Blaze Tuesday and the Case of the Knight Surgeon (Special Edition)

By Kai Kiriyama

Clockwork body parts are touted as a medical miracle by the companies who make them, and high fashion by the stars who sport them, and a lot of kids go through illegal surgeries. The sub-culture of Gearheads is full of kids with robotic body parts from poorly done surgery in less-than-sanitary conditions, and these are surgeries that don’t always take.

Blaze Tuesday is New York's most accomplished private investigator. A former police officer with a bone to pick with the corruption in the city, he's earned a name for himself as a guy who gets results, and who is willing to uphold the moral values so many others have forgotten, even if he has to break a few faces to do it.

Blaze is hired by Wayside Firms, one of the medical firms that produces the Clockwork, when a charity doctor who worked specifically with less-fortunate kids who have had botched illegal, is found murdered. As Blaze investigates the unfortunate death, he discovers a conspiracy that stretches from the lowest gutters in Hell’s Kitchen, to the highest corporate fat cats at the medical firms who create the Clockwork body parts.

Can Blaze get justice for the dead doctor, and bring some hope back to the kids in Hell's Kitchen who were counting on the Doctor's help? Or will he get caught up in the underworld of body modification and the big money it brings in?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kai Kiriyama
• Release date: Aug 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311118424

Kai Kiriyama

A writer of many things and many genres, Kai is currently working on a novel (you can pretty much always assume that she's writing something!) that involves murder, mayhem and probably a ghost or some other form of otherworldly creature. She is also working on some non-fiction but she's not entirely sure why. Kai has been writing for far too long and she's convinced that both her "to be read" and "to be written" lists will never be completed before she dies. She has a diploma in palmistry and can read hands with an accuracy that most people don't expect. She is also accomplished at tea leaf reading and crystal divination, both of which she has also achieved a diploma for and scares herself with the accuracy of the things she has predicted. A time-travelling, demon hunting, Asgardian geek, with an affinity for Pokemon and Shakespeare, you can be sure that there will be general insanity and dubious wisdom dispensed no matter where you chat with her. As always, she requests that you "be excellent to each other" while she's away. Kai currently lives in Canada, but if she told you where, you'd have about fifteen seconds to assume the party position before the special ops team arrives. She can be reached by email at [e-mail] You can find Kai on twitter @RaggedyAuthor You can also find Kai on her website www.theraggedyauthor.com

Book preview

Chapter One

…And then the asshole tried to run from me.

Oh, you rotten son of a… I growled. I was pretty sure that he’d paralyzed my kidney with a lucky punch, which meant that tomorrow would be hellish and I couldn’t drink tonight if I wanted to keep the pain of the paralysis wearing off to a minimum. I hauled myself back to my feet from where I’d stumbled and took off running after him.

My name is Blaze Tuesday. I'm a private investigator in New York. I used to be a cop, but I gave that shit up five years ago. The corruption in the system made me wanna puke, so I quit. Now, I run a fairly successful P.I. firm with my partner, Jackson Early. I'm nothin' special; I'm about five foot ten, blue eyes, grey hair that I keep cut fairly short. I'm skinny... kind of. I try to keep myself in pretty good physical condition since chasin' perps down dark alleys isn't the easiest thing in the world. I like to think that I'm pretty good lookin'; I haven't got any body mods or clockwork though, so I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I wouldn't call myself rugged or nothin'. Modesty is my biggest virtue... Sarcasm is probably my biggest flaw.

I’d been investigating a case for the past week and a half and I was finally getting to the point where I could call it in, give the family who had hired me some closure and stick it to the cops, again, but the kid I’d cornered just wouldn’t go down without a fight. The kid was lowlife mafia wannabe scum. It wasn’t uncommon in the city, things had always been lean and mean on the streets of New York, but things had started to get a little leaner and the people had to get a little meaner to make ends meet.

