Free Tales of the Red Panda: The Crime Cabal by Gregg Taylor Page A

rackets. I thought we’d taken
all the big pieces off the board.”
    “Maybe we left more pawns than we thought,” he said gravely as he
opened the pneumatic tube that led to their top-secret lair. He paused. “Ladies
first,” he said seriously.
    “We could squeeze in together,” she said, trying to sound helpful.
    “I keep telling you, I’m not sure the tube’s pneumatic actuators could
stand the strain.” As far as Kit could tell, he was completely earnest.
    “I’m not sure mine could either,” she sighed as she stepped into the
tube.
    “Wh- wait…,” he said, brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
    The door slid shut with a thunk. He could just hear her voice echoing
from inside the tube.
    “It means I’ll see you in five minutes. Don’t be late.”
    And with a great whoosh, she was gone.
    Fenwick waited several minutes to be absolutely sure that she’d have
time to clear the landing pad before he arrived, stepped into the tube and
launched himself into the blackness.
    As he rocketed through the nothingness to the hidden lair deep
underground, he frowned to no one in particular. The Flying Squirrel was right.
Their campaign against organized crime in the city had preoccupied them for
months. Certainly it was worth it to free the citizens of Toronto from the
parasitic grasp of the criminal low-lifes who preyed upon those who could least
afford it. But there were other fish in the sea. Other investigations, other
forces at work upon the city. He had also hoped that bringing down the major
gangs and caging the big fish would buy them a longer respite from the mobs.
Clearly he had miscalculated, but where?
    If there was a gang left untouched by their efforts, it was one that
had never registered on their networks of agents and informants before. Perhaps
the police would have more information. In any case, if this last gang standing
were stepping up their efforts, it meant that he and the Squirrel had failed in
one other respect. They had sought to instill in those smaller fish who had
escaped their net a deep and abiding fear. The dead certainty that crime did
not pay, and that no one was beyond the reach of the hand of justice.
    If there was a new protection racket flourishing on the north side, and
if other reports from their agents were true, then the little fish had grown
bold somehow. They were seizing the opportunity to hit the big-time. A status
they should have been terrified of, if all had gone according to plan.
    The rising tide of compressed air rose to meet him and slow his
approach. The tube hissed as he opened it and stepped into the lair. There was
no sign of his partner.
    “Kit?” he called as he stepped into the hall.
    The door to her changing room opened a few inches, and her head stuck
out at an alarming angle.
    “With ya in a sec’,” she grinned. “Put a mask on or somethin’ while you
wait. I hear they’re terribly comfortable.”
    “Thanks, I might do that,” he said, picking up a mask and a set of
gauntlets off the rack.
    “I forgot to ask about your night-table reading,” she called through
the door of the changing room. “Did you figure out what kind of explosive was
used?”
    “There wasn’t much residue left to test,” he called back. “But it
wasn’t like anything I’ve encountered before. It burned hot and clean. Took out
the locks and hinges on the vaults at the largest brokerage in the city and did
almost no other damage. A finesse job.”
    The door to the changing room opened and the Flying Squirrel stepped
out, pulling her cowl on as she did. “Finesse and high-explosive aren’t two
phrases we usually get in the same sentence.”
    “Granted.” He smiled in spite of himself.
    “And if they’re good enough to come up with a charge you can’t finger,
they’re pretty good. Could be a new player.”
    “Could be,” he agreed. “And they got away with three hundred thousand
dollars in untraceable securities two nights ago, and neither we nor the