Harvey Havoc: The Technician's Game

By Avery A Bell and Clare Bohning

For most of the winter, Detective Harvey Havoc and his partner Shay Smith's cases have been as cold as the Motor City weather. But when a strangely mutilated body turns up, the stakes suddenly rise. Could the ruthlessly smart, self-centered buisness mogul James Markot be behind the bisected bodies? Or is someone else lurking in the city'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laughing Skull Media
• Release date: Mar 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578659756

Book preview

Harvey Havoc

The Technician’s Game

By

Avery A. Bell

2020

Laughing Skull Media

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Text by Avery A. Bell

Graphics by Clare Bohning

2020

ISBN 978-0-578-65975-6

Edited by Lara Milton of Spectrum Editing

Consultant: Kirsten Anthony: drug aficionado, genuine psychopath, and oldest friend in low places.

All rights reserved.

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Averybellsgarage.com

Dedication

For those who enjoy the winter. May you find warmth in the cold.

Chapter 1

Stakeout

I’m accustomed to being bruised and broken on a regular basis, but lately, I’ve been getting the feeling that this city is trying to kill me with sheer boredom.

Outside the windshield, a lone flake of snow falls on the vast maroon hood of Shay’s 1970 Eldorado. It’s as if the city is teasing me with its benevolent outer beauty. What happened to all of the tenacious grime? Where did all of the hateful, murderous scoundrels go? Can they really have been frightened away by these little crystals of ice falling from above? It’s only a few days into January, and this exceptionally cold Motor City winter is showing no signs of letting up any time soon. This lone flake is sure to be the first of many. The coming storm will make this night feel even longer than I had previously expected.

So far, Shay and my initial week as partners proved to be the most exciting; then came the double homicide we were put on right after coming back from a month’s medical leave. It took a few weeks to track down the degenerate who did it. Since then, most of our cases have been simple ones. I guess I should be thankful for that, but I miss the excitement.

I’m not the only one who’s becoming restless. Shay has been increasingly irritable in the last few weeks. Maybe we’ll feel better when the streets thaw out. Perhaps the spring will bring back Motor City’s true colors.

Shay has been out cold in the driver’s seat for the last half hour, her mouth half open, sawing logs with each breath. It’s providing the auditory distraction necessary for me to stay awake. She’s bundled in a cocoon of layers of clothing and buried underneath a thick knit blanket she brought with us just in case. A small tuft of electric blue hair is jutting out from under her beanie. My choice of attire for this evening leaves something to be desired. My boots and heavy wool socks are holding their own, but my jeans and T-shirt underneath my long-sleeved shirt and leather jacket are not enough.

Shay warned me of this earlier. I’m not sure why I didn’t listen to her. At least I took part of her advice. The black beanie on my head is enough to take the edge off the cold. But as the night progresses, I realize, it too will become completely inadequate. The temperature has already dropped to the low twenties outside. Now that the sun has gone down, it will likely drop into the teens within the hour. Perhaps I’ll beg Shay for a corner of her blanket when she wakes up for her next shift. Until then, I’ll have to endure the poorly insulated Eldorado.

We haven’t seen any sign of our target since we arrived. Bran Clayton is his name. With an unusually light caseload in the last few months, we’ve been working on a backlog of drug-related cases. Clayton is a midlevel grunt with his hands in one of the larger Tech-peddling cartels. The sole purpose of our time sitting here freezing our asses off is to catch him in the middle of a cash drop. His whereabouts came to us via some secondhand information we shook out of an informant, a mundane chain of events that ultimately led us to this frigid corner of Motor City.

The building we’re observing is an old brick warehouse by the edge of the river. In the light of day, it’s a reclamation plant, the sort of place that strips irreparable cars and reconditions the salvageable parts, a driving force behind the remanufacturing industry that has helped put Motor City back on the map. In the cover of darkness, it takes on a more sinister purpose, as with many places around here. Shay didn’t see any sign of Clayton during her shift. Now, almost forty-five minutes into mine, I’m no longer convinced that our informant knew what the hell they were talking about.

