by Brian Parker
I found out that Teagan was in love with me. I’d chalked it up to puppy love at first, but it became apparent—after people told me—that it was more than that. She’d planned her immediate future around the chance that we would get together. She was in her senior year at Xavier, studying childhood education, and only put out applications in New Orleans, despite the dangerous reputation of the city’s schools and rumored corruption within the school board.
I thought the world of Teagan; she was extremely smart, pretty, athletic, witty, and a genuinely nice person, but she was too young for me. She was twenty-three; I was thirty-four, thirty-five next month. The age difference at this point in our lives was a big deal to me. If it were ten years later, I would probably kill for the opportunity to date a woman who was eleven years younger than I was, but Teagan hadn’t really experienced life yet. Besides the one year after high school that she’d taken off to work and travel the states, she’d been in the nest of higher learning, sheltered from most of the real world and our problems.
True, as a mixed kid who lived in the Little Woods neighborhood, she did see more than the rich kids from the west side of town, but I wasn’t convinced that it was enough. I needed someone who was world-wise, not just book smart.
And so our delicate balance of friendship and innocent flirting continued.
“You are an adult, Teagan. But, you haven’t experienced the real world yet.”
“Then let’s go on a road trip together,” she said excitedly. The enthusiasm on her face reminded me of a child when you tell them that they’re going to an amusement park.
“I can’t take you on a vacation. I’m in the middle of a case.”
“You need a vacation, Zach. You’re so wrapped up in being a cop, you can’t even enjoy life…” She trailed off for a moment and then said what was on her mind. “Does that cop you’re dating like that you never leave work behind?”
I’d learned my lesson about bringing someone into the Pharaoh when I brought the droid Paxton Himura here during the Sex Club Killer case. But, Teagan had learned about Avery a few months ago when she was out with her parents at a restaurant where Avery and I met for dinner.
“She’s not gonna be coming around anymore,” I stated.
“Oh?” Her eyebrow shot up.
“Yeah, things didn’t work out.”
“Too much of a grouch for her to take all the time?”
I grimaced. “Yeah, that was one of her complaints. She also said I drink too much and work way too much.”
“Hmpf,” Teagan grunted, leaning back and crossing her arms across her small chest. “Maybe I should have gotten to know her; we both seem to agree on your flaws.”
“That would’ve been fun.”
“I’m kidding, Zach. I’d never willingly hang out with someone you were dating…” She trailed off once again, leaving the end of her statement open as an invitation for me to say more.
I cleared my throat. “So, I’m working an interesting case.”
“That’s it? That’s how you’re gonna leave it?”
Oh no. There’d been a few weeks after the truth about Teagan’s feelings for me came out where she went on a full court press to get me to agree to go on a date with her, but once Avery and I became a thing, she slowed down her advances. I’d hoped that we could just stay friends.
“It’s an interesting legal and moral debate.”
She waved me off. “What about other stuff? Like the fact that you know I like you? We’re great together and we have an amazing chemistry that’s hard to find. Don’t you want to try and explore that further?”
“Teagan, you’re an amazing girl—”
“Teagan,” Regina, the manager’s voice cut through the air in warning. The restaurant was busy and she’d been sitting with me for too long.
She stood up quickly. “This isn’t over, Zach. You’re going to take me on a date. You know what? I know the weekends are bad for you because of your job, so pick me up at my place on Tuesday night at seven.”
“I—”
“Dress nice,” she said as she spun on her heel to go check on the other tables in her section.
“Dammit,” I cursed under my breath. That girl will be the death of me.
I hadn’t even ordered my lunch. But then again, there was the fact that Teagan knew me well enough to guess what I wanted to eat based on my mood.
What goes best with irritation? I wondered.
SEVEN: SUNDAY
I stopped by the precinct to talk to Chief Brubaker about the clone homicide case before going to my Krav Maga dojo for a workout. The chief was probably the only person in the Easytown station who worked more than I did; he was always at work.
“Good afternoon, Chief.”
My boss briefly looked up from a report he was reading and indicated the chair across from him with one hand. I sat down and waited for him to finish.
He jotted a few notes down on a sticky pad and plastered it to the front page before setting the report aside. He leaned back and eyed me questioningly. The ever-present, unlit cigar stuck out the side of his mouth, making me think of those old cartoons where the bulldog had a cigar in its mouth. Except, those things exploded.
“What’s up, Forrest?” the chief asked.
“It’s about yesterday’s triple homicide case.”
“The clones? That’s not a homicide.”
“Maybe not technically according to the law, but—”
“Are you looking for more work?”
“No. I—”
“What about the Paladin? Have you caught him yet? No?” In true Brubaker fashion, he bulldozed along, cutting me off. It was best to let him get his initial statements out of the way, then he’d be more receptive to discussion. “Why are you wasting time thinking about the disposal of a few clones when there’s a vigilante murderer running the streets of Easytown? Do I need to put Cruz on the case?”
I waited a moment to let him finish. “Well?” he asked, taking the cigar out of his mouth to spit a piece of the tobacco wrapper onto the floor.
