THE CASE OF 

My clothes roused me like smelling salts from Hades. My head still ached and my shoulder was stiff. At least I knew where I was this time. In my apartment, on the couch.  

Moe – or his clean alter ego – was lying on the floor, his head bobbing as he listened to my vintage CDs on ear buds.  

He’d shaved, his long hair secured by a neat ponytail. He looked…distinguished. Except for the blue fleece pjs and thick black socks. “Are you wearing my pajamas?”

His eyebrows rose as he removed an ear bud. “It’s about time you wake up. I think you were asleep before ya sat down. Now, what’s yer name?”

I sighed. I could guess what was in the fridge. How many times I’d banged my head on the bulkhead inconveniently situated in front of the shower, thirteen. I could describe the layout of this small apartment with my eyes closed. However, the important things like my name and dozens other details were elusive. “Present Occupant.”

Moe grinned, flashing the gap in his now suspiciously white teeth. “Even if these are your pajamas, something you surely can’t confirm with your limited knowledge, there’s nothing else I want to wear right now. Ya know how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed the luxury of fleece, and socks with no holes in em? Besides Mystery Man, most of your clothes is black, suggesting ya might really be a ninja like I’m thinking, and yer duds are too big and definitely not my style.”

“I see, so just what might be your style?”

“Dapper. Tweeds jackets with leather patches at the elbow over a silk vest, white shirt, and jaunty yellow cravat.”  

I groaned. “So ancient college professor. I got it.” I moved, reactivating the stench. “After last night I may have to bury this couch and I really like this couch.”

“I gotta admit you are not the freshest daisy. The couch is leather. It will be just fine. So will you. By the way, I checked yer medicine cabinet. No pharmaceuticals with yer name on them, so no name there. The upshot is you’re healthy. Ya did have some over the counter painkillers, antibiotics, and expensive derma plast. So hit the shower, I’ll tend to yer wound and we can make some plans.”  

 “I can take care of the wound.” I stood. “Moe, where did you sleep?”

“In the guest room.”

“I don’t have a guest room.”

“It’s a guest room if you’re hogging the couch. Now git going. There’s a lot to do.”

Moe was in the kitchen when I was done. He’d made omelets, heavy on onions, ham, and cheese. I wolfed my portion down as Moe outlined his strategy for finding his daughter. I had mixed feelings about his plan. Some of it was sound. Overall, it required a great deal of money and a whole lot of luck. Neither seemed likely.     

Moe insisted on cleaning up, so I headed for the only other room in the apartment hoping it would yield some information about me.

Calling the jam packed, walk-in closet sized space a room was generous. Pretentious even. A cursory glance at the haphazard column of old books stacked on the floor near the office chair told me I read many mystery novels. I sat. The column swayed and the chair squeaked. A corkboard layered with dozens of old pictures hung on the white wall above the oak desk. Recon Team 6. I stared at a group shot. Our camo gear was crisp and clean. A younger me was smiling broadly and standing next to the man who’d given me the belt. I picked up a dog tag draped across a small silver frame and stared at the face grinning back at me for a moment. I didn’t know why I had Private James William Cootnay’s tags but I knew he was gone. A familiar grief settled on my shoulders.     

I opened the drawer above the chair well. There were two spiral notebooks inside, a clutch of pens and pencils, and a stash of hard currency. Strange, another flash of memory. Cash was illegal, and yet still in use in the more unsavory sectors beneath the dome. I pulled out the notebooks as Moe appeared in the doorway munching on toast and clutching an apple. He stared at the corkboard for a moment and pointed. 

“That’s Talon. Explains why you were looking for him.”  

I nodded. Talon was tall and lanky with close cropped, sandy blond hair. His smile was broad and his hazel eyes telegraphed mischief.      

“Yep, that’s definitely him, younger, no beard, and clean cut but that’s the man ya were looking for. There are twelve of ya.”

“Advanced Recon Tactical Team Six. ARTTS. Talon called us the ARTTSy FARTTSies ,” I smiled.  

Moe patted my shoulder. “Yer getting there, son won’t be long before it all comes together.” He picked up one of the notebooks. I opened the other.  

I glanced at the list of entries broken down month by month. The pages itemized my income and expenses. Absolutely none of it made sense. According to my notes, my income was sporadic. Often listed as zero, I rented the apartment from Big Fingers Jefferson for one dollar. Absurd a dollar? Who named their child Big? I spent nothing on food, clothing, or utilities. There were no payments for Babe. If I had a bank account or a credit card neither was listed on these pages. This was a joke. I flipped through the rest of the ridiculous entries finally locating a list of contacts near the back pages. A lead at last. If I could find a cell. A computer? I glanced around. “Moe have you seen a pad, a cell, heck any electronic device other than the CD player in this apartment?” Digital files can be hacked, paper can’t. Damn it, who’d, said that. And why?

