Rivers of Orion by Dana Kelly (best detective novels of all time txt) 📗

Normally, I’d be on board, but after what happened in Van Alder, it had trap written all over it.”

Nimbus flashed red along his flanks. “Miguel Santos, you have not qualified your reasoning!”

Mike chuckled. “Let’s just call it a hunch, okay?” He scanned the neighborhood and spotted a ramen house on a nearby street corner. “How does everyone feel about Brawley Heights Noodles?”

“Mm, local cuisine,” said Torsha.

“Miguel Santos, I am not certain I have recharged sufficiently to provide necessary filtration services,” said Nimbus.

Mike laughed. “Ah, it can’t be that bad.” He nodded at Torsha. “After you.”

She stepped back through the window, into a spacious, dark, and empty room. Only the green exit sign near the door offered any light. Mike and Torsha proceeded cautiously, with Nimbus hovering at their backs. In the lightless hallway beyond, they passed several doors, arriving at a gated lift. The ancient platform trudged down to ground level, where Mike raised the gate, and they exited.

Several offices awaited them, locked up for the night and adorned with placards belonging to the Ministry of Sanitation and Reclamation. As they stepped into the dim foyer, screens flashed from a vacant security station. A row of vending machines lit up in response to their presence. Commercial jingles erupted from the beverage machine, filling empty halls with empty echoes.

Stepping outside, Mike pulled his jacket’s hood over his head, and he propped the door open with a small chunk of concrete. Torsha donned her hoodie’s cowl, as Nimbus took the form of a crimson-banded porplet—a piglet-sized creature with six legs and luxurious fur. Together, they made their way along the sidewalks and quickly reached the ramen house.

They placed their order, and Mike paid for their meals with paper currency. Moments later, they sat down to enjoy two bowls of hot ramen, and Nimbus settled in at Mike’s feet. They spoke in whispers, keeping to themselves as customers wandered in and out.

After they had finished, Mike led them to a sprawling, neon lit underground market, festooned with Halloween banners, jack-o-lanterns, and holographic creatures of the night. They visited several shops, buying pouches of self-cooking food and bottled drinks. As Mike rearranged a bag full of water bottles, Torsha tapped his shoulder. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Don’t look, but the two guys behind us showed up at Brawley’s right before we left,” said Torsha. “They’ve been inside or just outside every shop we visited, but they haven’t bought anything.”

“Stay close,” said Mike. He hoisted his bags and walked quickly toward the far side of the market. Torsha and Nimbus kept pace. Just as they were about to climb the stairs back up to street level, Mike turned completely around, heading back the way came. He and his friends passed by the men Torsha had noticed. When Mike glanced behind, he caught a glimpse of them exchanging uncertain looks with one another, a moment before they pivoted and followed.

“They know they’ve been made, but they’re still tailing us,” said Mike. “We need to shake these guys.” They ducked into a crowded food court, weaving between stands and kiosks, but the two following them kept up.

“Should we call the cops?” whispered Torsha.

“They won’t get here in time,” said Mike.

As they emerged from the market, Torsha spotted both men leaning into a full run. “Fine, then. We fight,” she said.

“Only as a last resort,” said Mike. “Nimbus, call us a cab—with a driver. Have them pick us up in the east loading alley, just outside the market’s side exit. Meet us back at the reclamation plant as soon as you can.”

“Miguel Santos, I understand your requests and will complete them in sequence.” Nimbus dispersed, reforming as a metal ring at the base of a rooftop antenna.

Mike looked at Torsha. “Time to run!” He ditched the groceries and bolted across the street, hopping over the hood of a car as he moved. Torsha raced after him.

The two men gave chase.

Mike and Torsha crossed the street again, just ahead of a rush of cars, momentarily stranding their opponents on the other side. They dashed back into the market, threading the crowd as they closed on a wall of eateries. Sprinting along a wall lit hallway, they ran past a row of bathrooms, to a door at the far end. Mike shoved it open, and they crossed out into the loading alley, just as a yellow cab pulled up. He and Torsha clambered inside, shut the vehicle’s door, and Mike shouted, “Go, go, go!”

“Can do,” said the cab driver. He jammed the accelerator just as the market door flung open again. Bright crimson taillights bathed his fares’ pursuers as they faded into the rearview mirror.

Mike and Torsha sank into the back bench, and they began to relax. “Thank you,” said Mike. “That was perfect timing.”

“You two in some kind of trouble?” asked the cabbie.

“Not anymore,” said Torsha.

The driver nodded. “Well, you might want to settle in. It’ll be thirty minutes to New Cal.”

“Can you do me a favor?” asked Mike.

“Depends on the favor,” said the cabbie.

Mike leaned forward. “How would you feel about driving around town for thirty minutes, instead?”

“Beats driving out to New Cal,” said the driver. “Where am I dropping you off?”

“Across the street from the reclamation plant,” said Mike.

“The one just down the block?”

“That’s the one,” said Mike.

The driver laughed. “Can do.” He selected a playlist full of old hip hop standards and drove Mike and Torsha up and down the city streets of Brawley Heights.

When the ride was over, he parked his cab where Mike had asked him to, and his passengers disembarked. Mike passed him several paper bills, and the cab driver thanked him for the generous tip. With a smile and a wave, he drove away.

Calmly, Mike and Torsha approached the building door. He squatted and examined the chunk of concrete he had used to jam it open. With a nod, he glanced at Torsha. “It hasn’t moved,” he said.

“Thank God,” she said.

Mike tossed the debris aside and held the door for Torsha. They both