“No, I haven’t caught the Paladin. He’s gone to ground since Drake and I almost had him the other day. It might be the increased drone support, I don’t know. But until he does something, I’m stuck.
“The reason I wanted to talk to you about the clones is—”
He sighed loudly. “Forrest, what is it about you and clones, you and droids, you and drones? Everything seems to be an issue.”
“Have you ever actually talked to a clone, Chief?”
“What? No. Why would I?”
“Hear me out for a minute. I know what the law says about clones; that they’re considered in the same class as droids. Personal property to do with as the owner sees fit. They aren’t protected in any fashion under the law. Dogs and cats have more protection than they do. That about sums it up, right?”
“Exactly. The three clones you found in the trash yesterday were disposed of by their owner.”
“Well, I have talked to a clone before, a couple of them. They may not be human, but they think, they feel, they bleed. They are not like a droid at all.”
“So they’ve been programmed to pretend to have feelings. Not our problem, Forrest. Close the case and move on to more important things.”
“Chief, the only reason we know about those three is because the human DNA sensor in the trash compactor was tripped by their bodies. I don’t know the process, but they’re grown from human DNA, an exact copy of us. They’re essentially human.”
“You keep that goddamned opinion to yourself, Forrest. Those things aren’t human. They’re an abomination against nature. The same as when that scientist in Japan spliced a dog and a human together to create some type of humanoid companion. That thing ended up going insane and killing twelve people before the police were able to put it down.
“Clones are grown in a lab,” Brubaker continued. “They aren’t human, they’re property and this precinct will not waste time investigating wheth
er someone destroyed their own property.”
“You have your opinion, I have mine. What if the clones weren’t owned by the person who disposed of them? It would be destruction of private property or possession of stolen goods, or—”
“You want to spend time—and the department’s money—investigating a vandalism case?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah. I think there’s something else going on. Those clones showed evidence of long-term abuse. There’s no way that one person is doing that on their own.” I scowled as the images from the compactor came back to me.
“You’re my best detective, Forrest. I can’t afford to have you off on some goddamned wild goose chase.”
He’s coming around.
“I won’t be, Chief,” I assured him. “Since this isn’t a case that the department is interested in investigating, I don’t have a mandated time limit. I’ll only look into it when time allows. The only thing I need you to do is request a delay in the incineration of those bodies. They’re scheduled to burn tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.”
The wheels turned behind Brubaker’s eyes. I could tell that he wanted to support me, but also wanted to keep everything within regulation. “Okay. You can pursue this destruction of private property issue on the side, around your primary duties. I’ll halt the incineration for a couple of weeks, but if the morgue gets low on space, those clones are the first things to get burned.”
“Thanks, Chief.” I started to stand and then remembered about the photographs. “Oh, I’ll also need Ben Roberts to process the crime scene photos he took. I don’t want him to dump them since this isn’t an official case.”
“Fine. Give him a call and tell him that I authorized him to complete the job at his convenience. No rush job requests from you, do you hear me?”
“No rush jobs,” I affirmed.
“If something—anything—comes in, that takes priority over your little vandalism investigation. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Chief.”
“Alright. It’s Sunday, get out of here and spend it with your friend’s family.”
“Thanks. You won’t regret this.”
“I hope not,” he muttered and crammed the butt of the cigar back into his mouth.
I took the hint that I was dismissed, excusing myself to call the photographer and the morgue. Even though the chief hadn’t put in the call to halt the incineration yet, letting them know that it was coming would ensure that they didn’t thaw them out overnight in preparation for the burning.
As I hopped in the car, I asked Andi to set up a meeting with Thomas Ladeaux. He’d said something about investing in a cloning company when I learned that his assistant was a clone, and he’d shown the willingness to use one as a deliveryman. Maybe he could give me some insight into where all of these clones were coming from.
“Zach, my good friend. How are you?” Amir asked as he hugged me. His accent was a little thicker than normal, telling me that he’d already hit the bourbon a few times without me.
“I’m good, Amir. What about you?”
“I am feeling fine, my man. So fine!”
“Zach, can you please take this idiot into the study and keep him from breaking anything?”
I turned to see Amir’s wife, Amanda. She’d slipped up on us from the opposite direction. She leaned in for a hug and I returned her embrace.
“It smells great. What’s for dinner?” I asked.
“Roast lamb with mashed potatoes, green beans and candied yams.”
“Wow, Amanda. It’s like Thanksgiving around here every week.”
Amir waved his hand dismissively. “She’s been cooking that poor beast all day. I’ve been so bored.”
“And he’s been drinking all day, complaining that football season is over now that the Saints lost the game,” Amanda replied with a wink toward Amir. “Can you please entertain him for me?”
“Of course. How long do you think I have to distract him?”
Amir laughed while Amanda said, “Probably thirty minutes or so. Enough time for you to catch up to him.”
