TCB Part 31: Saturday still (cont.)

Go to the Beginning of the story

< Part 30

Dr. Montebanque had been trying to make plans for how he would transport his money, and where he would keep it. That amount of gold and valuables was not an easy thing to keep safe. He couldn’t put it all in the bank at once, for fear of appearing obvious. He couldn’t just heap it in the corner of his home. Most of all, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving it all in the tunnel.

His best option now was to quickly convert it to some other investment. Perhaps he would buy a fleet of airships. He could make a good living running a transport company. Lord knows, the behemoths are terribly inefficient, he could do wonders for the industry. He had arranged an appointment with a manufacturer to discuss his plans. He locked up his shop and headed out his door to the street, pulling his coat up around his neck in the light rain.

As he walked down the empty street, he passed a man in a black coat and hat. The man seemed to look at him as he passed. For the next mile, he felt as if he was being followed. He was paranoid about the loose ends. He needed to speak with Charlotte soon. He had to get that suit to safety. It was the one thing that he knew could tie him to the crime. Until that was secured, he would never be in the clear.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the man in the dark coat. He was following Everton. This wasn’t paranoia. Thankfully, he’d been prepared for this sort of encounter. He abruptly turned down an alley. If he was being followed, now he would know for sure. After a few steps, he glanced back and the man had indeed followed him down the alley.

He pulled a small device from his pocket and dropped it to the ground. The impact with the ground released a spring that caused a small piezo to spark to life. The tiny ball burst into flames and thick black smoke began to pour out of the device, quickly filling the alley.

Satisfied that the screen was in place, Everton moved quickly. He ducked around a corner and spotted the hinged grate below. He lifted the grate and slipped himself into the storm sewer system below. It hadn’t started raining hard yet, so the water in the large pipe was only ankle-deep. He sloshed through the quick-moving rainwater for a hundred feet before he saw a problem, in the form of a large iron grate blocking the sewer pipe.

He wished he had studied these sewers before jumping into them. He turned around, content to head upstream instead. He pushed his way through the stream of water. Traveling upstream was much harder than down. He began to tire quickly. Each step was more difficult than the last. He tried lifting his feet higher to get above the water. It didn’t help much. The water was rising from the escalating storm overhead.

He tried to get himself back to the grate where he’d entered, cursing himself for not having a better plan to escape. The current was too strong for him. He stepped on a slippery spot below the water and his feet gave way. His entire body crashed under the water. The current carried him down the pipe until he was pinned against the iron grate.

His head was just above the water now, and it was still rising. He had to think fast. He had pockets full of gadgets, but thinking of the right one was hard when he was a few inches from full-blown panic. He took a deep breath and composed himself. He pulled his goggles over his eyes to stop the spray of filthy rainwater. Inside his brown wool coat was a pocket that had the thing he needed.

He pulled out a small pistol-shaped gadget. He aimed it up at the street grate overhead. He pulled the trigger and a small spring-loaded cable shot from the tip of the gun, uncoiling as it flew toward the grate. His shot was good; the tip flew between the bars and up to the street above. He pulled back on the cable and heard the catch levers snag on the grate.

Splitting the gun into two parts, he attached it to the cable, one piece in each hand. Slowly, exhaustedly, he pulled himself up out of the water on his tiny cable ascenders. When he finally reached the grate, he grabbed hold of the small ladder holds formed into the concrete. He popped the grate off and pulled himself up to the street.

He looked around him and didn’t see anybody. He hurried down the street the opposite way he’d come from. He was only a block away when he heard a voice call his name. He turned to see the man in the black coat and hat. He refused to run, preferring to outwit his opponent.

He stopped in his tracks. He turned around and pulled out another pistol shaped object from his coat. This object, unlike the previous one, was in fact a pistol. It had a small thumb crank on the back that allowed him to fire ten tiny bullets in rapid succession. He aimed and fired off a series of ten rounds at the stranger. The other man dove out of the way just in time.

Everton pulled the cylinder clip out of the gun and slammed in a second one. He aimed again, waiting for the stranger to show his face. He sprayed ten more rounds in the direction of the steamcar where the man was hiding. “I do not appreciate being followed.” He shouted in that direction.

