Torn From On High: Free City Book 2 (The Free City Series) (10 page)

23.
The
Hissing Serpent

“There's
Mac!” Ryo pointed to the third booth to the left in the dim and musty back
section of
The Hissing Serpent
nightclub.

Liaison
Agent Hugo Mackillroy waved to the old Inspector. Ryo nudged the Lieutenant
towards the table.

“Wait
a minute,” Zmuda resisted. “Do you recognize the two bruisers with him?”

“No;”
Ryo shook his head, “but if they are OK with Mac, they're OK with me.”

“I
have a weird feeling about those two,” the Lieutenant muttered.

“Me
too,” Ryo frowned. “Good, bad or ugly, we're here to collect some leads for our
stalled investigations.”

Zmuda
donned a wide smile, “I suppose you're right.”

“Mac!
It's good to see you again,” Ryo reached across the table bestrewn with empty
drink glasses to offer a hand to his old pal.

“It's
been a long time,” the Liaison Agent pumped Ryo's arm with vigor. “This is Mr.
Wolfe and his colleague, Mr. Rollo.”

“Gentleman;”
the old Investigator bowed slightly, “this is...uh...”

“Uloff
Lebrinski,” Zmuda grinned.

“Lebrinski,
are you the Free City spy that Agent Macaroni promised us?”

“Mackillroy,”
Ryo corrected Wolfe, “Agent Hugo Mackillroy.”

“You're
Trop. We know all about you” Wolfe sneered a bit. “Ryo Trop, age 55, Inspector
Second Class with the Free City Inquisitor's Office. ID number 783682. Divorced
with one young kid. Your home is at Number 17, Na Daracha Ársa Street,
Apartment 392,
in the Ballaghaderreen District
of Free City.”

“There's
just one thing that you've gotten wrong, Mr. Wolfe.”

“What's
that?” the big man smirked.

It was
a rather rough and tumble effort at verbal intimidation, Ryo decided, a game
that he could play quite well. He let the young punk hang for several seconds
as he stroked his chin.

“I was
recently upgraded to Inspector First Class.”

Wolfe
burst into laughter, “Fair enough, old man!”

The
rather inebriated Rollo cackled along with Wolfe.

Ryo
could sense an odd underlying tow of duplicity in the young men.

“Yes;”
Zmuda finally answered in an effort to ease some of the tension at the booth,
“I have some connection to a spy organization in Free City.”

“Excellent!
Have a seat,” Wolfe grinned. “Bevvies for the table on me!”

• • •

They
were well into their fourth round of drinks with no end in sight when Ryo
spotted a familiar face at the bar.

The
old Investigator had steadfastly stuck to his habit of imbibing in only a
single beverage during the course of a gathering. At this point he was certainly
the only one at the booth still in full possession of his wits.

Mac,
Zmuda and the two roughnecks merrily quaffed the latest offerings as the
waitress deposited them on the table.

While
the others roared at a rather crude joke involving a randy barmaid, Ryo studied
the tall slim man in his mid-twenties who stared at him from the bar.

The
fellow unobtrusively beckoned to him.

Ryo
discreetly nodded in reply.

“Gentleman,”
the old Investigator started, “I'll check with the bartender to see if he's got
a certain rare old Irish Whiskey that will knock you into the next county.”

“Here,
here!” Mac offered a toast with his now empty tumbler.

Ryo
slipped out of the booth and theatrically staggered off.

The
smutty jokes began anew.

The
Investigator picked a spot at the bar just to the left of the man and well away
from the bartender. He wanted as much time as possible to find out what was
happening before he had to continue his ruse regarding ancient spirits.

“Lev;
what are you doing here?” Ryo whispered.

The
young man glanced back at the raucous group at the booth, “I'm so glad I found
you. Mixion sent me.”

Ryo
stretched lethargically to cover his growing concern, “Really? What's up?”

“Take
a look,” Lev produced his communication device and casually set it on the bar
between them.

Ryo
picked up a soiled bar napkin and dabbed at his lips as he read the display
screen out of the corner of his eye.