“Nope, not a thing and I looked. Listen to this. I love it, just love it. Case of the Ford Falcon – A Mr. George Sandalwood hired you to find out who stole his car. It seems the car wasn’t the only thing missing. Sandalwood’s chauffeur had been stealing jewelry, small objets d’art, bits, and pieces of silver and china from the Sandalwoods for over a year. You tracked some of the goods to a pawnshop. The car was at the sky port, ready to load on an air ship destined for some foreign land. After you notified the authorities a grateful Mr. Sandalwood said payment for your services would be ready in a couple of days.

A day later, Sandalwood’s wife called to say the money was ready for pick-up. Seems the very, very young missus didn’t have the funds but she was planning to give you a bonus. George Sandalwood, returning unexpectedly, misinterpreted what was happening. Words were exchanged. An angry, rotund, and over excited Sandalwood threw an ill-fated punch. He lost his balance. Tripped over an ottoman and knocked over a pedestal displaying an urn. You exited hastily as the ashes of George Sr. settled into Jr.’s expensive rug. Long story short, you didn’t get paid.”  

“I see. What month was that?”

“July.”

I found the page. “Zero income that month.”

“Zero. Huh, here’s another entry. The Sad Case of the Missing Son.”

“I did not write those titles. Did I?”

“I’m editorializing the titles and content. Seems Tabitha Brennan's son was a lightening bug. His addiction to drugs took him down some dark roads. Eventually Tabitha’s son became a dealer to support the habit. A rival killed him. Ah…some gruesome details about the death here, and….upshot, you lied to Tabitha,” he glanced at me. “You said Derik was a good boy in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tabitha received a notice to vacate her apartment during the wake. Seems Derik had been pocketing the rental payments for well over six months and intercepting the vacate notices. You moved her into ‘The Bright’s Retirement Complex’. Hmm. I gotta wonder. If Tabitha was too tight to pay your bill, how could she afford Bright’s Retirement Complex? It’s not just expensive it’s crazy expensive?”  

I shook my head as I shrugged. “No idea.”

“You really are a Mystery Man. No income and yet ya live in this ritzy place. You wealthy or something?”

“I’m definitely something.” I tugged at the bottom drawer of the desk. It was stuck. I gave it a hard yank. After steadying the teetering column of books, I went through the drawer as Moe continued reading. 

Minutes later, he laughed aloud. “Phew, this is a good one. Trixie Drew and The Case of The Stolen Knapsack!”

I hesitated, holding a pair of black leather gloves in one hand and a baseball glove in the other, as the memory popped in intact. “Hey, I remember that one. Trixie is the daughter of the couple next door. She hid her knapsack on the way home from school one day and asked me to find it. Trixie was very creative, leaving dozens of clues for me to follow. I even used a magnifying glass to amuse her. I had to climb a tree to retrieve the backpack. Trixie is quite the climber.”

Moe was laughing so hard he was crying. “It said she paid ya three cookies for the recovery.”

“Three really good cookies and I emphasize good.”

“Don’t that beat it all, a detective who don’t even know his own name.”  

I threw the first book at the top of the column at him, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. Moe dodged the yellowed paperback with more speed and agility than I’d have expected.

“Seriously though,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “This here appears to be yer latest case – check out yer notes.”

He handed me the notebook. The last entry was three days ago.  

I read aloud, “Eagle asked me to locate Talon. He’s missed his check in time twice. Eagle was brusque, terse, that means he’s apprehensive about more than just Talon’s disappearance. I didn’t press. He’ll tell us what’s bothering him when he’s put all the pieces together. He always does. As I was leaving, Talon’s girlfriend didn’t know he had one, came by. Talon had told her to contact me if he didn’t show up in two days. He didn’t show. She’s distraught, worried her employer Miss Wang is responsible for the disappearance. Going to follow the leads Eagle and Deeanna gave me. R.F... Argh! This is so damn frustrating?”   

“Don’t rush it, the memory will come,” Moe bit into an apple. Juice squirted everywhere.

“Great, so tell me, what do I do until then? Talon is clearly in trouble. Deanna, the blond obviously, is dead. I have no idea how to proceed from here. Who lives this way? Without a single connection to the grid or the outside world. I have no income, and still no idea who I am.”

“There’s one bright light.”

“What’s that?”

“The P.E.A. doesn’t know who you are either. Otherwise they’d a been here waitin fer us.”