This kid was just a nobody, trying to become a somebody in the world of organized crime. Not usually my division, but you don’t start goin’ into upscale New York residential areas and openin’ fire on a buncha unarmed civilians who may or may not have mob ties for very long before you start to get noticed.

And this guy had been noticed by the wrong sorts of people.

Before you start gettin’ all worried about me, lemme set the record straight - I’m not workin’ for the mob. I don’t take corporate cases. This guy had the wrong house number and he went and opened fire into the wrong family. It wasn’t a mob hit, it was a goddamn slaughterhouse. The cops were baffled, as usual. There was nothing to make the case stick out, nothing to even suggest that this was a targeted attack.

The mob was unhappy, to put it lightly and they had put the word out that there was going to be a manhunt for the bastard trying to move into their territory. There was a reward big enough to move a family of five out of the slums and set ‘em up real nice in a proper house for anyone who could turn the guy responsible for the shootings in. Alive, of course. Boss Caivano wasn’t one to let dead bodies be made an example of. It sent the corrupt cops into a frenzy, but the corruption seemed to make their effectiveness go by the wayside and it wasn’t like anyone was getting anything done anyway. The word on the street was gettin’ around and it was a full-out manhunt in the slums. Things were getting messy real fast and I wasn’t surprised when more bodies of lowlife gangsters from the Kitchen started showin’ up in the morgue.

Luckily for the cops, the family was actually pretty well-to-do and they were able to seek out and hire the best private eye in New York to give them some closure. I was honoured to be asked to take the case. They were frustrated by the senseless death of their young son and the cops weren’t giving them any answers, what else were they supposed to do? I didn’t blame them, they got stuck with some of the jerkwads from the Fourteenth precinct and man, I thought the corruption was bad at my old shop? These guys made the corruption I uncovered in the ranks of the Seventeenth look like bullies stealin’ lunch money in middle school.

So I got to work. It took me almost two weeks to track the son of a bitch down, and now I was limping after him in the alleys of upscale New York, trying not to piss my pants as the kidney paralysis started to wear off, or get arrested for trespassing. I sure as hell didn’t look like a respectable citizen and it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if some wiseass decided to call the cops on me. Again.

I didn’t understand it, the kid was actually from pretty good stock. He wasn’t heavily modified and he lived in a suburban home. His family had no mob ties and for all intents and purposes, he was actually a well-adjusted kid. I say kid, but really, he was college age. Twenty-seven, I think? I mean, shit, he coulda almost have been my son had my life taken a different turn.

So I ran after the kid, what else was I supposed to do? The mob had a hit out on him, the cops looking for him were more corrupt than I had ever seen, and even the cops on the other side of the damn city were looking for this kid. Everyone wanted the payday from Caivano.

I just wanted to see some justice done that wasn’t the kind bought with mob money and the sharp end of a knife. I’m a jaded old bastard, but I’m not that jaded.

I had no idea where I was. I wasn’t familiar with this part of the city. It was getting late. I was tired and the ache in my lower back was starting to turn into the kind of ache that you get when you wait too long to go to the head.

Dammit, just stop running already! I shouted. I’m not going to hurt you!

I saw the kid stumble ahead of me and I put every ounce of effort I had left in me to close the gap between us. He yelped as he saw me coming up on him and he shook his head, flipping me the bird. What a little shit.

No, seriously! I shouted. Stop running now and I promise this won’t end as badly for you as it will if someone else catches up to you before I do.

He flashed his middle finger at me again. Suck on that, Pig! he snapped.

Little bastard, I muttered under my breath. I pulled back my canvas duster and reached beneath the folds of fabric to my shoulder holster. My fingers wrapped around the butt of my gun and I drew without hesitation. I took a deep breath and put on one last burst of speed, raising my gun and aiming at the kid’s back. I shook my head and moved my aim up and to the left. The kid was right-handed, the chances of him dodging unexpectedly left were slim to nil so I took my chance.

