KOP Killer

by Warren Hammond

  I went to the corner, looked in another direction, couldn’t see them. Shit.

  I looked into the gunsight, studied the rifle’s display. I saw numbers. Coordinates. Maggie’s bug was reporting her exact position, its camera eye picking out Mota and Panama, calculating their positions, feeding the data into the targeting system. Somebody smarter than me would know how to read this thing. They’d do some quick math and know right where to go. All I saw was random numbers. Shit.

  “It’s too late for him, Maggie. He can’t undo this. It’s time he paid for all the shit he’s done.”

  I climbed out onto the scaffolding. I needed to make my way down from the penthouse rooftop to the hotel proper. They had to be behind the other rooftop unit, close to the staircase Maggie had climbed.

  I pulled out a pocket light and risked flicking it on. I carried it in my teeth, seeking a way down. I spotted a ladder, took a step in that direction, and stopped. How was a one-armed man going to carry a rifle down a ladder?

  I jogged in the opposite direction, toward the street, found an access stairway and struggled with a single-hinged door, managing to angle myself through.

  “She knows where he is.” Panama’s voice. “We can make her lead us to him.”

  “No. We’ll find him another way.”

  “Fuck that. Let’s teach her how we do it in the jungle.”

  “We’re not in the jungle.”

  “I’ve never given a necktie to a woman.”

  “This is a homicide detective.”

  “So?”

  “So, we can’t bring that kind of heat down on ourselves.”

  I exited the stairwell and turned toward the hotel’s rear.

  “What are you talking about? You weren’t opposed to killing cops when I nectktied those two in the Cellars.”

  “This one’s well connected.”

  Maggie had no fear. “Don’t be stupid. You touch me, and there’ll be no deal. It’ll be all-out war.”

  Panama’s voice was full of malice. “That ship done sailed. The war is on.”

  I stepped into the shadow of the second penthouse unit. Flashlight off. Rifle raised. Eyes peeled. I lifted one shoe and then the other, taking high steps to keep from getting tangled in the vines.

  Silence in my earpiece. Mota was mulling his options. I inched my way around a pile of scrap metal, choosing my steps oh-so-carefully. Sweat rolled down my nose, stung my eyes. The corner was close. Almost there.

  I moved past, edging my way up to what used to be a mini-courtyard pinned between penthouse units. The staircase leading down sat on the far side. The junk-strewn courtyard was lit by a portable gas lamp sitting on a crate. Maggie faced my direction, her hands raised halfway, like she’d gotten tired of holding them high. Mota and Panama stood opposite Maggie, their weapons drawn, covering both her and the staircase.

  Maggie broke the silence. “So what if the war already started. I’m giving you the chance to end it.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “If you don’t, my money’s on Juno.” A lengthy pause followed before she added, “He can be a ruthless son of a bitch.”

  Damn straight. Exhibit A: I wasn’t above shooting two men in the back.

  I blinked sweat out of my eyes, told my racing heart to settle down. I held my weapon lefty, finger on the trigger, forestock resting on what was left of my forearm.

  I pinned down the trigger. No hesitation. No doubt. Panama was right. This was war.

  I swept the weapon left to right, the targeting system firing timed bursts that briefly cast the rooftop in a fiery glow. Panama collapsed first, Mota an instant later, his body falling into a pile of scrap, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

  Maggie’s body jerked and she let out a startled scream. Her eyes and jaw opened wide. She blinked, her face dotted with blood. Same with her hands and shirt.

  I rushed forward, toward the smell of roasted meat. She ducked and went for Panama’s weapon, which still sat in his hand.

  “It’s me.” I came out of the shadows, rifle in one hand.

  She pulled the weapon from his dead grasp and held it in both hands, her face seized by shock.

  “It’s me,” I repeated. “It’s okay.”

  She lowered the gun. “What did you do?”

  I stepped up to Mota’s lifeless body, peeled his gun out of his hand. “I ended it.”

  She stared at the bodies, bewildered.

  I watched the spreading pool of blood, his hat getting caught in the flow, blood sponging into the hat’s weave.

