Liquid Cool: The Cyberpunk Detective Series (16 page)

Phishy had a big, block briefcase in each hand and he hopped up the stairs, two at a time, with a big smile. He followed me to the room I reserved and he marched in as I closed the door. I made sure to lock it. Too bad I couldn't remember to do so at my own office.

"Okay, Phishy, I checked out what you said about the 48 hour yellow-tape and you were right."

"I told you, Cruz. I know these things."

Phishy lay the two briefcases on the small conference table and opened both cases. Guns, guns, and more guns.

"How much trouble would we get into if the police raided this room this instant?" I asked.

"None. I'm a licensed gun dealer and none of them are loaded."

"What? Licensed dealer? I didn't know that. You got a cover for everything."

"I'm Phishy. That's what I do."

I looked at the assortment before me, but he stopped me before I could pick one up.

"I got something special for you."

"Phishy, I'm in no mood for scammin'."

"No. Serious. I got some pieces just for you. You're a real detective now and you have to start building a rep."

"A rep? Am I a criminal?"

"No, Cruz. Everybody needs a rep. That's how people know if to deal with you or not. And when they do deal with you, how to deal with you."

"A rep does all that?"

"Yeah, it does. Here let me show you. I have a pop-gun."

"Pop-gun?" I said loudly as Phishy pulled out a hidden tray of other guns in one case. "Are we like in kindergarten, Phishy? Pop-guns are what we played with when we were children."

"Not those pop guns. These are the real thing."

"I never heard of that before."

He handed me what looked to be some metal wand attached to some kind fabric piece with velcro.

"What the heck is this? Phishy, I don't want any kid's toys. I could have been killed."

"Come on, Cruz. Trust me."

He took my right arm and before I knew it, the fabric was wrapped around my entire forearm. "You wear long sleeves and jackets all the time, so you'll have the concealment. Okay, let's test it. Just snap your hand think, Pop! Trust me, Cruz. Pop it."

I flicked my arm out and nothing happened.

"You're not doing it right, Cruz. You have to be serious. Snap your forearm out as if you can throw your hand like a projectile."

I did it.
Pop!

The metal wand contraption extended and I could see it was some kind of gun barrel.

"You pop it and it shoots one round--bullet, sonic, or pulse round. Whichever you like. No one will ever sucker shoot you ever again," he said.

My mind was changed and I stood there admiring my arm weapon. "A pop gun?"

"I had it made just for you. I called in real favors, Cruz."

"Okay, what else you got for me?"

"This one."

He lifted the compartment tray of the other briefcase to reveal more guns. He reached in and handed me the sweetest gun I had ever seen. It was a slim, sleek piece of black metal.

"This, Cruz, is straight from Up-Top."

"Then how did you get it?"

He laughed. "Stolen, of course. Well, I didn't but someone did and I'm like fifth in line."

"You're giving me a stolen piece."

"Cruz, no one will know. It's untraceable. They have their database and we have ours. No one shares. You know that. Besides, someone who could afford a piece like that probably has a ton of them, probably doesn't even miss it or know it's gone. How does it feel in your hand?"

I couldn't lie. "Nice balance."

"See what I mean. That is the weapon of a high class detective. It even comes with a manual."

"Manual?"

"It will take you a day to read it. And when you do, you'll be smiling like me."

"Phishy, how much are these going to cost me?"

"Wait, I'm not finished."

He lifted up the gun trays of both briefcases and started pulling out pieces. In a minute, he assembled a shot gun.

"Cruz, nothing causes some serious fear like the cocking of a shotgun."

He did so and its mistakable sound was universal and, yes, he was right. You heard that sound and you stopped whatever you were doing to pay attention.

"All three and you're set," he said. "The pop gun. The omega-gun--"

"Omega gun? You're making that up, Phishy."

"It's the gun to end all private guns. That's what it says in the manual. And the shotgun. Now you're ready for the mean streets. And the omega-gun comes with accessories if you want to use its digital features. There's this cool piece that lights up that you wrap around your leg. You'll see."

"What does that do?"

"You'll see."

"Phishy, how much? They say if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it. All this seems like something I could never afford in a million years."

"Cruz, we're friends. I'll loan you the weapons and I'll get a percentage of each of your cases. That seems fair. I know you're just starting out."

I grinned and he grinned back.

"Phishy, Phishy. Always the angle. I amend the offer. Each percentage I give you...what percentage were you thinking?"

"Uhhh."

"Be careful, Phishy."

"Fifty percent."

"Ten percent of my cases goes toward the total cost of the weapons until and if I ever pay off that bill."

"Ten percent?"

"Phishy! I'm sure you're not going to give me the ammo free and being a detective is not exactly a no-cash-needed business. There's lots of upfront costs. Like I have to go back to my office and turn it into a fortress so I never get sucker shot at again. Ten percent is it. We're all going to make out on this deal. I'll even throw in a bonus, if by some miracle I can ever pay it off."

"Bonus?" Phishy said, smiling. "That sounds good, Cruz. We're like partners now."

"Yeah, don't remind me. So we're copacetic?"

"We are, Cruz."

"Get me the total cost of these guns and don't play. You know I'll check. And then we'll lock down the terms of the bonus now, before anything gets started."

