Lunatic City Read online

  Lunatic City

  by

  T. Allen Diaz

  Also by T. Allen Diaz:

  Procythian Reign

  The Proceena Crusade

  Lunatic City

  This is a work of fiction. All characters portrayed here are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by T. Allen Diaz. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Alvin Epps Alvinepps.com

  Edited by Stephanie Dagg edit-my-book.com

  Formatted by Steven Barclay ebookfabricators.com

  A Killer Penguin release

  Killer Penguin Entertainment

  PO Box 5891

  Plant City, FL 33563

  ISBN: 978-0-9889103-7-9

  Acknowledgements

  Lunatic City couldn’t have been written without the help of others. I’m sure that I will fail to include some deserving soul, but I will strive to include you all.

  Earl Emerson, thanks for proving that a firefighter can also become a commercially successful writer. I cannot tell you the influence that has had on me. I am also humbled that you would take the time to return the emails of an aspiring writer from across the country. I wish you good health in your retirement and success with your future writings.

  Charles Haught, we have both shared our writing with each other for years. And, while there are many different seeds for the fiction I write, those years as teens and adolescents must be some of the earliest and most influential. I miss having you in the same town and hope to see you again, soon.

  Merritt and Pam McClamma, I am truly humbled by the unconditional support and unsolicited help you have both offered me. I look forward to sporting your new stuff at my next book signing or show. I could not imagine better friends or role models. “Thank you” just doesn’t do it, but it’s the best this struggling artist can do, for now.

  Mark Liverio, thank you for being a beta reader and for taking the time to read my work. Lunatic City is stronger today because of the time you put into it, and I am humbled and grateful for that.

  Alvin Epps, your art work is amazing. I envy your talent and am so fortunate to have the opportunity to work with you. I love the way you bring these covers to life and look forward to working together in the future.

  Steven Barclay, thank you for your help formatting these works. You are wonderful to work with and I appreciate your patience and generosity.

  Stephanie Dagg, I’m very grateful for not just your solid work as an editor, but also the understanding you’ve shown for the on-again-off-again struggles of the Lunatic City project. It’s been great, so far.

  Mom and Heather, thank you both for believing in me and supporting me, even when you didn’t understand me. A big part of who I am today is because of you two, and I’m very grateful to have you both in my life.

  Melanie, marriage is so much work. You make it so worth it! I doubt I would be chasing this dream with the same vigor without your support and encouragement. Thanks for believing in me. I love you very much.

  To my friend and mentor Merritt McClamma.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  CHAPTER I

  Police work, like soldiering, consists of hours and sometimes days of tedium punctuated by moments of frantic activity. The life of a Tycho City detective is no exception.

  I sat at the table drinking coffee as I’d done countless times in my career. It was local, hydroponically grown, nothing compared to the freeze-dried stuff imported from Earth I’d once had. But, since the real stuff was over a thousand bills an Earth kilo, I was gonna have to enjoy this watered-down home-grown wannabe. Still, it put a little gallop in the heart and a twinkle in the eyes. So, I gulped another mouthful.

  I was in a second-level diner called Nicko’s, looking out at the pedestrian traffic passing below me. It was called The Floor. We called it that because it literally was the floor of the Tycho Crater and the lowest level here in Tycho City. Even when the lunar surface was bathed in light from the Sun, it was dark down here. This night was no exception. There was only the filtered neon glow from the city above to supplement the dim streetlamps and storefronts.

  The air down here was always dusty. Everything was. Our meager one-sixth G did little to keep the moon dust from being kicked up by all the foot traffic. It hung in the air and rested on every surface and in everyone’s clothes. You could get used to it, but that didn’t stop it from shortening your lifespan. It was just another joy of living here in the lower levels of the city.

  I had tried to place myself where I could have the best vantage point, one level up and across from The Revolution. The Revolution was a nightclub owned by The Lunatics, a local street gang here on The Floor. It was an obvious observation point and, my rag-tag dress notwithstanding, I would stick out to even a casual sentry. As such, I kept training my eyes into the café, like I was waiting on someone. After all, I was.

  The problem with waiting for hours on end for something to happen is that it gives you a long time to think about the events that brought you here. Police work, for all of the technology we’ve amassed, is still about hitting the streets, talking to people and good, old-fashioned gut instinct. But, there was a lot of time to think about how you could be wrong and what might be waiting for you when trouble arrives.

  It was because of that trouble that we were always supposed to work in teams this close to The Floor, but this wasn’t, in technical terms, my case, and I wasn’t on the clock. I was on my own, just like Rick had been.

  Another problem with such long periods of inactivity is that it also gives you the chance to think about life’s bigger problems, about the moments where things fell apart. I was just two hours removed from such a moment. This was supposed to be my night off. I wasn’t on call and my wife Suzanne knew that. Our daughter Maddy had been staying with a friend and we had gone out, just the two of us, for some grown-up time.

