my next stop. Everything had gone according to plan so far, but I didn’t like including Hunter. Deep inside, I knew he had a reason for volunteering his aid. I couldn’t figure out what it was.
But I knew that I wouldn’t like it when I did.
The Uppers. One of the more plush, security-gated deluxe suite apartment buildings. Roving drone security. Mob-owned. Regular folk like me weren’t supposed to be on the premises.
Too bad.
“That’s a real smooth Deusy.” I nodded to the wheeler that was parked nearby. It was modeled after the Duesenberg Ghost, if memory served me correct. Which it always did. The beetle-black paint job gleamed like it was still wet. And the curves… enough to make a hot dame jealous. I’ve always had a thing for the vintage era before the Cataclysm. The eye for design was never better. Even with my mind on darker things, she was still a sight to take the breath away.
Scars gave me one those looks that summed up everything in a flash. He was a tall, angular mug in a bad suit with a face hard as a petrified skull and twice as ugly. He had a reputation around New Haven that earned him his nickname. It wasn’t because of any scars that he’d gotten.
It was because of the ones he left other mugs with.
“Mick Trubble.” He spoke casually, but his alert manner spoke otherwise.
At the mention of my name, the two other goons reached for the iron inside their jackets. Scars stopped them with an upraised finger and a look of searing scorn. He turned his attention back to me.
“What are you doing here, Mick? Word is that you fried Big Louie. Serves the pig boy right, but you’re out of your league now. If you’re looking to repeat that score then you outta know that you’re outgunned and outnumbered. I got four other droppers that you don’t see, and each of them has a direct shot at parts that you need. If you want to keep on living, that is.”
I had figured that out by then, mainly because of the laser sights that were decorating my flogger. Another seemed to be pointed directly at my eye, which was pretty damn irritating. I had to squint while I spoke around the unlit gasper hanging from my lip.
“You think I came all the way over here just to get smoked, Scars?”
“I don’t know any other reason why you’d show your mug, Mick. You know that I can’t let you get past me. And you know I can’t let you walk away, either.”
“You’re right, Scars. I do know. So this is the way that it’s gonna go down. I’m gonna go upstairs and take out your boss. He’s got it coming, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Scars’ laugh was like sandpaper rubbing together. “You’re a funny man, Mick. But I hope you got more to offer than just a comedian act.”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. Because I do have more. I got a proposition. A profitable one.”
I thought I saw a glimmer in Scars’ eye. “You got thirty seconds. This better be good.”
I gave him my most carefree grin. “Seems that Moe Flacco has a bad need for a tight squad. I happen to be on good terms with No-Nose Nate. You know, one of Moe’s top lieutenants. I put in a word for you, and you get to step up in the world. Get away from guarding a smooth set of wheels to guarding the meanest mug in the Mob.”
Scars lit a gasper and puffed. “Don’t grift a grifter, Mick. Moe already has a top squad. Those Blackguard animals. Dirtiest sons of bitches in New Haven. Those mugs are barely human.”
I nodded. “Well, Blackguard prides itself on hiring nothing but the most vicious murderers and sadists ever born. Thing is, they took a major hit tonight. Seems some malfunctioning synoid took most of their unit out. No one knows why. Maybe a new player moving in on Moe’s territory. All that’s known is that the synoid kept saying ‘Pike sends his regards’ every time he rubbed out a goon.”
I heard uneasy mutters from the chopper squad.
“He’s right, boss,” one of the trouble boys said. He scanned his holoband and checked out the latest news. “Blackguard mugs got hit bad. It’s all over the wire.”
Scars squinted as if seeing me for the first time. “You set this up, Mick? All of this… over one old codger and his frail?”
“I’m not claiming responsibility for nothing, Scars. Unless it’s for a fire at Big Louie’s pad. Or the mug currently here in the penthouse suite whose luck just hit the eight ball. Now the way I see it is that I can make a call and get you on a high paying gig, or you can go ahead and rub me out. Of course, then you’d have to take your chances that Moe Flacco will take it easy and not smoke everyone associated with Pike as a precaution.”
I knew I had him when he paused to scratch his stubbly chin. “So we just pull stakes and dump our employer? Not exactly good for a squad’s rep.”
“Even a rat knows to flee a sinking ship, Scars. I figure your intelligence level to be just a step above the average vermin. Besides, in the long run I’d think it might be better for you to be associated with Flacco now than Pike later. Who will wanna take on a squad that used to work for a skel that got on Flacco’s bad side?
Scars thought things over as he took a hard drag on his gasper. Finally he nodded. “All right, boys. Drop your iron. Mick, you make that call. And you better pray that your recruiting skills are as good as advertised or I’ll personally gut you like a freshwater fish.”
I grinned. “You mean like a Pike.”
Pike shot first.
In my single-mindedness I’d forgotten about the cameras in the booster lift that took me to the top floor. Once I arrived at the penthouse, he was already locked and loaded. The only thing that kept my brains in my head was his bad aim. Being nervous has that effect on a body, and I was pretty sure he’d found out that Big Louie had recently been roasted. Put that on top of his security pulling an unexpected vanishing act, and he was bound to have a pretty bad case of the shakes.