“I made a plan.” I held up the sinker. “Help me tie this thing on.”
* * *
I flicked another gecko off my arm. The little shits kept crawling all over me. The clinic’s thatch rooftop was totally infested with geckos and ’guanas. I reminded myself that this was a good thing. It meant there was so much scratching and climbing, nobody would notice if I made some noise.
I remembered the first time I had the chance to kill the doctor, when he was sleeping in Mota’s bed. At the time, I didn’t know he was an offworlder. Didn’t even know there was a man under those curly locks and that petite nose.
Turned out I was lucky as hell that I didn’t make the attempt or the doc would’ve smoked me a dozen different ways. Killing an offworlder wasn’t easy. I had to be smart. Careful. Patient.
I’d been up here for more than a day now. Snuck past the guards in the dead of night and climbed the slatted west end of the building. Not as hard a climb as I thought it would be. My right arm still had an elbow, and the slats were spaced plenty wide enough for me to hook my forearm through.
The doctor arrived eleven hours ago. Right on schedule. The guy I’d bribed at the flyer rental company had the time nailed.
I’d watched the flyer land. Watched him check on the snail pen. Watched him walk up to the clinic and disappear under the eaves.
He’d be in bed by now. Sleeping directly underneath me. I’d seen him sleeping once before.
He slept with his mouth open.
I drank down the last of my water and stuffed the canteen back in my pack. I rolled over and peered through a narrow copper pipe I’d inserted through the thatch. I waited for my eye to adjust to the darkness, the room barely lit by an outdoor floodlight. Forms took shape. Pillow. Head. Hair. Mouth.
He was sleeping on his back, but his open mouth was to the right of where I wanted it to be. I pulled the pipe out of the thatch, picked a new spot, and began the tedious effort of working it through the many layers of weather-beaten fronds.
I pushed my way through, cringing at the crinkling, crunching sound of dried leaves. I told myself he wouldn’t notice. Mating season was over. It was nesting time, ’guanas all over this roof, gnawing and digging and burrowing.
I put my eye up to the pipe again, waited for my vision to adjust. The stupid bastard had moved.
I kept at it for ten, twenty, thirty minutes until I finally lined it up. I took the fishing line and sinker, dropped the sinker into the pipe, and slowly played out the line, lowering it down centimeter by centimeter. I looked through. Lowered some more. Looked through again.
The sinker dropped slowly, painstakingly, toward that open mouth, farther and farther, straining the limits of my depth perception. I hoped I wouldn’t make contact by going too far. I stopped, put the line in my mouth, and gripped it with my teeth. Reaching for my bag, I dropped fingers into the side pocket and pulled out one of the snails I’d five-fingered from the snail pen.
What comes around goes around, Doc.
I set the shell on the thatch and dug the snail out with thumb and index finger. I gripped it in my palm and squeezed, let the juice run off my hand into the shell.
I took the shell and held it to the line, gently poured a drop onto the cord, watched the drop disappear into the pipe. I had to imagine it the rest of the way, a tiny bead of liquid descending from the rafters. A raindrop rolling down a blade of grass. A dewdrop running down a spider silk.
I poured another drop and another and another, the genie on its last magic carpet ride.
I pulled the line back up, stuffed it into my pack along with the short run of pipe. I grabbed the pack, slipped the shoulder straps over my shoulders, and went to the roof’s edge, lay facedown with my feet hanging off the edge. Squirming backward with my legs hanging down, my feet found a rafter.
I crouched on a beam of rough-hewn wood. The doctor was awake, sitting up in bed, his light turned on. He was in his underwear, revealing toned legs and sculpted offworld pecs. Styled hair hung to his shoulders.
I kept my voice low, knowing there was at least one guard somewhere downstairs. “Stand up.”
He did.
“Come over here and help me down.”
Bare feet padded across rippled planks. He reached up and spotted me as I climbed down. I reached the floor and stood face-to-face with him. I looked deep into his eyes. Looked for signs of terror, but I found nothing. His eyes were flat. Unfeeling. I was used to instilling fear, great buckets of it.
This felt so wrong. So unnatural.
“You know what’s happening to you, don’t you? You’re in my control now.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Where’s your new nurse?”
“She left. I don’t make her stay overnight when I’m here.”
“Who else knows how to produce the genie?”