'Plot
to kill Lt. Z in New Rome today! INTERCEPT & PROTECT AT ALL COSTS!'

“Son
of a...,” Ryo turned and waved amiably to the soused group at the booth, “I
thought
that there was something sketchy about this meeting.” The Investigator swiveled
around and glowered for several seconds. “Any idea as to how I could tip off
Zmuda without the others knowing?” he whispered.

Lev
tapped several times at the communication device screen and a second message
appeared from Mixion.

'Make
reference to Z's wife Charlotte when intercepting.'

Ryo
flagged down the barman. “That makes sense.”

“I
don't understand,” Lev whispered.

The
bartender ambled towards them.

“Zmuda
has never been married.” The older man stared at his young friend for just an
instant, “When all hell breaks loose, get the Lieutenant out of here no matter
what. Don't worry about me or anyone else.”

“OK.”

The
bartender smiled at Ryo, “What'll it be, my friend?”

Ryo
beamed wickedly at the question, “We've got a bet going on in the booth over
there that the big guy dressed in black can't drink a shot of pure grain
alcohol without vomiting.”

The
barman snorted at the wager, “I'll put ten Units on barfing!”

“You
got it,” Ryo laughed. “What do you have that'll do the job?”

“OH;
you want
Dragon's Breath Black Rum
from Indonesia. It's about as
puke-inducing as you can get.”

“Perfect.
Give me a large tumbler full.”

The
bartender retrieved a stout black bottle labeled with a stylized skull and
crossbones, “Enjoy!”

Ryo
tapped out the payment and added a huge tip for the man. He was, after all,
probably not going to collect on his bet.

The
Investigator lumbered back to the booth with the vile black liquid and
carefully studied the arrangement of the others around the table. He had only
an unlikely chance of successfully saving himself and the Lieutenant.

The
bench curved in a semicircle around the back of the table; fortunately Zmuda
was at one end and could easily dash away. Ryo's spot was at the opposite end,
which was equally advantageous. But Mac was right in the middle, sandwiched
tightly between Rollo and Wolfe.

Ryo
winced when he realized that the Liaison Agent could not escape unscathed.

“AH,
he's back!” bellowed Mac.

Ryo
slipped into the booth next to Wolfe and placed his palm protectively over the
tumbler filled with nearly pure grain alcohol.

“Alright;”
harangued Wolfe, “who's got the balls to take the first shot?”

The
old Investigator slowly nodded and stared across the table at Zmuda. He
produced a wide, friendly grin when he was sure that the spy was paying
attention to him. “Well; it won't be him,” Ryo joked.

“Why
not?” Rollo asked.

Ryo's
outwardly calm appearance belied his extreme inner anxiety.

Zmuda
tipped his head and frowned, he now seemed well aware that something was amiss.

“His
dear wife Charlotte will kill him if she finds out that he's been drinking.”

Uproarious
laughter erupted at the table.

Zmuda's
eyes grew huge at the quip, he knew.

While
their intoxicated tablemates harassed and belittled the Lieutenant, Ryo's eyes
leapt towards the bar where Lev was waiting.

The
young man quickly pointed one finger at the side exit.

Zmuda
nodded with a grim look of acknowledgment and eased himself up to depart.

“HEY!”
Wolfe produced a small and very unusual handgun, “Where the HELL are you
going?”

Zmuda
stopped, “You guys are asses. I need some air.”

“Sit
down, you bastard!” Wolfe pointed the gun at the man; “We know that you ordered
the murder of Madame Sophia Kufuzu last year. Now it's your turn to die.”

The
nightclub grew eerily quiet.

Ryo
let his hand slip off the top of the tumbler.

CRASH!
A porcelain plate shattered on the floor.

Wolfe
turned towards the sound of the disturbance.

Ryo
used the diversion to fling the contents of the tumbler into the big Goon's
eyes.

Wolfe
screeched in agony.

Ryo
slammed the man's pistol hand onto the tabletop and the gun skittered across
the floor.

Lev
dashed over and he and Zmuda sprinted away.

Mac
had a look of utter terror as he realized that he was unable to escape the
unfolding disaster.