  Maggie looked at her hands, at the spattered blood. She wiped them on her pants.

  My feet tickled with pins and needles, sensation slowly coming back. I turned to take another look at Mota, a pane of glass partly trapped under one shoulder, shards radiating outward. His pretty-boy face was pressed into the rooftop, nose squished up, lips pushed into a guppy mouth.

  A fist struck my back. “What did you do!”

  I winced and arched my back. Another shot landed, this one on the kidney, the heft of her pistol making the blow sink painfully deep. More blows came and I took every one of them. She hit me with words too, a torrent of angry venom: They were listening to me, asshole. Why did you jump the gun? They were going to take the truce.

  She figured the rest of it soon enough. Words snapped from her lips. You set me up. You didn’t want a truce. You used me as a diversion. You made me an accessory.

  I waited quietly until she was spent, my back getting plenty tenderized.

  Tentatively, I turned to face her and bowed my head. “I had to end it. There was no other way.”

  “Yes, there was, dammit! I was about to make a truce.”

  “We can’t trust Mota’s word.”

  “How do you know? You didn’t even try.”

  I looked into her blood-speckled face. “Some doubts can’t be left to chance.”

  Exasperated, she rubbed her forehead with her free hand. Feeling the blood, she pulled her hand away. “Jesus.” She buried her face in her sleeve and tried to wipe it off. “You couldn’t do it, could you? Couldn’t give up your protection business like you promised. Now you’re eliminating your competition.”

  “I gave the protection business away.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I did. I gave it to Chicho’s bouncer. She and her sister are going to run it.”

  Maggie aimed her gaze down at the bodies. A cloud of flies swirled about. The sound of chittering lizards came from the shadows, a four-legged army ready to feed. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?”

  “You think you could’ve convinced them you were on the up-and-up if you’d known? Would you have even come?”

  “I can’t believe you. I really can’t. What are you going to do with them?”

  “Hide them under some scrap, come back in a few days after the flies and lizards pick them clean to collect the bones.”

  She closed her eyes. “Christ.”

  With nothing more to say, we stayed where we were, alone with our thoughts, me hoping she’d accept the decisions I’d made, hoping I hadn’t driven us permanently apart. The air hummed with flies. Squawking horns sounded from the street while sirens sang somewhere in the distance.

  I built up the nerve to ask, “Are we okay?”

  She kept quiet, seconds stretching by. Finally she spoke. “Are those sirens coming this way?”

  twenty-six

  MY ears tuned into the whine of sirens. They couldn’t be coming for us. Couldn’t be. We were totally alone. Isolated in this condemned rooftop courtyard.

  Yet they grew in strength, the walls echoing with their wail.

  Maggie pulled out her phone. I dropped my rifle and nabbed the portable light, took off on a dead sprint, crossing the roof, running for the side that faced the street.

  I sped past ventilation fans, weaved around piles of junk, skidded around a corner and up to the wall. I poked my head over, into the blare of sirens, the strobe
of blue and red lights a mere block away.

  I told myself they weren’t coming for us. They were coming for some other reason. Some kind of coincidence.

  Packed traffic slowly parted, cop cars creeping closer, more coming from the opposite direction. Shit!

  I was running again, back the way I’d come, my brain teetering on the brink. Maggie yelled to me, “We gotta go! They’re responding to a call of officer down.”

  She went partway down the stairs before I could summon the breath to tell her to stop. “It’s too late. They’re almost here. They’ll have the alley and the hotel entrance blocked before we can get down there.”

  She stopped. All I could see was the back of her head, the rest of her body hidden by the staircase she’d partially descended. Her voice sounded distant. Defeated. “Mota has a biomon. He gets wounded and it alerts KOP. Tells them where he is. They’ve been thinking about making them standard-issue.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, as if saying it could make it true. “I’ll ’fess up. I’ll cop to everything. You had nothing to do with it.”

  She turned to face me, her voice rigid with stern accusation. “You ruined everything.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I pleaded. “You’ll be in the clear.”

