The Most Dangerous Dame

I exhaled a stream of smoke through my nostrils. “That’s the rumor. I can’t deny or confirm, but let’s just say I’ve taken down a lot bigger fish than you, Vitto. So drop the tough guy act and fall in line or things are about to go south real quick.”

He wet his lips, blinking rapidly. “I haven’t done anything to you, Mick. What are you giving me the third for?”

I held up a finger. “One: your drugs were on their way to friends of mine. Friends that don’t take too kindly to their patrons being knocked over.” I held up a second finger. “Two: I don’t like junk-dealing scum, especially when they deal junk that targets the ladies. Got a soft spot for dames. That puts you on my naughty list. So here’s the deal: I take what I know and get my friends in the clubhouse to drop a case on you. You might fight it, but you’ll lose — either the case or a wad of dough in our so-called judicial system. Either way you’re tapped out of the comfy life you’re accustomed to.

He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Or…?”

I smiled. “Or you work for me. Specifically putting your ear to the ground and catching the word on the streets. I know you got a network of knuckle-dragging goons like Johnny Knuckles at your disposal. Put ‘em to work. You dig up anything on a murder of a dame named Scarlett, you ring me up right away. Any word on any new movers or shakers, you ring me up right away. I’m not talking about the average palooka knocking over five and dimes. I’m talking about pro triggers, someone savvy enough pull a clean sneak on city surveillance and cold enough to slit a dame’s throat and feed her to the fishes.”

“That’s what you want?” Vitto’s face sagged in relief. “Yeah, sure. I can do that for you. No need to get rough. You could’ve just asked me.”

“You could’ve just stayed on the right track and become a law-abiding citizen. But now look at you. Do the job, Vitto. I’ll be in touch.” I nodded to Benny, who joined me at the door.

“Hey.” Vitto struggled to rise. “Aren’t you gonna take these bracelets off?”

“They’ll unlock automatically in another fifteen minutes. Take a load off and enjoy the view until then.” I closed the door in his stupefied face.

“Nice work.” Benny adjusted the cuffs of his coat after slipping it back on. “What are we going to do next, Mr. Trubble?”

“Head home. Let things stew a bit.” I flicked the gasper butt into a nearby ashtray. “I guarantee by tomorrow the little birdies will be singing.”

Chapter 10: Bitter Pill

We strode into the lobby of the Luzzatti. It was the best part of the joint: gold and sky-blue colors gave the geometric patterns on the wall a touch of class. A terracotta sunburst design jazzed up the service counter, centered by a clockwork piece that displayed perfectly synchronized gears. The floor tiles matched the ceiling, save for a mosaic piece in the center shaped into the spire of a stately skyscraper from another time. The words ‘Empire State’ were embossed at the bottom of the mosaic.

“Good morning, Mr. Trubble.” Whiz stood behind the faux granite counter in the lobby, his metallic skin glimmering in the light from the twin art deco lamps affixed to the wall behind him. He was a service mandroid, and they liked to look the part. His tuxedo was crisp, his manners immaculate. His sleepy-eyed, narrow-faced features were purposely robotic, a facsimile of humanity without the creepy exactness of a synoid.

“It’s morning already?”

“Yes, sir. Four thirty-three to be exact. Is everything well, Mr. Trubble?”

“Right as rain, Ace. How’s my best gal doing?”

“Ms. Luzzatti is safe and sound, Mr. Trubble. Security sensors indicate she had an unusually restless night, however. She is awake now. You can find her in her apartment.”

“Much obliged.” I jerked my thumb at the Bear. “Benny here is a guest. He’ll need a room for the while of his stay.”

Whiz nodded. “I’ve synched a key code to your holoband, Mr. Mastrogiovanni. You will be on the second floor in room 2015, right down the hall from Mr. Trubble.”

Benny gave me a perplexed look as we entered the elevator. “How’d that can opener know my name?”

I tapped his holoband. “Long as you got one of those on your wrist, your public info is spilled to anything with a digital reader. Thought you knew that, Ace.”

He fiddled with the thick strap. Holobands come in all shapes and styles, ranging from artsy to fashionable to standard. His was a steel and tungsten version with an oversized display. “My band is supposed to be fixed,” he muttered. “It’s not supposed to be tracked by any standard systems.”

“Well, there’s fixed and there’s off the grid. Even when a band is fixed, it still has to feed the basic info or it will raise some eyebrows and attract unwanted attention. But if my instinct serves me right, I’d guess you’re hooked up with a Ghost system. Works like normal, but the moment someone tries to trace you, all info disappears from the system. A lotta wise guys use the Ghost to keep up appearances while making sure they can’t be tagged when things go south.”