He heard a voice shout from behind the car. “And I don’t appreciate being shot at, so we’re even.”

Dr. Montebanque lowered his weapon to his side. He was drenched and shivering from cold and adrenaline. “Shall we talk like civilized men, then?”

“Agreed.” The man in the dark suit walked from behind the steamcar with hands raised and approached Everton. “My name is Jason Hawke, I presume you are Dr. Everton L. Montebanque.”

Dr. Montebanque was leery of the other man’s intentions. Any hope of denying his crime had disappeared with the venture into the sewer. He could not be caught, but he couldn’t keep running from this man, whoever he was. He thought about his money, waiting for him in the subway tunnel. He was willing to lose all that if push came to shove. But he couldn’t lose his freedom to invent. If he couldn’t keep working on his creations, he wasn’t sure his life was worth anything. As the other man approached, he thought through his options and developed a plan of action.

Hawke stopped a safe distance from where Everton stood. He reached into the shoulder bag he was carrying and pulled out a black boot. He threw it to the ground at Everton’s feet. “Know anything about this?”

“It’s a boot.” Everton replied simply, “People put them on their feet. I see you’re wearing shoes. Very similar idea.”

Hawke didn’t laugh at Everton’s joke. He looked at him, stone faced. “I have reason to believe you made this particular boot.”

Everton stood silent. He didn’t see any reason to confirm or deny the assertion. He crossed his arms over his chest. It was partly to show his defiance, partly to try to warm himself from the cold breeze that chilled him to his bones.

“Ok, let’s assume that my sources are right.” Hawke continued. “And let’s assume that I’ve got the rest of the outfit at my office. And while we’re at it, let’s say that your friend, Miss Avalon is in custody and ratted you out. If we make all those assumptions, I’d say that you’re at the end of your rope, Dr. Montebanque.”

Everton gave a curt nod. “If we make those assumptions, I’d say that your logic has one very large flaw.”

“Please share.”

“You are assuming I will be caught.” Everton uncrossed his arms and aimed his left wrist toward the investigator. He was wearing a gauntlet on his forearm that fired small razor-edged discs in the direction of the other man.

Hawke dove to the ground and the discs missed him narrowly. Everton didn’t want to run anymore, so he approached. He reached down to his own boot and pulled out a small dagger. He rushed toward Hawke as he was scrambling to stand and reaching toward what Everton only assumed was a gun hidden under his coat.

“A foolish inventor always assumes his inventions will save him.” Everton said as he lunged the dagger toward the arm that Hawke was reaching inside his coat. “I am not such a fool.”

Hawke rolled away from the knife point, and it narrowly missed his shoulder. He sprung to his feet and dove at Everton, knocking him off his feet. The knife clattered away onto the sidewalk. Hawke attempted to hold him on the ground.

Everton freed a hand and pressed a button on the side of his goggle strap. One lens of the elaborate goggles flashed brightly, momentarily blinding Hawke. Everton turned the tables and pinned Hawke to the ground. He put the investigator’s hands together and grasped them with his left hand as he reached inside his coat. He couldn’t kill this man. He was not a murderer, and this man did not deserve death. He pulled out a small vial of a chemical that would knock the investigator out cold for a few hours while he escaped.

“You win.” Hawke said quietly, as if giving up.

“You should have let me go. You will not enjoy the hangover from this drug.” He fiddled with the cap of the vial trying to open it.

“I am impressed. They said you were a genius, but I didn’t believe it. Clearly I was wrong.” Hawked said quietly.

“Thank you. You will awake in approximately 4 hours. By that time, I will be gone.”

“What time is it now?” Hawke asked.

Everton felt at his pockets and found that his watch was missing. He must have dropped it when he was struggling in the sewer. He leaned down toward the watch on Hawke’s wrist to read the time. Suddenly a spray of vapor shot from the watch and hit him squarely in the face. He recognized the unmistakable scent of chloroform. He instantly began to feel light headed. His vision blurred and he felt his arms give way. Dr. Montebanque collapsed on top of Hawke.

Hawke rolled him off onto the sidewalk. The last thing Everton heard before passing out. “The problem with most geniuses is that they underestimate the value of a simple ruse.”

Part 32 >