Ryo
quickly backed away from the table, glancing around as he moved, trying in vain
to spot the missing side arm: it was likely one of the particle beam weapons
that had done in Nate Briggs and Captain Takahashi.

Lev
pried open the exit door and he and Zmuda waited for just an instant as Ryo
trotted their way.

“The
grenade!” yelped Wolfe, “GET THEM WITH THE FRIGGIN' GRENADE!”

Rollo
hastily retrieved a fragmentation grenade from his jacket and pulled the pin.

The
dimwitted punk hesitated as the spy, the cop and the scruffy young man stood at
the exit.

With
the vile black liquid running down his face, Wolfe clawed madly at his burning
eyes.

Rollo
had a pathetic look of uncertainty; “It's a ten second delay, right?”

“NO
FIVE, YOU IDIOT!” screamed Wolfe.

The
grenade exploded in Rollo's chubby right hand just as his arm arched above his
head for the unfortunately postponed pitch.

The
concussive force of the blast and the frightfully high number of razor sharp
bits of metal shrapnel instantly killed Liaison Agent Hugo Mackillroy and the
two thugs.

24. News Item:
Nightclub damaged by explosion

Dateline: 18th of September,
2446; New Rome, Earth

“We've
had drunken altercations at the
Hissing Serpent
before,” reported
blood-splattered Bartender Jackson Ito, “but never anything like that.”

New
Roman police are currently struggling to explain why an apparently friendly
gathering involving three unidentified Free City residents and two mysterious
locals suddenly went wrong last night at the nightspot on Spinoza Street.

Early
reports indicate that three people were killed.

Dozens
of drunken patrons were injured, some quite seriously, when a scuffle
apparently broke out in a back booth.

Several
barflies reported that a wager involving drinking prowess seemed to have gone
wrong which prompted one of the dead men to draw a sidearm and a second
combatant to respond with a military-grade fragmentation grenade. The ensuing
blast killed both men.

An
apparently innocent Free City resident was also killed.

Due to
the still murky details and the death of a Free City citizen, the New Roman
authorities have asked the Free City Inquisitor's Office to aid with the
perplexing case.

The
Hissing
Serpent
will be closed for at least a week to allow for repairs.

Fortunately
the crime scene was nearly devoid of others at this early hour.

“Here
you go Inspector,” the young New Roman crime scene technician uncovered the
last of the three corpses that were scattered around the ruins of the back
booth at the
Hissing Serpent
.

Ryo
winced as he bent over to look at the body. He still had four or five tiny
shards of metal trapped annoyingly just under the skin of his back.

But
the sight of this particular body was much more painful than the stray bits of
shrapnel: It was the badly mangled remains of his old friend Mac.

The
naive assistant was obviously unaware of the older man's distress.

Cops
and Liaison Agents died in the line of duty all of the time, but Ryo had been
pals with Mac for decades.

The
old investigator turned to the novice technician, “Any idea of who he is?”

The
kid shook his head, “No sir. All we know for sure is that he's from Free City.”

“Alright,
crate him up. The Consular's people will ship him straight away to our Morgue
and we will let you know what we find out.”

The
old investigator was quite eager to get Mac's body safely away from the prying
eyes of the hapless New Roman and EurAfrican officials. If they stumbled upon
the fact that Mac was a Free City Liaison Agent then both Ryo's investigation
into the assault on Seamus and the murders onboard the
Billikin
and the
Lieutenant's efforts to unravel the desert mystery would be compromised.

“Yes
sir,” the young man chirped, “I'll get right on it.”

Zmuda
returned to the shattered rear section of the bar. He’d been introduced earlier
to the few New Roman cops loitering around the crime scene as Ryo's coworker,
Inspector Third Class Hal Zelichowska.

It had
been a long and harrowing night for both men.

Lev
had managed to spirit the cop and the spy away just after the altercation and
clean them up in a room at a local boardinghouse used mainly by Enlightenment
Crusaders. Ryo had hastily called Chief Inspector Helga Bennet in Free City and
detailed the ill-fated meeting. Helga was adamant that they
must
continue the dual investigations and recover Mac's body at once with a minimum
of fuss.

