The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort) (6 page)

Rusty smiled. ‘How wrong they were.’

‘Indeed. Now, regarding the hieroglyphs, there’s something else I want you to do, something for which your peculiar talents are well suited.’

‘Let me guess: you want me to go back to Cabo Cañaveral and steal the ninth rock book.’

‘Quite so. I need it, and I must have it.’

‘It’ll cost you.’

‘I’m aware of that. Your fee for this service will be one hundred thousand dollars.’

Rusty’s breath caught in her throat, but she maintained her composure. ‘That’s a good fee.’

‘I’m aware of that also. I would like you to begin immediately.’

‘It’ll take a much deeper infiltration than last time – you do realise that, don’t you? I’ll need to access areas of the complex I didn’t need to before.’

‘I do realise that. Open the case.’

Rusty glanced down at the attaché case, then placed it on the sofa and opened it. Inside, lying on top of the neatly-packed wads of banknotes was an unmarked manila envelope.

‘That contains all the information you will need,’ said Crystalman. ‘You will know what to do with it.’

Rusty closed the case, picked it up and began to walk towards the waiting elevator. She hesitated, and turned back to Crystalman. ‘If you’re right about the Falcon and I get the ninth rock book for you… what are you going to do?’

Crystalman looked at her, and she could sense him grinning behind his quartz mask. ‘That’s not the right question, Miss Links. The right question is: what am I
not
going to do?’

CHAPTER 7
Carter and Wiseman

Fort was asleep in bed when the street-doorbell rang. He opened his eyes and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It said 12.30 am. He waited in the darkness.

The bell rang again.

He sighed, got out of bed and went to the telephone-box by the corridor door and lifted the receiver. ‘Yeah?’

‘Charlie,’ said a tinny voice. ‘It’s John Carter.’

‘It’s twelve thirty, Lieutenant,’ said Fort.

‘I know. Mind if we come up and talk to you for a few minutes?’

‘Who’s “we”?’

‘Dave is with me.’

‘Wiseman?’

‘Yeah, Wiseman,’ said another voice. ‘Come on, Fort, open up.’

Fort was about to say something, decided not to, and instead pressed the button that released the lock. He went into the bedroom and put on his dressing gown.

A couple of minutes later, there was a knock at the corridor door. Fort opened it and said, with exaggerated innocence, ‘What’s this all about, officers?’

‘You know damn well what it’s about,’ said Wiseman as he and Carter stepped into the hall.

Fort smiled as he led them through to the living room. ‘Have a seat, boys,’ he said. ‘You want some coffee?’

‘No, thanks, Charlie,’ said Carter.

‘I think I’ll make some anyway,’ said Fort, and went to the tiny adjoining kitchen.

‘Damn it, Fort!’ said Wiseman loudly.

Fort heard Carter remonstrating with Wiseman in hushed tones while he made coffee. When he returned to the living room with the coffeepot and a mug, he saw that Carter had taken a seat on the sofa, but Wiseman was still standing.

The two policemen made an odd pair. Lieutenant John Carter was tall and lean in the manner of a welterweight boxer, with good strong features and piercing eyes, while Detective-sergeant David Wiseman would have had to lose fifty pounds to qualify as a heavyweight. His heavy-lidded eyes and flabby jowls, however, belied the fact that he was every bit as quick and astute as his superior.

‘Sure you boys won’t have some?’ asked Fort, pouring coffee and sitting at the small table beside the slightly-open window, through which a light breeze entered the room tentatively, as if eavesdropping on them.

‘No thanks, Charlie,’ said Carter.

‘You ready to talk now, Fort?’

‘About what?’ asked Fort, taking a sip of coffee.

‘About Al Capone,’ said Carter quietly.

Fort shrugged and said nothing.

‘We know you went to see him yesterday,’ Carter continued. ‘We always keep an eye on the Algonquin while he’s in town.’

‘That’s how we know you were there,’ rumbled Wiseman. ‘You arrived with three deadwalkers, waltzed right on in like you owned the place. What did you and Capone talk about, Fort?’

‘We talked about the Martian Falcon,’ Fort replied matter-of-factly.

Carter gave a small smile. ‘Thanks for being straight with us. So… what was said?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

Carter sighed. ‘Come on, Charlie! Do you really want to continue this conversation down at the station?’

‘No,
you
come on, John. What cause do you have to pull me in?’

‘How about accessory to theft?’ said Wiseman, with a smug look on his fat face.

