An Ill Wind Blows Read online

  An Ill Wind Blows

  Hazzard Pay Book 5

  Charlie Cottrell

  Part One: Frame Job

  I.

  “You’ll never take me alive, gumshoe!” the man cackled before spraying the hallway with bullets.

  I turned to look at my partner, computer hacker Maya Janovich. “Did he really just say what I think he just said?” I asked, scooting along the wall to make sure I wasn’t going to catch an accidental ricochet from Mr. Guns von Bulletstorm around the corner. Wads of lead thudded dully into the wall at the turn of the corridor, kicking up chunks of cinderblock and drywall.

  “Um, I think he did, Eddie,” she said, covering her head with her arms.

  I raised my voice, hoping our assailant would hear me over the automatic gunfire. “Hey, guy wasting all the ammo, cease fire! We’re just here to talk!” He either didn’t care or didn’t hear; either way, the bullets kept coming.

  “I guess it’s the hard way, then,” I muttered, hitting a button on the tactical headset I wore. “Kimiko, you’re on,” I said into the microphone. A brief pop of sound, like someone keying the receiver on their headset, let me know she’d heard me and was in position with her team of ninja warriors.

  I had to admit, having a team of ninja warriors to order around was one of the perks of running the Organization, the now slightly-less-criminal syndicate I had somehow become the head of. Kimiko and her team snuck in behind the guy trying to kill us – a weapons expert named Henrik Gribsen – and had him captured and tied up before he knew what was happening. The guns tearing through concrete and drywall suddenly fell silent, the sound of the last couple of bullet casings hitting the floor all the sound for a brief moment before Kimiko called out, “All clear, Detective.”

  Maya and I rose and walked down the hall to the room where Gribsen was sitting on the floor, surrounded by people in dark clothes and face masks. Kimiko, the leader of the ninja team, stood in front of them, holding a small remote control as if it were a rodent that disgusted her. “So much unnecessary collateral damage with systems like this,” she said, handing the remote to me.

  “This controls all the guns, right?” I asked Henrik. He glared down at the floor and refused to answer me. I knelt down next to him and smacked him open-handed and lightly across the jaw. “Hey, cheer up, pal. Sure, you’re fired and you’re being sent to a maximum-security detention facility while we mysteriously dump all the information the D.A. will need to bring charges against you and put you away for the next few centuries, but, um…okay, there’s really not an upside to this situation for you. You’re screwed. But you’re a murderous scumbag, and I feel better getting you off the streets.” Kimiko’s men grabbed Henrik by the collar and dragged him out of the room, while a small squad of men and women in hazmat suits scurried in and began scrubbing the place and dismantling Gribsen’s equipment.

  “We can chalk that one up in the ‘Success’ column,” I said, grinning at Kimiko.

  “Why do you insist on continuing to place yourself in physical danger, Detective Hazzard?” she asked. “We could have completed this mission without you.”

  “Maya and I were your distraction,” I said defensively.

  “We did not need a distraction. Mr. Gribsen was unaware of our presence, and would have remained unaware right up until we had him under our control. This was reckless of you.” This was becoming a habit of Kimiko’s: telling me what I was doing wrong. And I was always doing something wrong, it seemed.

  “C’mon, Kimiko, things are going great!” I said, giving her my most disarming grin. It failed to work, but I pressed on regardless. “We’re getting the Organization’s less-than-savory bits cleaned up, no one’s tried to kill me – I mean, aside from Gribsen, but he hardly counts – in months, and even the APD are off my back! Chief Esperanza called me herself to let me know I wasn’t a person of interest in the murders of Dresden Crowder or Genevieve Pratt.” I spread my arms wide, taking in the smoky workroom and the city of Arcadia in general in my gesture. “Everything’s just fine! We’re in a good place right now, so there’s no reason for you to worry anymore.”

  “There’s a bounty on your head,” Kimiko replied coolly, her eyes set and her mouth a downturned curve. “I want you to take this seriously.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  Kimiko’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, ‘how much?’ How much what?”