The snow has begun to fall more steadily now. It will only add to the already treacherous snowpack. Sadly, the slick streets around Motor City proved to be too much for the old hearse this year. After we got stuck in a snowbank a few weeks back, we switched to driving Shay’s Eldorado. The front-wheel drive is proving much more stable on the icy roads. I protested this decision at first, rather attached to the idea of driving my car as much as possible. Something about the hour it took to dig Elli out of the snowbank kept Shay firm in her choice. We haven’t gotten stuck in the Eldorado once—a point of pride for Shay that she’s sure to remind me of almost daily.

There still isn’t much activity outside. The streets are always disturbingly vacant in the winter months. I imagine this is what Motor City used to look like all year round back in the early 2000s. The lack of people on the streets makes me feel anxious. It’s just too damn quiet. The anxiety is adding to the chill. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this cold. Maybe I could wake Shay up and ask for some of the blanket. Better yet, I could sneak a corner without waking her up. That plan seems sound. No reason to give her something else to be irritated by.

I take one eye off of the building in front of us to make my attempt. A corner of the thick blanket is readily available. With care, I grasp it. Shay’s snoring continues, unaltered. I begin to gently tug at the blanket, a large fold giving way in my direction. Soon I will have enough of it to fight the bitter cold. As I pull a bit more to cover my lap, a fold catches the collar of her coat.

I have made the terrible mistake of disturbing a sleeping cat. Shay shudders madly and jerks about the cabin of the Eldorado, grasping for anything within reach. Her long fingers land on the gun in her holster. Before I have a chance to defuse the situation, I find myself staring down its barrel.

Wh…what the fuck are you doing? Shay stammers, still groggy from her nap.

Shit! I was just trying to use a corner of the blanket, I reply, throwing my hands up high enough to hit the headliner.

She looks around the car as if to be sure it’s really me and that she’s in the same spot she fell asleep in. Once confident that there’s no danger, she holsters her gun.

"Disturbing me when I’m sleeping is a bad idea when I don’t have my gun. How the hell did you think that was a good move?" Shay asks, shaking her head.

I was cold, I reply meekly, knowing my response is a pathetic excuse.

"Cold? I told you to wear layers this morning, asshole. It’s been twenty or below for weeks now. This is a goddamn stakeout, for Christ’s sake." Shay’s grumbles trail off as she holsters her gun and shifts around, trying to get comfortable again.

Sorry.

Good Lord. Lucky for you I don’t need the damn blanket. She throws it in my direction. I shamefully tuck it around myself in an attempt to retain some body heat. After a few seconds, I’m already feeling warmer.

You see any sign of Clayton yet? Shay asks, the tone of her voice still hostile.

No. Nothing yet, I reply.

I’m going back to sleep, then. If you actually need to wake me up, use your freaking words next time.

I utter a feeble OK, and she rolls back over on the seat. I return my attention to the building. It’s so much easier to focus now that I’m not so distracted by the cold. Shay continues to shift in the seat beside me for the next few minutes. I feel a twinge of guilt knowing that not only should I have listened to her in the first place, but now I’ve brought her out of a deep sleep. I consider apologizing further. That idea, however, has the potential to make things even worse. I decide against it.

You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, Harvey, Shay says as she rolls around to an upright position.

I’m sorry, I say again. I seem to always be apologizing to her.

"Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that. Many times, she grumbles, staring pointedly out the window. I’m awake now, though. So let’s gossip about something."

Fair, I guess. What do you want to talk about? I ask.

I don’t know. Something interesting. Don’t care.

Um, how’s the whole not smoking thing working out for you?

Dr. Arnold told Shay that she needed to quit after her run-in with Carson last fall. One of the bullets that hit her chest pierced a lung. Smoking could damage the artificial tissue they used to repair it—to say nothing of the damage to her normal lung tissue. Since then, she has quadrupled her intake of suckers in an attempt to curb her cravings. I do my best to reinforce Dr. Arnold’s recommendation by keeping an eye out for any sign of a cigarette stash, although at this point, I think there’s a higher danger of severe cavities than lung damage. She must consume at least twenty suckers in a day.