Ryo
and Zmuda both reluctantly agreed.

They
now had to determine how the thugs knew of Zmuda's involvement in the
assassination of Madame Kufuzu a year earlier.

As
Inspector Third Class Hal Zelichowska, the Lieutenant bowed a bit in deference
to Ryo, “Well boss, we have the names of the two other victims.”

“Do
tell.”

“The
knucklehead with the Frag grenade was Norman Rollo, a petty punk most recently
from Mariner's Station on Mars. Nobody seems to know where he got the advanced
munitions.”

Ryo
stroked his chin in thought, “What about the other guy?”

“Fritzi
Wolfe, an up and coming hoodlum apparently from Nairobi who has recently had
several very large and unexplained payments made to his personal account. Both
men have affiliations with a small gang called the 'Goons' that engages in
intimidation and murder for hire.”

“Well;
that's a bit of a break.”

After
some reflection, Ryo continued, “What about the gun?”

Zmuda
glanced around the nearly deserted bar.

The
Lieutenant opened his coat to reveal the unusual weapon; “I spotted it under
one of the booths at the front of the bar. I grabbed it while you and the New
Roman cop where looking at the bodies.”

Ryo
smiled to his pal.

“I'd
like to get it back to the CRAMP lab as soon as possible,” Zmuda whispered.

“Good
idea. Slip out with it now, I'll cover for you.”

Zmuda
seemed reluctant to leave, “What about you?”

Ryo
groaned from the emotional and physical battering of the last twelve hours,
“I'm going to take a quick trip to Nairobi to see what I can find out about Mr.
Fritzi Wolfe.”

• • •

Bowie
swaggered unannounced into the office at the EurAfrican Imperial Military Base
in Tunis and laid his gun on the cluttered desk, “I need another one of these
gems.”

Commander
Frédéric Rameau growled as he looked up from his paperwork, “Turn in your
Entrance Authorization, I don't want you to come around here again.”

“Why
the hell not?” Bowie asked with some annoyance.

The
Head of Covert Operations took his time before he answered; he was, after all,
in charge of the various dirty deeds that the Goons had been paid to
accomplish. Rameau leisurely replaced the thug's nearly depleted Particle Beam
weapon with a freshly charged weapon that he retrieved from his gun cabinet.

“First;
a cheap punk like you shouldn’t be on an elite military base. I can’t have you
parading around here like an arrogant peacock. You had your chance years ago
but you just couldn’t handle Paramilitary training. Second; there can be no
visible connection between your band of half-wit hoodlums and the honorable
Empire of EurAfrica.”

“I
quit the Paramilitarists because of hard asses like you,” Bowie laughed at the
ramrod Commander. “We both know that what I do ain't cheap and that there's no
such thing as honor in EurAfrica.”

“Perhaps
not;” Rameau shot back, “but your idiot cohorts
did
manage to screw up
the assassination that the Kufuzu family ordered. That opportunity may never
present itself again.”

“I
shouldn't have let Wolfe take Rollo with him;” the big Goon winced, “he was
such a moron.”

The
Commander's face hardened, “How you accomplish the tasks that you're paid to do
does not concern me. What I require is that you actually succeed in doing
them.”

Bowie
stood in terse silence while Rameau scribbled some instructions on a sheet of
paper.

“To
appease the Kufuzu family after your recent screw up, I want you kill this man.
My sources indicate that he mucked up the assassination attempt.” The Commander
handed him a thick dossier entitled
Ryo Trop, Free City Inquisitor's Office.

The
burly hired hand studied the file and stared at one of the many photographs,
“He's got a cute family; perhaps I'll mow down the whole group.”

The
Commander nodded curtly, “That would be a nice touch.”

• • •

Far to
the southwest, the weary old Inspector awaited the arrival of his counterpart
for the hastily arranged meeting. It was early spring in Nairobi, Ryo observed
as he sat straight-backed in the open-air cafe to avoid irritating his recent
wounds.

