FIVE

 
 

RAD SAT THE CUP AND SAUCER down first, and then pulled the chair out and dropped himself into it. His hat was still damp (although no more nor less so than the rest of him) so Rad shucked it off and dropped it onto the table between him and Kane Fortuna. Kane winked, then frowned as he looked at Rad's swollen lip.

  "You're late," Kane said. He held his own dainty teacup between an elegant thumb and forefinger, midway between the table and his mouth. He waited for a response, got none, so took a sip.

  Rad pushed his cup around the tabletop for just a moment, then quickly checked his watch. "No, actually you're early." He moved the cup again, then rechecked his watch. "Yes, actually I am late. I think my watch is busted." He gave the dial a flick and the second hand began to move again.

  "Like your lip."

  Rad took a sip and immediately yanked the cup away from his mouth like it was a hot iron. Kane tried not to laugh.

  "Rough night? I thought you weren't working at the moment?"

  Rad raised a single eyebrow at his friend, and sipped more carefully a second time. "I'm not. But the city is full of some interesting folk."

  Kane laughed this time, causing Rad to smile too broadly, pulling the split in his lip. Kane's laugh grew and he gestured around the dark room with his cup.

  "You say this city has some interesting folk as you sit in this place! Nice to see a few weeks out of work haven't dulled those amazing detecting skills of yours."

  Rad held his breath and with another sip allowed the clear strong liquor to bathe his injured mouth, enjoying the sensation as the initial sharp sting dulled to near numbness after just a few seconds. He wasn't sure he'd be able to speak or eat in the morning, so for now keeping his jaw exercised so it didn't seize up seemed like a good idea. And Kane liked to listen.

  "You look like you were hit by a brick wall," Kane continued, sitting up in his chair a little to look Rad up and down. "You're wet."

  "Speaking of amazing powers of detection."

  Kane waved his hand, all the while the smile never leaving his face. Rad felt the warmth of the alcohol spread over his body, and smiled in return. You just couldn't help it in Kane's presence. Young, good looking, wide eyes and slick black hair that fell over his forehead in a way that Rad imagined drove the girls wild. Rad liked to pretend he'd been like that once, when he was Kane's age. It was too long ago to remember properly, but he knew it was a lie. A comfortable one.

  "So...?"

  Rad drained his teacup and set it rattling in its saucer, and quickly caught the attention of Jerry, the barkeep, to order a second.

  "So," Rad began. He relaxed his shoulders. The drink was starting to have exactly the effect he'd been looking for

  "So I was walking down Fifth, no problem, heading back to the office. And there's people around, y'know, the theatre crowd. And cops, of course. Plenty of cops.

  "And then I'm somewhere north of... well, somewhere, and I've got an arm around my neck and I'm scuffing my heels in an alley."

  Kane's smile vanished, replaced by an open oval of surprise. "You got mugged?"

  "I'm not sure." Rad shook his head and looked around for his next drink, which hadn't arrived. "I don't think so, anyway. Two goons in masks – like gas masks, big things with respirators, and they had these fedoras pulled down low – these two goons and me in an alley in the dark, and I'm thinking this isn't my night, but the first one asks me a question and then he doesn't like my answer, so he lays it on."

  Kane drained his cup. Jerry appeared and switched Rad's empty cup for a full one. Kane flicked a finger discreetly to indicate another for himself, and waited until Jerry had moved away. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

  "What did they ask?"

  Rad's eyebrow went up again. The drink was loosening him up. He picked up his new cup and had a sour mouthful.

  "They wanted to know about nineteen fifty."

  "Nineteen fifty what?"

  Rad shrugged, jogging the rim of the cup against his teeth, absently making sure they really were all still there.

  "Exactly. Figured it might have been an address. Can't think what else."

  Kane mouthed the number silently to himself, then shook his head and shrugged. Rad began to fill him in on the rest, but before he reached the end Kane held a hand up.

  "Smoke?"

  Rad nodded. "Blue. Thin. Gas, maybe, not smoke. No clue. He never actually fired the gun."

