Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  “Melrose, let her go before I knock your fucking teeth out,” Charlie growled, reaching forward and grabbing his partner’s wrist.

  Melrose opened his mouth, giving Charlie a belligerent glare, then closed it again – his brain too slow to retort with a witty remark, she presumed. He let go of her hair and sat back. “I don’t know why you’re protecting her, Deacon. She’s a fucking cop-killer, a captain and her partner, no less.” He pointed a chubby, nicotine-stained finger in her direction. “She’s going down for a long time and you know what happens to cops that go to lockup?”

  Charlie ignored his partner and leaned in close. “Veronica, what happened? How were you found in the captain’s house, standing over his and Alon Reid’s body?”

  She tried to piece together the events that had led her to the captain’s house, but her mind was a mess. “He asked me to come,” she said, her voice pleading.

  “Mercer? Reid? Who?” Charlie asked.

  “The captain… I… I didn’t know anything about Reid. As far as we knew, he was still being held at NewHaven.”

  “Why did the captain want you at his home, Veronica?”

  “She was probably fuck…”

  Charlie turned around to face Melrose. “One more word out of you and I’ll throw you out of this fucking van.” He faced Hall; satisfied Melrose wasn’t going to add anything further. “Tell me something, Veronica. Reid’s body was…” He grimaced, shaking his head in disgust. “What did you do to him?”

  Anger began to push through the fog her mind was languishing in. She couldn’t believe he assumed she’d been the one who’d butchered Reid. “Are you fucking kidding me, Charlie? Reid was there when I arrived… I’d only been in his house ten minutes when you lot turned up and that fucking spook bashed my head in.”

  Charlie narrowed his eyes. His expression suggested he wanted to believe her, but it was fighting with the cop in him – the logical part. She had to admit it didn’t look good. “I’ll ask again, why were you at his home?”

  “I can’t tell you; I don’t want you involved in this,” she said, frustrated with the predicament she was now in. She couldn’t tell him even if she wanted to. If they were alone, maybe, but in front of his partner, no chance.

  Charlie sat back. “The spook said you’re linked to the woman; that you’re in league with her. He claims you’re her contact within the SPD. Is that true.”

  As much as she liked Charlie, she’d lost her patience. “Seriously? It’s me that’s had the bash to the head, Charlie. The woman? Really?”

  He ignored the jibe. “What were you doing on the Freedom Bridge the other night?”

  “I was following a lead.”

  “What lead? Did Captain Mercer give you the order? Reid?”

  She suddenly felt weary. She sighed, letting her head bob forward. “I can’t tell you, Charlie.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head; disappointed. “Have it your way then.”

  They travelled the rest of the way in silence, the smell of her vomit permeating the air. Charlie didn’t look at her. Melrose, however, sat back, his large frame resting against the wall of the van. He remained silent. He didn’t have to; in his eyes, she was guilty; her fate already sealed.

  When the van stopped, they unhooked the cuffs from the bar behind her seat – Melrose unlinked the chain a little rougher than was necessary, scraping her wrists in the process. They escorted her into the precinct which, despite the severity of her current predicament, was a damn sight better than if she’d been taken to Newhaven. The image of Alon Reid’s bloody corpse rose to the forefront of her mind. What had he done to deserve such a fate?

  She’d never know.

  It broke her heart as she was booked and taken to one of the interrogation rooms, as though she were just another common criminal. Colleagues she’d had drinks with – worked cases on – glared at her with contempt and hate; already labelling her guilty. One officer spat on her as she passed, calling her ‘a fucking cop-killer’. She was in tears by the time she was dumped unceremoniously into a chair and cuffed to the desk. Charlie had watched, unable to keep the pained expression from his eyes – his partner’s expression the polar opposite.

  After ten minutes alone, the door was pushed open. Banks stepped into the room, smiling at her from behind a scribe he was holding to his chest. “Investigator Hall, how’s the head?”

  His nonchalant jest at the predicament he’d put her in was too much to take. She screamed and thrashed against her bonds – the futility lashing out forgotten in her desperation to get to the spook and tear his eyes out of their sockets. What made it worse was the pitying look he gave her as he patiently waited until her fit of rage had passed. “You fucking bastard,” she roared. “You killed them.”

  Banks tutted, wagging a finger. “That is a nasty temper you have Miss Hall. I’m glad you’re cuffed to that table. I wouldn’t want to end up like Reid and Mercer.”

  She glared at him, sitting back down. Instead of sitting opposite her, he turned and poked his head out the door. “You can leave us alone, officers. NewHaven will take things from here.” He paused, presumably waiting for whoever was behind the one-way glass to vacate before he closed the door. He smiled down at her, casually strolling over to a corner and switching off the camera. He waited until the red light above the lens died, before turning to face his prisoner. “That’s better,” he said, approaching the table and taking a seat. He pocketed his scribe. “Nice and private.”

  “Why bring me here? If you’re going to take me to the same place as Reid, why the charade?” she asked.