I stared at Moe for a moment. He was right. I glanced at the photos on the wall. So just, who was I? I rose abruptly; the chair spun away setting off an avalanche of books as I headed for the door. I grabbed a jacket before descending to street level. How long would it take my memories to come back? If they didn’t what about Talon? Would he just show up? How did I even contact Eagle? I pushed through the door overwhelmed by the questions running through my head. I was awash with grief and anger all without context.

SALLY

As we entered the service corridor, someone laughed. I held up a clenched fist.

“Who’s that?”  Moe asked as we paused.

I gave the universal sign for silence and signaled for Moe to wait here for me as I reconnoitered.   

≈≈≈

“What is so damn funny?”

“You are.”

“Why? Cause I think this cage must be something?” A slim man dressed entirely in faded black was asking the question.

“Yeah, how d'ya know it’s nice since ya can’t see it?” A small man in tattered pants, a patched, gray pea jacket, and black watch cap replied. 

“I can feel it can’t I,” he patted the invisible object as he walked. “What I wouldn’t do for a stealthed cage.”             

“Yeah, an where would you go? Take out one o’ them fancy ladies ya meet on the street?”

“Shut up ya troll. I never hafta pay for it. Sides, once Flaherty figures out how to get in, maybe he’ll let me take the cage out for a spin as a reward.”

“Sure he will.” 

The tall thin man backed up. “How’s it done?” I mean, I’m standing right up close to the car and I can’t see it. “Might have walked right on by without noticing.”

“Yeah, kind of wish I would have just walked by. Damn near broke a rib running into the hood. I think it was the hood.” The short man patted the car. “The car feels small, how d’ya think it got down here?  Through the tunnels?”

“Naw ya idjiot.  There’s a ramp leading up to the street that way. Flaherty said the buses came in that way decades ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember, but ain’t it mostly collapsed?”

“There’s a small gap at the top, enough to squeeze through if yer a good driver like me.” 

≈≈≈

“Why didn’t ya tell me yer vehicle is stealthed? Ain’t that illegal?”

Moe had startled a month of life out of me. He was light on his feet when he wanted to be. I pointed at my head. “I didn’t remember it was stealthed. Although it explains the ridiculous parking location. And I told you to stay put while I scouted. Now hide the buckle. Those two might stop arguing long enough to notice the glow.” And just why did I have a stealthed car?

Moe untucked his shirt dimming the glow considerably. “All that hand frippery don’t mean a dang thing to me, Mystery Man. An it’s a good thing I didn’t wait. If Flaherty’s on his way to look at yer vehicle we gotta get outta here, double-time fast.”

“It isn’t frippery, its code, so we can talk without… oh, never mind.  You see where the little guy is? Head that way, he’s on the passenger side of the vehicle.  As I approach, I’ll order the doors open, you slide in. I can take the tall one out if he resists. We’ll be long gone before Flaherty shows.”

“That’s your plan?  We just walk out like we're taking a stroll.”

“You have a better idea?” 

“Nope, been out of those for a while now.”

I resisted the urge to laugh before exiting the corridor. “Gentleman.” 

Our appearance caught both men off guard.   

“What the hell? Where’d you come from?” The tall man dressed in black asked waving an ancient .38 Special my way.

His companion had a revolver I didn’t recognize. From its condition, I surmised it would take off his hand if he tried to shoot.      

“Ya better piss off pretty boy if ya know what’s good for you,” the short man’s threat might have carried more weight had he not bumped into the car while rounding it. He grunted. “Hey I knows ya don’t I? Yer that doc. The one from Junk City, that fixes people up. Whatcha doing down here?” 

The recognition had relieved some of their tension. 

“Came down to take care of this guy,” Moe thumbed at me.

“He pay ya with his clothes?” Troll asked chuckling.

“Moe patted his chest. Yep, fair trade fer sure.”

“Yeah, well, yer both going to have to move along, cause this place is out of bounds,” the tall man said. “So if yer knows what’s good for ya, turn around an head on back up to the main concourse and go out that way.” 

“What’s wrong with the exit up ahead?” I asked approaching.   

“Is that you Moe? You son of a Gerlang!” A deep resonating voice bounced off the walls.  A large man, in a long, black, flowing overcoat draped over broad square shoulders emerged from the dark shadows of a corridor.  The near-sighted short guy rushed to usher Flaherty around the car safely. 

“I warned you to never to come back into my territory again, Doc.” 

“Flaherty. Yer looking healthy. Looks like ya owe me big for the great advice,” Moe said.

Flaherty guffawed. 

He had the look of a man who’d seen and won a lot of fights.  His chin was square. His teeth were prominent, beneath a permanently split lip. His brow was bushy, with hooded lids over coal black eyes. He shed his overcoat, tossing it to the short man. The gray shirt beneath was taught, straining across a muscled chest and thick arms.