The report of the shot echoed through the suburb, setting off a close-by car alarm and driving the dogs that were out for the night into a mad barking frenzy. I didn’t even know car alarms were still a thing that existed. Guess you learn something new every day.

The gunshot did the trick though. The kid skidded to a halt, crouching with his hands over his head. I slipped my gun back into my holster and adjusted the fabric of my coat back over it. I stomped up to the kid and grabbed him by the scruff, hauling his sorry ass to his feet.

What the hell is wrong with you? I demanded, snarling into the skinny kid’s face. Do you always run when someone tells you to stop?

You attacked me! the kid whined.

Bullshit, I attacked you, I snapped back. You tried to hit me with a metal pipe.

You were following me!

Yeah, dumbass, I pulled my badge from my pocket and flashed it in his face. That’s what private investigators do.

You’re not a cop?

You’re a straight-A student ain’t ya? I sneered, shaking him in my impotent rage.

You shot at me!

I missed.

The kid let out a little whimper. Oh God, what are you gonna do to me?

What do you think? I asked, more rhetorically than anything, but I was secretly hoping for an answer.

He shrugged and whimpered again in response. I sighed.

You know you’ve really pissed off a lot of people, right? I asked.

The kid nodded and went limp, barely standing, he probably would have fallen over if I wasn’t holding on to his hoodie. I looked him over as we stood there in the dark with the barking dogs and wailing car alarm going off half a block away. He was scrawnier than I had thought, like he had no meat left on his bones. His eyes were sunken and they looked black in the shitty orange glow of the streetlights. His features were sharp, like he’d never known a moment of softness and there was a dangerous air about him, like a cornered dog. He didn’t try to fight me though, like he’d given up when he realized I wasn’t a cop. He looked like he was maybe half-Italian, but definitely not Goodfella material.

Walk an’ talk, buddy. You’ve got a lot of answering to do. I demanded, shoving him ahead of me. What the hell is wrong with you?

He shrugged under my hand. You mean like the cancer that’s eating me up?

Well, shit. No wonder he’d do anything to get a little attention. For all our medical miracles, cancer was still the bane of our existence. We could replace almost any organ with a ticking mechanical version of it, but we still couldn’t cure the most common diseases.

Do your parents know? I asked, softening my tone just a little.

No.

Why not?

I ain’t a beneficiary, he explained, sneering the word like it was a curse. And I ain’t got insurance for myself, you know that shit don’t come cheap.

I bit my tongue, trying desperately not to correct his grammar. But you were in school?

Another shrug. Was.

You flunk out? I asked.

No, but student loans don’t cover medical bills.

So what made you think that shootin’ up a bunch of mobsters would get you anywhere good?

He sighed, a long, sad exhalation. There’s been word of new mobsters moving in on Caivano. They say the old man is dyin’ of cancer, or some shit. The families all want a piece of the action and there’s room for new blood to come in and get a piece, y’know?

I did know, but what he was saying didn’t make any sense. Caivano was fit as a fiddle from what I could gather and he was planning some sort of mass takeover from some of the smaller street gangs to bolster his own numbers, and to put a bigger stranglehold on the streets of New York. There was no big underground mafia movement, unless you counted the influx of new Italians coming over, or the smear campaign that the Clockwork manufacturers were running to boost loyalty as reports of defective products and religious abandonment of all things ‘unnatural’ slipped into social consciousness and made people more hesitant to let themselves be operated on. It was the same sort of scares that happened with organ transplants and vaccinations, and we were still doing those without as many complications as there used to be. There wasn’t much happening in the criminal underground as far as I knew.

I shook my head. I’m sorry you got messed up like this, kid, but there’s got to be a better way to get the treatment you need?

He shrugged again.

You ever look into getting into one of those test groups that Wayside always runs when there’s a new drug or whatever on the market.

He snorted derisively. Wayside doesn’t do cancer, you know that.

Always worth a shot, I offered.

Whatever, Pig.