Down
the street an ancient African man tended to the nearest of a dozen or so small
trees that lined this side of Kenyatta Avenue. The wrinkled skinned chap
produced an obviously homemade machete fabricated from a long, sharpened scrap
of charcoal-black steel flat stock with a shred of grimy old leather wrapped
around one end to serve as a handle.

With
well-practiced flicks, the maintenance man used the razor-edged tip to deftly
trim several small branches from the tree.

When
he had amassed a good-sized pile of sticks and twigs, the old fellow retrieved
a long piece of heavy twine from his pocket and methodically bundled up the
debris. He hoisted the tidy package of limbs and trudged off to the next tree
to begin the slow process again.

“Ryo?”

The
old investigator twisted painfully around towards the source of the query.

It was
Inspector Second Class Zara Kamchatka.

She
stared at him in dismay for several seconds, “You look like crap.”

Ryo
winced as he stood to greet her, “I was a little too close to a Frag grenade
that exploded in New Rome last night.”

“At
that sleazy bar that Mac likes?” the willowy woman sat down at the table. “I
read this morning that there was some sort of drunken skirmish there.”

Ryo
gingerly lowered himself into his chair, “It was far worst than that, I'm
afraid. Liaison Agent Hugo Mackillroy was killed along with a couple of
others.”

“Mac?”
Zara's face darkened into a gray mask of dread.

“I'm
afraid so.”

After
a few minutes of silence, he continued, “A CRAMP agent and I were conducting an
Edict 343 investigation.”

The
woman's eyes grew huge at the mention of the secret operation.

“Zara;
we were set up for assassination.”

She
trembled at the sudden wave of horrifying news. “Alright;” she whispered, “I'll
do whatever I can to help out.”

Ryo
studied her for several seconds, she was tough and wilily with a no-nonsense
personality to match. Something about her had inexplicably changed in the last
few minutes.

He had
assumed for many years that Zara would eventually replace Helga Bennet as Chief
Inspector when his cranky old boss finally retired or succumbed to the endless
demands of the relentless job.

Now he
wasn't so sure.

“I
have two questions;” he intoned, “What do you know of a local bruiser named
Fritzi Wolfe and his sidekick Norman Rollo? And do you have any information
about a gang called the Goons?”

“I,
uh, well..,” Zara had an uncommon look of remorse. “It's not important.”

“Inspector
Kamchatka,” Ryo growled impatiently, “thirteen people have been killed to date,
all rather gruesomely. You need to tell me what you know before someone else is
murdered.”

Her
shoulders slumped in defeat, “You're right, I screwed up.

The
old Investigator glowered at his dithering coworker.

“About
six months ago I was poking around in one of the slums of Nairobi for some information
about the Goons. They had a small-time protection racket that was working its
way into the business district and the Warlord Syndicate asked for help from
the Inquisitor's Office to put an end to the scheme.”

Ryo
nodded.

“One
night I trailed Wolfe to a pub on Moi Street and a fairly nice looking fellow
struck up a conversation with me at the bar. Wolfe slipped away while I was
chatting with the guy.”

She
pressed her hands over her eyes, “One thing led to another and after
way
too many drinks I ended up spending the night with him.”

“Investigators
are forbidden to engage in casual sexual relations with the locals, Inspector
Kamchatka.”

“I
know,” she whispered.

After
just enough time for Zara to fret about her unforgivable misconduct, Ryo
continued, “How does this all tie together?”

She
glanced up repentantly at him, “The man that I slept with was Herman Bowie. I
discovered about a month later that he is the top dog of the Goons.”

Ryo
cringed at the revelation.

“It
was all a set up.” Zara pressed her eyes closed, “Bowie and the other Goons
knew that I was hunting around for details about their operation.” Her voice
cracked with shame, “Somehow Bowie managed to turn it all against me.”

Ryo
considered the complex ramifications of the unsavory dalliance.

Down
the street, the old black man gathered up his final bundle of twigs and
shuffled off.

“Wait
a minute;” Ryo stared in consternation at the departing maintenance man, “you
were intimate with a member of the Goons?”

Zara
nodded.

“How
much does this Bowie creep know of your investigation into Madame Sophia
Kufuzu's death?”

She
flinched at the scathing question.

“Almost
everything.”