‘You think I helped Capone steal the Falcon?’

‘Tell us we’re wrong, Fort,’ said Wiseman, leaning forward. ‘Tell us
why
we’re wrong.’

Fort sighed, took his tobacco pouch from the table and rolled himself a cigarette. He lit it and tapped ash into the ashtray at his elbow. ‘Capone didn’t steal the Falcon.’

‘How do you know?’ Carter asked.

‘Johnny Sanguine did – at least, that’s what Capone believes.’

‘Sanguine?’ said Carter.

‘Yeah. Capone wants me to help him prove it – that’s why he had his goons pick me up. He thinks Sanguine’s planning to muscle in on his Chicago territory, and used zombies to steal the Falcon so that suspicion would immediately fall on Capone. With the Diesel-Powered Gangster fingered for the heist, the Vampire King of Brooklyn will have a clear run at Chicago.’

‘That fits,’ said Carter.

‘My ass,’ said Wiseman.

Carter gave him a warning look.

Fort glanced at each of them in turn. ‘What do you mean it fits?’

‘Three deadwalkers were found in the alley behind the Algonquin a short time ago,’ Carter said. ‘Deactivated, just your run-of-the-mill corpses. We took mugshots and showed them to the security guard who survived the heist at the Metropolitan Museum. He ID’d them. They’re the ones who stole the Falcon.’

Fort smiled. ‘Yeah, but you don’t think so, do you Dave?’

Wiseman shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring true to me. Maybe Capone had the bird stolen, then cooked up this cockamamie story to point the finger at Sanguine to get him off his back.’

Fort sighed. ‘It’s a tough one, all right. Got you going round in circles, huh boys? Did Sanguine steal the bird to finger Capone, or the other way round? Yep, it’s a tough one all right. But think about this: Capone wouldn’t dispose of his goons like that – it’s way too messy. They were obviously planted in that alley…’

‘By whoever was really controlling them,’ added Carter.

Fort nodded, blowing smoke across the room. ‘If this was Sanguine’s doing, it would make sense for him to plant the deadwalkers outside Capone’s hotel; but if it was Capone, trying to make it
look
like Sanguine was framing him, he wouldn’t do it that way. It’s too complicated, too clumsy. Occam’s razor, boys.’

‘Whose razor?’ said Wiseman.

‘It’s a scientific principle, genius,’ said Fort. ‘It means that the more complicated an explanation is, the less likely it is to be correct. Capone steals the Falcon and tries to make it look like Sanguine stole it and is attempting to frame Capone? Come on!
That’s
what doesn’t ring true.’

‘And you’d know about that, wouldn’t you, Fort?’ said Wiseman.

Fort stubbed out his cigarette. He immediately began to roll another.

‘Pretty nervous, aren’t you?’ said Wiseman.

‘I’m tired and I want to get back to bed, so why don’t you two gentlemen take a hike? I’ve told you nothing you didn’t already know, so either tell me the real reason you’re here at twelve-forty in the goddamned morning or get lost.’

‘Watch your mouth, Charlie boy,’ said Wiseman with sudden heat in his voice.

Fort dropped his newly-rolled cigarette and stood up. ‘Or what, pussy cat?’

‘That’s enough,’ said Carter, ‘both of you. Charlie, sit down.’

‘It’s bad manners to sit when your guests are about to leave,’ Fort replied, his eyes still fixed on Wiseman.

‘Johnny Sanguine is dead,’ said Carter.

‘He’s a vampire – they’re all dead,’ said Fort.

‘I mean he’s
really
dead. He was staked in his apartment yesterday afternoon. Now… will you please sit down?’

Fort sat down. ‘Someone murdered him?’

‘That’s what it looks like,’ replied Carter. ‘Can’t say too many people will be sorry. In any event, word is out already.’

‘Do you have any idea who did it?’

‘We were kind of hoping you’d know something about it,’ said Wiseman.

‘I don’t.’

Wiseman turned to Carter. ‘I’m tired of this, John. Let’s take him in. Fort, get dressed.’

Carter held up a hand, and his partner fell silent. ‘You have to help us out here, Charlie. Was Capone responsible?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Wiseman.

Fort picked up his cigarette. ‘I’m telling you the truth, boys. You can take me in if you like, stick me in a cell and bring me breakfast in the morning – I like my eggs over easy – but you’ll get the same answer, today, tomorrow and the day after that. But tell me something: if Sanguine was staked in his apartment, how could Capone be your guy? I mean, that’s what you’re implying, right? An inside job?’