"That sounds like the plan, Cruz. I told you to trust me. Now you got the tools of the trade like a real high-class detective. Just because we live in a low-life world, doesn't mean we can't be high-class."

"You were right. I have to admit it without qualification." I reached out my hand to him. Phishy almost didn't know what to do but he shook my hand. "You came through for me, Phishy. I won't forget it."

Phishy was genuinely moved. "You're welcome, Cruz. I knew I could do it for you."

Chapter 21: Punch Judy

Sidewalk johnnies and sallies all had a "turf." For most it was a street, street corner, or alleyway. Many never ventured beyond it. But in a super-city with mega-streets, that was fine.

I knew Punch Judy would be where she always was--near the lobby of the Concrete Mama--either in the lobby or on the main steps.

"Hey!" I yelled as I neared her, marching out like some drill sergeant.

She was sitting up on the steps, smoking, saw me and gave me an eye roll.

"I got a proposition for you!"

"Proposition?" That made her stand up, and I could already see the annoyance on her face.

"I need to hire someone."

"Oh, the big detective is hiring."

"I need a secretary."

"Secretary!" she grabbed the cigarette from her mouth. "You stupid man, and sexist too! Secretary, because I am a woman?"

I was in front of her now and I just pointed at her face. "I'll remember you said that when I go hire some guy for the job!"

That shut her the hell up. I spun around and stormed back the way I came like a bull. I was mad, and I'm sure my whole presentation was poor, but I didn't care. I had to find a secretary for the office, because I was not going to leave the office reception area unattended. I need someone who looked nice but was tough and if need be could take down the next unlucky monkey who tried to shoot at me in my own office. I'd be ready this time.

I had arrived at my office and ripped down all that police crime tape in front of the door. Phishy was right; the city police put it up but never took it down. The community or landlord was supposed to do that. It was a city ordinance of all things.

My office had the same feel as the entire floor--empty, abandoned, uninviting. I wouldn't come here. It looked like you'd get mugged. I wouldn't come to my office. It gave off the same vibe as a morgue. There was a businessman inside of me after all because I was thinking the right thoughts if I planned to do this occupation for real. But only if I could address all the security issues.

I lay on the floor on my emergency work blanket from my vehicle. Again, contrary to my germophobic tendencies, right next to the tape outline of the man who got himself shot to death in my office. I had learned he was a low-level street punk. Nothing surprising about how he died. What was surprising is that it didn't happen sooner.

I heard the low knock on the door, then followed by two more. Did I forget to lock the door again? Had I been hypnotized against my will not to secure my own office door?

From where I lay, I didn't even need to move. It opened and there was Punch Judy.

Her demeanor was altogether different. In fact, I had never seen Punch Judy look amiable or humble before. She gave me a forced smile and stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She stood there, her eyes darting around, trying to decide what to say,

"Umm. Do you still have the job?"

I looked at her from my supine position on the floor, never once answering her.

"I want the job. I need the job. You caught me off guard. That's why I was rude. More rude than French people normally are. I talked before I used my brains. I want the job. I can't live like how I'm living anymore. I can't get a job at normal places because of my psych profile and criminal record. It's not fair. My record has trapped me. I don't want to be trapped anymore. If you give me the job, I'll do a good job."

She paused, wanting me to say something, but I didn't.

"So I'll come back tomorrow and start. My hours will be nine to six. I looked up the hours for other detective offices. That's the normal hours they have. Okay."

She waited again for me to say something, then opened the door. She stopped.

"What is the name of the detective agency anyway?"

"Liquid Cool," I answered.

"Oh, good. Very cosmopolitan and hip. I would have hated it, a stuffy name, or something stupid like the Cruz Detective Agency. Liquid Cool. Very nice. I start tomorrow at nine AM sharp."

She left and closed the door.

I had a secretary. A secretary with two bionic arms that could punch a three hundred man through the wall, which she apparently did on more than one occasion, hence her psych record. Hence her nickname, Punch Judy, rather than just Judy. Unauthorized activities as a cyborg will make you unemployable faster than being outed as a carrier of the Asian flu.

Let someone try to sucker shoot me in my own office now. We'd be ready for them.

Chapter 22: China Doll

"I've killed people with these boots!" was what I heard as I came out of the elevator. It's was Dot's voice and I knew it was the tone of a highly pissed off China Doll. I didn't need to be a detective to figure out why.

There was Dot, with arms folded, glaring at Punch Judy, with her arms folded. Both in front of my office.

There were those days when no matter what the city had to throw at you, you could keep your spirits up and go about life with a spring in your step. This was not one of those days. I was in a terrible mood and the Dot-PJ show only soured my mood further.

I looked at Dot and said, "She's my secretary and that's all there is to it. Deal with it." I turned to PJ. "That's my girlfriend and wife-to-be, so you deal with it. I don't care how you two do it, but do. The feud is over, starting this second. This is about business now, my business. The next time I see the two of you together, all I want to see is smiles and butterflies in the air with a rainbow above you. Do you two know how important this is to me? Do you know how much pressure I'm under? My great detective agency could easily fail. You know how many businesses start and close in this city? Do you know how many detective agencies are out there, and I'm the new kid starting out? I'm so pissed right now. Since I'm the boss, I'm just going to go back home."

I turned around, walked back down the hall, pushed the button, and got back into the elevator. I never even looked back at them.