  He nodded, approvingly. “Good question, Miss Hall. For appearance's sake. If I just dragged you off to NewHaven, there’d be questions I’d rather not have to answer. It’s less suspicious if I bring you here first, to be paraded as a traitor in front of your entire precinct, then ship you off to NewHaven.” He leaned forward. “Now tell me what exactly you and that fucking captain had on Alexandra Moretti?”

  Hall didn’t answer. Instead, she spat in his face.

  For just a moment, fury flashed in his eyes, then it was quickly suppressed. He chuckled, fetching a tissue from his pocket and wiping the spittle from his brow. He sighed, then in a fit of speed, he lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair. He smashed her face against the table; driving her forehead onto its surface. Her vision flashed white, as the inside of her cheek mashed against her teeth. She cried out as fresh lances of agony coursed through her skull. She spat blood on the table and groaned. She felt his breath on her ear. “Now listen to me, you little cunt, you can tell me here and I’ll have you shipped off to the nearest prison, or tell me later at NewHaven. It’s your choice. In the end, you’ll give me what I need.”

  “It doesn’t matter where you take me… I’m dead either way.” She spat some more blood onto the table, surprisingly finding a defiant resolve. She screwed her face into a scowl. “I hope Moretti finds you and puts a bullet in your fucking head.”

  For the first time, fear flashed in the spook’s eyes. “This mess has caused the deaths of a police captain, a senior investigator, and countless innocent citizens… One more cop isn’t going to make a difference if it means drawing this sorry affair to a satisfying conclusion.” He pulled out his scribe, placing it against his ear. “It’s Banks, have my cruiser brought around the back. I’m taking her in.”

  XXIX

  Lex sighed with relief as she climbed out of the coarse boiler-suit. She winced at the small persistent protests her wounds and aching muscles still gave her – despite the doctor’s treatments. She threw it disdainfully onto a nearby table, feeling tempted to pick it up and discard it into the closest fire. She looked down balefully at the mess the garment had left her skin in. The rough material had caused her flesh to break out in angry red patches which itched like crazy – ironically, they were too tender to touch, in spite of the overwhelming urge to claw at them with her nails. Also, she’d wished she’d asked Oliver for a sports bra or, a
t the very least, some strips of bandage to protect her nipples from the constant chafing; each an angry red made more prominent against the backdrop of her pale skin.

  Her bandages, however, had remained unmolested by the boiler-suit. She made a quick appraisal of them, thankful none of them leaked any blood. They were frayed at the edges but were clean and tightly woven. The doctor knew his stuff; he’d done a flawless job patching up her battered body.

  After her discussion with the guard, Jackson, Oliver had escorted her to the compound’s command centre. As they’d made their way through the labyrinth of shacks, huts, and lean-tos, Lex noted there was a significant reduction in the stares and quiet whisperings of the residents of the compound than there had been when she’d first been ushered through its grounds, to which she was thankful for. It also helped that the lighting had been dimmed – presumably to conserve the compounds energy reserves. Once past the security protocols, at the entrance gate, she’d been led to a small room – the one she now occupied – where Oliver had informed her, he had something to look into. He’d promised she wouldn’t be kept waiting too long and hurried out the door, his coat flapping at his back.

  She knelt down to peer beneath the door, not surprised to find a pair of boots standing on the other side. They want me to work with them, but still don’t trust fully me… She rose to her feet and walked over to a free-standing mirror where her repaired and newly improved – so the doctor claimed – combat suit was; draped over the top. She unfolded it, appraising his handiwork. The tears and holes which had peppered it were now gone. She drew it up close for a more detailed inspection, amazed she couldn’t pinpoint any exact location where it had been repaired; there was an absence of stitch marks or even the slightest hints of patchwork, which she found astonishing. Also, where the suit had been completely black before, it was now laced with stripes running down in angry-looking shards; a deep crimson in colour. She squinted in suspicion.

  If this is the same suit, I’ll resurface, up top, and become the next Prime of Sanctum-One.

  She was disturbed from her scepticism, as a knock resounded from the door. “Come in,” she said, walking behind the mirror. The hinges creaked as the door swung open. Heavy footfalls thumped on the rickety, uneven floorboards.

  “Lex?” Brooks called. He sounded confused – and if she wasn’t mistaken – a little uneasy from her absence. She couldn’t stop a smile creeping up her cheeks. He sighed in relief as he must have spotted her bare feet below the rim of the mirror. His steps grew closer to the mirror, halting two feet away. “The doctor sends his apologies. He won’t be joining us in the mess quarters. He’ll join us after we’ve had a bite to eat.” He paused, as though trying to find the right words. “Something’s came up… something that might be of interest to you.”

  “Fine, just give me a sec,” she said, pulling the suit up to her waist. She poked her head out. Brooks stood with his arms crossed; they looked a little grubby like he’d been tinkering with a motor engine. He wore the same type of boiler-suit as the one she’d been wearing, though it had been rolled down and tied at the waist. She couldn’t help notice his toned torso, beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “What news has come up?”

