A Hard Rain Part 8

Bell had won the second showdown.

Ghost Johnson slid down the front of the wooden bar and into a sitting position on the floor, the smile on his face still frozen in place. "It would seem that we have switched genres."

Bell moved up and stood beside Dix, staring at Ghost Johnson. "What do you mean by that?"

Ghost coughed, spitting out blood, so Dix answered for him. "A genre is an area of literature, defined by the topic in the story."

Ghost nodded. "Gothic suspense never has a gunfight in it."

"You were counting on that?" Dix asked.

Ghost laughed slightly, then coughed again. "I never expected you to see her in the first place. This is my private stage, my private narrative, my private art."

"You killed that woman as art?" Bell asked.

"Of course," Ghost said. Then his eyes seemed to lose focus. "All life is a stage, my friend."

"But before you can have art, you must first have audience," Dix said.

"It seems," Bell said, "that this audience just gave you a bad review and put you out of show business."

A gurgling sound filled the library as Ghost Johnson took his last breath and fell over sideways in a very convincing death scene.

Eight hours before the Heart of the Adjuster is appropriated Captain's Log.

We have had a possible breakthrough. It started as Mr. Data attempted to explain to all the senior staff the reason the device he is calling the Adjuster is failing. He used an on-screen graphic example of dropping four stones into a smooth pond, at four corners of a square area. He called the waves radiating from the stones dropping representations of the subs.p.a.ce disturbances.

Mr. Data then went on to explain how the waves collide in a certain pattern, creating a new type of wave that carries a different intensity and wave pattern. He explained that the patterns are traceable when only two stones are dropped. And might be possible at three. But when the waves from four different disturbances are constantly colliding and overlapping and bouncing and changing each other, it is impossible to accurately calculate what the force, intensity, and level of disturbance will be at any set point for any set time.

Thus, Mr. Data believes his Adjuster will offer nothing of value in saving the s.h.i.+p.

Chief Engineer La Forge had reported to me earlier that he also was not having much success. It seems that the Auriferite substance blocks some, but not all, of the types of subs.p.a.ce disturbances coming from the four singularities. Not enough, he said, to allow starting of the impulse engines.

As Engineer La Forge sat and listened to Mr. Data explain the difficulties of a computer adjustment to random chaos events he came up with an idea. Stopping Mr. Data, La Forge asked a simple question. "Would it be possible to computer adjust the screens with your device if a large factor of the disturbances were blocked by Auriferite?"

It took Mr. Data a very long three seconds before he responded. "It would be possible. Yes."

I ordered the two to work together and report back in two hours. We now have thirty-two hours remaining. A solution must be found, and found quickly.

Section Three: Back to the Beginning Dixon Hill stood in the ma.s.sive entrance foyer beside the Luscious Bev and watched as Mr. Data came down the grand marble staircase beside one of Detective Bell's officers. "I'm afraid, boss," Mr. Data said, shaking his head, "that we have had no success."

At that moment Detective Bell and Mr. Whelan came out of the hallway leading to the kitchen area. " Nothing, Dix," Bell said. "I don't think Ghost had your gold ball gizmo."

"We gave the place a good going-over," Mr. Whelan said.

"As did I," Mr. Data said. "No stone unturned, no rug left smooth, no safe uncracked, no bed left made, no-"

Dixon Hill held up his hand. "We get the idea, Mr. Data. I too don't believe the Heart is here."

"And no sign of Cyrus Redblock either," Mr. Whelan said. "But we did find a few interesting-looking cell areas in the bas.e.m.e.nt behind some secret doors.

"More than likely where they kept the girl," Bell said.

"So what is our next step?" Bev asked.

Dix looked at her. He had no idea what they should do next. Somehow he was sure the abduction of Cyrus Redblock and the taking of the Heart of the Adjuster were related. But finding out who took either seemed to be impossible.

"You know," Detective Bell said, "that Harvey Upstairs Benton might know a thing or two about this."

"Why's that?" Dix asked.

"He specializes in diamonds and gold. Since your gizmo is gold colored, it might be right up his alley."

Dix nodded. It might be a lead. Or it might be like this had been. Another dead end and more lost time in the search for the Heart.

"Detective?" a man said from the open front door. "We found the woman's body."

Bell glanced at Dix. "Give me a call if you need more help." With that he headed out the door and down the front sidewalk toward the cliffs.

"So what do we do now, boss?" Mr. Data asked.

Dix glanced around at his people. "We spread out and get any information we can find. We're quickly running out of time, people."

All of them nodded.

"Mr. Whelan, I want you to take two others and go see if you can find out where Benny the Banger's headquarters are located. Mr. Data, you and Bev do the same for Harvey Upstairs Benton."

"Don't worry, Boss," Mr. Data said, "we'll sniff him out like a dead skunk, track him like an elephant in mud, seek the-"

Dix held up his hand and Mr. Data stopped. Bev snickered and covered her mouth.

"I'll see if I can locate Slippery Stan Hand's whereabouts," Dix said. "We'll meet back in my office in an hour, no matter what."

"Gotcha, Boss," Mr. Data said, giving him a thumbs-up sign.

"And people," Dix said as two morgue guys wheeled the body of Ghost Johnson past them, strapped down and handcuffed, just in case. "Be careful."

"We only have one problem," Bev said, touching Dix's arm.

"What's that?" Dix said, turning to look into her beautiful, smiling face.

"How do we get back into town?"

Dix glanced out the front door at the dark, windswept night, remembering they had come with Detective Bell in his Dodge. And it didn't seem likely he was going to be leaving any time soon.

