Different Strong

by Nat Kozinn

  “A Wake Up Call for the Metro Area” by Roberta Clemens, Los Angeles Times

  Something has changed. Detective Rose doesn’t usually leave the precinct house so full of purpose. I’ve never seen him move so quickly. He’s heading towards the nearby Slug station. Is there a problem in another precinct? Maybe there was another big call, but there hasn’t been any breaking news on think.Net. I go on and call Maria as I follow Rose.

  <<
  >>>Not anything I saw. I’m working the front desk and it’s been slow. I was catching a little sleep so I have the energy to investigate more gun shops tomorrow.

  <<
  >>>Slow. There are about only about three hundred gun shops that might carry the kind of hardware we’ve been going up against. From the owners I’ve talked to already, that Dragunov sniper rifle is going to run at least twenty grand. I’ve been taking extra showers to clean off the filth from talking to those scumbags.

  <<
  >>>That should help narrow down the list a bit more. Not many shops have that many total bullets, let alone just one type.

  <<
  >>>Good luck yourself.

  Rose gets on the Slug. I enter the car behind him and stand at the door so I can see when he exits. I watch him through the windows in the doors between the train cars. He sits down and starts staring at the floor. His eyes stay fixated on the floor almost the entire trip. He takes an occasional break from floor staring to put his face in his hands, rub his eyes, and mutter to himself. He is not a happy man.

  I speed up time while the train moves. We ride all the way to the last stop on the line. What in God’s name is he doing out here? Rose gets off the Slug. I wait a few seconds to give him a head start, and then follow.

  He knows right where he’s going. He’s walking quickly and purposefully, his grey overcoat splaying out behind him. I’m having a bit of a hard time keeping up because of the bullet wound in my thigh. I walk with a limp to prevent more damage to the muscle.

  I keep after him for a few blocks before he turns around suddenly and spots me. There’s no alley or shadows to hide in. All I can do is let him look me over. I’m wearing tattered jeans and a t-shirt not my normal OEC blue/grey vomit uniform. I’ve rushed a ton of water to my face to give me the fat-headed disguise I rely on. I’m a normal Joe on his way home from the late shift. The limp turns out to be a nice touch. Rose stares at me for a few seconds, then shrugs and continues on his way.

  Soon we’re outside the official Metro Area boundaries. There are no lights in the windows out here. Most of the buildings are abandoned, and those that aren’t are full of people who can’t afford the Manna cubes needed to feed WormLights. The moon provides the only source of illumination, which works to my advantage. I dilate my pupils fully to allow as much light in as possible while increasing the number of rods in my eyes and decreasing the cones. Now my night vision is as sharp as a human’s can possibly be. Rose is older, which means his eyesight is failing, especially at night. I give him a two-block lead, which should be enough to keep my eyes on him while I stay hidden in the shadows. He turns around a few times as we walk, but doesn’t indicate he sees me. He’s being paranoid, but in this neighborhood, who could blame him?

  After four miles of walking, he turns into a non-descript house on some block where the street sign has been missing for three decades. I try to go on think.Net to give Maria an update, but we are out of range. Interesting.

  I watch Rose through the holes where the windows used to be. He pulls out a handheld WormLight and starts moving from room to room. What is he doing? I’m suddenly hit by an overpowering odor, one I’ve only smelled a handful of times before. That’s gasoline. Why would Detective Rose… he’s going to burn the house down. My God, what if Stacey’s husband and kid are inside? I have to try to save them. I suddenly wish I had brought my gun. I wanted to make sure I took Rose alive so I could find out who’s been paying him. I’m regretting that decision.

  I can tell from the WormLight that Rose is in a room on the far side of the house and hasn’t moved for a good thirty seconds. I head through the front door, stepping as lightly as I possibly can. I slowly walk through the house, keeping watch to see if the light moves, but Rose is staying still. Completely still. He put the WormLight down! I hear a click of a gun’s trigger hammer behind my head, and then cool metal presses into the back of my skull.

  “You picked the wrong guy to rob, buddy. Put your hands up slowly,” Detective Rose orders.

  I start to raise my hands over my head while I simultaneously contract all of the muscles in my calves, making me drop to the ground. A bullet whizzes by my head, missing by a few inches. When I hit the ground, I kick backwards with my right leg, knocking Rose to the floor. He fires off three more panicked shots before I manage to pin his arm down. I squeeze on a nerve cluster in the middle of his forearm, which causes his fingers to relax. He drops the gun. I give him a nice left cross so he knows I mean business. The wires holding his jaw closed tear through my glove and rip up my hand. I deserve that. I already won the fight; that punch wasn’t necessary.

  I lift Detective Rose up off the ground and hold him in the air by his collar. It causes some new damage to the shoulder that’s still injured from the fight with the Regenerator, but the re-injury is worth it for the increase in my intimidation factor.

  “Where is Stacey Rothschild’s family?” I demand.

  “How do you know about that? Who are you?” Rose stammers through his busted jaw. He’s healed enough for me to understand at least.

  I pull the fluids away from the cells of my face, turning back into my usual handsome look.

  “The Beast Slayer? Are you kidding me? Take your hands off me right now, or you’re doing time,” Rose says trying bluff.