  Dinner had been nice, and we talked. It had been forced at first, but things loosened up, a little. I had been careful not to make my typical cynical observations about humanity. No dark humor, no public belching either. I’d managed to keep the cop in me at arm’s length. I’m sure she appreciated it.

  Afterwards, we had taken a trip above The Street, Tycho City’s neon tourist section, to take in a live show. It had been a talented music and dance troupe performing amazing acrobatics. The laser lights and pyrotechnics almost made it worth the month’s salary I had to spend for the cheap seats, but, hey, my marriage had been on the line.

  When we got to the hotel room I’d reserved for the night, my investment was showing a return. Suzanne had bought a lacy teddy complete with garter belts and stockings. She looked amazing. We’d left the curtains open to let the flashing neon from outside light our way.

  Even now, three meters from The Floor, I could close my eyes and see her. I could smell her. I could taste her. She’d just started to let go. This wasn’t going to be our standard lay-on-her-back-while-I-finished situation. There was energy in her movements and passion in her voice. We were
both breathing hard. Things were getting hot.

  That’s when my personal Retinal Communicator started flashing. I didn’t miss a beat, kissing and caressing her, peeling her gorgeous body out of that teddy. But the red light meant that it was coming through my personal tip line into the investigation of Rick Sanchez. I couldn’t ignore it. I stopped and sighed and rested my forehead on her thigh.

  She went limp and I knew: the spell was broken. There’d been nothing left for me to do. I got up and answered the pReC. She was dressed before I could even break the connection.

  “So, that’s it?” she said, the passion and tenderness stripped from her voice.

  I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Suze.”

  “Goddamn it, Frank!” I could hear her voice tremble.

  I leaned my forehead into the door. “He was my partner. What would you have me do?”

  “He’s dead, Frank! Your family is alive!”

  He’s family, too. I left the words unspoken and left her on the bed staring out the window, looking out at the neon night.

  I knew that would forever be the moment. There were a hundred, a thousand, other moments that had led us to this point, but this would be the one where it was forever lost. It would be that interception in the fourth quarter that ruined everything, even though there were dozens and scores of other plays made that day. This would be the day that my marriage had truly slipped beyond my grasp.

  I’d have fallen even further into my moroseness, but I caught a glimpse of my prey. He was tall and lean and stood over two meters. That wasn’t so remarkable here on the Moon. It just meant that he was locally born and raised, a prereq for The Lunatics. I could see his ancestors must have had darker skin, but down here, so far from the sun, his was pale by comparison.

  His lower face was shrouded by a kerchief of blazing reds, yellows, and oranges. His upper face was full of jewelry and tats, another Lunatic special. His were all black ink, not very elaborate. That labeled him as a Lunatic pawn. Still, he was marked, and an attack on him had to be treated like an attack on the whole gang. It was the one thing that made The Lunatics worth fearing: numbers.

  He had very distinctive metallic silver and gold hair that he wore long. The intel said his hair had a natural curl, but he kept it straight so that it flowed. It was a symbol of his status as a runner. It was said that he bragged he could turn his hair into a silver and gold streak.

  I really didn’t care about any of that. I was just glad he’d made it easy for me to ID him without his whole face. Everyone treading on The Floor used something to cover their mouth and nose to protect their airways and lungs from all the dust. That could have made it hard to pick him out of a crowd from this far away. But, thanks to his abundance of Lunatic ego, that wouldn’t be an issue.

  I dropped five bills cash for my two-fifty coffee and moved to the exit. I tried to be smooth and unrushed, but someone had to be watching, probably Nicko himself. The Lunatics owned everyone around here. I nodded at the girl waiting my table and at Nicko. He was a late-middle-aged fella who was more round than tall. He was bald with ridiculous-looking gray lamb chops. He was wiping a plate and watching me leave.

  I looked him in the eye and did my best to smile and nod. He nodded back, but didn’t smile. I didn’t blame him: I could bring a lot of trouble down on his head just by being here. After all, he had a business to run.

  I moved from the diner and onto the elevated walkway known by the locals as the mezzanine. It was four meters wide and ran right over the pedestrian walk below. There was one for each of the five levels of elevation between The Street and The Floor. I tried to blend in with the crowd and moved as slow as I dared.

  I scanned for sentries, but none stood out. That meant they were good. They had to be there. I moved down the steps towards The Revolution. It had a glass front with purple neon lights in the windows. Similar lights hanging above the door proclaimed loud and clear: The Revolution.

  Two Lunatics manned stools at the front door. Both were big, but one was huge. They were deployed to intimidate. I stepped into their shadow and felt them accomplish their mission.

  I placed the cover fee into the huge Lunatic’s massive paw. He was a mountain of flesh, close to a hundred and fifty Earth kilos. His head was shorn clean and tattooed a glossy white. A mask of red-and-black tribal tats shrouded his bright blue eyes and wrapped around his massive head. He was wearing jeans and an open black button-up over a black tank top. His jewelry was missing, a sign that he was battle-ready. The butt of a Kholer Industries SM-6 stared out from the front of his waistband. It was a compact, powerful weapon, a little indiscriminate for a night club, but there weren’t a lot of Mensa-caliber candidates competing for Lunatic membership.

