by K. C. Sivils
In fact, I was having a hard time understanding why I worked so hard as a cop. I believed in the idea of law and order, of justice. But those things aren’t people. They are idealistic concepts, pure and beautiful.
People are corrupt, evil creatures. Every day I see what man is capable of doing to his fellow man, most of it not good.
Watching the people of Capital City made me wonder why I was still a cop. I watched my fellow man slog around in the bitter cold as the rain came down. Everyone looked miserable, alone, just wanting to get through the day and go home just to get up and do it all again.
Walking among the throngs were those who looked to victimize as many people as possible. My job was to catch them and lock them up so the average Joe was safe.
I was starting to wonder what was the point.
No matter how many of the scum I shot, arrested or beat up, there was another thug to take the first scum’s place. I was wasting my time. Dealing with the victims sometimes was worse than dealing with the criminals. It got to where sometimes I couldn’t tell who was the victim and who was the criminal.
I stopped under an awning for a local shoe store and looked around, watching the swarm of humanity trudging past in the freezing rain. Soon it would turn into sleet, laying down a layer of ice as the temperature fell. Then the snow would come and cover the slippery substance with a deceptive layer of beautiful powdery white crystals.
The weather was like most people, one thing on the inside, another, deceptive thing on the outside.
The irony of it gave me a good laugh.
Yet, here I was. Out in this terrible weather. Looking for a man I call my friend, a man who agreed with my view of humanity except for one small point. He believed people could be redeemed. It was what drove Father Nathan to invest so much of himself in trying to help others. Many of whom society would be much better served if I just went ahead and locked them up for good.
Standing there, I realized how cynical I've become. I have only a few friends on Beta Prime and those I do have I haven't tried to cultivate. Guilt and remorse will do that to a man. If you don't have friends, you can't hurt them, and they can't hurt you.
Having a friend means you have responsibility. Responsibility means you can let that friend down. More guilt. More need for forgiveness that will never be granted.
Once this Boss Man was found and dealt with, Father Nathan and I were going to have a talk about things.
His vendetta had forced Sarah out on the streets to look for him and the watcher as she called him, placing her in danger. She’d laughed it off, saying she was always in danger. It was my fault her sister Maria was dead. I can’t, I won’t let the same thing happen to Sarah.
The pup was out wandering around too. I didn't ask for a partner, but Markeson stuck me with one. I was responsible for Josephson, and as much as I hated to admit it, the idealistic rookie detective had grown on me. Kind of like a dog person given a kitten learns to like cats. Well, one cat.
Father Nathan was going to have to understand, I was okay with him trying to save the unfortunate and the downtrodden, even some of the petty criminals. It was his choice. But him forcing my hand and placing the few friends I let myself have in danger, that, that was not acceptable.
---
Ralph spotted the two thugs before anyone else. It wasn’t until Sarah pointed out the watcher that everyone else saw him. Josephson reminded everyone to stay out of sight. If things looked like they were going to get rough, he was the one with the gun.
Sarah’s response was to get out of Ralph’s cab and vanish into the morning rush of people as the night shift went home and the morning shift came on. Joe eased out of the cab and looked carefully before crossing the street to the other side of the parish complex. Alice kissed Ralph, gave him a knowing glance reminding him not to get in trouble with the law, and like the others, exited the once crowded cab.
It hurt Ralph to watch the crowds of people hurrying about in the cold rain and not have his light on, indicating he was available to pick up a fare. He sat and watched the entrance to the vicarage where the two thugs were doing their best to make their presence known.
The door opened and Father Nathan stepped out and greeted the pair of hoodlums with a smile, locking the door behind him. The two looked surprised the priest was expecting them.
After talking for a minute or so, the pair cautiously led Father Nathan away from the vicarage, one on each side, just out of arm’s reach of the big man. Ralph chuckled. They might be dumb thugs, but they understood pain and violence. Neither intended to let the priest get a clean shot at either of them.
---
I got a comm message from Josephson and headed down Canal Street, the other main boulevard in the southwest quadrant of Capital City. Father Nathan had simply gone with the thugs this Boss Man had sent to grab him. The watcher was nearby, but he'd lost visual contact. My blood boiled when he messaged Sarah was following and would keep an eye on the watcher.
Half an hour passed while we followed at a distance, spread out so if the trio suddenly took a turn down a side street someone could spot them again quickly. It was evident we were close because the neighborhood was getting rougher and rougher, which was saying a lot in this part of Capital City.
I turned a corner and made the trio as they entered an industrial building that also had a warehouse. I stepped back around the corner and watched the street. Several minutes passed before the man Sarah designated as the watcher casually appeared and strolled up to the entrance of the warehouse and walked in like he worked there.
I waited a bit before I rounded the corner and ran across the street. Upon testing, the door was unlocked and didn’t make a sound as I eased it open just enough to slip in. Standing completely still, I could hear voices talking. I drew my .50 cal and cocked it as I adjusted the sight in my right eye for the dim lighting and pulled up my targeting software.
If there had to be shooting, I wasn’t planning on missing.
