The Cold Case of Jack Gemini: Gemini Case Files, #2

By T. A. Jenkins

THE SENSATIONAL SEQUEL!

It hadn't been Jack Gemini's final case after all!

A year has passed since Jack faced the masked man, faced the sordid secrets of the past, and solved the case that was inextricably linked to his own personal history.

 

ASTOUNDING SCI-FI NOIR!

 

A priceless and famous artwork has been stolen… and switched with a near perfect fake!

Private Investigator Jack Gemini must uncover the truth, find out who's behind the theft of the hideous statue.

 

INCREDIBLE THRILLS!

The most powerful woman on Space Station Delta, and an old enemy, hires Jack to rescue and protect her son from the thrall of enigmatic alien worshippers…

 

STAGGERING MYSTERY!

 

An insane cult, The Church of the Third Encounter, stalks the streets of Space Station Delta… but it's not the only thing stalking the streets …

A copycat killer!  A killer that's oddly familiar.

 

FORGERIES AND FRAUDS, CULTS AND KILLERS!

 

Sometimes, a down and out private eye can get lucky and two big cases can come at once; one, a favour for a lover and the other, a godsend from a foe who betrayed him.

And it doesn't help that assassins keep trying to kill him.

Jack Gemini must steer clear of distractions, not get drawn into the mystery of a crazy cult, ignore the actions of a killer mimicking someone he knows all too well, and somehow stay alive long enough to solve his two biggest cases.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. A. Jenkins
• Release date: Nov 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201618278

Book preview

1. Unsolved

Damn it, this case wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped.

I braced myself and inched along the ledge, closer to death.

I was on familiar terms with Death.  Too familiar.  We’d become more than acquaintances of late and I owed him a drink or two for all the close calls, near misses and narrow escapes.  I’d owe him another drink if, tonight, I lived.

This case, the case that had brought me to this precipice, was a case that had haunted me for years.  I’d solved it, again and again, but it kept coming back for more.

Goddammit.

I shuffled further along.

Only cats had nine lives, right?

Just ahead, my target, a dark shape against the feeble lighting of this sector, poked out from the corner of the building, and even though its form was only a silhouette, it gave off an aura of malevolence; the damned thing was almost certainly directing its evil eye at my fragile body.

I made the mistake of looking down, beyond my feet, just for a second.

Oh damn...

Most of my life, before and after the vortex accident, I’d been under the impression I was good with heights, but now, I was beginning to regret that viewpoint; my head spun, and my balance quivered.  I pressed myself back against the wall.  Damn it.  Goddammit.  I imagined myself falling to my death, screaming, passing out; I imagined my body, my blood and viscera, spread across the pavement, roads, several buildings, the latest artwork of Sector Three.  Very avant-garde.  I swallowed, a pathetic attempt to rid myself of the dryness in my throat.  Damn it.  I had to regain my composure.  Had to.  Or my splattered remains would become the hottest exhibition for the bourgeois students and crusty haut monde crowd of Space Station Delta.

I pressed my head back, against the wall behind me and away from certain death below me.  I stared out into the gloom.

Sector Three.

This case had brought me far from home, from one side of the station to the other; it was getting out of hand.  Any other client, I would’ve given up a long time ago, but Mrs Lafferty was one of the richest on my books, and hell knew I needed the credits.  Especially after the damned fiasco with Tribeca Systems last year.  Lots of hard work for a generous pay out all flushed down the toilet by a contractual loophole.  Bastards.

I needed a goddamned drink.  Several.  If I survived this fiasco.

I edged closer to my prey.

I found myself in front of a window and I prayed to any deity that was listening that whichever uptight arsehole that lived inside wasn’t watching and judging my desperate endeavour.  That was the last thing I needed.  And they would certainly call the cops on me.  I also prayed that they didn’t open the window and knock me into the looming abyss below.

But, if I finally closed this case once and for all, my death might be worth it.  Although, I’d rather be alive enough to enjoy the prize.

I edged passed the window and reached the corner.  My target was within reach at last.  I just needed to somehow duck down to the damned thing’s level, that would not be an easy feat while balancing on a narrow ledge, and grab it.

It sauntered toward me, and its ginger tail flittered, somewhat smugly, almost as if the creature knew of my dilemma.