"Looks like we're going to have to b.u.m a ride."

"With whom?" Bev asked.

Mr. Data took his mobster stance. "Doll, always remember what Mrs. G-once said. "In the history of crime and its detection chance plays the chief character.' "

Dixon Hill just shook his head and headed out the door. "Come on, people. Let's go take a chance."

What he didn't say was that they were going to have to be very lucky and take a lot of chances to survive for much longer. Somewhere out in this crazy city was a small golden ball that they had to find. He knew the solution to this puzzle was right in front of him.

He just couldn't see it.

Yet.

The life of all his people and this entire city depended on him seeing the obvious, and doing it very soon.

Clues from Dixon Hill's notebook in "The Case of the Missing Heart"

Ghost Johnson does not have the Heart of the Adjuster, and if he comes back from his death, he will be in jail for a long time to come.

In this instance, the butler didn't do it, and didn't survive, at least until he comes back as well.

Attempting to reproduce art only results in poor copies and a critical audience.

I am convinced that progress has been made in this investigation, even though it feels as if the beginning is at hand again. Suspects have been eliminated.

Chapter Five.

There Ain't Nothin' Like a Dame Section One: She Smells Like a Mystery D IXON H ILL COULD SMELL HER long before he saw her. The clear odor of perfume hung in the hall outside his office like a dark cloud on a horizon, warning of a coming storm. He reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. It was as if someone had cut fresh flowers, dipped them in honey, and then run them over a wet dog.

Twice.

The cloying smell hung on everything like moisture after a hot shower. Even the stray cat batting at something at the end of the hallway seemed upset by the smell, and considering that cats love the smell of dead things, that was something.

Dix stared at the door to his outer office, not sure if he should go in or not. He had told his people all to meet here, and he was early. He had had no luck finding out information about Slippery Stan Hand. It was as if no one had heard the name before, or wanted to hear it again.

He squared his shoulders and looked at the door with his name etched in the gla.s.s. "Face this like a man," he muttered.

He turned the bra.s.s k.n.o.b and pushed open the door, half surprised the door moved easily through the thick air. Inside the smell was just as bad, but thankfully the room was empty.

For an instant he was sure he could see a lilac-colored cloud in the room, then it vanished. More than likely his imagination, but considering all the strange things happening in this city at the moment, a cloud of perfume in his office might be possible. It certainly smelled possible.

He pushed his way through the odor like a salmon swimming upriver, and shoved open his inner office door.

The sight that greeted him set him back on his heels.

A young woman, wearing a tight skirt, a sheer white blouse, and a flowered, wide-brimmed hat, sat on the edge of his desk, smoking a long cigarette in a black holder. With her big brown eyes and long brown hair swept back off her shoulder, she was the most perfectly beautiful image of a woman he had ever seen. And it was clear from every detail of her being that she knew it.

And flaunted it.

From the way she held her cigarette, to the way she draped her purse over her shoulder, to the skin showing on her crossed legs, she knew the effect her look had on men. Every aspect of this woman was aimed at putting a man off his guard, controlling that man, and getting her way.

For the second time since reaching his office, Dixon Hill squared his shoulders, firmed up his resolve, and pushed the door closed behind him.

He flipped his hat onto the wooden rack, took off his coat and hung it on the stand, and moved toward her.

"You're sitting on my desk."

"I was wondering why I was enjoying it so much," she said, batting her eyes at him, long lashes fluttering in the breeze like torn flags. Her voice was as smooth as gla.s.s, not too low, not too high, and very seductive in tone.

Dix moved around behind her, making her turn and slide off the desk to see him. "Well, I have an appointment in a few minutes," Dix said, his voice level and his gaze holding hers, "and I don't appreciate strangers coming into my office and making themselves at home."

"I'm Jessica Daniels," she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm hoping we won't be strangers."

He ignored her hand and sat down, pus.h.i.+ng his chair back away from his desk and putting his feet up. He needed to be rude to get this woman out of his office and out of his way. There wasn't time for the games this woman would play. Maybe on another day, under different circ.u.mstances, he would have enjoyed the sparring, but not today. He had to find the Heart of the Adjuster and find it fast.

"So why come here?" he asked.

She laughed at him, her laugh perfect and refined. "I was told you were a man who got to the point. I see that was an understatement."

"You didn't answer my question," Dix said.

Her lower lip extended and rolled downward as her entire face went into a slight pout. Dix was sure many men would find such an expression hard to resist. To Dix, it only made her look like she had slept on her face on a hard pillow.

He waited until she finished her show, then a few beats longer, letting the tension in the room thicken like a ripe fruit in the hot sun.

Finally she said, "I came to hire you."

"I'm busy on another case," he said. "But thanks for thinking of me."

Again the pout was back, this time with even more effort behind it. Dix had a hard time not laughing at how stupid she looked. For a woman who clearly spent a great deal of time in front of a mirror, she should have known better.

"Why don't you like me?" she asked.

"I didn't say I didn't like you," Dix said. "I don't know you."

"So why are you being so rude?"

"You really want or need an answer to that question?"

She stared at him as she stood in front of his desk. Then she started around the desk.

"Don't even think about it," he said, his voice as low and as cold and as mean as he could make it. He didn't change the position of his hands behind his head, his feet up on the desk, but he didn't need to.

She stopped in her tracks like a deer frozen in a headlight. He could see the stunned look in her eyes behind all the eyeliner. She was clearly confused. She must have never had a man treat her like this before.

She turned to face him, took a deep breath which exaggerated her a.s.sets to the fullest degree, then said, "Yes, I would like an answer."