I wasn’t worried about him or his now overconfident men. The woman emerging from the shadowed corridor, on the other hand, was setting off all kinds of alarms. Her long lean frame was draped in swathes of floor-length olive and gray fabric. Her heels clicked. Or more accurately, they scratched against the tiled floor.                  

“Now some like guns,” Flaherty said approaching Moe slowly. “Not me. No siree. I like knives. They’re the ideal weapon. Easy to carry and conceal. Always ready. Never needing to be reloaded or recharged. And this knife is perfection itself. Well-balanced.” Light shimmered off the silver blade he spun in his large right hand. “Hell it’s so sharp, I didn’t even know the previous owner had cut me until after I’d snatched it from him and planted it into his black heart. I swear I heard the metal sing as it nicked his ribs on the way in. Now, that was a good fight.” 

I was fairly certain Flaherty was mad. 

 “And who might you be?”  Flaherty asked tapping the blade in the palm of his hand. 

“He’s my nephew.”

“I asked him, Moe.” Flaherty pointed the blade at me.

“John Doe,” I replied keeping an eye on the woman who had slowed but was still headed our way.   

“Funny, guy. Why you staring at my Missus? You hoping to get yerself a piece of my woman too, just like Moe here.”   

“Flaherty I never touched yer Missus, never so much as got near her, an ya know it. Sally, tell yer husband I never went near ya.”

“How’s it ya know my Missus’ name then Moe?”     

Flaherty’s men were smiling. Sally was to my right. Letting her get behind me was something I needed to avoid at all costs.     

“Ya told me her name when I was helping ya,” Moe replied. “And I don’t mess with another man’s wife. I ain’t that kinda man.”

“Now, put the knife away,” Moe said shuffling toward me. “We don’t want no trouble. An you don’t want none either. The P.E.A. is crawling all over the place. They could come down here any minute lookin for that cage ya almost tripped over.”

Flaherty’s head cocked to one side. “You’ve a smart mouth for a stupid man. And how d’ya know about my cage?”

“Overheard them two, now we’re jus gonna leave here nice and peace like.”

Sally growled, a deep feral noise.

“No ya ain’t.” Flaherty lunged.

Acting on instinct I shoved Moe out of the way deflecting Flaherty’s thrust. Using the momentum I spun grasping Flaherty’s thick arm for leverage, slammed into him and tossed. Flaherty flew over my shoulder. His head hit the tiles hard. He was out cold and bleeding.  

Sally screeched and charged. The sound was mind numbing. I waited. Her ribs crunched beneath my front kick. The forced exhalation of foul breath made me shudder. Her long hideous hair was completing its arc. I sidestepped quickly as she staggered away.  I picked up Flaherty’s knife and waited knowing it wasn’t over. Sally’s back was to me. She straightened up tossed her oily coils back and turned slowly revealing her monstrous canine face with its jutting jaw. Moe and Flaherty’s men gasped.

 Sally growled, baring sharp, yellow teeth. She circled. I echoed her steps, waiting for her second frontal attack. I didn’t have to wait long. She charged me, claws outstretched. I had reach on my side. I slashed and spun. My roundhouse connected forcefully. She fell on all fours. Her wrists pulsing with blue blood.  She threw her head back and keened. The sharp, shrill wail was an icepick into the brain. Paralytic to anyone who hadn’t heard it before. Resist, resist, resist, she’s hurt, bleeding hard, resist, my brain screamed as my head ached and my body slowed.  Moe and Flaherty’s henchmen rolled on the floor in agony as they tried to shut out the noise by cupping their ears. 

The keening stopped as the bitch turned to look at me. She cocked her head in confusion. Her feral brain unable to process the fact that I was still upright. She rose slowly. The loss of blood and broken ribs taking their toll. I backed away gaining distance as her round soulless eyes continued to appraised me as she licked her leathery lips.   

I shifted the blade. Flaherty was right. The knife was exceptionally well balanced. I preferred a Ka-Bar.  But this would stop her just fine if I timed it right. I’d just need to gain speed the moment she charged.  I backed up, gaining distance. She charged, I sprinted at her giving it all I had just as she hit air going for my throat. I rode my knees beneath her thrusting the knife up and into her lacerating flesh like butter as she sailed over me. I rolled away narrowly avoiding being trapped beneath her as she hit the floor sliding and skidding on blood and viscera. She struggled, managing to flip over exposing her gaping abdomen. The air reeked of something fetid, vile, and decaying. She gasped for breath, tongue lolling as her purple hair writhed, feeding on her own blood.     

Moe and Flaherty’s men rose slowly. Gaping at the sight of the monster on the floor. 

“What is that thing?” Moe finally asked.

Flaherty’s men were too stunned to speak. 