  “Are you going to call backup? How? We’re out of think.Net range. It’s just you and me out here. Now answer my question,” I say and let go of his collar.

  “I’m not telling you anything. You want to interrogate me, then arrest me. I’m not saying a word until I speak to a lawyer.” He’s going to try every possible strategy to avoid his fate.

  I jam my finger into his kidney and he screams out in agony. Good.

  “I’m already breaking my parole and the law by following you here. Do you think I care about your Miranda rights? You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or you’re going to experience pain like you’ve never felt before. I am an expert on human anatomy. I know how to hurt you so you stay conscious to feel it all. Tell me where the Rothschilds are,” I growl.

  “They’re alive! I swear, they’re alive. I was supposed to kill them, but I didn’t. I might not like you freaks, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to kill a little girl and the one parent she has left,” Detective Rose says.

  “Aren’t you a saint? Where are they!?”

  “I gave them some money and told them to lay low in the Non-Assisted Area for awhile. The father, Charlie, said they’d go down to old San Diego for a few months, his brother or somebody lives down there. You have to understand, if he found out they were alive, he’d kill them and then me. This was the only way. You’ve got to believe me,” Detective Rose pleads.

  I do believe him. His heart rate is high, but that’s because he’s scared, not because he’s lying. He isn’t averting his eyes. In fact, it seems like he wants to tell me the truth. He’s not just afraid of the pain I’ll inflict on him, he wants to unburden his soul. Good, that means I’m finally going to get some answers.

  “Who was going to kill you all if he found out the Rothschilds were alive?”

  “You aren’t going to believe me
if I tell you,” Rose says while shaking his head.

  “Like I said, I’m an expert in human anatomy. That means I can tell if you’re lying. As long as you tell the truth we shouldn’t have any more problems, and you should remain relatively pain free.”

  “It’s William Jefferson… Billy the Kid.”

  “The basketball player?”

  “Yes.”

  I stare into Detective Rose’s eyes. He isn’t lying, or at least he thinks he isn’t.

  “Billy the Kid is dead. He took his own life because his family died in the Danny Libdo Tragedy. Everyone knows that.”

  “But they never found the body. He really went off to Eastern Europe. He joined some group that hunts Differents over there; they taught him how to kill. He’s as good at killing freaks as he was at basketball, better maybe.”

  “So you’re telling me a former basketball player is the one who has been murdering all those Differents?”

  “It’s the truth, I swear it,” Rose says and he means it.

  “And you were helping cover up for those murders.”

  “Yes,” Rose says and hangs his head.

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because my mom’s dying, and it’s because of you freaks. She has cancer all over her body. They say it’s because of all the toxins in her body from the Plagues. I remember in the refugee camps, she always gave us the fresh stuff. She ate the garbage like a rat, so that we kids could have enough. She deserves to die in peace. I have to give her that at least,” Rose says without much volume in his voice.

  “I told you I’d know if you’re lying. Your heart wasn’t in your little speech.”

  “It was when I first took the cash. But mom, the hell she’s going through, silk sheets don’t make a damn bit of difference. And the things I’ve done. So many bodies. But I can’t stop. They’ll never let me,” he says, the weight of the admission bending his neck towards the ground.

  “Did you kill Stephen Grange?” I ask and he nods yes. “And is that why you gave the sniper the order to shoot Robert White?” He nods again. “Did you give them the drugs?

  “Billy and I both did it, we put it in their food. Billy didn’t want to do it either. He thought it was a waste of time. Whoever’s writing the checks, he’s the one who wanted it done. Billy only cares about killing Differents.”

  “Who is writing the checks?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I jab my finger into his ribs.

  “Tell me!” I say, then I realize I know he’s telling the truth. So why did I hurt him?

  “I don’t know, I swear.”

  “Why don’t you go to the police if you’re so afraid? Your story is nuts, but I’m sure you have enough friends on the force that someone is bound to believe you.”

  “It’s not just Billy, with how much money this guy has, for all I know half the force is paid off. I tell my captain, I end up face down in the dump. The Gambino family will put a hit on a cop for less than I’m getting paid.” He does seem scared to talk about this. His hands are shaking.

  “What were you doing here? Why were you going to burn this building down?”

  “This is where I was keeping the Rothschilds. William ordered me to dispose of the bodies. I figured if I burned the whole building down, he’d never know that they weren’t really dead in here.”

  “You know I’m going to have to bring you back to the OEC office, and you’re going to have to repeat this story to our Telepath so she can corroborate that you’re telling the truth. Then you’re going to have to pay for your crimes.”

  “I know. It’s what I deserve. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry for everything,” Detective Rose says.

  Tears start streaming down his face, and he pulls away to hide his shame. I don’t think I have to worry about him anymore but to be safe, I bend over and pick up his gun. It’s still got one bullet in the chamber.

  I give Detective Rose a few moments to pull himself together. Finally, he stops crying and straightens out his overcoat.

  “I’m ready to go face the music now,” he says.

  “Lead the way,” I say and point the gun towards the door.

  He steps out onto the stoop of the building, and I follow close behind him.

