Chapter 12: The Blue Wreath

"You almost gave me a heart attack, Jack! Never thought I'd see you again."

Sitting at a small table in the back room of Good Caesar's Garage, I've positioned my chair facing the door. Not that I think a saint like Caesar would try anything funny. But you can't be too careful in Port Town.

"When you stopped coming around my shop, stopped asking questions," says Caesar, "I think I am about to be shut down. But then, I heard of your arrest." Caesar's face stretches out into a stinking smile. "You were in prison all this time?"

"I never went to prison," I respond flatly. "The charges were dropped."

"You know what the news called you? Jack the Knife, the Six-Shooter-"

I hardly even realize I'm doing it. One moment, I'm sitting there, trying to keep my cool. The next, the table we're sitting at is in two. It falls in splintered pieces to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. My fist hovers in mid-air where I smashed through it.

Caesar sits on the ground, having tilted his chair backward in terror and tumbled to the floor. One of his hands is raised in feeble defense, shaking.

It's a chore to open my fist. I stretch out my fingers. Flimsy table.

"I don't like that name," I say.

Caesar's throat bobs from a hard swallow, and he nods once.

"Look," I sigh. "I'm here on a case."

"A case? An investigation, you mean?" Caesar gives the halves of the table a nervous look, then tentatively rises to his feet. He rights his chair and sits back down. "You are still police?"

"Private eye."

The grin on Caesar's face is now smug and knowing. It doesn't take a genius to know what he's thinking: How the mighty have fallen. I try to ignore it.

"So, how about it?" I say. "For old time's sake, we do a little business?"

"What could I have that you want?"

"Information. On the Blue Wreath."

Caesar's grin dies.

"Your investigation involves the mob?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"No," he says. "I cannot help with that."

"You can. It's whether or not you will."

"I don't talk to anyone about that anymore. Blue Wreath is too big. Too powerful. Too dangerous to leak information."

I know better than most what he means about the danger. It wasn't exactly safe back when I was a cop, either, but it was never this bad. Prior to the war on Antioch, there had been several major crime syndicates on Jannix, each with claims to delineated territories. In big cities like Amber, it was particularly bad but manageable. But then, when Jannix's best and brightest went off to fight the war, one of those syndicates got ambitious. Started annexing neighboring territories, branching out into all kinds of new activities.

The Blue Wreath Boys-named for the Blue Wreath nebula visible in the southern sky of Pirol once every ten years-became so large and powerful that they absorbed almost all competitors, becoming a worldwide force of organized crime on Jannix. Nowadays, their influence extends all the way across the star system, including Pirol. The word "mob" has practically become synonymous with the Blue Wreath.

By the time I traded in my army uniform for a badge, the Blue Wreath was the number one enemy of Jannix law enforcement. Amber City was their hometown, and for some cops, like me, mob activity was of the highest priority. My partner and I specialized in homicide cases with suspected links to the Blue Wreath, and there were plenty of them.

At that time, Good Caesar was running his chop shop with mob backing, and for a little grease money, he passed along information to us. Information that helped track down quite a few killers.

But that was almost fifteen years ago. A lot has changed. For everyone.

Nowadays, the Blue Wreath owns Amber City. That's not a matter of debate. It's theirs. They've got a stake in almost every facet of business and industry.

A shaky, unspoken truce now exists between the police and the mob. Every so often, one side will send a message just to show they still mean business, but justice isn't being done in this city anymore. Crime runs rampant and unchecked. Some say it's a necessary evil. I say it's rotten. Not surprising that Harland wanted to find somebody outside the police department to investigate his son's murder.

It's funny to be sitting with Caesar like this, so many years later. Like two old war vets swapping stories about the bad old days. The days before Jack the Knife.

"Royal Evening," I say.

"What?" says Caesar.

"Royal Evening. Does the name mean anything to you?"

Caesar shrugs.

"What about the name Nathan Harland?"

Caesar's eyes bulge a bit. He lowers his voice to a whisper. "Is that why you have come here? You think I know what happened to him? And you think Blue Wreath was involved?"

"Nice of you to ask all the questions for me."

"I don't know anything."

"Sounds like you know he was murdered. And you must know what a thorn Rutherford Harland has been in Blue Wreath's side. He's never caved to the mob. And he's proud of it. Killing his only son would send a pretty clear message to the old man, don't you think?"

"I'm telling you, Jack, I don't know-!"

"I absolutely believe you," I say, standing up. "And I'm not here to try to beat anything out of you. That's not how I conduct business. But I do know how, if the mood strikes."

I reach into my pocket-causing Caesar to flinch-and pull out a wad of cash. I peel off a few hundred-credit bills. I hold them out to him.

"Consider it a down payment," I say as his grease-stained hand nervously accepts the bills. Then I fish around my jacket pocket and come out with a half-credit coin. I flip it in his direction, and he catches it against his chest.

"What's this for?" he says.

I gesture to the pieces of the table on the floor. "Piece of junk couldn't have been worth more than that. Keep in touch, Caesar. Double-cross me, and I will be back. That's when you'd better run."

I don't wait for an answer. I leave the back room and see my own way out, keeping a close eye on Caesar's thug. He shoots me another glare but nothing more. I notice he's taken off his tie.