Moving further into the building, I discovered it was largely empty except for a couple of dozen dirty, ratty mattresses scattered about on the floor with blankets laying on them. Instantly I knew it was all the good Father could do to not explode in a rage. The conditions his kids were kept in before he arrived were appalling.
A cold draft brushed against me, alerting me to a presence behind me. I looked back to see Josephson, his phase pistol drawn and ready. His face was pale, and a sheen of nervous sweat covered his brow. I couldn't blame him. The last time he'd entered a warehouse he'd lost a hip, a lot of skin and muscle and killed a man.
The pup had more guts than common sense.
Shouting from deeper in the warehouse got my attention. I started walking quickly, no longer trying not to make noise. If tempers had flared enough to start shouting, I doubted anyone would hear footsteps.
“You stuck your nose where it didn’t belong,” one voice screamed, on the verge of sounding hysterical.
I recognized the second voice. “You don’t have a right to treat these children like property. Slavery was banned seven hundred years ago.” If Father Nathan wanted to provoke the Boss Man, he was doing a good job.
“Slavery? These kids work for me,” the voice answered.
"No, they don't. They steal for you, which is something entirely different. If you had them peddling trinkets, I would feel differently. Let's be honest. You're nothing more than a human trafficker. What do you do with the girls when they get old enough? Sell them into prostitution?”
“None of your business, preacher man.”
“It is my business. These are my kids,” Father Nathan growled back.
“Your kids? Now they’re your kids?” The Boss Man laughed. “Who said they were your kids?”
I flinched at the words. I’d said the same thing once and gotten a theological lecture in return. The good Father’s response surprised me.
“You’re right. They aren’t mine. They belong to the Lord.”
Laugh
ter from the Boss Man, who I could now just make out, and the two thugs echoed throughout the warehouse.
“That’s a good one preacher man! Do you see God here,” the Boss Man said, drawing a phase pistol from inside his coat. “No, I don’t think you do,” he said grimly, answering his own question.
Father Nate looked at the gun and back at the Boss Man. “The Lord gave me the responsibility of looking out for those kids, getting them off the streets.”
Tired of the verbal sparring, the Boss Man raised his phase pistol and took aim. "I hope you're all prayed up preacher man because I'm done dealing with you."
I couldn't stand by and watch. I couldn't. My training kicked in, and I bellowed, "Drop your weapon! Freeze! Police!”
The Boss Man jerked his head to look at me. It was all Father Nathan needed. He stepped forward with purpose, swinging downwards and across his body with his right arm with enough force to cause the Boss Man to drop his phase pistol. Stepping across with his right leg and driving his hip into the Boss Man’s abdomen to get leverage, Father Nathan grabbed the Boss Man’s right arm and threw the thug over his shoulder, slamming the Boss Man flat on his back.
A shot rang out from behind me. I saw an explosion of blood and tissue come from the good Father’s left shoulder. I turned to see Sarah’s watcher lining up his sights on my head. I squeezed my trigger and watched the man’s head explode like a melon, covering the wall behind him with bone, blood and brain matter. His decapitated body stood still for what seemed like minutes before it collapsed to the floor, lying with its limbs bent at unnatural angles.
Turning back, I saw the Boss Man scramble to his feet and aim a kick at my friend’s abdomen as he tried to regain his feet. Father Nathan grabbed the foot and twisted, producing a scream as the Boss Man’s leg rotated further than it should, tearing tissue in the ankle. Father Nathan was on him in a flash, raining blows down on the helpless man’s face.
The first blow shattered the nose, crushing the bone and tearing the cartilage. Blood exploded from the damaged nose, covering the Boss Man’s mouth and shirt. A second blow knocked out all of the scum’s front teeth, sending broken teeth flying like bits of broken glass. Blows rained down, splitting the Boss Man’s cheeks open as Father Nathan’s right fist fell like a hammer.
I'd seen fury like that before. Holstering my pistol, I dove into the side of my friend, driving him off the unconscious and helpless criminal. I put Father Nathan in a restraining hold that he promptly reversed, springing to his feet, landing in a fighting stance, his right hand at the ready while he struggled to lift his left arm.
Panting, he cried out, “Why did you stop me?”
“You were going to beat him to death!”
“Some people just need killing,” he snarled back. His words shocked me.
“Not by you, they don’t,” I snapped back in anger, the cop in me getting angry.
“Are you going to arrest me,” he challenged.
I paused to think about it. One dead criminal, probably a hit man, and a small time crime boss who ran a gang of pickpockets, probably trafficked in young girls and prostitution, who was going to do a very long stint in prison. Throw in the fact the guy was going to kill Father Nathan, and I could make a good case for self-defense.
Josephson looked like he was about to puke. To his credit, despite the fact the gun was wobbling due to his shaking so badly, he had it trained on the two wannabe thugs who’d brought Father Nathan to the Boss Man’s lair.
"It was self-defense," I said firmly, looking directly at the pair. "Do you two understand? Because if you don't, you're going down for kidnapping the Father. In case you didn't know, that is an Interplanetary offense. You'll do your time on a prison asteroid."
The taller of the two was clearly the smarter. He elbowed the short one and nodded. “It was self-defense, no doubt about it. The Father had no choice. Yeah, self-defense, I’ll swear to it in court.”