“A Ferleen,” I answered. “Vampires of the deep. She doesn’t have hair. Those coils are a colony of tiny bloodsuckers. As they draw blood, they release an opioid. The victim is euphoric throughout the feeding. Ferleen will kill the first time but they prefer to toy with their victims. Preying on the same person for month’s even years. Eventually, the opioid will either kill the host or drive him or her mad. At that point the Ferleen will kill and move on.”

There was silence as we watched the feelers engorge, turning a dark purple as they sated on the Ferleen’s own blood.   

“Never really got a look at her before, she… she… always… stuck to the shadows,” Flaherty’s short squat man’s voice quivered. “Would I know if she… ah… you know… fed off… off… me?

 I shook my head. 

“She’s a bitch, a nightmare cross between a woman and a dog, how’s that even possible?” the tall one asked.   

Moe shuddered, “Cerberus is real after all. And she owned a man.” 

Both were right. Ferleens were a monstrous chimeric bipedal dog. A feral nightmare covered with coarse and wiry, black and tan fur.

“Are there more of them around?”  The troll asked.

“Possible. Was Flaherty ever off planet?” 

“Naw, he ain’t never been anywhere, not even to the moon,” he replied.

“Then she was brought here by someone else and he or she is dead.”

“So they ain’t gonna invade us?” The troll asked.

“No, Ferleen are resourceful but still more canine than human.”

“How do ya know it’s a she and are ya sure she’s dead,” the tall one asked nudging her leg with his foot. 

“You’re free to check, but I’m certain she’s female. Just don’t go anywhere near the feelers. They’re still able to attach and gorge off you for days until the Ferleen’s body begins to decay,” a gruesome image of an injured man being bled alive as he lay next to a dead Ferleen made me shudder. It was a memory best forgotten. “Believe me if she wasn’t dead, she’d get up again. We need to incinerate the body.”

“Burn it. Yer out of your mind? Smells like hell already, I’m outta here,” the tall man turned on his heels and sprinted toward the exit.   

The troll glanced at a groaning Flaherty, “I think I’m going to be sick,” he bolted after tall and thin.   

“Flaherty’s gonna have one heck of a headache from the concussion when he wakes,” Moe said as he examined Flaherty. “But he’ll be fine.” He rose. “Ya know it takes a lot of heat to incinerate a body, can’t we just leave her?” 

“No. Absolutely not. Babe, uncloak.” I grabbed Flaherty by the arms and started dragging him. “Moe, get inside the car and wait for me. “ I hauled the moaning, king of cutthroats down the corridor and out the door and across the concourse toward an exit.

Moe was examining Sally’s undercarriage when I returned. It wasn’t pretty.

“Definitely a female but not exactly…uh…right…how does-”

“I don’t want to speculate.”

“Sure, sure. Can’t help but be curious though.”

I ordered Babe to release the trunk and retrieved several fuel cells. After dropping them next to Sally I released a carefully hidden compartment within the trunk and withdrew my prized Walther PPK. Moe gapped at the gun while buckling up next to me. “Babe, activate cloak, open window and prepare to navigate.”

As my window lowered, I shot a cube. It exploded as I accelerated. Flames roiled along the ceiling igniting the adjacent fuel cells like hellish dominos as we shot up the sloped ramp chased by a fireball. Moe yelped as Babe took to the air and we exited the narrow gap at 180 degrees framed by jagged rubble. Flames and smoke belched from the entrance like a dragon with dyspepsia. Seconds later, screaming sirens and blue and red strobes were headed our way. I banked avoiding collision.     

“We’re gonna get run into,” Moe yelled as cruisers shot by. 

“Not a chance. But Captain Draypace’s night just got longer,” I replied.  “Babe, take me home.”

Moe was silent for a few moments. “So you remember everything now?”

“No, it’s Swiss cheese up there. But I’m on the mend I guess.”

Moe was silent for a moment. “Ya know Mystery Man there’s a whole lot more to you than I imagined. I guess Recon Team Six was off planet. Not ta mention well trained.”

I nodded. “I only wish I remembered, although there are some memories like of the Ferleen back there that could stay lost forever.”

“How were ya able to resist that howling?”

I shook my head. The cobwebs were so very thick. “Must be less paralytic if you’ve heard it often. I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Un huh,” Moe stared at me. “For the record, I’m never coming down here again.”

“Probably for the best.”

We banked.

“Why do you call yer car ‘Babe’?” He asked reaching for something on the back seat.

“No idea. Although, I know where I live.” I tapped some keys on the display screen. “It’s Twenty-One B Blaker St.”

“Is yer name listed?”

“No.” 

“Maybe it’s on this,” Moe flipped a small catalogue over to the back page. 

“Is it?” 

“Yep, great name too.”