That isn’t a conversation, Harvey. That’s a hot-button topic, and a question you already know the answer to. Shay unwraps a sucker and starts chewing on it with a ferocity that borders on hatred. Come on, man, I mean like a story or something.

I don’t know any stories, really.

She’s having none of my excuses. You’ve had three years in the Motor City Police Department, Harvey. I know interesting things have happened to you.

You were there for the most interesting parts, I point out.

Your record said you got stabbed a couple times. That must be interesting.

I shrug. I guess. It was more like I was being an idiot than anything else.

Self-deprecating, but believable. Continue.

Wait, you read my record? I ask, backtracking, a little embarrassed.

Yeah. Didn’t you read mine? Shay raises an eyebrow.

No.

Oh, well, it’s probably better that way. Anyway, you were going to tell me a story, she says encouragingly.

I give in. OK. I was a few months in on my service under Sergeant Carson. Hadn’t been doing too well with meeting quota. He sent me over to Sergeant Mitchell for a week to help out with a rash of Tech den takedowns.

Are all of your on-duty injuries from the drug unit? Shay interrupts.

No. Well, I guess most of them are. Anyway, on the last day of the week, a team of fifteen of us went into a den. We were looking at around twenty Techies, part of a citywide crackdown to discourage future users. We went in and had them all subdued after a few minutes. One of the Techies there was just a kid. I don’t think she could’ve been older than fifteen. I felt sorry for her. She was so dazed I didn’t think there was a reason to put her in cuffs.

Horrid drug. Shay scowls thoughtfully. You never know what people are capable of on it. She stabbed you, didn’t she?

I nod. One of the other Techies we had in cuffs was a real tough guy. The officer who took him down had to restrain his ankles as well. When we were walking out, the little prick leaned over and spoke to the girl.

Oh shit, he triggered her. Shay’s eyes widen.

Not quite. The same officer who cuffed him missed a letter opener he had stashed in the liner of his hoodie. She took it when he leaned in to whisper to her. I just thought he was saying goodbye or something.

Shit. What happened then? Shay asks in horrified fascination.

She stabbed me three times in the abdomen before I managed to fire my stun gun at her. I could’ve pressed charges. I decided not to, though. What would be the point?

Wow. You must be some kind of saint, Harvey. I may well have shot her just out of gut reaction.

"That’s the thing about it, though. I thought I was reaching for my gun. I put my stun gun in the wrong holster. I usually carry it on my right side, but I’d switched it right before the bust. I didn’t mean to." I tap my fingers on the back of the seat. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before.

Well, she’s lucky you were there. Could’ve ended worse for both of you. Shay slides lower in the seat and scans the outside world for our target, her cheeks puckering as she works on the sucker.

Maybe. I shrug. I doubt she would even remember me. That’s probably for the best.

Our conversation has increased the condensation on the Eldorado’s windshield to the point where it’s difficult to see out. I open up the glove box and fumble for a clean rag to wipe down the glass. The clear view reveals that there’s still no sign of Clayton.

God, I hate stakeouts. Shay stretches, and I hear popping sounds.

Yeah. Always a ball of laughs.

Still not tired. More gossip, she demands.

I can’t think of a good topic.

How about girlfriends? That’s a topic.

How do you mean? Like, who were they or something?

Sure, whatever you can think of.

I ponder her prompt. It’s been a while, which is not something I’m surprised by. It’s also not something I’m proud of. I’m not exactly enthusiastic about telling Shay about my relationship woes. It could provide her with more ammunition against me. My almost constant lack of self-care and common sense are fuel enough. Better to nope out of the situation.

I don’t think that’s a topic I want to cover.

It’s been that long since you had a girlfriend, huh? Damn. Well, don’t beat yourself up too bad. It’s been a while since I had one too.

Her last sentence catches me off guard. Is she implying that it’s been a while since she had a girlfriend? That would explain a lot of things about Shay that I didn’t quite understand before. How could I have been so blind? Awkward as it may be, I should ask her, just to be sure.

What do you mean by that?

Shhh. I think that’s our guy, Shay replies.