  "You were right about the city being full of interesting folk. G-men maybe?"

  "Suppose. You don't get gear like that just anywhere. But why the fancy dress? There are easier ways to disguise yourself. Those masks sure as hell couldn't have been comfortable." Rad paused and wondered idly whether he needed a third drink. He didn't have any plans for the following day, except to have a sore face and a sore head and to keep himself to himself. He got Jerry's attention again.

  "There was something about them," he said. His eyes weren't quite focussed on Kane, who hadn't touched his second drink yet. Rad wondered whether he actually liked the stuff, or whether he just came to Jerry's speakeasy because it made Rad happy. No, he had to like it. You don't break the Prohibition just to win friends and influence people. Or perhaps you did.

  "You mean apart from the masks and the hats and the smoke gun and the math questions?"

  Rad laughed. "No, I mean something. But I didn't get much of a chance to grill them myself, not when the Skyguard arrived."

  Kane froze. He was about to lift the teacup he hadn't touched, and for a moment looked into it – like he was reading the tea leaves that should have been there, but weren't. He downed the alcohol in one mouthful and exhaled hotly. The smile was gone and he pushed his hair off his forehead.

  "I think your friend in the gas mask hit you too hard."

  Rad snorted and looked at his cup. "That so?"

  "You sit there an' talk about an audience with the Skyguard like it was tea with Grandma."

  Rad shrugged. Maybe Kane was right and the punch had been harder than he thought.

  Kane reached down beside his chair and pulled up a slim, brown leather satchel. It was unbuckled already, and from within he pulled a stack of loose papers. They were bent, and crinkled, and rough; pages torn from a notepad and covered with small writing in black ink.

  Rad recognised them. Kane had shown them to him many times over the last couple of months. His notes from the prison.

  And then it clicked. Kane's week-long feature on the Skyguard for the Sentinel was due to end with the next morning's edition, and already Kane's star was rising on the back of the impressive piece of serial journalism. Rad felt tight in the chest and his head spun, just a little. He'd had too much to drink. That had to be it.

  Kane piled the notes out onto the table, but continued to flick through the bag until he pulled out a folded newspaper. The paper was crisp, virgin white, literally hot off the press. Kane saw Rad's look and held the newspaper, headline up, towards him. He twisted his wrist as he held it and checked his watch. "Should be on sale in an hour."

  Rad leaned forward, taking the newspaper with slow hands. The main headline was huge, stretching right across the upper half of the paper, dwarfing the masthead.

 

 

  Rad slumped back into his chair, paper in his lap. Below the headline was a mugshot, so badly reproduced he could barely make out the facial features. He didn't need to. He knew who it was. The whole city knew who it was.

  The unmasked face of the Skyguard. Deceased.

  He glanced down the column, past Kane's byline. The Skyguard had been executed at twenty-hundred hours, three or four hours at least before he'd rescued Rad from the masked goons. Not that that detail was particularly relevant. The Skyguard had been in prison for nineteen years anyway.

  "Huh."

  Kane reached over and took the paper away. "I was there tonight, Rad. The Skyguard is dead."

  Rad's fingers groped for his teacup. He knocked it at first, the hard porcelain of cup and saucer clattering together unpleasantly. "Someone needs to tell him that. He flies well for a dead guy."

  Kane grabbed his notes by the handful and began shoving them back into his bag. He kept his eyes off Rad and on the table.

  "So when are you going to get back on a case, Rad? The Empire State is a big city. There must be plenty that needs investigating."

  Rad eyed his reporter friend over the rim of his cup. "What? You saying I ran into a brick wall to give me a lip just so I'd have a nice story to tell? Is this what they call investigative journalism? Because you don't seem too interested for a reporter. Two guys in masks ask me for directions and the Skyguard – deceased – says he's following me. You saying it's all in my mind?" He tapped his temple.

  Kane sat still, trying to read Rad's face. His lip was continuing to swell, and Rad kept a hand close to his jaw and cheek, as if trying to protect them from further blows. Sweat stood out on his big bald head and glistened in his goatee.

