Her father sighed and touched her hand. “So long as humanity is driven by selfishness, no utopia can exist. It’s… not in our nature. Building something that idealistic is hard. Near impossible even with full cooperation. Tearing something apart is so much easier.”
I drained my glass. “So long as there’s power and profit to be had, men will claw and fight for it. Folks out there will cut the next man’s back out for a little of nothing, kid. That’s just the way it is. The Cataclysm didn’t change what makes us tick. Just slowed us down for a little while.”
Natasha looked at me with her smoky eyes. “What makes you different, Mick Trubble?”
I paused. “Whaddya mean, ‘different?’”
She smiled. “You’re the only man that Papa allows at the dinner table. You work for him but don’t try to cheat or double-cross him. He tells me all the time to see you instead of calling the cops if anything goes wrong. So if people are inherently bad, then what makes you so different?”
I hated being gut-punched by unexpected questions. The Luzzatti’s eyes fixed on me. They knew more about me than Natasha did. Knew enough to not ask questions about things that they’d rather not know. I was on the square with them, and that was good enough. Anything else they considered none of their business.
I gave Natasha my most charming grin. “I guess there’s an exception to every rule, darlin’. I live by a simple code: do right by the folks who do right by you. Besides, your Ma’s cooking is too good for me to cheat myself out of. Right, Mrs. L.?”
Everyone laughed. Conversation moved to other things.
Chapter 2: Sweet Natasha
A few days later I clapped eyes on Natasha down the hall as I came in from working a case. I caught the bad vibes right away. One of the locals was busy pushing up on her. You know — the up close and personal touch some mugs resort to in order to almost forcibly convince a dame that she should buy what they’re selling.
The kid’s name was Stix, one of those hardheads that bark like bad dogs, but tuck tail when they spot a wolf coming around the corner. Not hard to find a few on every block in the Flats. He had Natasha hemmed up in the corner, spitting some tired game with a casually placed arm to keep her from ducking out. I could tell from the slightly panicked look on her face that she’d have rather been anyplace else but there.
I decided to take the friendly approach. “Hey Stix, why don’t you let the lady go about her business? Luzzatti don’t take kindly to no one trying to make time with his daughter. House rules.”
Stix wasn’t smart enough to take the hint. He had one of those tough guy sneers on his ugly mug when he turned his head.
“Hey Mick, why don’t you mind your own business? Quit being Luzzatti’s bitch and maybe you’d be up on this too. I figure the girl’s been waiting for a real man to show her a good time. You don’t seem to be up to the job, so I guess I’ll take care of it myself.”
I didn’t say a word. I let my hands do the talking when they seized him by the scruff of his neck and introduced his face to the dimensional wallpaper. I heard the drywall crunch from the impact. Or maybe it was his nose. Didn’t matter much.
I leaned in close so that he could hear me clearly. “Maybe you’re not understanding me, Stix. So let me make this clear. You just crossed the line. So I’m crossing you out. You’re two months behind the bend right now. Consider this your eviction notice.”
He clutched his face and moaned like a baby with a soggy diaper when I allowed him to crumple to the carpet. I didn’t exactly feel sorry for him.
“Just so we understand each other, Stix: I see you again and I’m assuming that you want something. I won’t be so nice when I give it to you. Now scram before you get on my bad side.”
He scrammed.
I tipped my Bogart at Natasha. “You all right, kid?”
She smoothed out her blouse almost angrily. “I’m fine.”
I could tell that she was more upset at herself than at Stix. I understood. Nothing worse than feeling helpless. A dame wants to be able to handle herself, and it grated to have to be rescued, even if it was necessary.
Her discomfort quickly dissolved when she looked up at me with one of those shy expressions that no man has a defense for. “I want to show you something, Mick Trubble. Come on.”
I trailed her back to her folk’s apartment. It wasn’t until we were inside that I noticed that her folks weren’t at home. Alarm bells rang in my head.
“You know, I probably shouldn’t be here, Natasha. Violation of trust and all that.”
She looked over her shoulder. “What? Oh. Don’t worry, Mick Trubble. I just want you to see something, that’s all. It will only take a minute.”
She bent over to fiddle with something on the floor. She had on one of those cute stretch-knit pencil skirts that did a great job of showing off her shapely behind. I took in the view while she opened a panel in the floor that was so well hidden that I could barely see the seams. It was one of those concealed panic rooms, or a safe house of some kind. A narrow set of stairs descended into the darkness.
“Come on.”
Despite my better judgment, I followed her into the hidden basement. Our movement activated the lights.
She gestured around. “Well? What do you think?”
I took it all in and slowly nodded. “Wow.”
It was massive collection of junk. Everything was dated before the Cataclysm. Ancient electronics, collectibles, toys, clothes, pictures and more items were haphazardly scattered around. It was a lot to take in. I walked over and peered at what looked like a unfinished painting of Downtown.
“This doesn’t look vintage. Your work?”
She looked down and smiled. “I’ve been trying to pick up on painting. Not too many people do it by hand anymore.”
I nodded. “Looks good.” I turned and hefted a volume of bound pages stitched to a faded leather cover, with a faded, barely legible title: Immortal Musings. The author’s name was obscured. “This is a book, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I have a few of those. Some of them I don’t touch much because the pages are so fragile. Can you believe that people used to have one of those for every story? I heard that there used to be huge buildings filled with hundreds of thousands of books. People would come from all around the area to borrow and read them.”
I set it down gently. “You know these are worth a fortune, don’t you? How did you get this stuff?”
“Folks give it Papa when they don’t have any money for rent. He holds it as collateral. Sometimes they don’t buy it back and we get to keep it. He gives those things to me.”
“What are you gonna do with it? A lot of high pillow types would love to get their mitts on loot like this for their collections. You can score a lotta cabbage for what you got here.”
“What do I need money for?” Natasha sighed and fiddled with one the smaller electronics on the table. “Papa takes care of things. He says one day I’ll be the one to run this complex. It’s like everything’s already laid out for me. I’ll be some old maid still in the same spot in the Flats.” She looked up at me. “Have you been Downtown, Mick Trubble?”
“I’ve been all over, sweetheart.”
“I’ve only been once. When Papa had to sign some papers for taxes. It’s so big, the buildings so bright and flashy with the airlanes with all the floaters and zeppelins flying around…” she sighed again. “If I go on the rooftop I can see it when it’s not raining. At night all the lights glitter like a handful of diamonds.”
I had to smile at her wistful naivety. “A lot of things look nice from far away, darlin’. Not so much when you get up close. You outta see the Uppers, though. A lot nicer up there. Safer, too.”