This was closest I’d been to Mrs Lafferty’s elusive goddamned cat in over a year.

I’d caught it before, more than twice before, but it always escaped, always gave me the damned run-around.

I kept my back to the wall, my coat scuffed the brickwork, and eased myself downwards, squatting; it was the only way to make sure I was balanced.  This was dangerous.  I could feel the winds from the air filtration system whip around me and try to knock me off kilter.  I had a sinking feeling in my gut that this wasn’t going to go to plan.

I glanced to my right; the glowing green eyes of the satanic beast glared back at me in the moonlight.  Evil cat.  It mewed pathetically.  A scam.  I knew its real intentions; it would knock me from the ledge the first chance it got.  Ah, and now it was happening; the damned thing had chosen its moment to murder me; it rubbed against my legs.  Bastard.  I was suddenly regretting my choice to scale this death trap of an apartment complex at this time of night.  I pressed myself against the wall to prevent the cat from tripping me and it purred maniacally.  There was no way I was going to fall to my death because of this foul feline.

I didn’t know how I was going to grab the damned thing.

And... get down from this ledge.

I really hadn’t thought this through enough.

I tried to reach down and seize the cat by its scruff, but the devious thing just kept looping in and around my legs.  My thighs, and the surrounding muscles, ached with the tension of squatting.  Painful.  I couldn’t stand, not without being knocked off balance by the feral monster, and I couldn’t sit on the ledge, or I’d squash the biggest payday of my life.  I wasn’t going to be able to keep this up forever; the longer I stayed in this position, the greater the chances of terminal velocity.

Goddammit.

The cat curled up underneath my posterior and settled down.

Fucking goddammit.

The flash of blue lights and the echo of a siren trilled below.

God-fucking-dammit.

That’s all I needed.

The cops.

With the cat safely immobile beneath me, I pushed against my aching legs and straightened out; my balance was more stable, but there would be no way I could grab the damned thing from this position.

Part of me wished I was still a smoker since now would’ve been the perfect time for a cigarette, time for me to think, time for me to work out what I needed to do next.  The cop car’s lights still blinked and flashed below me.  They would be on their way up to me, and I didn’t have enough time to dawdle by thinking up the best way to capture the cat; I needed to just go for it.

I took a careful step to the left and over the dozing creature.  I hadn’t disturbed it; the cat stayed curled on the ledge.  Bastard thing.  Right now, it looked innocent, but appearances were deceiving.  I let out a sigh of relief.  I’d made it; I’d moved from my precarious position where some of my most valuable assets had been most at risk from sharpened claws. 

I still needed to figure out how to grab the cursed animal without falling and I had an inkling that the thing wouldn’t be wholly cooperative, despite its current serenity.

I returned to a squat position by pressing my back against the wall and edging downwards.  The cat was still sleeping.  Or at least, it appeared to be.  Damned bastard beast.  Its ears turned to my direction; it was listening, hearing my under-breath curses, waiting for its chance to strike.

I didn’t want to die with this particular unsolved case written in my obituary.

Cramp began to set in within my thighs; all this squatting wasn’t good for my constitution, or for my old leg injury from last year.  I shifted my feet, my weight, and some debris from the ledge crunched and plummeted below.  I didn’t see it hit the ground.

That could easily have been me.

Damned cat.

The ache in my legs was weakening the muscles in my legs and I needed to move into a more sustainable position; I needed to sit and let my legs dangle from the edge.

I glanced at the beast to my left.  It was still there, content as ever, patient as ever, waiting for my demise.  Perhaps the creature was, in reality, Death wearing a disguise ready to collect on my debts.  Bastard.

I shimmied down the wall and kicked out a foot from under myself.  My weight shifted onto my bad leg, and I screamed, a disturbing sound for the residents of the building; the gunshot wound from last year, that I hadn’t looked after very well, still liked to remind of that fact from time to time.  I wobbled, dizzy.  I caught myself before I toppled forward and propped myself up with an arm, outstretched hand pressed firmly on the ledge to my left.  Goddammit, I needed a drink.  The memory of my wounded leg pounded throughout my muscles; I needed to move, or I’d pay the consequences with my life.  One knee in my face, the other dangling over the edge.  I shifted.  Pressure eased from my aching muscles and hurting thigh.  The ledge was narrow, too narrow for my bum, and my cheeks dug into the corners of the stone.  I’d traded discomfort for more discomfort, but at least I was safer.