Neither of the policemen said anything.

‘Maybe one of Sanguine’s men was working for Capone…’

Carter and Wiseman maintained their silence.

‘Pretty unlikely, huh? Given the loyalty vampires show toward each other – especially mob vampires. So… who did it?’

‘Maybe you,’ said Wiseman.

‘Do I look like I could go up against someone like Johnny Sanguine and win? And even if I did manage to get into his apartment, how could I have got out again without being flayed alive?’

Wiseman shrugged. ‘Way I see it, you contacted Sanguine and asked for a meet. Maybe you told him that Capone was onto him, and you had some information that might be useful to him. The details don’t matter at this stage. What matters is that you managed to get into his apartment, staked him, and managed to get out again.’

Fort chuckled. ‘Details don’t matter? That could be your motto, Dave. Putting aside the fact that what you’ve just said undermines your own theory, you’re painting with a pretty big brush, aren’t you? Come on! You know that bird won’t fly – although I understand why you’d want it to. It would make your job an awful lot easier, wouldn’t it? The way I see it, you’ve got a big headache. Not only do you have to find out who really killed Johnny Sanguine, but you have to do it before a war starts between Sanguine’s vampires and Capone’s bunch.’

‘If that happens,’ said Carter, ‘the entire city’s going to go up in flames. Nobody wants that.’

Fort blew another stream of smoke. ‘I’ll say. So why don’t you boys run along and stop it from happening?’

Carter gave him a miserable look. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell us, Charlie?’

‘Nothing, John. But I promise I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.’

‘Let’s go, Dave,’ said Carter.

Wiseman smiled at Fort in a humourless way. ‘Thanks for your help Fort, what little there was of it.’

Fort raised his half-empty coffee mug in an ironic toast.

‘What are you going to do now, Charlie?’ asked Carter. ‘And if you say “go to bed”, so help me God I’ll run you in.’

Fort chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed. Sanguine’s out of the picture – whoever did it. There’s no more reason for me to have any involvement with Capone. I won’t lie to you – I’m glad about that. But that’s it, for me.’

Carter smiled. ‘I envy you.’

‘Like I said, I’ll still keep my eyes and ears open.’

Carter and Wiseman left without saying another word. Fort closed and locked the door behind them, then went back to the living room and poured himself more coffee. He sat at the table, smoking and drinking, for a long time.

CHAPTER 8
Zombie Autopsy

Fort had offered to pick up Lovecraft at his apartment on Clinton Street, but Lovecraft had declined, saying he preferred to meet the private detective at the Manhattan Municipal Building. Something in Lovecraft’s tone told Fort that his new employee didn’t want him to see the depressed circumstances in which he was forced to live, and Fort had agreed without further comment.

It was 8.45 in the morning when the bullet-nosed upway train carrying Fort glided on its single rail into the station in the tower of the Municipal Building on Center Street. The cobweb-like network of upway lines that covered New York City had been built following the Interborough Rapid Transit Company’s discovery of several Dero caverns during its excavation of the first subway tunnels in the 1890s. The entire subway project had been abandoned a few weeks later in favour of the upway system, since although the caverns had apparently not been used for years or even centuries by the Dero, the IRT’s planners did not relish the prospect of the creatures returning to wreak havoc with paying passengers.

Fort stepped onto the platform, which was decorated in the same grand Beaux-Arts style as the rest of the building, to find Lovecraft already there, waiting for him.

‘What time did you get here?’ asked Fort.

‘About an hour ago. I thought I would take some time to admire the architecture of the station.’

‘You’ve been wandering around the place for an hour?’ Fort shook his head and smiled. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

‘My favoured mode of existence is nocturnal,’ said Lovecraft as they joined the lines of office workers filing towards the elevators. ‘I much prefer the peace and darkness of the night when writing; but when circumstance requires that I be abroad during the day, I am a habitual early riser.’

‘That’s good to know,’ said Fort as they stopped in front of the bank of elevators and watched, along with the other commuters, the arrows above the doors slowly rising.

‘May I enquire,’ continued Lovecraft, ‘as to our reason for being here?’

‘I want to talk to the City Medical Examiner,’ Fort replied.

‘For what purpose?’

Fort lowered his voice as he replied: ‘The three zombies who stole the Martian Falcon were found, deactivated, in an alley out back of the Algonquin yesterday. I need to get a look at the autopsy report. Maybe it’ll tell us who created them.’