  “How much is the bounty?” I asked.

  “Why does it matter?” Kimiko asked. “A bounty means assassins, which means we have to be careful.”

  “The price means everything,” I countered. “How much?”

  Kimiko sighed like the most beleaguered parent who ever lived. “Five hundred thousand.”

  I laughed. “That’s it? That’s nothing to worry about.”

  Kimiko gave me a significant look. It was a look that could have meant anything from I have a slight case of indigestion to Last night’s episode of Doctor Who left me feeling unsatisfied to You have to take this seriously, someone is trying to kill you, you idiot.

  “How can you be so cavalier? Someone is probably out there right now, plotting your death!”

  “Yeah, an amateur,” I responded as we started off down the hallway and out of the building. “Half a mil? That’s nothing for a hit. Professionals won’t get out of bed for less than a full million, at least, and I’m a target with his own team of highly-trained ninja. No pro wants to bother with that sort of headache. Which means we’re left with nobodies out to make a name for themselves, just scrubs and wannabes.” I stretched and yawned. “Let me know when it’s above a million, then I’ll start to worry.”

  We found ourselves outside, the cool of the evening descending with the sun. We were only a few blocks from the office, a large warehouse in Old Town on Church Street. It was a nice night, a rarity in Arcadia. “I think I’ll walk back to the office,” I said.

  “I must strongly discourage that course of action, Detective,” Kimiko said. “There could be assassins out.”

  “Pfft, who cares?” I said. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Honest.” I took off at a casual stroll, digging a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and lighting one up. Miss Typewell, my trusty secretary, had made it clear she didn’t want me smoking in the office anymore, so I had to do it outdoors. The walk would give me a good opportunity to satiate my nicotine craving. Kimiko called out after me, but I ignored her and strolled around the corner.

  Two blocks from the building where Gribsen had staged his gun show, I found myself on a stretch of dark, empty street. The streetlights on this block were out, creating deep pools of shadow in the alleys and under the eaves of buildings. The perfect place for an ambush.

  So, of course, that’s when the five assassins appeared and surrounded me.

  I take a bit of pride in being good at what I do, which does include knowing when you’re being tailed. The fact that I’d missed these five – who were all pretty obvious in their intent – was a source of frustration. Frustration I was probably going to take out on them in some way, shape, or form.

  “Detective Hazzard?” one of them – a short, heavyset individual bundled up in a thick coat and wearing a scarf over the bottom half of their pale face – asked.

  “Depends. Who do you work for?” I asked.

  “That’s not really your concern,” the assassin to Heavyset’s left – a thin woman with long, dark hair pulled up into a bun and a length of metal pipe taller than her – said.

  “I disagree,” I replied. “I mean, you might work for my creditors, in which case I’d be happy to tell you the check is already in the mail and there’s no reason to break my knees. Or you might work for the city, in which case I’d ask to see your badges. Hell,
you might even work for my mother, in which case I would ask for you to tell her I died in a fire and for you to kindly go to hell and never cross my path again.”

  “Or we might be here to pick up that bounty on your pointed head,” Heavyset said.

  I reached up and patted the top of my head in mock alarm. “No! I thought they’d filed that down!” I gave the guy a sardonic look. “C’mon, buddy, just leave me alone. It’s not worth the five-hundred grand, I promise.”

  The thin woman gave Heavyset a look. “I thought you said it was one-hundred thousand,” she said with suspicion.

  “Uh-oh, dissention in the ranks,” I muttered. Heavyset waved a gun my direction in what he probably thought was a menacing fashion. It was really just amateurish. These guys obviously didn’t know what they were doing. Granted, it was about that time I realized I was completely unarmed, so this was still going to take some finesse to get out of, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.

  “So, how’s this gonna go, folks?” I asked, digging another cigarette out of my pocket and lighting it casually. “Y’all are obviously new to this, but I’ll let you call the shots because that’s just how nice I am.” You may not be able to buy happiness, but a gun could buy you lots of respect or at least temporary deference, so I was willing to play along until the guy wasn’t pointing the damn thing my way.