I shoved him a little harder than I needed to and he stumbled but he kept quiet as we walked. We got six blocks before he opened his mouth again.

What’s the matter, copper? Don’t you got a car?

My name’s Blaze, I grunted. And that’s none of your damn business.

I could hear the grin creeping through his voice when he answered me. My name’s Danny, and that’s an obvious no.

I didn’t justify his snark with an answer.

So where are you walking me to? Danny asked after another few blocks. You gonna turn me into the family for vigilante justice?

God, no. I’m not a monster.

Danny made a noise that might have been him trying to stifle a laugh, but I wasn’t entirely sure. All right, so then mister good guy private eye, where are you taking me?

Cop shop, I replied flatly.

Oh because that’s so much better for me, isn’t it?

It will be, I promised. I ain’t taking you to the Fourteenth. I’m takin’ you to the Seventeenth.

Cops are cops, he grumbled, bitterly.

Yeah, but I’m in good with the cops at the Seventeenth. Where the guys down at the Fourteenth would turn you over to Caivano to make a quick buck on that ransom that’s on your head, the guys at the Seventeenth will put your pathetic ass in a cell and make sure you get a fair trial.

How can you be so sure?

Because I used to be one of them, and the chief there owes me big.

I knew you were a pig.

I snorted. Not anymore.

Danny walked quietly the rest of the way. He didn’t ask any more questions and his demeanour grew colder and more sullen the closer we got to the precinct. It wasn’t a particularly long walk, but by the time we got there, I felt like I’d just run a marathon.

Hey, Bobby! I called to the night clerk. I’ve got a delivery and I need the chief in here right away.

Bobby was a good guy, a bit younger than me, but he was solid. Never took a bribe, never even jaywalked. He nodded and waved me through, flashing the number two with his fingers. I nodded in return. Interrogation room two was open and I led Danny through the precinct to the interrogation room.

Sit down, I demanded, closing the door behind us.

Danny did, without hesitation. I took the spot across from him and we simply stared at each other for a long damn time.

So, he asked finally. What’s next?

I blinked. The honest naivety and worry in his voice shocked me. This wasn’t the same kid who had tried to beat me to a pulp in an alley. This was definitely not the same kid who had killed an innocent child when attempting to whack mobsters for fun. This was a kid who had lost all hope and didn’t know what was going to happen to him.

It broke my damn heart.

Next, you get a lawyer. You give your confession, everything, The cancer, that fact that your parents don’t know, the bit about the mob rumours that spurred you on to this. All of it. But wait ’til your lawyer gets here. You’ll get a deal, hopefully. Manslaughter instead of murder one, since it was an accident. I shrugged. You’ll go into protective custody. Your parents will be notified. Then it’s all up to the lawyer, the DA and your jury, I’m afraid.

Danny nodded silently. I’m sorry.

Me too, kid, I replied with a sigh. Me too.

Chapter Two

The case with Danny ended up blowing up in my face. I did my due diligence, but having him put in protective custody wasn’t enough, and all the pretty words in the world from Chief Fredricks wasn’t enough to stop the corruption from getting to him. I got the phone call in the middle of the night. I was sleeping off a shot of whiskey or three and it took me longer than it should have to piece together what the frantic voice on the other end of the line was saying.

From what I understood, the security detail was lax, or corrupt, and either way, Danny was beaten, mistreated and ended up with a bullet in his head before he could go to court. It was a load of crap, and Fredricks had apologized immensely to me but it didn’t help, a kid was dead after I’d promised he’d be safe until they could get him to court.

What a downer.

