No Rest 4 Wicked Botniks Chapter 24

Bobby Malone #12: Bad Deals

Tyler B. Morrison

Apr 13, 2024

Available for iOS and Android

NO REST 4 WICKED BOTNIKS

CHAPTER 24 Bobby Malone #12:

Bad Deals

Bobby, flanked by Abner and Bish, watched with increasing anxiety as the old Professor himself, Mr. Harry Hoyle, proceeded to speak through the hologram. “Mr. Malone,” said Hoyle, his voice cold but strangely genteel. “I have known you for several years now. Eight, to be exact. And in all that time, you have lived on my side of town. In the past, I considered you to be a good influence on my side of town. At least, your detective work was, anyway…”

Hoyle opened a bottle of his signature brandy, Olde English, and poured himself a drink. Bobby took in every detail with grim attention. Harry certainly had a rapt audience. After taking a few more sips and puffing a few more times, the old man continued: “That is all in the past. Let us talk about the present, by which I mean, Tonight.

“Tonight, on this night, you were not on my side of town. You were clearly in Russian territory, and you were not minding your manners. And what’s more, you knew it. Now you are directly responsible for the deaths of five Russians, all of them Bratva, all of them men with close ties to the Butcher. And, more importantly, you are also directly responsible for the serious injury of Alyosha Lutsenko, the Butcher’s favorite grandson. He was gravely wounded, and he may not make it.”

The Professor waited for a response.

Bobby squirmed in place, as much as the Plastifast chem-glue would allow. He wasn’t directly responsible. There was no way he should be held accountable for that massacre. That was botniks, all the way!

“No,” he said quietly, looking directly into Harry’s gray eyes.

“Yes!” said the Professor. “It’s too early to tell for Alyosha. The Russians’ autodocs got to him quickly and gave him some basic care. Fyodor’s private physicians are still working on him now. Indeed, the boy may yet live… or the boy may die.”

He let that sink in for a moment. His meaning was clear. Bobby might live or die too, depending on his responses.

Mr. Hoyle took a long swig and dragged on his cigarette before he continued. ”Now, I have also spoken with a young Japanese man, a slicer who assured me you had the best of intentions at the time, and things merely got out of hand. You owe your life to his call. At least until this moment, you had a guardian angel watching out for you.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. A Japanese slicer had spoken for him? He didn’t know any slicers, Japanese or otherwise. But the botnik at the bar sure seemed to have gone haywire there at the end, killing the Russians instead of protecting them. Maybe it had been remotely taken over, and maybe by this unknown slicer.

Bobby decided to voice his thoughts. “I don’t know any Japanese slicers,” he said. “So who was he?”

Hoyle shrugged. “Just some concerned citizen from downtown. He claimed to have some private interest in your wellbeing. Why, I can’t possibly say. I didn’t push it any further. You know about as much as I do in this matter.” Hoyle pushed his little glasses up higher on his nose and stared down at Bobby through them. “But that is besides the point. The point you must understand is this: I and I alone control your fate, Mr. Malone. But before I decide that fate, I want to ask you some questions. You are going to give me prompt and straight answers. If you take too long to respond, or if I dislike your answers for any reason, then my two associates there will help to… lubricate your responses, with serious bodily harm. It’s what they’re good at, after all.”

Bobby glanced sideways at Bish, who smiled grimly, then turned back to the hologram and nodded.

“Good,” said Mr. Hoyle. “I’m glad you understand the importance of this conversation.”

“So what do you want to know?” asked Bobby.

“Why,” said the Professor. “Why did you go to Moscowtown tonight? Why did you end up in the Zadnitsa? And what could have possibly possessed you to step into that bar and cause the bloody ruckus that I am still having to mop up?”

Bobby shrugged. “I was on a case,” he replied.

Harry Hoyle tilted his head sideways, like an owl. “What case?”

“I’m working for a young lady, a widowed fiancee by the name of Allimay Jackson. Her beaux, Esteban Hill, ended up in a drug deal a little over a week ago. And that drug deal ended in an absolute clusterfuck, with everyone extremely dead. The dealer and the buyer were both flatlined, and well more than flatlined. It was overkill. Even the dealer’s botnik muscle was turned into so many scrap parts. Ms. Jackson paid me to find out who was responsible.”

There bloomed an intense light in Harry Hoyle’s eyes. His mouth twitched into a deeper frown, if that was possible. “Where did this occur?”