  She came up a step. “I’ll never see another promotion. You destroyed my career.”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  Another step. “You made me an accomplice.”

  “I’ll tell th—”

  “I never should’ve associated with you.” Step. “What was I thinking?” Step. “You’re a selfish prick.” Step. “A crazy drunk.”

  The words struck with such force that I wished she’d just punch me some more. I’d fucked it all up. Fucked it every possible way. I was going down. Hard.

  But no way in hell was I going to let her fall with me. She didn’t do anything wrong. She was KOP’s only chance for a better future. She was family.

  I had to keep her clear, but a flurry of logic painted a bleak best case. There’d be a full investigation. She’d have to face inquiries. What was your relationship with cop killer Juno Mozambe? To defend herself, she’d have to vilify Mota. She’d have to sully a dead cop’s name. That in itself was a violation of the cop code. Even if she managed to keep her shield, her chances of becoming brass would be destroyed. Rusedski would bump her out of Homicide. She’d never be trusted with a position of leadership.

  Cleaning up KOP was Maggie’s mission. People like us needed a mission. Without a mission, we were empty shells. Husks of skin and bone.

  Without a mission, we were like Niki. We might as well kill ourselves.

  Maggie sliced me again with her tongue. “You ruin everything you touch, everything and everybody.”

  No. I squeezed my hand into a fist, pressed it into my forehead. I wouldn’t go down like that. I couldn’t. There was always a way. I’d flip this thing on its head. No such thing as a rap I couldn’t beat. Nobody could work the angles like me. I was the king of cover-ups. Master of the frame job. Reality didn’t mean shit to me. Not when I could create my own.

  There was always a way.

  I closed my eyes, darkness closing around me. I pushed a knuckle into my temple. Think!

  Darkness cracked, a ray of light shining through. I rode the light. Thoughts dominoed. Random patterns lined up into rows.

  I rushed up to Maggie, nose to nose, eye-to-eye. “Lock the gate.”

  She scrunched up disbelieving brows, but already there was a glint of hope in her eyes. She knew my genius. My gift.

  I could feel the fire in my eyes, nerves gone electric. I was a mad scientist. A possessed soul. “Lock the gate. Do it now!”

  She ran down the stairs, the power of my insanity impossible to resist.

  I knelt next to Mota’s body, blood seeping into my pant legs, flies bouncing off my hand, my face, slipping inside my shirt. I didn’t let myself think about what I had to do. I grabbed his belt, yanked it free of its prong, and slid it through the buckle. I reached for his pants, grabbed the cloth next to the button, and wrestled it free.

  Maggie was back.

  I didn’t look up. “My rifle. Get rid of it. Heave it onto another roof.”

  I pulled down the zipper, parted the flaps.

  I heard the gate rattle on its hinges. They were here.

  I gave instructions, my voice calm and flat. Disassociated. Like it wasn’t my voice at all. “Flash your badge. Give orders. Tell them there’s no emergency. I need a minute so don’t let them break through the gate. Make them get a key. Stay back so they don’t see the blood spatter on your clothes.”

  I reached into his shorts and pulled it out.

  Voices echoed up the staircase, Maggie’s take-charge attitude silencing them. She was the real deal. Always rose to the occasion. She was going to make a great chief.

  I took a moment to study the broken glass that had been trapped under his body when he fell. I selected a long shard, picked it out of the expanding pool of blood.

  Maggie returned. “What now?”

  I stayed between her and Mota’s body. “Did you let them see you?”

  “I stayed back far as I could.”

  “Good. You need to cover the spatter patterns on your clothes. Flip Panama over like you’re checking to see if he’s alive. Get as much blood on you as you can.”

  I squeezed the glass shard tight in my hand, felt it dig into my palm. “We were following Lizard-man. He did this. We surprised him before he could finish. He made it down the stairs before we could stop him. He locked us in.”

  She wrestled with Panama’s body, knees slip-sliding in blood as she rolled him over. She rubbed her hands together, wiped them on her shirt.

  “That’s good enough. Now get down there to greet them.”

  She hurried for the staircase. I waited until she disappeared from view. Didn’t want her to see this.