I direct my attention toward the warehouse. Sure enough, someone who looks a lot like Bran Clayton is walking toward it. At first, it’s hard to tell for sure, but as he reaches the side entrance, he glances in our direction. There’s enough time for me to use the new app I downloaded to my transponder: a digital identification scanner, a handy method of confirming his identity before he enters the building.

Yep. That’s him, I whisper.

The next few minutes pass in silence as we wait to see what happens. I ensure that I have my stun gun ready. Shay checks hers as well. When I feel that we’ve waited long enough, I get out of the Eldorado. Shay follows suit, and we advance toward the warehouse. We keep low and try to stick to the long shadows of the tall buildings. We take cover in a dark alley that faces the warehouse. The trick will be waiting until he’s far enough away from the building before we pounce. We aren’t prepared to deal with multiple assailants.

Moments after we take cover, Clayton emerges. Rather than following the route he came in by, he begins to walk in the opposite direction. This throws an immediate wrench into our tactical plan. Our position relied on the idea that he would go back the way he came. Shay’s eyes meet mine, and we exchange nods of agreement, then carefully break our cover and crouch while advancing toward him.

The sidewalk is slick under the thin layer of fresh snow. It’s a careful balancing act between the need for speed and sure footing. We dodge in and out of shadows created by lampposts and parked cars under heaps of snow. Clayton is far enough from the building that we can soon risk our move. Then, from beside me, there’s a crunching sound as one of Shay’s boots breaks through the surface of a hidden, oily puddle.

Clayton whirls around, gun raised. Shay and I are forced to dive to either side as he fires, me toward the building, Shay toward the street behind an old Lincoln Town Car.

Just as I get ready to abandon the thought of using the stun gun, a hilariously fortunate thing happens. Clayton is walking backward so he can fire at us. He doesn’t see the city’s trap waiting. He plants a foot square on a sheet of inky ice behind him and his legs fly out from under him like something out of a cartoon.

His head hits the frozen sidewalk with a loud crack. Shay and I share a moment of pure astonishment, then move in quickly to take advantage of this turn of events. Before he has the chance to squeeze off any more rounds, we both fire on him with our stun guns. The gun falls from his grip as he convulses on the snowy sidewalk. I hold my position as Shay moves in to cuff him.

It’s slick out tonight, Clayton. You should watch where you’re going, Shay remarks.

I glance at the warehouse to be sure there’s no sign of movement, which there isn’t. Typical Motor City. Gunshots in the dark and no one bothers to look. I help Shay bring Clayton to his feet. During a quick pat-down, I find another gun in an ankle holster and one tucked down the front of his pants. What a stupid place to store a loaded weapon—unless you’re looking to castrate yourself, anyway.

I take the brunt of his weight so that Shay can bring the Eldorado closer, using the lamppost on the corner to prop myself up, extra insurance against the chance of losing my own footing. I watch the street in both directions as she goes to get the car. Still stunned from the impact, Clayton has not figured out how to make words come out yet. In fact, he’s drooling on my jacket and wheezing like an old dog.

The Eldorado pulls up to the curb in front of us. I redistribute Clayton’s weight so that I can drag him toward the car. I’m starting to open the passenger door when Shay jumps out of the driver’s seat.

What the hell do you think you’re doing? she asks in a shrill tone.

I was going to load this asshole into the car, I reply dryly, confused by her question.

Hell no. He’s going in the trunk, Shay says.

What? We can’t put him in the trunk.

Sure we can. She yanks the keys from the ignition and makes her way around to my side of the Eldorado. Not at all comfortable with this idea, I stand my ground.

Come on, Harvey, before someone gets wind of us out here, she urges.

I’m not putting him in the trunk, I state firmly.

Yeah? Well, he ain’t going in my car. It’s either the trunk or we leave him here. Shay’s words are somehow more solid than mine.

I hear some noise in the background that could be from the warehouse. Like it or not, there’s no more time to argue. I drag Clayton over to the trunk. Shay helps me lift him in. I do another pat-down to be sure that he has nothing dangerous on him.

"You keep anything in the trunk he