“Right you are, Allen,” I responded, collecting all of the papers for later reading. I skimmed through some of the requisition orders, and two things jumped out at me: the price and the supply. Stern was selling these parts for pennies compared to what the Iron Hands or GE was selling them for, and he had a lot of parts. There were far more parts listed on these sheets than were in this room.
Racketeers never keep all their stock in one place, just like a general never keeps an army in a single camp.
I turned and went back through the apartment’s main area, entered the kitchen, and tore open the cupboard. I pushed the glasses and plates aside and noticed that the back of the cupboard wasn’t flush with the wall. I grabbed my revolver, held it like a club, and hammered the wooden boards. Wires, connectors, motors, and servos fell out onto the countertop. Several hundred dollars’ worth of parts, at least, were stuffed behind one of the panels. And that was just one cupboard out of at least a half dozen.
Next, the couch. I tossed the cushions aside. Built into the wooden base of the couch were larger Automatic limbs and chassis. The cushions, too, were stuffed with silica beads and oil.
In the bathroom, behind the painkillers and blood thinners, were unmarked bottles. I opened one and sniffed — the scent of heavy lubricant filled my nostrils. This entire apartment was a racketeer’s den, and I’d have bet any money that this wasn’t the only place he owned off the books.
I headed outside to speak to the landlady. She looked startled at my appearance. The sweat pouring from my forehead and the manic look in my eyes would have been enough to throw her. “How often does he pay rent? Do people come in to see him for repairs? Do you ever get complaints about maintenance issues?”
She stuttered as she replied. “He … he’s always p-paid in advance. Never late or even on time — always early. I’ve seen quite a few people going to and fro on a monthly basis. I just assumed he had everything taken care of.”
This was the perfect cover, the perfect location, the perfect unassuming landlady. If his other apartments were anything like this one, he was a big enough force in the market to begin to rival the Iron Hands. That was bad for everyone, not just him.
I almost slammed the door on her as I turned to see Allen sifting through the parts that had been strewn about by my ransacking. I grabbed its arm and brought it outside, pushing it in front of me to explain to the landlady what we’d found. She was shocked, and while Allen spent the next few minutes trying to calm her down, I went back inside the apartment. At the far end of the living area, I stepped out onto a small balcony, into the early morning air.
The lights hanging on the Plate were starting to brighten, though the Lower City wouldn’t see their full power until around eight a.m.
This building was on 23rd Street, near the corner of 9th Avenue. The balcony offered a clear view of downtown and the heart of the Lower City. There were Packards and Fords everywhere below, clogging up a four-lane street even this early in the morning. It made you wonder how many people could really afford a car. Then again, swapping out the gasoline for Fuel Gel was cheaper than fixing a car. That also explained why they all looked half-rusted and ready to fall apart. The only upside to all the traffic was the lack of exhaust. It actually smelled half-decent up here.
The rising sun illuminated the larger buildings in front of me with a golden glow, most dramatically GE and the Empire. The street would be basked in sunlight only for another hour or so before the light ascended to the Plate. Another day in the hidden metropolis. I lit a dart, trying to calm myself. Mixing coffee, alcohol, and tobacco always made me go into a frenzy. Hell, what with the mounting stress since our discovery, it almost felt like the good old days again. It was a shame that he was gone.
That it was gone.
Then again, with all the evidence piling up, I wasn’t so sure it really was dead.
Allen joined me on the small balcony.
“I’ve coordinated Stern’s arrest. The landlady is willing to co-operate with us to prevent Stern from learning of our presence until we can apprehend him. She’ll clean up the area, lock the door, and try to be as convincing as possible.”
“Good. Glad I had you here to help. He’ll notice something is up eventually, and when he’s panicking, that’ll give us an opportunity to grab him. He won’t be very alert while he’s busy packing up to skip town.”
“I suppose it is a happy accident, then.” Allen stood silently, watching the view with me.
Yeah, the good old days, I thought. Maybe Allen and I would have some. If I decided to keep it, that was.
“Stakeout, then?” I asked, dropping the cigarette butt onto the city below.
“Of course. On our drive over here, I noted several locations from which we could see him approaching the building. Our best bet for a clear view of his vehicle is across the street, three buildings to the west. It’s a small restaurant that houses a speakeasy. Its windows face the street, giving us an excellent view of the entrance to both this building and the garage. I have his vehicle’s make and model, as well as his licence plate number here.”
Allen passed me a sheet of paper. There were notes scrawled by the woman and fine square letters and numbers where Allen had rewritten them. Both looked like gibberish to me, though in a few hours I’d surely be sober enough to decipher them.
“How do you know there’s a speakeasy underneath?”
“The door has been refurbished and reinstalled multiple times, after