“Nobody. I don’t need the competition.” His voice was bland. Monotone.
“What about breeders? Who’s breeding them?”
“They can’t be bred.”
“Why not?”
“I wired them to be sterile. That way I was sure to keep my monopoly.”
“How do you produce them?”
“I let unmodified snails mate and treat the eggs.”
I needed to verify it again. “Nobody knows how to do the procedure?”
“Nobody but me.”
“You have a phone in your head?”
“Yes.”
“Delete everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your notes. Your inventions. Delete every fucking thing you’ve ever done. Delete the backups. Delete it all.”
He closed his eyes, his brain jacking into unseen systems.
I reached into my bag, pulled out a few meters of rope, a noose on one end. I picked a rafter near the bed and tossed an end over.
“Call your nurse,” I told him. “Tell her you have to leave. Make her come in as soon as she can.”
Her holo appeared. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t look at him. I stayed focused on the rope, tying a well-practiced one-handed knot to keep it attached to the rafter.
“She’ll be here in an hour,” he said.
I checked my knot, gave the rope a rough tug. I turned around to find him waiting for his next order. His face was as blank as rock, his eyes made of glass.
This was supposed to be a righteous kill. He stole my arm. He created the genie. He experimented on people. Disfigured them beyond belief.
I should be riding a wave of virtuous vengeance. I should be soaring on wings of ruthless victory.
But all I felt was disgust. Disgust for a drug that could erase a person’s humanity. A drug that could enslave both the body and the mind.
I went to the door without looking at him again, gave my final order on the way out. “Hang yourself.”
I passed the staircase, didn’t worry about my creaking footsteps. Some of the patients walked around from time to time. I’d seen it myself.
The sound of rope snapping taut made me pause, the to-and-fro creak of a rafter. It was done.
I went into the circus of horrors that posed as a patient ward. I needed to see them one more time.
I moved from bed to bed telling them not to worry. Their nurse would be here soon. And in the morning aid workers would come to take them away from here. Maggie had anonymously made arrangements.
Bed to bed, I consoled them. Help is coming. I pulled up the sheet for one. Straightened the pillow for another.
I stopped at the last bed, his mouth replaced with mandibles that opened and closed. I recognized this one. Took me a second to remember where. The other YOP cop, the one who had confronted me with Panama on the dock, the one I’d brained with a bag of coins.
One of his bug legs reached for me, scraped along my arm. I stood over him, looked into desperate eyes.
“Your nurse will be here soon.”
The leg batted my arm.
I knew what he wanted, his eyes sp
eaking words he couldn’t say. I pulled a curtain to separate him from the others, then took the pillow from under his head, held it up for him to see. His eyes lit, a tear dripping free, legs clicking excitedly.
I pressed the pillow down. Held it in place until the legs went still.
* * *
Hour after hour, I piloted the rented boat downriver. I paid no attention to where I was going, just kept with the flow, knowing all the tributaries eventually led home.
I couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. I felt numb. So much death. So much suffering. So many enemies with black hearts.
I’d cry if I only knew how. I’d let out giant wails. I’d stomp my feet and throw a fit. I’d pound my chest and scream at the heavens.
If I only knew how.
I looked to the east, where the sky was skirted with the blue and pink of approaching dawn. The Big Sleep was almost over, my world soon to emerge from night and once again know the sun.
I turned off the motor, let the river guide me. I stared at the sky and waited.
Waited for the darkness to lift.
BOOKS BY WARREN HAMMOND
KOP
Ex-KOP
KOP Killer
Available from Tor Books
about the author
WARREN HAMMOND works as an instructor in the computer industry where, over the past eighteen years, he has taught thousands of information-technology professionals. An avid traveler, he and his wife have traveled widely on several continents. KOP Killer is his third novel, following KOP and Ex-KOP. He lives in Denver with his wife and two cats. He is working on a new mystery novel.
Find out more at www.warrenhammond.net.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
KOP KILLER
Copyright © 2012 by Warren Hammond
All rights reserved.
Edited by James Frenkel
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Hammond, Warren.
KOP killer / Warren Hammond.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
ISBN 978-0-7653-2827-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4283-6 (e-book)
1. Ex-police officers—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.A69585K69 2012
813'.6—dc23
2012011471
e-ISBN 9781429942836
First Edition: June 2012
KOP Killer Page 29