Feeling the need to get his two credits worth in, the smaller thug chimed in, “Yeah, self-defense.”
Father Nathan walked off to a corner and leaned over, his hands on his knees. I left him alone.
“Sergeant, call a meat wagon for the dead perp. Have them send a bus for this one,” I said, pointing down at the bleeding Boss Man. He took a sudden gasp, swallowing blood and spittle in the process. His eyes fixed on the ceiling. And then he was gone, his last breath rattling as his body expelled it.
“Josephson, never mind. Just get a meat wagon.”
“What do you want to do with these two?”
“Take their statements and get a known address. Then cut them loose.”
He motioned for the two to follow him. I stood alone, looking at the bloody mess that just minutes ago had been a small time hood. I looked at the Father in the corner. His body was shaking violently.
He was coming down off the adrenaline rush of combat. It was evident to me the good Father had been a highly trained soldier in his life before the priesthood.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Watching from his vantage point, the mercenary leader adjusted his binoculars for a better view as the train slowed its pace slightly for the large curve it was approaching. It would pass a short stub siding used to set out Maintenance of Way cars. One of his men was hiding in the snow by the siding, ready to throw the switch points when the train passed.
As the lead locomotive eased into the curve, he turned his gaze to the rear of the train. The first of the three container flats coupled onto the last passenger coach suddenly separated. He could hear the squeal of steel wheels going through a curve. Nobody would hear the sound of the hand brakes being applied on the three container flats.
The last passenger coach passed over the switch, clearing the siding. His man emerged from his hiding place and threw the switch. Still rolling at a good speed, the three container flats rolled onto the siding as the two mercenaries who’d hidden on the cars frantically tried to stop the cars with just handbrakes. As the three flats rolled by, the mercenary manning the switch set it back for the main line and put the company lock back on the switch stand, locking it.
Slowing rapidly, the three container flats and their cargoes simply had too much inertia for just the handbrakes to bleed the speed off and bring the cars to a stop. To make matters worse, the cars hit a patch of ice on the rails, in effect negating the braking action. The huge snowdrift at the end of the short siding brought the runaway cars to a complete stop.
Pressing the send button on his encrypted comm, the leader held it up to his mouth. “Snow Rabbit calling Little Bird. Snow Rabbit calling Little Bird.”
“Copy Snow Rabbit. This is Little Bird.”
“Come and get the Worm.”
“Roger, Wilco.”
In less than two minutes the converted military landing craft, now configured to appear as if it was for simple civilian use, hovered over the three stationary container flats. The craft's bottom doors opened, revealing its large cargo bay. It's internally mounted crane lowered down cables to the waiting mercenaries on the ground. In less than sixty seconds the first of the three flats and its container had vanished into the gaping maw of the converted military craft.
Another two minutes passed before the stolen railcars had vanished along with the mercenaries into the hovercraft. It would only take half an hour, and the wind would cover any sign of the theft with a thin layer of snow and ice.
---
Josephson had finished taking the two wannabee's statements and let them go. Happy to not be headed for the clink, they'd vanished quickly. Sarah and Ralph were waiting outside, and I was glad for it.
They didn’t need to see the bloody mess inside. It was one thing for me to put down a career criminal. I didn’t want them to see the good Father’s handiwork.
Joe had wandered in and was standing by the Boss Man’s lifeless body, lost in thought. He motioned for me to come over without looking up from the blood mess lying on the floor.
“Yeah, Joe?”
/> "Inspector, I recognize this man. Don't ask me how okay?"
He looked up at me, his eyes pleading with me to not violate his trust. Joe knew things. Things an honest businessman shouldn’t. Sometimes he shared what he knew with me. This was going to be one of those times.
I nodded that I understood.
“He’s a bent detective. Too corrupt even for the cops here, no offense.”
“None taken. What was his name?”
“Detective Winston Vitter. Worked out of your precinct.”
I understood why Joe needed me to be discreet. The Boss Man may have worked for Captain Markeson.
I would have to be careful how I handled this.
Thinking about the various ramifications of this bit of information, I let out a low whistle.
“Yeah,” Joe said, nodding in agreement.
---
Markeson logged out of the bank account. The transfer of funds complete. Governor Ranking and Mayor Xue had handled their respective ends of the process quickly and efficiently. Like nothing had ever changed.
He noted the exact amounts of the “expenses” involved for the bill he would present to the Colonel. Markeson looked forward to the meeting when he did so. It promised to be a revealing moment. One he needed to handle with great finesse.
Pulling his comm from his pocket, he called up the number he’d been told to use when finished with his portion of the job. Markeson sent a link and waited.
“Yes,” the deep male voice of the man Markeson had learned through his sources was known in Brownstown as “the Sergeant.”
“Everything is done on our end. I’m going to transmit the codes you’ll need when we’re done here.”
“Very good,” the Sergeant replied stiffly. “Have you arranged for appropriate transport out of the system?”
“I have several possibilities waiting. Until I know the final destination, I cannot finalize that aspect of our consultation.”
“How soon do you need to know?”
