A Hard Rain Read online

  At least knowing in general what forces we are dealing with will help in the search for a way to slow us down to a stop, and then back us away. It would seem, from Mr. Data’s calculations, that at our current speed, we have forty-two hours before the intense gravitational forces in front of us tear the ship apart.

  Section Three: Captured Dead or Alive?

  “Come on out with your hands in the air!”

  The police shout from the street in front of the Undertaker’s building echoed like a nightmare for Dixon Hill. Around him the smell of the funeral parlor closed in, as if too many bottles of bad perfume had been opened at once.

  The Undertaker laughed. “It would seem we are all going to be spending some time together.”

  “They’re not going to take us alive,” Shoe said.

  All of Redblock’s men nodded, as did most of the Undertaker’s as well. Dix didn’t like the looks of that. The worst thing he could imagine now would be getting in a gunfight with police. The second worst would be to end up in jail, with what little time they had left ticking away.

  “Sir, you have already died once today,” Mr. Data said to Shoe. “Don’t you think that would be enough?”

  “And rot in some stinking jail cell?” Shoe said, staring at Mr. Data. “I’d rather die a dozen times.”

  “Fighting the police will take you a step toward that goal,” Mr. Data said.

  Shoe ignored him. He turned to his men guarding the prisoners. “Let ’em go and give ’em back their heaters.”

  Then Shoe turned to the Undertaker. “Seems we’re working together again. Sorry for da misunderstandin’.”

  Shoe tossed him a gun, and in one smooth motion the Undertaker caught it, turned it around, and shot Shoe at point-blank range.

  Before Shoe’s body could hit the floor, the Undertaker said, “You are forgiven.”

  Silence smothered the room like a heavy blanket on a warm summer’s day. No one moved.

  The Undertaker glanced around at all the men in the room. “Now you’re working for me, and if you want to get out of here alive, follow me.”

  The Undertaker turned and headed for one side of the room where three caskets sat against a wall, their lids closed. He pulled one casket aside, showing a hidden doorway in the wall behind it.

  The Undertaker glanced back at the group of goons. “Well, are you all coming?” Then he ducked inside and vanished in the darkness.

  Dix watched as Shoe and Redblock’s men stood facing the Undertaker’s men, keeping their guns trained on each other. Finally one of Shoe’s men shrugged and moved to follow the Undertaker into the secret passage. Everyone else did as well, leaving Dix and Mr. Data standing over Shoe’s body, alone in the casket-filled area.

  “Well, Boss?” Mr. Data asked.

  Dixon Hill looked around, trying to give himself a moment to think this all through. He was convinced the Heart of the Adjuster wasn’t here. But if not here, then where? Who had taken it, and who had taken Cyrus Redblock? They were no farther along in solving any of this.

  “One more warning!” the voice came from a bullhorn out on the street. “Come on out of there with your hands in the sky!”

  Dix knew they could not afford the time stuck in jail answering questions. Finding the Heart and getting it out of this city had to take priority over everything.

  Suddenly from outside, a massive gun battle broke out, the sound echoing through the building like rolling thunder. It seemed as if the Undertaker’s secret escape route hadn’t worked as well as planned.

  “It would seem the cops have their hands full,” Dix said, smiling at his friend. “And that gives us a chance to make our own escape. Follow me.”

  Outside the gun battle raged on as Dix took the stairs up to the second floor of the building two at a time, then on up to the third and finally up one more flight and out onto the roof.

  The cold night air caught him hard, like a slap to the face. The mist and fog swirled around the dark roof, making the pipes and fans that stuck out of the black tar surface seem like graveyard monuments. The gun battle still raged in the street below, sending wave after wave of explosions echoing over the nearby buildings. Not even the fog seemed to dampen the sound.

  Flashing red lights of police cars lit up the mist in both directions down the street, making the street feel more like a main boulevard on a Saturday night than a quiet side street.

  Dixon Hill moved over to the waist-level stone wall that looked out over the alley and studied what was below. A metal fire escape clung to the side of the building, ending just out of reach above the alley floor.

