Adam Christopher - The Age Atomic

Cliff jutted his chin out to cut the air between them like an Ironclad steaming out of the harbor.

“Don’t tell me,” said Cliff in a voice made for radio, which was lucky given his face. “You’re too old for this kind of thing?”

“No,” said Rad, with more than a little hurt pride. What, crooks thought he looked old now? He squared his shoulders, which helped suck his gut in a little. Cliff’s smile opened with a wet click at the corner.

“What I was gonna say,” Rad continued, “was that it’s too cold for this. The city starts to freeze and now and again it gives a shake or two, and everyone’s in a panic. This makes my job a little more difficult than I would normally like, you see.”

Cliff nodded, his eyes flicking back and forth between Rad and Jennifer. He adjusted the grip on his revolver.

“The cold is good for business,” he said. “Good guys stay indoors, leaving the city to us. And sure, it’s cold out, but a job’s a job. I thought you’d understand that, detective. The way things is.”

Rad nodded. “The way things is,” he repeated. Then he laughed.

“Something funny?” Cliff snapped the gun up. With practiced ease the thug slipped his free hand inside his coat and pulled out a silver hip flask.

“Oh, I was just thinking,” said Rad, his eyes on the flask. “Reminds me of something everyone used to say, not that long ago. ‘Wartime’. Remember Wartime?”

Now Cliff laughed, and the laugh turned into a cough. It came from deep in his chest, and sounded like rocks banging together underwater. Rad wondered how many you’d have to burn through in a day to get a sound like that in the six months since Prohibition had been lifted.

“I do remember Wartime,” said Cliff, uncapping the flask with his teeth and taking a swig. “I fought in it. Even got me a medal.”

“That a fact?” asked Rad, knowing full well that it wasn’t. Cliff couldn’t have fought in the War, because only robots had fought in the War and only one had come back from beyond the fog and it wasn’t Cliff. The cold was messing with the goon’s head.

Cliff smiled and took another swig. “Sure. But you’re right about the cold. They say it’s going to get worse too, that it’s never going to end.”

“That a fact?” asked Rad, this time with a tang of anxiety. He didn’t like to dwell much on the problem of the Empire State’s never-ending winter, but Cliff was clearly reading the newspaper too.

Cliff shrugged. “The hell do I know? Maybe you’re all going to turn to ice like the water. Maybe they’ll figure out a way of stopping it. But what I do know is that in the meantime, I’ve got work to do.”

“Uh-huh,” said Rad. “Funny way of putting it.”

“What is?”

Rad scratched a cheek and pointed at Cliff. “ We’re going to turn to ice, or you’re going to turn to ice?”

Another swig, another smile.

Rad ran his tongue along his bottom teeth. His mouth was dry and the flask sure did look good. But his night wasn’t going to plan and it occurred to him that this was now often the case. “Crooks like you got thick skin, then?”

“Yeah. Pretty thick,” said Cliff, recapping the flask and slipping it back into his coat.

“Gentlemen!”

Rad blinked. Jennifer’s teeth were clenched against the cold, but she was looking at him with narrow eyes. Even Cliff lowered the gun just a bit.

Jennifer looked up at her captor.

“Look,” she said. “Tell me what you know. Help me, and I’ll help you.”

Cliff chuckled quietly. “Lady, you got the wrong guy.”

“Of course I haven’t,” she said. At this Cliff raised an eyebrow. “We’re both looking for something. I think we both know that time is running out, so let’s cut out the macho and get down to it. Right?”

“Hey,” said Rad. “You never said you were looking for something.”

Jennifer looked at Rad with something close to disdain. “You don’t know the half of it,” she said.

“You called me,” he said, gesticulating in the cold air. “Said to come down to an address, which turns out to be an old warehouse in a quiet part of town. Said you needed my help taking down one of the new gangsters who’ve moved in downtown — which is handy, since I’ve been on the trail of Cliff too. Said that maybe you were onto something else, something big. Only when I get here I find you need my help more than I’d guessed. So maybe you should be grateful I’m here, considering you’re the one tied up with the gun pointed at you.”

Cliff twitched his wrist. “The gun is pointing at you too, pal.”

“Cliff, look,” said Rad, “give it up. You and your cronies have attracted the attention of not just people like me but people like Jennifer, and she works for the city. It’s only a matter of time before you’re out of business.”

Cliff’s thin lips formed something like a smile. “That so, friend?”

Jennifer shifted in the chair. “Tell you what, Cliff, let’s cut a deal.” She jerked her head in Rad’s direction. “Ignore him. Let’s talk. Let’s work it out. Because you and I both know the whole city is in danger, right, and when times are tough you can’t pick your friends, right?”

Cliff seemed to consider this while Jennifer shivered in the chair. Rad saw her coat lying on the floor in the shadows nearby, a big overcoat in dark green that matched her pencil skirt. Cliff must have dragged it off her so she couldn’t slide out from the bonds holding her to the chair. Rad was cold himself — freezing, in fact — but Cliff didn’t seem too bothered, even though his trench coat and hat, and suit underneath, were more or less the same as Rad’s. Rad thought again about the hip flask. He promised himself to get sorted in that department in the morning, assuming he and Jennifer made it out of the warehouse.

Cliff had picked a good spot too. Since the citywide curfew had been canceled six months ago and the once-regular police blimp patrols halted, crooks had been able to spread out across the city, finding a goldmine of disused, empty buildings that nobody else came near and that the police would never find. The city had become a crime-ridden rabbit warren and there was no shortage of work for Rad, although at times it felt like he was one man against a multitude. The gangs were organized, running under the tight leadership of thugs like Cliff, one of the city’s most wanted men, someone Rad had been trying to get a tail on for weeks now. Rad was out of his depth, he knew that; chasing organized crime was liable to earn him a pair of concrete boots instead of a paycheck. Which was why the unexpected call from Jennifer Jones had been something of a relief.

Jennifer Jones. Rad reminded himself once they were home and dry to ask her about what exactly she did, and how exactly she’d gotten his number to ask for his help by name.

The warehouse was the size of a blimp hangar, lined with individual lock-ups, each with a roller door like a one-car garage. The floor space itself was filled with crates that Rad had no clue about at all other than whatever was inside them was packed around with straw. Lots of straw. The stuff was everywhere, all around them on the floor… which meant, Rad thought, that the warehouse was still in use. Perhaps Jennifer had found Cliff’s own little hidey-hole, the place used by his gang to hide illicit goods. Rad was just thankful it was only Cliff who appeared to be home at the moment.

Cliff sniffed and waved the gun, his deliberation over.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I think we need to bring events to their climax. And you two are something of an obstacle.”

Jennifer gave Rad a look that asked very clearly for the detective to hurry up and do something already.