  There’s a deafening boom. Rose’s body goes limp.

  It takes me a split-second to realize it was a rifle shot. I dive off of the stoop just in time to hear another boom and a bullet whizz by my head. I don’t need to look back to know Rose is dead.

  I roll when I hit the ground, and another bullet lands next to me, kicking up a chunk of asphalt that lodges itself into my side. I see a shadowy figure move in the alley. He’s climbing what’s left of an old fire escape to get away. He already hit his target. He doesn’t need to chance a fight with me.

  I carefully take aim with the one remaining bullet in Rose’s gun and squeeze the trigger. I see it hit the side of the building right next to his head. He moved at the last second. He keeps climbing to the top of the fire escape and takes a last look down on me. The moonlight gives me a view of his face. There’s no doubt who it is, William “Billy the Kid” Jefferson, former point guard for the Minneapolis Metro Area Timberwolves, two-time NBA champion, and apparently, psychopathic serial killer. I have to get back into think.Net range and call Maria.

  #

  I make it my Slug stop and get off the train. The platform is already starting to fill up with people on their way to work, even though it’s only 7:30AM. Good thing I’ve never seen Captain Murphy in the office before 9:00, and that’s still a rarity. Even at the speed I’m moving I’ll make it back with time to spare. I really did a number on my already-injured thigh with all that running around and need some time to focus on healing, and most importantly, some time when I’m not using my leg.

  I could use some time to process what I’ve learned too. My brain just absorbed some shocking information and I haven’t had the chance to think through all the implications. I need to think of a better way to explain what I know. Maria trusts me and it still took twenty minutes on think.Net to convince her I wasn’t crazy.

  I start limping through the small crowd when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I’ve felt that tap before: it’s Ben. He’s got a knack for bad timing.

  “Hey Gavin, you up for another chat while you’re injured? Feels like old times, don’t it?”

  “Ben, not the best time… Wait! Tell me, did you go to St. Louis? Was The Beast there?”

  “Now you’re the one who needs to work on their social graces. My trip was fine. St. Louis is lovely this time of year. I especially enjoyed the miles and miles full of nothing. Did you know the Arch is still standing? Ten feet of it anyway.”

  My brain wants to experience anger. I let the emotion flow. I’ve had enough of this lunatic and his antics. I grab him by the shirt collar.

  “Tell me. Is he alive?”

  “It wasn’t him. He’s not in St. Louis. Now take your hands off me, or this is going to get ugly. You might think I’m just a brainiac, but trust me Gavin, you don’t want a piece of this,” Ben says confidently.

  I have to admit that threat makes me curious about what he can really do, but a crowded train platform while I’m riddled with bullet holes isn’t the best time or place to get in a fight. I let go of his shirt.

  “Great, so I risked my parole breaking into the Ultracorps records all for nothing. Did you enjoy checking out an empty mine?” I say mockingly.

  “I didn’t say it was all for nothing, and I didn’t say the mine was empty. I said The Beast wasn’t being kept there. Believe me, this information was worth risking your parole for.”

  “Okay, lay it on me.”

  “Like I said, The Beast wasn’t being held there, but another Different was. Jessica Hayes,” Ben says. He knows I don’t know who that is and he wants me to ask.

  “Who is Jessica Hayes?”

  “You’ve got follow politics a little closer, Gavy. Jessica Hayes is Robert Hayes’ daughter, as in
ex-governor Robert Hayes, as in the daughter whose supposed disappearance helped spur Hayes into his first-term victory five years ago. It turns out she wasn’t kidnapped in a heart-breaking tragedy. Instead, her ten year GIS screener test came back positive as a Different, and no politician with a Different kid could ever get elected. So she got shipped off to live in some town in the Non-Assisted Area.”

  “How did she end up in an Ultracorps-owned mine?”

  “She’s an Energy Producer. Her body is able to generate vibrations strong enough to create localized earthquakes. Problem is she’s not all that good at controlling them. She destroyed the town she was living in before they ran her off. She was wandering in the woods, lost and confused, when some Ultracorps miner on a lunch break spotted her. Eventually, somebody up the chain—cough, Nita, cough—figured out who she was,” Ben says with a smug grin.

  “They’re keeping Jessica prisoner?”

  “Kinda. She doesn’t think that she’s locked up. She thinks she’s keeping everyone else safe by staying there.”

  “So why are they holding her?” Getting to the point is not one of Ben’s strengths.

  “As a kindness to former Governor Hayes. Ultracorps in its benevolence decided to provide safe housing and also kept the whole issue out of the press, which made Governor Hayes so full of joy he resigned his position as Governor so someone who was not against the Ultracorps takeover of the municipal water system could take his place.”

  “If it’s blackmail, why not make him reverse his decision on the contract? Why make him resign?”

  “Hayes could have reversed his decision, but that would have been reversing a reversal. The public doesn’t expect much from its politicians, but wishy-washiness is one thing that is unacceptable. If Hayes did that he wouldn’t have stood a chance of winning reelection. Who knows who would have won the next election? Maybe it would be someone Nita couldn’t control, like how she couldn’t control Hayes before she found his daughter,” Ben says. Still taking his time to get to his final point.