  “Boss, if we go down, we will be trapped in the alley,” Mr. Data said. “The cops have the front blocked.”

  He pointed down through the swirling mist to where two police were stationed in a doorway near the mouth of the alley, firing back up the street, their guns flashing in the faint light.

  “Looks like our people got out in time, though,” Dix said. “I’m not thinking of going that way.” He pointed across the narrow alley to the next building. “See how the landing of the fire escape one floor down sticks out over the alley toward the landing of the fire escape of the other building? There can’t be more than ten feet between the two. We go down there, across, and up onto the roof of the building next door.”

  “The distance between the two platforms is twelve feet,” Mr. Data said, “to be exact, boss.”

  A stray bullet ricocheted off the building and chipped stone from the roof’s edge five feet from Dix. He ignored it. This wasn’t the time to start being cautious.

  He studied the two metal fire escape landings. Making the jump might be possible, but it would make noise, and even with the gun battle going on in the street below, noise at the wrong time would bring attention, and they would be sitting ducks on that fire escape. They’d be cut down before they could climb to the next roof.

  He studied the metal of the fire escape. He didn’t much like the idea of jumping in the dark and trying to grab on to cold, wet, metal bars. One slip and the two-story fall to the concrete would be painful, at best.

  He turned away from the edge of the building as below the gun battle seemed to gain in intensity, as if the police had brought in more men. The rooftop was lit by the neighboring lights and police lights reflecting off the swirling mist. It made everything stand out in stark shadows that seemed to flicker and wave.

  Then Dix saw what he had hoped he would see. Against the side of the area that covered the stairway were long planks, clearly used for scaffolding at some time in the past, from the looks of the paint splattered all over them. With Mr. Data at his side he moved to the material and dug out one board. “This long enough?”

  “It is, boss.”

  Quickly they carried the thick, heavy, wooden plank back over to the edge. It was wet and slick from being outside for so long. Slowly they worked it over the edge until it was hanging down along the side of the building with both of them holding it above the landing.

  “I’ll hold it while you get down there,” Dix said, adjusting his grip on the wood so that when Mr. Data let go, he could keep the heavy wooden plank in place. “Be quiet getting it across to the other fire escape.”

  “You can count on me, boss,” Mr. Data said. “Ready?”

  “As ever,” Dix said.

  For a moment, when Mr. Data let go, Dix thought the heavy wooden board would drag him right over the edge. But he managed to brace himself against the stone and hold on as Mr. Data silently went over the edge and down the ladder to the fire escape landing below.

  It seemed like an eternity that he held that wood, his hands slipping, his back straining not to let it fall. One slip and the police would see them and then, as Mr. Data had said, “the gig would be up.” In a very real fashion.

  Somehow, he held on.

  Then, as quickly as the weight of the wood had hit him, it was relieved as Mr. Data took the heavy board.

  Dix let go and leaned over to watch as M
r. Data silently levered the board out and over the alley, nestling it into place on the other fire escape to form a bridge between the two buildings.

  Then he smiled up at Dix and gave a thumbs-up sign.

  Dix motioned for him to go across as he swung over the edge and went down the wet, cold, metal ladder that clung to the stone face of the building.

  By the time he reached the platform, Mr. Data was standing on the other building’s fire escape, looking as calm and collected as if he’d been out for a Sunday stroll in the park.

  Dix jumped up on the board, not letting himself look down. Mr. Data steadied it and Dix made it across in four quick steps, not even giving the hard pavement below a glance.

  “Stand the board up on this side against the building,” Dix told Mr. Data as he started up the ladder toward the roof. “That way no one will notice that anyone got out this way.”

  Mr. Data levered the board up and stood it on the landing, leaning it against the stone wall of the building as Dix climbed the ladder. Then Mr. Data quickly joined Dix on the roof.

  Up the street the gunfight was still filling the night with the sounds of gunshots. The flashing red lights of the police cars made the fog almost blood red. Dix could see a few police bodies in the street. It was clear that the Undertaker and his gang were not going easily.