The ginger cat still slept.

Apparently.

It purred; its ears were still focused on me.

It was listening.

Waiting.

Comfortably.

Unlike me.  Even my hands were uncomfortable; I gripped the hard and rough edge, determined not to slip.  The cat, my ultimate foe, was curled up, balanced, unafraid.

I sighed; I desperately needed a cigarette and a drink.

Goddammit.

Blue lights still flashed below.  The cops wouldn’t take long to find me, or my remains if I fell; my organs would be spread across the streets and my bones would leave an impression in the roof of their autocar, if my aim were true.

I couldn’t help but survey my surroundings, up here in the dark, cold heights of Sector Three.  I could see most of the sector, or at least it’s lights.  Pinpoints and streams of white and yellow illuminating one of the most affluent places on Space Station Delta.  Flowers in the dark.  It was beautiful.  And a reminder of how shit my home sector was.  The social and economic divide was a permanent fixture, and it was never going to improve, only widen.

Damn, I was getting too old for this shit.

Something wet and cold prodded my hand, the nose of the beast; it was awake.  It sniffed me, sized me up for its next meal, with a bejewelled collar that sparkled with demonic intent as it slinked close.  I daren’t move; I didn’t want to scare the damned creature away.  Not after what I’d been through today; I hadn’t climbed onto this ledge for nothing.  Its wet nose, damned thing, trailed snot along my fingers.  It licked.  Sandpaper.  Moist sandpaper.  The bloody thing was taunting me.  And I had no choice but to let it.

For now.

I needed patience.  Any sudden move to grab the cat or to pin it, could lead to either the cat fleeing, me falling or both.  If I was fast, if I didn’t think about it too much, I could lift my hand, suddenly and hastily, and grab the damned beast by its scruff.

I looked down at the thing.  It stared back, unmoving.  No sniffing anymore, no licking.  I got the feeling it was reading my thoughts, waiting for me to make a mistake.

It was now or never.

I took a deep breath, mentally prepared myself, and lifted my hand, the one nearest the beast, quickly; I felt a brief tremble as my balance on the ledge destabilised and my palm careened at the creature’s neck.

I missed.

My knuckles grazed with the stone, but that wasn’t the end of it.  The cat, the damned monstrous beast, flew at my stricken hand with claws and teeth.  A furry ball of death and destruction.

Goddammit!

I reeled back instinctively, and it was the worst possible thing I could’ve done.

I slipped.  My backside slipped from the edge.  My spine scraped the stone and the back of my head echoed against it.

It all happened so fast.

My heart, organs, jumped and I almost felt my soul, if I had one, leave my body.

I fell.

2. Queen

My plummeting form jolted as someone, a hand caught me.  Other hands, multiple hands, pulled and grasped at my arms, then my clothes; they dragged me backwards over the ledge, through a window and inside the building.

I was hauled through, turned upside down, as I breached the interior, and as my eyes adjusted to the glaring lights, I recognised my rescuers.

Detective Johnson grinned, but it was Suede who spoke.

Mr Gemini, said the cop.  Why am I not surprised?

I’m the one who’s damned surprised, I said, looking up at the two cops.  My heart was still pounding in my throat.

Suede cleared his throat.  Mr Gemini, I think you better come with us.  He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.  Come on.

I...

Besides, I don’t want to impose on this lovely family anymore.

I hadn’t noticed them.  Two adults sat on a sofa, a young child placed between them, watching a movie.  It was something animated.  Well... not watching the movie anymore; it was paused, and they were all staring at me.  They were eating popcorn.

I’m sorry for the intrusion.  I bowed, or curtseyed, or whatever; these high-class Sector Three snobs were bound to already think I was goddamned crazy.  Nothing to be concerned about.  Their expressions contradicted me.

I followed the two detectives out into the hall.

Mr Gemini, said Suede.  He pressed the button for the elevator.  Are you going to tell us why you were on that ledge?  And don’t tell us it was for a case.  Not again.  This isn’t the first time we’ve saved you from certain death.

It’s not like I meant to fall, I said.  I followed the pair into the lift.  I didn’t ask to be saved.  The doors swished closed.