  "You've had enough, Rad. Come on, let me get you home. You're gonna need to look after that pretty face of yours for a few days."

  Kane stood and swung the strap of his satchel over a shoulder before moving around the table and gently taking Rad's arm. Rad pushed him off and mumbled something, but Kane tried again, this time with a firmer grip. Rad slumped, defeated, and then pulled himself to his feet.

  "Must be someone else then." Rad's speech was slurring now, and Kane had to lean in to hear. He nodded and patted his friend's broad back.

  "Come on, big fella. Home time." He turned to the bar. "Thanks, Jerry."

  The red-jacketed barman nodded in return.

  "It's someone else, Kane. Someone else. Has to be," said Rad. Kane gently guided him to the steps that led from the office basement commandeered by the bootleggers to street level. Rad managed the first few no problem, but the sudden physical exertion after a few strong drinks now took its toll. But the stairway was narrow, fortunately, and Kane let Rad knock against the side. Kane slipped his head under his friend's arm and half-dragged him up the remaining steps. Just another night at Jerry's speakeasy.

  Luckily it wasn't far to Rad's office. Kane hadn't been able to believe Rad's luck when the illegal bar opened on a quiet backstreet so close to his building. Discreetly hidden in a area of the city that wasn't so much downtrodden as merely worn at the edges – dirty, just a little, but not enough to grab the attention of the police – the only real danger of detection was perhaps from a police surveillance blimp passing overhead, but that had been considered. The top of the stairs ended at a plain door which opened immediately into a sunken porch, separated from the street itself by railings and a concrete staircase set at ninety degrees. Jerry had installed an angled mirror in the overhang of the building above the concealed exit, so looking up, you could check both the street and the sky, safe in the knowledge that your departure would go undetected.

  Kane opened the door, stopped, and checked the mirror. A sea of dark buildings lit in the faded orange of the streetlights was reflected back at him. Looking past the mirror, Kane saw a cloudy glowing sky. It had stopped raining. There were no blimps tonight.

  Rad sucked in the cold outside air with a wet slurp, and pushed against Kane, not aggressively but instinctively, and straightened up.

  "You OK, buddy?" Kane slipped out from under Rad's arm and placed one hand on his friend's chest, one hand on his back. Rad was swaying and it was a steep drop back down into Jerry's den.

  Rad puffed again and nodded. Kane could see that while the cold air didn't really clear his head, like a shot of coffee it woke him up. Rad seemed to know it himself and nodded again at Kane. An awake drunk was at least easier to move than a comatose one.

  "Yeah, I'm good, I'm good. Nice night."

  Kane's smile reappeared. "You betcha. Come on. Home time."

  Rad huffed the wet air and attempted the second set of stairs. Kane kept his arm across Rad's back.

  Rad stopped. "Listen." He looked up into the sky. Kane shuffled his feet.

  "What? I don't hear anything. It's late."

  "Wait, wait... there." Rad craned his head around to Kane. "The docks?"

  Kane paused, squinting as he concentrated. It was late, very late, late enough for the city – this part at least – to be quiet, near silent. The harbour wasn't far away at all, just a few blocks, but at this time of night even the dockyards were dead.

  The sound was faint, caught on a wind blowing in the wrong direction. A heartbeat, a ticking and chuffing and puffing. Faint, but unmistakeable.

  "Well now," said Kane.

  "An ironclad?"

  Kane nodded. "Sounds it." He looked at Rad's swollen face just inches away from his own. At this range, his breath was strong enough to sterilise an operating theatre.

  "Come on. Home."

  Rad waved both hands impatiently and rocked on his heels.

  "I want to see this. No, I'll be fine. The exercise and fresh air will do me good. Really. Let's go. Home, but docks first. It's not far."

  Rad spun and tottered up the stairs and across the street. Kane almost called out, but thought better of it. Behind him the door to Jerry's speakeasy was closed and dark, no hint of the illicit nightlife within. There were no blimps, no pedestrians, no traffic. But it paid to be careful. Agents of the State could be, would be, anywhere.

  Kane skipped up the stairs two at a time and ran after his friend.