  With Dix leading, they found the way off the roof and down the staircase inside what looked to be an apartment building. On the first floor they came up behind a crowd of residents, mostly dressed in their nightclothes, standing inside the entrance out of the line of fire, trying to watch.

  “Careful, folks,” Dix said as he pushed through the crowd. “You don’t want any stray shots to hurt anyone.”

  Without waiting for an answer, or any questions as to where they had come from, Dixon Hill, with Mr. Data right behind him, went out the front door and down into the street behind police lines, running to stay low behind the police cars to make sure the now slowly dying gunfight wouldn’t catch them.

  Dix was about to turn away from the fight when it stopped, almost as suddenly as it had started.

  The silence filled the street, seeming almost as loud as all the gunshots. Tucked to one side of the street, half on the sidewalk, was Detective Bell’s Dodge. Bell had given Dix a lift in the car to a bar where Dix had been searching out a suspect in a case he called, “The Doll-Faced Caper.” Riding with Bell had been an experience Dix was never going to forget, or repeat. The guy didn’t believe in the word slow.

  Detective Bell had been Dix’s inside connection with the cops a number of times, on a number of cases. It suddenly occurred to Dix that maybe Bell might be able to give them a lead on who took the Heart of the Adjuster. And since they were no longer inside the police lines, but outside them, he and Mr. Data had nothing to fear from the cops. Dix doubted anyone who had been inside was left alive to put the finger on them.

  Dix motioned for Mr. Data to follow him, then moved up to where a cop now stood behind a police car, his gun still hot in his hands from all the firing.

  “Need to talk to Detective Bell,” Dix said. “Important.”

  The cop glanced around, gave both him and Mr. Data the once-over, then pointed down the sidewalk to the left. “I think he holed up in the second doorway there.”

  There was no sign of anyone in that doorway, but Dix just nodded his thanks to the cop and moved forward. Down the street he could see a dozen cops moving in around the bodies of what looked like the Undertaker and his men.

  When Dix reached the deep alcove where Bell was supposed to be, he at first saw nothing. Then the image came clear. In the shadows at the base of a large wooden door, Detective Bell sat, holding his stomach. Black-looking blood dripped through his fingers.

  “Call for help,” Dix ordered Mr. Data. Then he knelt beside his friend.

  Bell looked up, taking a moment to understand who he was seeing. Then he smiled and coughed. “Should have known you’d be around someplace. I’m amazed you weren’t in the middle of the fight.”

  “Don’t talk,” Dix said. “Help is on the way.”

  “Not much help for me,” Bell said. Then he coughed again, wincing in the pain.

  Dix tried to comfort his friend, but from the look of the blood pooled around the detective, he didn’t have long.

  Bell glanced up after the coughing fit passed. His eyes seemed extra bright in the dark alcove. “Dix, make sure my wife and kids are all right, would you?”

  “Of course,” Dix said, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “You know I will.”

  “Thanks,” Bell said. Then he smiled and the light left his eyes and he slumped sideways.

  Behind Dix two cops entered the alcove. Dix stood and stepped back, giving them room to check on their boss.

  “Oh, no, not Bell,” one cop said.

  “Were we too late?” Mr. Data asked Dix as they stepped back out into the dark, wet night.

  “This time around,” Dix said. “This time around.”

  A slight wind swirled the fog lower among the buildings, and the cold bit even harder at Dixon Hill’s face and hands. Especially his blood-covered hands.

  Clues from Dixon Hill’s notebook in “The Case of the Missing Heart”

  • Lenny might have been the inside man on the Redblock snatch.

  • The Undertaker worked for Redblock.

  • Detective Bell is dead.

  Chapter Three

  What’s a Castle Doing Here?