  I pinned it to his stomach with my right, sawed with my left. I was on autopilot. A machine. My soul locked inside a safe.

  Cold. Efficient. Utterly ruthless.

  The glass cut all the way through. The jingle of keys on a chain sounded nearby. I took my glass shiv by the edges and wiped it back and forth on my pant leg, bloody prints wiping off before carrying it a couple steps to a ventilation fan and dropping it through the grate, hearing it shatter somewhere inside.

  The gate creaked open, the sound of shoes on stone stairs. I rushed back to Mota’s body. Reached for it, picked it off his stomach.

  Unis spilled onto the roof, two, four, six. Flashlights and quiet voices.

  I held it in my fist. Had to take it with me. Had to plant it on Lizard-man when I found him. Had to.

  I backed away from the body, from the mass of dancing flies. Nothing to see here.

  I watched the unis, watched them look at me, at the bodies, back at me. I moved into shadow, leaned against the wall. I took my balled fist and shoved it into a pocket.

  Maggie jumped on them. “This is a crime scene, people. We have a dead captain here. Nobody touches anything. Somebody go get me a goddamned towel.”

  One of the ashen-faced unis leapt at the chance to get away from the corpses. Maggie called to his back, “Get one for Juno too.”

  More unis arrived, one of them announcing that Lieutenant Rusedski was on his way. I stayed put, felt the cool brick through my shirt, luxuriated in it. A rush came on. The surge of exultant heat made my skin flush. My tingling feet felt like they were floating. I’d done it!

  My soul came up from where it hid, body and soul reintegrating. With it, my mood spoiled, the rush going south. My floating feet fell, and my flushed skin broke into a sweat.

  Did I really do it? Inside my pocket, I felt it in my fist. God, I had it in my hand. The urge to throw it and run seized me, and rattled nerves brought on a case of the shakes. I tamped it down, forced my hand to let go and pulled my fingers out of my pocket.

  I stared at Mota’s corpse. His defiled, desecrated corpse. Christ. If
there was any justice at all, hell would have a special place reserved for me. They’d build me a whole wing.

  The young officer returned with towels and a couple wet cloths. I approached and greedily nabbed a cloth before moving back into the shadows. I wiped my face, rubbed it over my cheeks, my forehead.

  Maggie talked as she cleaned up, explaining to no one in particular, “We came here to find the serial who killed Froelich and Wu. I caught a tip from one of my informants. Said she heard from one of her hooker friends who turns tricks downstairs that she’d seen a strange guy hanging around up here. The description was close enough I thought I should check it out. Juno had a run-in with this guy so I brought him with me to see if he could identify him. We were about to plant ourselves in that bar across the way and watch for him to show when we see these two fools head into the alley and up the stairs. We wait a few minutes, unsure what to do, then decide to follow them up.”

  I wiped the cloth across my neck and forced myself to pay attention. Maggie wasn’t really speaking to them. She was talking to me. Getting our story set before Rusedski arrived. Just in case he interviewed us separately.

  “We come up those stairs, and this is what we find.” She gestured at the bodies. “He must’ve heard us coming and hid behind that pile of junk there. We come through, and all of a sudden he’s racing down the stairs behind us. Juno tried to catch him, but the guy was too quick. He got to the gate at the bottom first and locked us in.”

  I could feel the bulge in my pocket. I stood totally erect, trying to make my pants hang loose so I wouldn’t feel it pressing against my leg.

  Maggie unfolded her cloth, put the whole thing over her face and scrubbed it clean, her voice coming through her hands. “We checked to see if they were still alive, but they were long gone. By the time I went for my phone, the sirens were almost here. You must’ve just missed him. Anybody see a young guy running down the street, big mop of black hair?”

  They shook their heads no.

  I felt a trickle on my leg. Holy hell. I lifted my knee and sopped up the blood by forcing my pant leg taut.

  A gruff voice came from the staircase. Lieutenant Rusedski. “What happened?” Spotting us, he stomped across the tar paper. “What the hell are you two doing here?”