I wish that I had a more awesome description to start this story off with. You know, it was a dark and stormy night or something similar. The problem is that I don’t, and I’m not really one for talking in fancy words. I’d solved a case and gotten the closure the family was hoping for, and then I was left holding the bag when the kid got killed anyway. I mean, it wouldn’t have been so bad if the cancer got him, but now I was down an innocent kid, a kid who got messed up and ultimately paid the highest price for his mistakes, and up two grieving families. All they’d wanted was some answers. Danny’s family seemed worse off than the family of Danny’s victim. They didn’t get any final goodbyes. They didn’t even know that Danny was in trouble, hell, he hadn’t told them about the cancer. It was bullshit. It wasn’t fair and I wasn’t in the mood to be bothered. I wanted to dwell on it. I didn’t take loss very well, and I was definitely a sore loser.

It had been a long day already, between my moping and the incessant calls from the Seventeenth trying to get me to talk to someone, whether that someone was Chief Fredricks or one of the PR people, it didn’t matter. I’d told them that their apologies were accepted but they didn’t do squat to make me feel better and I’d appreciate it if they’d all stop calling. I was reclining, feet up on my desk, debating on if the vintage, blue paisley wallpaper in the building was actually worth keeping, or if it was contributing to the pounding migraine that was settling into the back of my skull, when my secretary knocked on the door.

I run a pretty lax ship when it comes to the firm. I own the whole building and my secretary and I live in the apartments upstairs. The building is okay; it's an ancient thing left over from the early 1900's back when New York was a major city. I guess New York is still a major city, but the cost of living sure dropped off after the oil crisis of the mid-2000's. Everything inside the building has been updated, though, and it's pretty nice, even if I am a terrible housekeeper.

I'm not stingy with office furniture, neither. I've spent a good chunk of money furnishing the place. Nice desks, decent couches in the waiting room. Killer office chairs. There's honestly nothin' worse than sitting in a chair for eight hours and havin' your ass fall asleep. By the time you stand up to work some feelin' back into your posterior, it's guaranteed that the hottest broad you'll ever see will walk into your office. Trust me; I've been there.

I groaned under my breath, but didn't move from my spot. I was comfy and to hell with what anyone else thought.

Yeah? Come in. I said.

Trixie pushed open the thick wooden door and stared at me with a look of familiar contempt. She'd seen me do this a thousand times before. I flashed her my winning smile and she folded her arms over her chest in response.

Trixie Luna was pretty cute. She was in her mid-twenties, bookish, with long red hair done up in a bun and the most intense green eyes ever. I kid you not, she could stare right into your soul with those peepers. Add the cat's eye glasses she always wore and you had a hot secretary fantasy waiting to happen. Or something. I dunno, she wasn't as buxom as I liked, but she was a good kid, smart and she made the best cup of joe this side of Manhattan.

We stared at each other for a long moment before a smile slowly crept across her face, and we both started to laugh. We couldn't take this job too seriously sometimes; it wasn't worth the trouble.

You're gonna fall over one day, sittin' like that, Trixie informed me matter-of-factly. You're gonna hit your head on the floor, crack your skull open and I ain't callin' you an ambulance. That's out of my pay scale.

She had a point. I really didn't pay her enough to deal with avoidable accidents.

Slowly, I took my feet off my desk and sat up straight. Trixie relaxed and stepped a little further into my office so that we could talk.

So what do you need? I asked.

You've got a client waiting for you in the lobby, Trixie explained.

Did you get any details about what they want? I asked, bored already. You know that I'm pretty busy these days.

Trixie rolled her eyes at me, clearly not buying my excuses.

So I'll take that as a 'no' then? I teased, grinning cheekily at her.

It's not in my job description to ask, Trixie shot back.

Well, maybe it's time for me to change your job description? I considered, still grinning. I sighed and waved my hand. Let Jackson deal with it?

Trixie's mouth formed a thin line on her face. I knew that look all too well; I'd seen it more times than I cared to admit. She closed the almost soundproof door and wheeled on me.

Jackson is currently working three cases, Blaze, Trixie said, her voice low and angry. Good cases, too. Cases that you declined for whatever arrogant reason you came up with at the time. There's been steady work rollin' in for the past month and you've turned down almost all of it!

I took the case with the kid who was randomly whacking mobsters! I shrugged. The rest were boring, unimportant things.