And what about that time we rescued from that tiger? said Johnson.  In the Zoo?

It’s not my fault; the doors locked automatically.

What about that pile-up in the underway?

Oh, come on.  We stepped out into the foyer.  That was an accident!  I didn’t know they’d reopened the road; those repairs have been going on for years!

You shouldn’t’ve been down there in the first place.  She held the main door, for both me and her counterpart to exit.  The blue and red lights of the cops’ autocar still flashed through the night.

I was there for a case.  Across the street, lit up by the colourful illuminations, I caught sight of a small group of alien cultists.  I’d seen them around Space Station Delta quite a bit lately, but it was unusual to see them out this late; they looked downtrodden and tired, barely holding up their ‘believe’ signs, their grey robes solemnly dragged along the pavement behind them.  Missing cat, I said to them.  Must’ve been a bad night for conning people out of the credits.  Crazy nutjobs.

You were willing to die for that? said Johnson.  Suede snorted a laugh.  Neither of them had noticed, or least they’d chosen to ignore, the four or five zealots staring at us as they passed by.  Must be some fancy-ass cat!

As a matter of fact...

You’ve got a death wish, Mr Gemini, said Suede.  He opened the back door of the vehicle and gestured for me to enter.  We better take you home; we don’t want you taking any more risks, do we?

Thanks, but I can get there on my own, I said.  The damned grey fanatics had disappeared into another street and out of view.  And I don’t take too many risks.  These cultists were becoming such a common sight on the station that people were starting to think of them as part of the furniture, much like some of the other crackpots that lived here; they were part of the identity of Space Station Delta, like the shit and grime of Sectors Seven and Six.  They gave the place ‘character,’ which was an excuse for no-one to do anything about them.

You don’t take too many risks?  Suede guffawed.  Don’t make me laugh!

I’m a professional.

Oh, come on, said the cop.  You almost get yourself killed every other day for pocket change.  Why?  It’s not just part of the job for you; other P.I.s don’t get into half as much trouble as you do.  There’s more to it than that.

I shrugged.

And you can’t always have been like this, he said.  In fact, I didn’t even know who you were until...

Last year.

Er... yes... and the less said about that the better.  He waved his hand to the open door again.  Come on, get in.  Don’t make this difficult.  He gently prodded me.  For once, why don’t you do as you’re told, eh?

Whatever.  I ducked inside the autocar.  It smelled fresh, as fresh as fresh human excrement.  I needed a goddamned cigarette to dull my sense of smell.  I was wondering, I said, as the two cops joined me in the car, just what are two upstanding officers like yourselves doing in Sector Three.  I needed to change the subject away from me, and onto something else.  I mean, it’s not your usual haunt.

The pair shared a look which spoke volumes, before joining me in the vehicle.

Goddamned suspicious.

I’ll find out eventually, I said.

They shared another verbose glance.

There’s nothing to find out, said Detective Suede.  And it’s none of your business; you’re not a cop.  Not anymore.

There’s definitely something going on.  I leaned forward.  The two cops were sat facing me; the autocar had no need for driver, and the police inside could keep an eye on their charges.  You know, I said, I would’ve thought you two would’ve been more forthcoming, considering what happened last year.

Still bitter about it, I see.

Wouldn’t you be?  Tribeca is a goddamned devious snake.

From what I understand, said Johnson, they met their end of the contact.  You were lucky to get anything at all.  You didn’t exactly find Howard Lowe, did you?

That’s what Ms Dionne Bex said.  I glared at her.  But I did stop that little experiment from getting out of hand.  It was her fault it got that far in the first place.  If I hadn’t...

Suede cleared his throat.  Loudly.  That’s enough, Mr Gemini.  You know well enough that we’re not supposed to talk about it.

I don’t see why...

I was interrupted by a loud banging on the darkened glass of the police autocar, a frantic rapping, urgent banging.

Jack? called a familiar voice.  I know you’re in there; I saw you get in the car.  Jack?  You told me you were working in Sector Three.  Jack!

Someone you know? said Suede.

I nodded and reached for the door.  Yeah, I said.  The woman I’m seeing.  I pushed open the door to reveal the tall and coiffed lady.  Elizabeth Decker.  As upset as she looked, she still looked perfectly made up; styled hair, make up.  Everyone calls her Queenie, I sighed.  She certainly acted like a queen; she could be a spoiled brat sometimes.