We went to Amir’s study while she went to the kitchen. The house felt like a home once again. Just a few months ago, the suspect in the Sex Club Killer had shot up the house trying to distract me from the case. Virtually every window had been destroyed and there were still several places where the replacement bricks out front hadn’t faded to match the originals.
As I sat on the sofa, I looked around our favorite drinking spot. I loved the rustic feel of Amir’s study. It reminded me of an old smoking room like they used to have in the last century. The walls had cedar planks on the upper half and dark green wallpaper on the lower half underneath a chair rail. Hardbound books filled the shelves of the room’s dominant feature, a massive built in bookshelf.
Amir walked loosely over to the wet bar and picked up a decanter of amber liquid.
“Ah, not tonight, buddy. I’ll have a vodka tonic,” I stated.
He stopped and glanced up at me. “No more blonde cop with the huge bazoongas?”
“No. No more huge bazoongas for Zach,” I replied with an exaggerated pouty lip. “I’m okay with it though. She told me in no uncertain terms what all of my flaws were and I realized that she was right—and that she’s not the woman for me.”
Amir stared at me with glassy eyes and set the decanter down with exaggerated gentleness. “Are you sure you’re okay? Hearing how others perceive you when you’re not expecting it can be rough.”
“Yeah. I’m good. Vodka tonic, please.”
“Alright, my friend! Let’s drink!”
We spent the next forty-five minutes discussing the previous week’s Super Bowl and what we felt the Saints should have done differently in their loss to the Cleveland Browns. Ultimately, it came down to the cybernetic enhancements of the Brown’s safety. They put some serious money into that guy and our receivers couldn’t get past him.
I watched Amir slam back another double bourbon and I placed a hand on his wrist as he prepared to stand up to get another drink. “Everything alright, Amir?”
“I’m fine.”
Lie. I was pretty good at determining when people weren’t telling the truth and my best friend was lying to me.
“Amir, I know something’s up. One, you don’t usually drink this much. Two, you’re a bad liar. Three, I noticed Amanda trying to cover for you about why you were drinking. What’s going on?”
He slid his hands down his face and then wiped them on his pants. “It’s the Pharaoh. We’re not doing so well.”
“I don’t understand,” I replied truthfully. “Every time I’m in there, the place is packed to the gills. How are you not doing well?”
“Two months ago, a new investor bought the building. Last month, the building’s lease came up for renewal and he tripled our rent. I can’t afford that.”
“Damn. So what’s your plan?”
“Today? Drink. Tomorrow? I don’t know.”
“I don’t know anything about real estate law, but isn’t there anything you can do? The Pharaoh has been in that building for twenty-plus years.”
“Twenty-two,” he corrected me. “I spoke to the new owner last week and he’s unwilling to budge on the price.”
Amir stared vacantly at the wall. “The bastard even said something about you. Isn’t that strange?”
My stomach dropped.
“What was that?” I asked.
“The new owner. He said to make sure you knew that he bought the building.”
A fuzzy memory of Tommy Voodoo and two pretty women dragged its way to the forefront of my brain. He said something about a business deal to keep us together, but I’d ignored him.
“Is the new owner Thomas Ladeaux?”
“Yes. How do you know that?”
“Goddammit! That guy can’t leave me the fuck alone.”
“You know this man?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “He’s a dirty son of a bitch who owns a bunch of clubs in Easytown
and the big shipping company down there at the Dockyards.”
“What does he want with the Pharaoh?”
“Who knows? It sounds like he bought it to get leverage over me.”
“What am I supposed to do, Zachary? I can’t afford to pay that much in rent every month.”
“Funny enough, I’ve got a meeting scheduled with him tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do, buddy.”
“Thank you,” Amir nodded and went to the bar for another drink.
By the time Amanda came to get us, Amir was sloppy drunk—probably like I’d been Friday night. It wasn’t a pretty sight. No wonder Avery doesn’t want to see me anymore. He fell into the side table and his glass tumbled to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces.
“Oh, come on, Amir. This isn’t going to help anything,” she chided.
“Zach, my best friend for my entire life, he is going to fix this,” Amir stated, placing both hand on my shoulder and leaning in on me until his forehead rested against mine. “Zack knows Thomas Ladeaux. He’ll make this go away. Won’t you, Zach?”
“I don’t—” I stammered
“Thank you, Zach!” Amanda cried, throwing her arms around us both.
My hands came up, unbidden and on their own. I hugged them back. Somehow, I’d figure out a way to get this straightened out; they were counting on me.
EIGHT: MONDAY
My Jeep drove between the stacked forty-foot shipping containers that served as the entry point for the Easytown Dockyards. I’m sure it was just a matter of convenience, but the containers seemed to completely surround the waterfront, forming a wall that could be easily defended by the workers.
I shuddered involuntarily and hoped that the police department never had to come down here in force. Inside the perimeter, more shipping containers lined the road, forcing vehicles to follow the path. The containers were easily moved with the heavy equipment the workers used, so they could alter the path, create dead ends or block off the passage behind you after you passed through. This place would be a SWAT team’s worst nightmare.