  A thin smile crept across his face. “I’ll explain in the mess.” He nodded to her exposed shoulder, and then turned, heading for the door. “Pull the rest of that up and follow me. I’m starving.”

  ~

  Lex flexed her arms and performed the various stretches she usually did before she ventured out to hunt, in a state of shock and awe. The combat suit felt like a second skin; both light and pliant to her movements. “What the fuck is this made of?” she asked, from beneath the suit’s hood. “It feels like I’m wearing a coat of paint.”

  “Looks like it too,” Brooks muttered. He was leaning against one of the countertops, keeping a safe distance from her kicks and swings. She suspected he was deliberately averting his gaze from the way her new battle attire clung to her.

  She ignored the comment. “As much as this gives me a lot more manoeuvrability, it won’t mean shit if I’m more susceptible to damage.” She stopped moving, eyeing him dubiously. “Inner-Sanctum thugs tend to welcome me with knives bared and guns blazing.” Brooks chuckled. She raised her eyebrows. “Something funny?”

  He shook his head, his eyes meeting hers. “A little. Oliver said you would say that.” He turned and opened one of the drawers – stacked in rows underneath the countertop. He pulled out, what looked like, a pair of goggles. He threw them over to her, which she caught deftly. “Believe it or not, but it’s more impervious to damage than it was before.”

  She eyed him quizzically. “Before? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assume my combat suit… you know, the one I was wearing when you found me in the park… is lying in the trash.” she said.

  Brooks caught the meaning of her tone and grinned. “When did you twig?”

  She gestured to herself, her arms wide. “I think I might’ve bought it if Oliver had put a few random stitches or patches on it. No one could take my old suit in the sorry state it was in and turn it into this. No way.”

  Brooks shrugged. “Fair enough. Well, as I was saying, about ninety per cent of the suit is nano-web smart-frame.”

  “Nano what?”

  “It’s a state-of-the-art diagnostic armour. It won’t bounce bullets back at its recipient, but it should hold off most knife attacks, and protect your body from falls – which will be handy given your penchant for flamboyant exits.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but there was humour in it. “I assume you’re referring to my escape from the Trammel building?”

  “Which one?” he asked, a wry smile creeping up his cheeks.

  She shrugged. “Good point.”

  He raised a hand up to his stubbled chin. “Now that we’re on the subject, how did you manage to jump through his window without ending up with your brains scattered across the sidewalk below?”

  She tapped her finger against the side of her nose. Got to leave some mystery. She pinched the material on her arm, making sure she got some skin underneath. She felt the nip on her flesh as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all. It did not fill her with confidence. “Forgive me if I remain sceptical.”

  “Put the mask on,” Doctor Oliver said, standing in the doorway.

  Lex nodded a greeting to the doctor and removed her hood. She slipped the mask over her head. “You do realise I’ve only the one eye?”

  Oliver rolled his eyes, ignoring the sarcasm, and stepped closer. He reached a hand towards her, then stopped as she flinched. “May I?” he asked. She nodded, feeling a little embarrassed.

  The doctor has treated your wounds. Christ, he’s seen you naked. What’s the matter with you?

  He reached up and flipped a tiny switch situated behind her ear. She was beginning to doubt him when a surge of electrical energy coursed through her body. The glass that had covered her eye ignited with analytics. Suddenly Oliver and Brooks’ forms were outlined with a stream of information. She read through them, realising it was their physical attributes; breathing patterns, weak points, height, weight etc.

  “Try moving now,” Oliver said.

  She took a step back from him, giving herself some space. She resumed her stretches and exercises, as she had done before, only this time she felt quicker, stronger. “This is amazing,” she exclaimed. Oliver smiled, but Brooks had a dark look across his brow.

  “There’s a switch on the other side of the mask, it switches your view to night-vision; infrared; motion sensor; and security system detection,” Oliver said.

  Lex turned to him, intrigued. “Security system detection?”

  Oliver clasped his hands together. “The mask can detect trip sensors, keypad locked doors, and camera locations.”

  The Inner-Sanctum won’t know what’s hit them.

  Amidst her delight at her advanced equipment, a few questions surfaced in her mind. She turned to Brooks. “How did you acquire this technology
? I mean… as much as your compound is functional and operational, the technology is nowhere near as advanced as what’s in this suit.”

  Brooks clasped his fingers together, a look of sorrow crossing his features. “The technology and the equipment to build that suit were acquired at great sacrifice. We lost many good men and woman to get it.” He grimaced, as though he were reliving whatever had transpired to ascertain the equipment.

  “Where did you get it?” she asked.

  “NewHaven,” Oliver declared.

  Her eyes widened. “NewHaven? How? When?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, it’s done. What concerns me, is what you’re going to do next. Will you join our cause?”

  Lex thought about what Jackson had told her. Brooks – and the majority of the compounds populous – had been through a lot of shit – about as much shit as she had herself. Their cause was a noble one and no mistake, but it didn’t dispel one of the questions she had about her current situation and the great lengths Sapien-Republic had gone to kit her out in this advanced combat suit.