‘Will you be allowed to do so?’ Lovecraft asked in surprise.

‘The Medical Examiner owes me a favour. A big one. A while back, I got rid of an imp which his ex-wife had sent to bug him. Nasty little bastard it was. Made his life a misery.’

‘How did she…?’

‘Hired a wizard in the Bronx. I took care of the imp without having it bounce back on him. Now he owes me a favour, too.’

‘Are
you
a wizard, Mr Fort?’

‘Charlie.’

‘Sorry… Charlie?’

‘Not as such, but I do know a little Magick. I can take care of myself on that score.’

The elevator arrived, and Lovecraft and Fort squeezed themselves in amongst the commuters. Lovecraft opened his mouth to say something else, but Fort gave him a warning look, and he closed it again.

They left the elevator on the fifth floor, and Fort led the way along several crowded corridors. In spite of his greater height, Lovecraft struggled to keep up with his rapidly-striding employer. The sounds of voices and footsteps bounced from the Art Deco walls and marble floor, and Fort weaved in and out of the throng with the grace of a ballet dancer.

When they finally arrived at the outer door to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Lovecraft was quite out of breath.

Fort looked him up and down. ‘Not one for exercise, are you Howard?’

‘I’ve never really experienced the necessity to take any,’ Lovecraft replied in a contrite tone.

Fort grinned unsympathetically. ‘That may change, pal, that may change.’

He opened the door and strode into a large room, one wall of which was dominated by the seal of the Chief Medical Examiner’s Office, a winged caduceus combined with the scales of justice on a blue background.

The receptionist, a bespectacled woman in her middle years with an immaculate hairdo and a no-nonsense attitude, looked up at him. ‘May I help you?’ she asked curtly.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ said Fort. ‘I’d like to see Mr Dunsby.’

She raised a carefully-plucked eyebrow. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No.’

‘In that case, I’m afraid Mr Dunsby is very busy.’

‘I’ve no doubt,’ Fort smiled, ‘with three deadwalkers in his lap. Just tell him Charles Fort would like a word.’

The receptionist sniffed at him. ‘That won’t be possible. If you’d just like to…’

‘Mr Fort?’ said a voice from the open door to an inner office.

Fort and Lovecraft turned to see a small, balding man in his late fifties, whose neatly-pressed suit couldn’t hide the fact that its occupant had seen better, less stressful days.

‘Good morning, Mr Dunsby,’ said Fort. ‘Any chance of a quick word?’

‘About what?’

Fort’s smile grew broader. ‘I need a favour.’ He nodded at the door in which Dunsby was standing. ‘Do you mind if my associate and I step inside for a few minutes?’

The Chief Medical Examiner hesitated, then said to the receptionist: ‘Miss Davenport, hold all calls.’

‘Yes, Mr Dunsby,’ she replied, before giving Fort an extremely dirty look.

‘A pleasure, ma’am,’ he said, then beckoned to Lovecraft to follow him into the office.

‘How are things, Mr Dunsby?’ asked Fort when Dunsby had closed his office door and motioned him and Lovecraft to a pair of chairs facing his cluttered desk. ‘No more problems with supernaturals, I take it.’

‘None whatsoever,’ Dunsby replied. ‘Whatever you did, it worked.’

‘By the way, this is my associate, Howard Lovecraft.’

Lovecraft leaned across the desk, offering his hand, which Dunsby shook reluctantly.

‘You wanted a quick word, you said.’

‘That’s right.’

Dunsby smiled humourlessly. ‘Now I understand why you refused payment when you got rid of that imp.’

Fort shrugged. ‘Now you understand.’

‘I thought money was the only thing that mattered to you guys.’

‘Far from it, Mr Dunsby.’

Dunsby sighed. ‘Well… what can I do for you?’

‘You can give me a peek at the autopsy report on those three zombies that were found outside the Algonquin yesterday.’

Dunsby frowned. ‘What’s your interest in them?’

‘I had a run-in with some of their pals yesterday morning in Brooklyn.’

‘What…
kind
of a run-in?’ Dunsby asked slowly.

‘That’s not important.’

Dunsby sat forward in his chair. ‘Listen, Mr Fort. I accept that you’re calling in a pretty big favour, but you have to square with me. Why do you want to see the autopsy report?’