  “Shut up,” Heavyset snarled, stepping up and pressing the gun against my side. He grabbed my arm with his free hand and tried to haul me down low so he could spit his words directly into my face. I allowed myself to be bent forward a bit, my cigarette gripped firmly but gently between my lips. “The bounty said they want you alive, but they’ll take dead,” Heavyset said with what he must’ve assumed was a menacing growl.

  “Oh, that was good! Excellent threat. Classic, almost clichéd, but you really sold it with the performance,” I said, grinning up at him before blowing a cloud of smoke right into his eyes. He let go of me and backed off a step, coughing and sputtering and rubbing at his eyes. It was the easiest thing in the world to snatch the gun out of his hand. Even easier to slam a fist into his midsection and double him over into a choking ball of pain. I’m no master martial artist, but I know how to land a good, solid punch. The brass knuckles I’d slipped over my flesh-and-bone knuckles might have helped, too.

  The guy collapsed to the pavement in a groaning heap. I stepped around him and confronted his four compatriots.

  “Amateurs. You’re all amateurs. Just go home now while I’m still feeling magnanimous.”

  The thin woman chuckled dryly. “We outnumber you four-to-one. Even with the gun, I like our odds.”

  My frustration bubbled to the surface. “Idiot. I’m wandering around this neighborhood at night, alone, unarmed. Have you no sense of narrative convention? Don’t you know what happens when a group of armed individuals confronts a single, unarmed guy?”

  “The unarmed asshole gets six different shades of crap beaten out of him,” said one of the other would-be assassins, a guy in an ill-fitting suit with the worst haircut I’d ever seen.

  I sighed. “You guys should read more books.” The thin woman and bad suit guy collapsed suddenly and silently. That left just two assassins, who didn’t seem to fully understand they were already seriously outnumbered and outclassed.

  “I suggest you drop your weapons and get outta here while you can still move under your own power,” I growled. The two assassins glanced around, realized their fellow mercenaries were down for the count, tossed their weapons on the ground and took off for the shadows, whimpers and a faint whiff of urine all that marked their passage.

  A shadow detached itself from the wall of a nearby building and solidified into Kimiko. “I didn’t need your help,” I said peevishly.

  “I told you assassins would try to kill you,” Kimiko responded.

  “And I told you they’d be amateurs and wannabes. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I flourished the heavyset assassin’s gun. “They were pushovers.”

  Kimiko got up in my face, her anger twisting her features into a snarl. “Take this seriously, Detective, or it will be your doom. You got lucky in this instance, but we cannot always protect you.”

  I stepped back, putting some space between us. “I get it, okay? I’ll try to be more careful, I promise.”

  “Can I trust you to stay true to your word?” Kimiko asked.

  “Cross my heart and hope some other asshole dies,” I said, miming crossing my heart with my finger.

  Kimiko subsided and crossed her arms. “We should return to the office now,” she said quietly.

  “Sure,” I said, flicking what was left of my cigarette to the ground and grinding the dog end out under my heel. “One of the most powerful individuals in the entire damn city, and I’ve got a curfew.”

  “Follow it, and I won’t be forced to spank you,” Kimiko said.

  I glanced over at her. “Was that a joke? From the stoic ninja warrior?” I asked.

  Kimiko’s features were inscrutable. “That would hardly be appropriate, sir,” she said.

  “You told a joke. I can’t believe it.” I looked back over my shoulder at the three downed assassins. “So,” I asked conversationally, “think they’ll up the bounty on me now?”

  II.