Jack?  What in goddamned hell are you doing?  Her pinned up hair bobbed and shook with every word.  Are you being arrested again?  Really?  After what we talked about last week?  She sighed.  Jack...

I raised my eyebrows.  Queenie, I’m working.  I glanced over to the two police officers I shared the autocar with; they were both trying to hide their amusement.  What do you want?

Jack, she said.  I need you.  Why haven’t you been answering your SmartBoy?  I’ve been calling.

It’s on silent, I replied.

That’s no excuse, Jack.

I couldn’t exactly answer while I was dangling from a ledge.

What?  You were where?

Queenie, can’t it wait?

No.

I watched her.  Her face was beginning to crack and beneath the façade of make-up she wore, I could see she was flustered.  She looked like she’d been running, a rare sight for her, and she was a little out of breath.  I was still wating for her to tell me what was so important.  Well? I said.

Oh, right.  Queenie looked over to the two cops.  They can come along too.  She pushed passed me and entered the autocar.

Ma’am, said Suede, I really don’t think...

You’re the police.  She squeezed passed me and sat in the adjacent seat.  I’ll need your help too.  And you can give us all a lift there.

Excuse me, said Suede, but we’re not here to serve at you’re every wish and whim, lady.

Lady?  Lady?!  Queenie aimed a manicured finger at the cop.  Just who do you think you’re speaking to?  I’m an upstanding member of the community I’ll have you know!  I facepalmed; I already knew where this was going.  Downhill.  Fast.  I pay your wages!  Her finger jabbed the air.  You.  Both of you.  You need to do what I say.  A crime has been committed and you need to find the perpetrator!  She waved in my direction.  My poor Jack can’t be expected to do your job for you, can he?

Please don’t bring me into this, I said.

Queenie glared at me open-mouthed.  I could already imagine the ‘talk’ we’d have about this later.

Queenie... I just think you need to calm it a little.  She was still glaring.  They can’t help you if you don’t tell them what the problem is?  I clasped her hand and squeezed.  Right?

Don’t patronise me, Jack.  She shook free of my grasp.  Especially after what I’ve been through today.

I thought of my own escapade on the ledge, my brush with death; I wondered what in goddamned hell could be worse.  Please, I said, enlighten us.  I glanced over to Suede and Johnson; both were smirking.  We... er... I mean, I really want to make things better, Queenie.

She sighed an exaggerated sigh.  Well.  Jack.  The Delartes has been stolen.

The what?

The Delartes.

Yes, Queenie, I said.  I still don’t know what that is.

She harrumphed.  Jack, I don’t have time to educate you about the most expensive piece of art I’ve ever hosted at Flare.  Just because you’re uncultured, doesn’t mean you can’t help.  She waved toward the cops.  I bet these officers know what a Delartes is.

I glanced over.

Suede shrugged.

Detectives, I said, are you pressed for time?  Fancy a trip to an art gallery?

3. Art

It was rare to see Suede and Johnson wander outside Sector Six or even Sector Seven, and I wondered why they were here.  I was suspicious.  And it may be nothing, since it was not completely unknown for the two mediocre cops to be in the more affluent, and clean, sectors of the space station, but it was definitely rare.  I didn’t trust it.  I was happy that they’d saved my bacon, but I certainly wasn’t the reason for them being in this sector.

It was something I’d need to follow up on.

I looked over at the pair of detectives as we made our way to Queenie’s gallery, Flare.  They were quiet.  They weren’t in this sector for anything normal; there was plenty of white-collar crime in Sector Three,  but these two weren’t well connected enough or well-known enough to be given responsibility for anything like that.  My gut told me there was more to it.  Secrets.  Things they weren’t telling me.  Goddamned bastards.  They should be able to trust me after everything that happened last year, at least a little.  And that didn’t mean I had to trust them in return.

They’d only agreed to come to Flare, the scene of an apparent crime, because Queenie had bullied them into attending.  It had nothing to do with me.

It took only a few minutes to reach the gallery; it shared a sector with the last known location of Mrs Lafferty’s damned bastard cat and my death-defying pursuit on the ledge.