Fort sat forward in his own chair. ‘All right, I’ll square with you. Johnny Sanguine has been murdered, and the police are looking at me pretty hard.’

‘They think you might have had something to do with it?’

‘They do, and as if that weren’t enough, they also think I might have had something to do with the theft of the Martian Falcon. Seems like those boys have got me lined up to take the rap for half the crimes in New York.’

‘John Carter is heading up that investigation,’ said Dunsby.

‘Yeah, him and his boyfriend Dave Wiseman. I need them off my back, especially since the vampire mob will also be looking for someone to blame for their boss’s death, and if word gets out that I’m a suspect, I’ll be in more trouble than even I can handle.’

‘We must also confront the likelihood,’ Lovecraft added, ‘that the police will be trying very hard for a speedy resolution to their murder investigation, before a war erupts between the Capone gang and Sanguine’s vampires. If they can pin Sanguine’s murder on Mr Fort, it’s all the more likely that a war will be averted.’

Dunsby glanced sharply at Lovecraft. ‘Are you implying that Lieutenant Carter would pursue Mr Fort under false pretences?’

‘Er…’ said Lovecraft.

‘No, he’s not saying that,’ said Fort with a quick, narrow-eyed glance at Lovecraft. ‘Mr Lovecraft chose his words poorly.’

‘I’m afraid I did,’ said Lovecraft.

‘Look, Dunsby, here’s the thing: I need to know exactly who created those zombies, whether it was Sanguine or Capone, and I need to know real fast. Are you going to help me out?’

Dunsby sighed and began to search the clutter of papers on his desk. ‘The autopsy was conducted yesterday evening. We always put supernatural cases to the top of the list: we don’t like to keep such things in the building any longer than we have to.’

‘Very wise, sir,’ said Lovecraft.

Fort gave him a look that said ‘zip it’.

Dunsby found what he was looking for and handed a sheet of paper across the desk to Fort. ‘Preliminary report,’ he said, ‘but I think you’ll find everything you need there.’

Fort scanned the page, then passed it to Lovecraft as he returned his attention to Dunsby. ‘So, no residue of Enochian Magick,’ he said.

Dunsby shook his head. ‘They had no symbols about their person, and nothing showed up on the æther scanner when we put them through it. No, it looks like they were created through other, more subtle means…’

‘Subtle enough for a vampire?’ asked Fort.

‘That would be my conclusion. Does that answer your question?’ Dunsby’s tone of voice suggested that he fervently hoped so.

‘I guess it does,’ said Fort as Lovecraft handed back the sheet of paper. ‘Capone didn’t create those zombies. Looks like he was on the level with me.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Dunsby, in a tone which suggested he really didn’t give a damn either way.

‘Well,’ said Fort, rising from his chair, ‘thanks for your help Mr Dunsby.’

‘Are we even now?’ asked Dunsby as he shook Fort’s hand.

‘Yeah, I guess we are.’

*

‘Come on,’ said Fort when they had left the office. ‘Let’s go grab some coffee. I need to think.’

They went to a small coffee shop on the far side of the building and sat at a table. Fort watched, frowning, as Lovecraft put four spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee.

‘Bit of a sweet tooth, huh?’

Lovecraft nodded, stirring his coffee with agitated little flicks of his spoon. He took a sip, grimaced and added another spoonful. ‘Did the autopsy report confirm your assumptions?’ he asked.

‘Pretty much,’ Fort nodded. ‘Æther scanners don’t lie. If those zombies had been created with Enochian Magick, which Capone favours, the psychic residue would have shown up in the readings.’

‘So the likeliest explanation remains that Sanguine was responsible for the theft of the Martian Falcon.’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why Sanguine was offed.’

‘Some internal problem in his gang?’ suggested Lovecraft.

Fort shook his head. ‘Pretty unlikely. Sanguine was by far the most powerful amongst his bunch. None of them would have had the moxie to go up against him, even if they’d wanted to.’

‘Then surely Capone must be behind it.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, either,’ said Fort. ‘Or rather, it
would
have made sense if he hadn’t brought me in. I mean, why do so if he intended to off Sanguine all along?’

‘Perhaps he changed his mind after speaking with you.’

‘No,’ said Fort. ‘He wouldn’t have changed his plan so quickly. Something else is going on, Howard. There’s a big piece of the picture which we’re not seeing.’

‘You think someone else is involved in this affair? Someone whose identity is unknown to us?’

‘Yeah,’ said Fort miserably. ‘That’s what I think.’