They were important to the people trying to hire you.

Irrelevant, I yawned. Besides, Jackson closed all of them anyway.

And you're running him ragged!

He doesn't have to accept every case that walks through our front door. There are plenty of other private eyes in our fair city.

Trixie strode across the small space between the door and my desk. She pressed her palms flat against the smooth, dark wood and leaned forward. I hadn't noticed how low cut her blouse was until she leaned forward, and I found my eyes wandering for a moment.

So you want me to just take this case, don't you?

That would be a nice start, Trixie agreed.

I stared up at her for a long moment. She stared back, entirely unamused and I had a sinking feeling that I wasn't going to win this argument.

Are you sure that Jackson can't take this one?

The blush crawling up Trixie's neck and onto her cheeks told me exactly how pissed off she was. I braced myself for the verbal bitch slap I was about to get.

Obviously I was wrong about you, Mister Tuesday. And here I thought that I was working for the most accomplished private eye in all of New York. Trixie drawled. What a shame it is to find out that I'm really just working for a lazy, arrogant, self-entitled dickwad who can't be bothered to move his ass to take a job to pay his bills and, oh, I dunno, maintain his outstanding reputation.

Are you done slandering me? I asked. I might start to get offended.

Are you done with this false macho bravado that you seem intent on putting on to alienate your entire clientele?

Who said it was a false bravado?

Trixie gave me a look that would curdle milk. Any of those hot secretary fantasies I mentioned? Instantly gone.

Fine, I grumbled flatly, standing up. I walked around my desk, brushed past Trixie, opened the door and walked out into the waiting room.

The offices were on the main floor of my building, easy access at street level. I saw no point in making it inconvenient for potential clients to get to me. It's probably part of why I'd gotten as popular as I had; high visibility, easy access and one hundred percent results.

The waiting room was triple the size of my office. The same godawful blue paisley wallpaper covered the walls and natural light spilled into the room from the big, plate glass windows. Industrial but not hospital-grade fluorescents hung from the ceiling and buzzed dully in the background of the sounds of life passing my my office outside. I didn't spend a lot of time in the waiting room and I took a moment to admire how clean and nicely decorated it was. I nodded in satisfaction, secure in the fact that, yes, I was the first choice in private investigators. My self-satisfied introspection was interrupted by a polite cough that came from the direction of the plush couch in the corner by the window.

Oh right. Apparently, I had a job to do.

I looked at the coughing figure sitting on my couch, He was a scrawny, rat-like man wearing a plain brown suit and a bowler hat. His hands were hidden beneath brown leather gloves and I noticed that his wing tipped shoes were kind of dirty. His face was narrow and pointed and his dark, beady eyes darted around the room nervously.

Great. I thought. A bureaucrat.

I stood up a little straighter and tugged on my untucked shirt, attempting to half-assedly make myself a bit more presentable. At least, I reflected, I was wearing clean clothes today.

I stepped forward towards my visitor.

Blaze Tuesday at your service, I said by way of introduction. I extended my hand politely.

The rat guy stared blankly at my hand and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I cocked my eyebrow and shot a glance at my hand, wondering if it had been dirty or something, as I withdrew it.

I cleared my throat and tried again.

Hi, I tried. Welcome to my office. Sorry to have kept you waiting. My secretary says that you want to hire me to do something?

The ratty guy on my couch stared at me critically, like he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at. I didn't like it, but I'd be damned if I was gonna let him know it.

Finally, Rat Guy spoke.

Detective Tuesday, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you.

Most of it is lies, I replied casually. Unless it's about my successes or my love life. Then it's only a lie when it's negative.

The scrawny man smiled politely but didn't move from his spot. I didn't like the guy on principle and I found myself wishing that Jackson was around to deal with this guy. I wasn't very diplomatic when it came to pencil pushing peons. I tried very hard not to show my disappointment in his less than warm reception of me.

What can I do for you?

"I'm