  I woke up the next morning slumped over in my chair, an empty bottle of something 100-proof on the floor next to me and a pounding in my head that made me curse the day I’d been born. I’ve cut back on my drinking – well, I don’t actively seek out getting drunk as much as I used to, which is really just as good – but there are still some nights the pull of the bottle is too strong to ignore. Dealing with the headache of the bounty on my head and Kimiko’s insistence that I take better care of myself had led me to a defiant, self-destructive drinking session. Waking up feeling like my head had been run over by an eighteen-wheeler would sure, uh, teach her to care about my well-being.

  Miss Typewell was in the anteroom, talking in low tones with someone whose voice I didn’t recognize. I didn’t have long to speculate about the visitor’s identity, though, because Miss Typewell ushered a man wearing the nicest suit I’d ever seen into my office.

  “Detective Hazzard, I presume,” the man said. I nodded, and felt like my head might fall off my neck.

  “Tha’s what it sez on the door out front,” I replied, discovering that words can stagger just as easily as feet. In fact, the full legend on the door read, EDDIE HAZZARD, PRIVATE DETECTIVE, LLC. I was told by the ever-knowledgeable Miss Typewell that the LLC was very important and made me look more respectable. I secretly suspected it was a joke at my expense, but I hadn’t had the time nor, frankly, the inclination to find out. You would think hanging out my shingle wouldn’t be necessary, what with running – or rather, slowly dismantling – the criminal syndicate known as the Organization, but I didn’t want to rely on their dirty money for my day-to-day living expenses. I had some pride, as it turned out.

  The man frowned slightly and continued, “I have a job for you.” In contrast to my own slurred, barely-comprehendible language, his syllables were clipped, precise, and hinted at a fat wallet. Everything about the man spoke of wealth in that snobby accent that only money and a diction coach could achieve. His jacket and pants were a slim, well-fitted cut in the latest style, clearly tailored rather than off-the-rack, and the pants were pressed with the sharpest, straightest crease I’d ever seen. His tie probably cost more than all the clothes I was wearing combined, and the tie bar was definitely real gold.

  I stared at the man rather blearily, trying to assemble words in my throat to rattle off as a reply. “What’s the job?” I finally managed. The man took a look at the chair sitting in front of my desk; it was at least third- or fourth-hand, worn and stained and barely recognizable as a chair. He decided it was worth the risk and took a seat primly.

  “Detective,” he said, “I wish for you to follow my wife.” He pulled out a personal computer, a matte black rectangle about the size of a deck of
playing cards, tapped a button on it, and pulled up a vid window in the air over my desk. An image of a young woman shimmered in the hard light construct. She was petite and what most folks would call curvy, not given to fat exactly but definitely on the pleasantly plump side of things. Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and an infectious smile. Her dark hair fell in waves down the sides of her face and across her shoulders. She was definitely attractive, and clearly a decade or two younger than her husband. He flicked the window toward me so I could get a better look. “I think she is being…unfaithful to me. I want you to tail her and find out if she’s having an affair.”

  “So, you want, like, compromising photos or something?” I asked, squinting through the vid window at the man.

  “Yes,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “I know it’s highly irregular, but I will pay handsomely.”

  I laughed inwardly. Irregular? Cheating spouse cases accounted for something like 65% of my cases. If it weren’t for unfaithful spouses, I’d have to take up more dangerous cases, like kidnappings and murders and things that involved people shooting at me and tying me up regularly. That happened often enough anyway, and it would be nice to get back to something simple after all the insanity I’d experienced lately. Not to mention the fact that I probably wouldn’t end up with a concussion working this case, something my doctor “strongly recommended avoiding,” as he put it.

  Actually, he said, “If you want to live to see the other side of forty, stop letting assholes hit you in the head, you moron.” He was worth every penny of my copay.

  The case would be a good learning opportunity for Maya, too. It was an easy one, the sort I’d made what I laughably called a career on before things went insane and I ended up leading the Organization. It was what we in the industry called a “Slam Dunk.”

  “I’ll take the case,” I said, standing. I’m proud to say I only wobbled slightly. “My fee is $500 per day, plus expensives.”

  The man frowned at my turn of phrase. “I think you mean ‘expenses,’ Detective.”