Was that a hint of worry in Allen’s voice? No, I must have be imagining it.
“Either way, that’s how he does it, regardless of who you are. People who know him know he doesn’t like 90th, and that’s why he leaves them there — because someone else will pick them up.”
“I’m right here, you two.” I had to butt in, lest I hear about this all night. What a rat bastard Toby was. But I couldn’t help but smile.
“You see, Allen?” Toby continued. “That’s the smug face he makes whenever he has a bluff and people are falling for it. He’s a terrible poker player. Too bad the other humans at the table are just as garbage as he is, which is why they never call the bluff.”
“Sinclair ain’t too bad, but his bluffs are more obvious than mine,” I said. “How many times have we heard the silver gun story from ’28?”
Toby knew exactly what I meant and chuckled to itself at the remark. “Shit, don’t mention that story.” It tried sitting back, its metal plates scraping against the carriage’s interior. “Next time I hear about that time he led an investigation, I’ll toss myself off the top of the new Control Point … after I get paid, of course.”
“Of course,” I said.
We banked right and were able to get a glimpse of Lower Manhattan out of the window in front of us. The bulbs on the Plate shone down on the city streets below.
“So, Toby, how’s GE been treating you? You’re working on a Control Point, right? I never thought you’d be there; figured you’d be in Jersey or somewhere else.”
“So did I. Those goddamn politicians pushing Second Prohibition made everyone outside of Manhattan a nervous wreck when it comes to machines, so it’s ‘get the Green-eye’ or you’re out of a job. Thinking is an ability I enjoy having. The only place that takes Blue-eyes is GE, and they needed a crew to build the Control Point for their Plate expansion. And hell, if it keeps up, I’ll have enough cash to buy a bigger place than any white-collar Green-eye ever could. Maybe it’ll even be enough to keep me from falling apart, Automatic parts ain’t cheap, after all.”
“Sounds lucrative. For now, at least. But, you’ve got to miss the Force a little? Something about the garbage pay, terrible hours, and smell of death in this city made it so appealing.”
“I guess. I did run a few ops on my own, and it was exhilarating having a squad of rookies shooting up a speakeasy with me during a raid. ’Course, I went in first, since bullets need more oomph to hurt me. But, hey, we got the memories, and mine aren’t going nowhere.” Toby sat back as it clipped the barrel into the base of the gun. Though it couldn’t smile, a look very close to satisfaction spread over its metal face.
A silence rested in the cab of the Rotorbird as we all thought about the good times. Mine were crazy: drug busts, raids, heists. Hell, all of it had been exciting.
But Allen had to break the silence with its insatiable hunger for information. “Did you lead operations, Detective Roche?”
At this comment, Toby moved forward, its solid metallic eyebrows shooting up in surprise as it turned to face me. “You didn’t tell him? What the shit, man? That’s classic New York history and you didn’t tell him?”
“It, Toby. Like you. It. Not he.”
Ignoring my comment, Toby continued, half jumping in his excitement to fill in my partner. “Good ol’ Elias here ran more than a few ops — he ran the big one!”
“Toby …”
“You must’ve seen how the cops, and maybe some criminals, look at him. Haven’t you wondered why he’s such a big deal to people in these parts?”
“Well, I’ve been curious, but I couldn’t find any reliable sources on the matter. Though I would prefer to be told by the detective personally.”
I guessed I was stuck. Toby looked at me, eyebrows jumping up and down as if to say, Tell him!
I reclined more into my seat. “A few years ago, back in 1928, I ran the Morello raid, which aimed to prevent Murder, Inc.’s expansion out of New York onto the mainland. Our best bet was to hit a shop in Hell’s Kitchen that was experiencing a large volume of cargo truck traffic. We got in, mopped up, and it didn’t do a lick of good. Morello and Luciano were both down. A new boss came into power and did something worse than expanding. He doubled the Mob’s efforts in New York, leading to the fucked little city we all live in. That’s the big one. Happy, Toby?”
“You’re saying that you led the Morello case, Detective, and in doing so, caused the city to be in the state it currently is?”
Allen seemed confused, but Toby wouldn’t let it slide and piped up before I could respond.
“Hell, no! He is the Morello case. And it wasn’t just him that caused shit to spiral. Let’s be honest, he single-handedly stopped one of the biggest Mob wars in history and broke the Mob in two. He made it impossible for them to even think about expanding past the Hudson.”
Silence again, and this one wasn’t at all nostalgic or comfortable. I looked out the window and saw the line of warehouses. Sinclair was skirting the edge of the bay to stay away from FBI-patrolled airspace. He was awful quiet up there, no doubt smart enough not to comment on this subject.
“I killed Morello. My gun, his head. I ended it. That’s that. Ancient history. Drop it.”
“That was outside the duties expected of you, Detective, and you would have been reprimanded.”
Didn’t skip a beat, did it? Allen was all over the bureaucracy of any situation.
“I would have been, if I’d stayed.”
No one moved. Allen was obviously thinking of more questions