“On the corner of Murray and Fifth, a few blocks from the Rusty Schooner. In the Zadnitsa and the Russians’ control, but not so far from the start of Japanese turf.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Hoyle. Less an answer, and more of a question. Bobby could see the eager, hungry light in the old man’s eyes blaze brighter. “You’ve named the buyer. But who was the dealer?”

Bobby shrugged. “Some small-time Russian lowlife. First name Danylets. I never got a last name. He’s why I went to the bar tonight. I wanted to shake a few leaves in the Bratva bush, but only just a little. I was just trying to find out if the murders were an internal Russian matter, or if I needed to look elsewhere for the culprits.”

“You slapped the Russian bear, is what you did.”

Bobby found his gumption. “I never got to ask a single fucking question! I offered money for a little info. I made it clear I wasn’t looking for trouble. The bartender was the one that chose violence, not me.”

Mr. Hoyle put out the stub of his cigarette in a silver ashtray and immediately reached for another smoke and lit up. “The Russians hardly see it that way. As I said, you slapped the bear. But more to the point, that bartender had good reason to be on edge.”

Bobby clenched his teeth. “And what reason is that?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Bobby had put too much heat into the question. He had to tread very carefully here. His life depended on it.

“I’m the one asking the questions here, Mr. Malone,” Hoyle said, his tone grave. “However, I will happily supply the answer to your query.” he cleared his throat. “The Russians are on edge for the same reason the Japanese are on edge, for the same reason as my people, and the cartel, and all the various bangers and gangsters in all the districts of this city are.”

Bobby’s eyebrows lifted.

Hoyle had caught his expression. “Yes,” the old man said. “There’s more than a little trouble brewing in Envy. The city is on the verge of a catastrophe.” He finished the last of his drink in a long, slow swig and then poured himself another. “The reason is this: that little drug deal you’re investigating isn’t the first to go exceptionally, colorfully… wrong. It’s merely one of the latest.”

Bobby’s eyebrows lifted again.

“Yesss,” Mr. Hoyle practically hissed. “Over the last forty five days there have been eighteen different… incidents, like the one you are investigating. And more and more frequently, in just the last three weeks. Drug deals… turned into bloodbaths. The dealers and buyers, emphatically dead. Slaughtered. And any robotic protection they had, scrapped. This hasn’t just happened to the Russians. Every outfit in the city has been hit. No one knows who is behind it. Most of the murders took place on the borderlines between rival territories. That’s why everyone’s hackles are up. Everyone’s blood is up. The simplest answer is that someone is working in secret to break the Truce.”

Bobby whistled. The Sixty-Gang Truce had lasted for over twenty years, ever since the last all-out gang war. It was an unwritten but no less official treaty agreed upon by all of the criminal outfits in Envy City. The Truce established which organizations and leaders had a seat at the proverbial table. More importantly, it established the criminal territories of the city, the boundaries in the districts to be respected by all. And finally it made clear the rules of conduct by which each organization was bound.

Everyone was to honor the lines set out by the Truce, and each outfit held exclusive rule over all the shady people and enterprises in its own fiefdom. Each was free to do as they wished, so long as they didn’t mess in any way with the business of another outfit. When justice had to be meted out, the Big Six had rule over their own people. But if an offender from another territory pissed off one of the Big Six, the leaders needed to ask permission from their colleagues on the other side to execute him on their turf, or to demand the wrongdoer be punished by his own outfit.

If any organization disrespected the boundaries and tried to make money in a neighboring territory, or worse, tried to start a turf war with a neighboring outfit, all the gangs in the city were bound to work together to take them out and make an example of them. In short, the Sixty-Gang Truce was what kept the wheels rolling and the money flowing in Envy City. It made business look more like business and less like chaos and war. The Truce kept the flying bullets and stabbing knives to a minimum; it maintained order and the peace.

If any one of the gangs was trying to circumvent the Truce by secretly ambushing a rival’s drug deals, it would amount to declaring suicide, as all the other organizations would be honor-bound to destroy them. Hell, the cartel was the least respected outfit now and held the smallest little sliver of the city, all for some small-time territorial beefing with Hoyle’s Natives over a decade ago. You just did not break the Truce.