“What is it?”

“Current Occupant.” 

I groaned.

PLAN B

We ran down the alley. Moe was wheezing. “Almost there.”

“Almost where?” I asked as we squeezed between two buildings locked together in a mid-collapse embrace. We exited onto a disaster zone. I had no idea where we were or why an entire neighborhood of skeletal homes fronting an upheaved street existed under the dome. I could hear the P.E.A. in the distance. Somehow we’d managed to stay ahead and evade them, but not for long.

“Moe, what’s your plan, thermal imaging will pick us up any minute.”

“Not here.” Moe rounded a heap of asphalt and dirt.

“Where?” I followed. “What the blazes?” I drew up. Narrowly avoiding stepping into a sinkhole.

“Jump in.” Moe’s voice surfaced from the depths.

I hesitated for a second. “Oh, what the hell.” I landed in a haze of dust, jarring my shoulder and waking the ironworker in my head. Crap.

“Move it.” Moe urged from straight ahead. “Yer eyes will adjust to the gloom. There are cracks in the asphalt letting light in here and there from above. Jus watch yer step. The walk gets easier when we enter the tunnel.”

“Tunnel?”

“Almost there.” He said. “Un huh, I’m in. You’ll have to bend down or you’ll hit yer head and make yer headache worse.”

A fracture in the ceiling allowed just enough jagged light to reveal a breach in a thick, re-enforced concrete wall. I bent through entering a tiled corridor.

“It get’s dark up ahead, stay to the right. Use yer hand to mind yer bearings,” Moe said from somewhere up ahead. “Careful though, some of the missing tiles are hidey holes fer…Hellafire! Rats. Thermal imaging shouldn’t work now, I think. Or so’s I’ve been told. Gaah!”

“What more rats?”

“No just twisted my ankle. Yer shoes don’t exactly fit none too well. No worries. I’m fine. I’ll wait fer ya here at the top of the stairs. Going down’s tricky in the dark. Watch ya don’t run into me.”

His shoes didn’t fit! Seconds later, I ran into Moe. He grabbed my sweater as he teetered.

“I said don’t run into me. Nearly bowled me over and down the stairs ya big lug.”

I took a deep breath. “I can barely see my own hand in front of my face, Moe, and you’re wearing black.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m jus a little wound up. Captain Draypace. Of all the rotten luck.”

There was a story there but now wasn’t the time to ask for details. “Moe, I may not know much but I’m certain the P.E.A. scanners can pick us up on thermals down here.”

“Yeah, well maybe, but they gotta know how to get into the subway line, the entrance to the Jets collapsed in the Big One. The only way in is to get in the hole we used. Well okay not the only way in but the only one nearby. Once we get down to the train tracks we’re safe.”

I wasn’t so sure. “I just see one small problem with your plan B.”

“What’s that?”

“I can barely see you up here now. How will we navigate below ground in the Stygian black?”

Moe harrumphed. “It ain’t dark down there. As often as the city engineers try to cut the power to the tunnels, someone turns the juice back on agin. I ain’t saying it’s like daytime down there but the emergency lights do the job. We just have to get from here to there.”

“St. Clements?”

“Yep, where yer car is.”

“Fine, you lead. I’ll follow.”

Moe didn’t move. “Ya know, I was thinking, maybe yer right. We might not have to go there through the ol’ Jet’s line ifn’ we wait here for a bit. Sooner or later the boys will tire of looking fer us.”

“Sounds like wishful thinking. Thermals are damn good. And while I only caught a glimpse of Draypace, I know a man bent on achieving his goal when I see one. And catching us is a priority. No, Moe. We move ahead, back means dead.”

“That’s catchy.” Moe said repeating several times as the image of a large, ebony skinned man came to mind. I glanced at Moe’s waist. “Moe, give me my belt.”

Moe glanced at my waist. “That was dire. Why the belt? You reneging on our agreement? It’s mine now remember? Besides, ya don’t need a belt. Yer pants are tight; ya even got a bit of a love handle squishing out above the waist.”

“I do not have a love handle. Nor am I reneging.”

“Ya do to. An if I give ya my belt, my pants will fall down.”

“Just hold them up.”

“No, I’ll trip… Oh wait, are ya thinking we should tie off like climbers so we don’t get separated in the dark? Makes sense, but yer gonna have to go extra slow down those stairs what with me having to mind my pants an all.”

I glared at him - not that he could tell in this gloom - and held out my hand. “The belt.”

“Ya sure are tetchy about this thing. Ain’t never seen no horses up close in real life but the ones on this buckle sure look pretty. Was the first thing that popped into my head as I was taking it off yer waist. Too bad, there’s a scratch down the middle of the buckle. Maybe I can polish it out.” He handed the belt over.