  The one to my right was a little smaller and lean. His hands were long and thin, like the claws of some giant raptor. He had grown his nails out and painted them black. His face was blue with black tribal tats that ran from his white nose across to his ears. A gold starburst bloomed from his right eye. Shaggy platinum blond hair spiked out from his head. He wore green fatigue-type pants and a sergeant-striped blouse over a pale olive tank top. A metal club with a taped grip leaned against his stool.

  So, he was carrying a stick, the other guy a gun. I knew who my priority would be if it came to blows. I looked them over and really hoped it wouldn’t. I stepped through the scanner and was cleared. Powerful air purifiers kept the moon dust at bay. I pulled my kerchief from around my neck and slipped it into a pocket, like most good patrons. But, mine were for reasons other than fashion: I didn’t need a noose around my neck if things got physical.

  The Revolution was what we referred to as a compact double. The name was a reference to combining two floors into one level. This type of layout was only practical on The Floor where the lower story could be dug out of moon rock instead of cutting the neighbor below out of some of his headroom. It made things extra tight and the close-in ceilings could make you claustrophobic, if you were so inclined, but it was a good way to maximize your space and, here, space was a premium.

  The crowd was light for The Revolution. Still, there was almost no room on the downstairs dance floor. The upstairs glass floor was packed. Girls dressed in skimpy skirts and little else teased men below. I couldn’t spare a glance. I was too busy eyeing the room for threats and my target.

  I could see the interior was clear of soldiers, save for two tall, lanky clowns behind the bar. They were distracted by a trio of hotties leaning face-to-face with them. They weren’t paying attention to what they were supposed to. Good for me. It might not be so good for them later, but that was their problem.

  I moved among the crowd looking for T-Van. I dreaded having to search for him upstairs. It would be hard enough to get out of here if things went bad, but I’d never get out if I had to go upstairs. He appeared almost in front of me. He was talking to some girl wearing a shimmering silver outfit that showed more skin than it covered. She was a seven out of ten and held a neon green drink in her hand.

  I had to decide how to handle this in a hurry. The direct approach is always my favorite.

  “Hey T-Van!” I said. “Been looking all over for you, man!”

  T-Van was too busy trying to impress his lady to take in the big picture. One look at me should have told him what I was, if not what I wanted. He stood a half a head taller than me and leaned into my face.

  “I’m fucking busy here. Can’t you see?”

  I gave him my best if-you-only-knew-who-you-were-talking-to smile. “What I see is the last person to speak to Detective Rick Sanchez alive.”

  I stuck my shield in his face.

  His angry expression went slack and his shoulders slumped. That’s when I knew: I wouldn’t have to fight everyone in the room. He was gonna run.

  And, he did. He took big, loping strides through the crowd, bouncing off the constricting ceiling in the wea
k lunar gravity. T-Van left a trailed of bowled-over partiers in his wake but never slowed. I tried to stay close, but I knew better than to get too close. He was heading for the front door. Cue Ball and Raptor Claw were waiting there, and I wanted to see how T-Van was gonna play this.

  He started talking and gesturing in my direction. Some tough guy wannabe bowed up at me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but I saw his mouth make the word “fuck”. I shoved him in the chest without taking my eyes from the doorway. I pushed him so hard he was taken off his feet. He careened across the floor and into the wall halfway across the room.

  The two bruisers at the door were turning towards me. T-Van stepped back and waited. I knew what that meant: he was only going to be a factor if I started to lose. And, if I started to lose, he wouldn’t be a factor.

  Raptor Claw moved first. Cue Ball took a step back, his big hand gripping the submachine gun in his pants. So, it wasn’t going to be how I imagined at all. That was ok. Having a plan in this business is great, but flexibility is life and death.

  Raptor Claw was stepping towards me, night-stick in hand. Cue Ball was just beyond him to my right. I could make this work, but it would take speed and timing. I closed to within two meters and took two rapid steps.

  They had expected me to stop because they were so imposing. But, that’s the reason I couldn’t do that. They held all the cards. I couldn’t give them the initiative, too. Surprise dominated their features. I was gonna get the first blow.

  Raptor Claw took the pressure off his front leg, putting himself on the defensive and offering me a target I couldn’t refuse. Even Cue Ball shifted his stance. His eyes widened, maybe with a little fear.

  I smiled. Big guys are always so tough because no one dares challenge them. I just needed him to keep that pencil stitcher in his pants for a few more seconds.

  I pointed myself at Cue Ball and took two quick strides. He took a half a step back and gripped the SM-6 a little tighter, but he didn’t draw it. That’s when I turned on Raptor Claw. I kicked down on his weight-bearing leg at the knee cap. I felt it pop under my foot, and he howled in pain. Raptor Claw was on the floor before I could even turn to Cue Ball.