  Section One: The Long Ride

  THE COLD OF THE NIGHT AIR chilled Dixon Hill. His breath was a cloud of white hanging in front of his face. He couldn’t remember it ever being this cold in the city by the bay. But considering everything that was happening, unusual weather was the least of his problems. He and Mr. Data and the other four members of his group watched them load the bodies of Joe “the Undertaker” Morgan and six of his goons who died in the street into a white morgue truck. Two other trucks were doing the same thing with other bodies, one truck for the four dead cops, one for the bodies inside the funeral home, including Danny Shoe. As one cop said, “It’s goin’ ta be a party at da morgue tonight.”

  Dix wondered if the cop knew just how true his words might turn out to be.

  A crowd of neighbors stood on the sidewalks, wrapped against the cold, watching, like a crowd at a baseball game, waiting for something to happen. Dixon Hill half expected there to be a scoreboard on one side of the street: Gangsters: 12. Cops: 4. It looked like the game was over for the moment. The half dozen or so gangsters who had been captured alive had already been hauled off to jail.

  From down the street Dix saw the Luscious Bev, Mr. Whelan and two others heading his way. As she got close she nodded and smiled, indicating that Mr. Evans was going to make it. Now the scoreboard would read: Gangsters: 12. Cops: 4. Good guys: 0.

  Dix felt the weight of that worry lift off his shoulders. The kid had been far too young to die.

  “Thank you,” he said to Bev.

  “You’re welcome,” Bev said, squeezing his arm through his coat. “He’s going to be in bed for a few days, but otherwise fine.”

  “So what’s up next, Boss?” Mr. Data asked.

  “We’re going to make sure we haven’t missed anything,” Dix said, staring at the funeral home. “Mr. Whelan, I want you and two others to stay here until the police clear out, then search that building for any sign of the Heart of the Adjuster. There are secret passageways, so check everything, including the caskets.”

  Whelan nodded. “We’ll tear the place apart, boss.”

  Dix nodded, then turned to Carter. “I want you to take the others, except for Bev and Mr. Data, with you. Search Redblock’s headquarters in the same way. Miss nothing. We all meet back in my office.”

  “Gotcha,” Carter said. He pointed to the men standing behind Bev and they headed off down the street, disappearing into swirling fog a half block down the street.

  “Mr. Data, Bev, I want you two with me at the morgue. If
my friend Detective Bell does what Redblock’s gang did, and comes back to life, we could use his help.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Bev asked, her big eyes shining in the light from the nearby window, her breath swirling in a small white cloud.

  “Then we try to figure out what the police know, and go from there.”

  “In other words, we’re playin’ it by ear,” Mr. Data said. “Goin’ by the seat of our pants. Spittin’ in the dark. Wingin’—”

  “We get the picture, Mr. Data,” Bev said.

  “The big picture, Toots,” Mr. Data said, taking his tough-guy stance again. “The big picture.”

  Bev just huffed.

  Dix stared at the morgue truck that held Detective Bell’s body. It looked as if they were about ready to close the door. He turned to Bev. “I’ll meet you two downtown. Get there as quick as you can.”

  He walked toward the truck, and then, just as a cop was about to close the door, he nodded to the guy and climbed into the back.

  “You sure you want to ride in there, Hill?” the cop asked.

  “Detective Bell was my friend,” Dix said. “I’ll take the last ride with him.”

  The cop nodded and moved to close the big doors.

  Four bodies, covered in white sheets, filled the space on wire bunklike racks on the walls on both sides of the truck. Dix didn’t really look at them as he moved past the dead and sat down on the bench, his back to the cab of the truck.

  Then, with a shallow breath, he tried to ignore the smell of blood and death as the cop closed the door and plunged Dixon Hill into darkness.

  Seventeen hours before the Heart of the Adjuster is carried off

  Captain’s Log.

  Mr. Data estimates the Enterprise now has only forty-one hours remaining until it is torn apart by the forces from the four quantum singularities that form the Blackness. Chief Engineer La Forge believes he can keep most of the ship’s systems functioning right up to the last minute, but offers no guarantee to the reliability of the more sensitive operations. Even the doors of all the rooms and corridors are opening and closing at random times. Dr. Crusher reports two slight injuries from this problem alone.