Bobby’s whistle drew a thoughtful expression from Mr. Hoyle. “Good. I’m glad you understand the gravity of this situation,” said the old man. “The outfits have kept most of the news out of the press, but sooner or later some journalist with more drive than sense will break the story wide open. And then our customers and the straight citizens everywhere will get nervous, maybe even panic. What’s more, this is an election year, Mr. Malone, and even the slightest hint of another gang war will weaken our position with city hall and all the dozens of dirty pols and crooked coppers we’re currently greasing to turn a blind eye. Hell, the police will be forced to actually do their damned jobs. And no one wants that.”

Bobby wanted to scratch his chin, but his arms were still glued to the chair. “Well,” he said, “no one wants that… except whoever is behind all these murders.”

“Precisely,” said the Professor.

“And every outfit was hit, like you said. So it’s doubtful one of the gangs is behind it, unless the massacres on their side were just acceptable losses and subterfuge. Hell, maybe it’s two or more outfits working together. Maybe some of the Big Six think it’s past time they were even bigger. Or it could be another player entirely, one who would somehow benefit from another gang war.”

Hoyle spread his arms out, palms up. “Now you see the predicament we are all in. These murders are waking up old tensions, old frictions and rivalries. It’s making everyone paranoid. Everyone is sharpening knives and counting bullets. Unless the real culprit is found and soon, the pot will boil over of its own accord. The powder keg will explode. And who knows who will still be standing when the dust finally settles.”

Bobby’s head swam. This was all too much for him. Ignorance really was bliss.

Bobby cleared his throat and then asked quietly, “So, Mr. Hoyle, what do you want from me, sir?”

Harry the Professor grinned like a shark. “Oh, haven’t you guessed by now?” He finished his drink and banged the glass loudly on the table. “Mr. Malone, I want you to keep working your case. Find the culprit. Find out who is responsible for your drug deal gone wrong. Find out who is responsible for all of the bad deals. Solve the mystery. And then report your findings back to me.”

Bobby choked out a harsh coughing laugh and grinned despite himself. “Oh, is that all, sir?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“Not quite,” said Mr. Hoyle. “There is the matter of properly motivating you. Carrot and stick.”

The old man drew a long drag from his cigarette and then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “You currently owe me a little over 45,000 bluebacks. If you are able to solve the case, I will completely forgive all your debts to me. I will even give you a substantial line of credit going forward. Not 45,000 stars of credit, but substantial nonetheless.”

Bobby’s mouth hung open. He closed it with a little clack of his teeth. He would never get a better deal from Mr. Hoyle, or any other gangster or loan shark, for that matter. The possibility of being free, in the clear, no financial burdens weighing down his shoulders and soul made him feel more than a little light-headed.

But then he thought about it a little more, and a frown formed on his face. Clearing his debts was only the positive reinforcement. What negative lay in wait?

Bobby whistled again. “That’s an awfully big carrot, sir,” he said, nodding his head repeatedly in an eager bob. Then his sniffed and asked, “So what’s the stick?”

Mr. Hoyle turned his head sideways, the scary grin still stretching his face. “The stick is this,” he declared. “I have reached out to an old acquaintance of yours, back in LSR. A Mr. John Cook. I offered to pay your debt off to him, as well. I have now consolidated all your debts.”

Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat. His debt to the nefarious John Cook was the main reason he had fled the Fort and his country and come to Envy City in the first place. Where was the old man going with this?

“As I said,” Hoyle continued, “If you solve this case, all your debts are forgiven, to me, and now to Mr. Cook as well. You could return to your home country, to your home city, to your wife, if you like. But Mr. Cook still holds a deep grudge against you, and I am on a deadline. You only have five days to solve the case. Five days, Mr. Malone. If you take one minute longer than that to report back to me the culprit behind this mystery, then Mr. Cook will send his three best hitters to Envy, each with clear instructions to kill you on sight.”

Bobby began to shake. He tried not to show it, but he couldn’t help it. The sweat on his brow started running in stinging rivers down to his eyes.

“Yes,” said Harry Hoyle. “You get it now. Solve the mystery, and all your debts are forgiven. Fail to solve the mystery, and all your debts will finally catch up to you. Find the wrongdoers, and you will live as a free man. Fail to do so, and you will become a hunted man. You won’t escape. You will die. That is the stick, Mr. Malone. Be thankful. After all, I could always give you over to the Russians.”

Bobby looked up to stare at the harsh light over him. He stared and stared at the light until it blinded him. He took in a deep, shaky breath, and then let it out in a rush. And the endless night rolls on.

END OF CHAPTER 24