The oval buckle embossed with two galloping horses wasn’t just nice. It was practical. I grasped the buckle with both hands snapping it along the scratch line. It began to glow a phosphorescent green. I put it back together, then handed it over.

Moe whistled. “Well isn’t that something. I ain’t never seen a belt do that before.” He looped it through the tabs and buckled up.

“Right. Now let’s go.”

“Sure, sure.” Moe wiggled his hips illuminating the stairs.

“Move it. I think I hear footfall.”

“Uh huh,” Moe swiveled his hips one last time before taking the lead.

The descent was hazardous, likely impossible without the phosphorescent glow. I turned back often expecting the P.E.A. If they’d entered the tunnel, they’d decided not to follow. Troubling. The last three steps of the staircase were missing. We jumped, landing on crushed concrete and veered left toward the turnstiles frozen by rust. I vaulted over the obstacle as Moe climbed over awkwardly. We descended the immobile escalator to the rail line.

Moe was correct. Down here, buzzing, amber, emergency lights illuminated the station. Corroded, pin holed pipes crisscrossing the peeling ceiling fed a half dozen sinkholes visible below heaved floors.

“Saint Clements’s is that way,” Moe, whispered as he led us toward the stairs at the end of the platform. “Frankie the Snitch, told me the third line is charged. I haven’t a clue what that means an I don’t want to find out.”

“It’s called the third rail. That one. Don’t touch it.” I pointed as we descended three narrow, concrete stairs to the rail line. “Most likely the source of power for the mole people who live down here.”

Moe glanced at me. “Ya remember the mole people and this belt.” He tapped his waist. “You’re memry coming back?”

“Some. Like the face of the man who gave me the belt. I have no idea who he is. I also think I was down here once before. With, someone, ah, called, Eagle. I don’t know where we went, but I’m almost certain he wanted to talk to the leader of the moles down here.” I didn’t add that I was sure we’d come down armed, heavily. Why?

“Eagle? Talon? I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe I should call ya bird man.”

I laughed. The sound bounced off the dust encrusted, graffiti-tagged walls. “A definite, no. Although, the word Aerie feels right.” It would all make sense soon. It just had to.

Time seemed to slow as we treaded cautiously through the garbage strewn, rank, and musty tunnels. Occasionally a rat would scamper by and curl my toes.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, the feeble flicker of amber lights at the next station beckoned us.

“What is that awful sound?” Moe whispered.

“Rats I presume and the rank smell must be dinner.” The stench of decay was oppressive. The corpse, whatever or whoever it was, was days old and putrefying. “I’ll recon. Follow when I give you the all-clear.” I approached the platform cautiously, breathing through my mouth. It wasn’t helping, as the smell was almost worse than the sight. Enormous rats gorged on the remains of an unusually large, decapitated dog. Gore and blood slicked the bilious floor tiles. Nausea washed over me.

“Oh, gross. Disgusting.” Moe whispered startling me.

“I told you to wait,” I said as we hurried away.

“Did I mention I have claustrophobia?” Moe asked.

“Not that I remember.”

“Gits tricky up ahead,” Moe said some ten or so minutes later after we’d moved on.

“Why?” I stopped and turned to face him.

He slowed and turned to face me. “Well, some of the boys in JC knew I could stitch em up after a fight. An I’d helped dozens through a fever, a cold, even the flu with herbs, teas, and such. Naturally, people sought me out when they was sick or busted up. One day, two of Flaherty’s men, he’s the self-crowned king of the cutthroats here, showed up, and hauled me down to his palace in Jets to check on his royal highness himself.

“Flaherty was sick alright. Pale, weak, tired, listless and his neck, chest, and arms were covered with tiny red lesions I couldn’t identify. I tol him to go to a clinic, get some sunshine, eat fresh vegetables, take a bath and delouse.”

“You told the king of cutthroats to eat veggies and get rid of his lice?”

“Of course not. I ain’t crazy ya know. The ‘see a doctor’ part is true. Flaherty grabbed me by the throat and told me to think of somethin else. I made a show of checking his pulse, the whites of his eyes and palpated his abdomen again before telling him he was likely anemic and vitamin deficient. Then, I wrote up a long list of supplements he should take. Told him to eat two steaks, medium rare, per week and wash everythin down with a good stout ale to build up his iron.”

“Great story, tasty advice. Still, none of it explains why it’s tricky up ahead.”

“Good points. The tricky part is Flaherty told me to never come down here again or he would kill me.”

“Seems an extreme reaction to your advice. Although steaks are expensive and hard to come by even if you are the king of cutthroats. Maybe he thought you were being a smart ass.”

“No, Flaherty loved my advice. Was all friendly and jovial until his Missus walked in.”

“You hit on his Missus?”

“Hellafire no. Admittedly women usually go fer my rugged good looks, but hitting on someone’s Missus is plain wrong. Definitely out of the question. Besides she never got nowhere near enough to me to be affected by my outrageous charm.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“I see that look. Like you don’t believe me. Okay. I admit I stared at the woman. In my defense, it was impossible not to stare at her hair. It was like heavy coils of dark purple flowing and shifting on her shoulders. Gave me the willies. Yet I was curious. I can’t say I even saw her face. All I could focus on was those coiling, oily braids. And her odor. Reminded me of a wet dog. It was none too pleasant and confusing. I suppose, Flaherty mistook my confusion and curiosity fer romantic interest.”

I nodded. “Got it. Flaherty’s a jealous man with a purple haired wife that smells like a wet dog. Both are to be avoided at all costs. Is there anything else you want to add?”

“Yer makin fun a me, but I’m telling ya, Flaherty ain’t right in the head and his wife is wrong. Plain ol spooky. The second tricky part is, ya told the Blonde you were parked below Saint Clements Station in the service bay, and I have no idea how to get there.”

“Wait, you mean I’m not parked above ground? When did I tell the Blonde where my car was? When the fists were flying?”

“Not exactly.”

“Fill me in.”

“I followed ya cause of, Talon but the Blonde is…was an escort and I caught up jus in time to overhear ya mention yer car and assumed…well ya know.”

Oh boy!

“I gotta admit, now that I’ve had a chance to look ya over an we’ve talked I know that weren’t yer intentions. So maybe she was a lead to Talon?”

“Perhaps. We’ll never know now.”

“No. One last thing about being down here. I’ve heard rumors some people never make it out. Interred in the Jets wasn’t on my list of the ten best places to be laid to rest. So we better find yer vehicle an skedaddle cause this place gives me the creeps.”

“You might have considered all those things before jumping into the hole.”

“Didn’t see much choice under the circumstances. Plus yer the one who said ‘We move ahead, back means dead.’ Catchy but dire.”

“Good point. Okay, anything else you want to tell me before we keep going?”

“Nope.”

“You’re sure. Flaherty doesn’t have Cerberus on a leash does he?”

“Ridiculous, Cerberus ain’t real. Although, if he did, it might explain the Missus’ unusual scent. Maybe she was playing fetch with the pooch?”

I turned away quickly, and snorted as I attempted to avoid laughing. “We need to move. The service bay should be easy to find.”

“You sure? Ya ain’t angry?” He asked catching up to me.

“If that’s two questions, the first answer is yes. We should find an entrance to the service bay before the station. And no I’m not angry.”

Some minutes later, we located a sign indicating the junction to the service bay.

“Well that ain’t gonna work.” Moe said as we approached the avalanche of debris obstructing the entrance to the service tunnel. “Now what?”

I sat down on a large chunk of concrete and removed a shoe emptying the grit, gravel, and mystery bits I was unwilling to identify. Moe shuffled. I glanced at him. His bravado had worn thin. He was exhausted. “Let’s just take a breather.”

He opened his mouth then closed it on what was surely going to be a zinger of a remark about young folk nowadays. Or so I imagined.

He dusted off a section of the block and sat down next to me. “How’s yer head?”

“The hammering is fading.”

“Shoulder?”

“Aches, it’s stiff but I’ve felt worse. I was thinking there must be an entrance from the concourse at St. Clements leading into the service bay.”

“Makes sense.” Moe placed his hands on his knees and closed his eyes.

We sat in silence for a few minutes as my brain tried to reconcile everything I knew so far. Nothing, and I mean nothing made sense. Including a search for Moe’s daughter. How was finding her going to save the world? “Moe, we may not find Sam.”

He took a deep breath. “I know, but I have faith in you Mystery Man.”

“Could be misplaced if this evening is a harbinger.”

“Fancy word there Mystery Man. An we made it here safely. So if this evening is a portend it just means things might get a little tricky now and then but we’ll get there.”

I cradled my arm as I thought about this evening and Moe’s faith. “There must be a lot of silver linings in your clouds.”

“Yep, now let’s go, unless ya need another nap.”

I snorted. Moe grunted. I swear I heard his joints creak as he rose.

Minutes later, we were at Saint Clements station. It was in far better condition than the two we’d left behind. We climbed the stairs to the platform and searched for the door leading to the maintenance bay. There was nothing here except a utility closet. It had to be on the main floor off the concourse. We climbed the escalator stairs resuming the search. The door was at the far end of the station in an obscure hall. A rusted sign saying Do Not Enter, Employees only lay on the floor. The door opened without a sound. The hinges oiled recently. The back of my neck prickled a warning.