The Easytown Box Set

by Brian Parker

  I smiled at Teagan, her hazel eyes seemed more green than brown this morning. “I stand corrected, Andi. You may continue the use of the word.”

  “Understood. Reinstating the word ‘exuberant’ to my speech patterns.”

  “So, you can teach an old dog new tricks, huh?” Teagan teased.

  “Maybe for the right person, that old dog is willing to learn a few tricks.”

  “Okay,” she responded, flipping the covers open completely to reveal her nude body. “You can come back over here.”

  “I really must insist that you watch the video,” Andi pressed. “You will both be pleased.”

  I took one long, wistful glance at Teagan and sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry, Teagan. I want nothing more than to spend all day in bed with you.”

  “I get it,” she answered. “I’ve got class in a couple of hours anyways—and I’ve missed way too much lately,” she added. “How long is the vid?”

  “Four minutes, thirty-two seconds.”

  Teagan slipped on one of my t-shirts that she’d adopted while I was gone and we went into the kitchen for coffee.

  “Ugh,” I groaned, staring at the large mound of old case files on the table. “I’d forgotten about those.”

  The cleaning crew hadn’t been able to recreate my elaborate filing system of stacking case files in certain places across the entire surface of the dining room table. It would take me hours, maybe even days to fix it.

  “Maybe you should get a filing cabinet,” Teagan suggested.

  “No way. I knew exactly where everything was the old way.”

  “But how often did you have anyone else eating over here?”

  She had a point. Her stay was temporary, but hopefully she’d be coming over more often. Without the table, the options were standing in the kitchen, which I often did, or eating on the couch. Neither of which were exactly civilized.

  “I’m not asking you to change your whole way of life, Zach. Please don’t think that.”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry.” I guess I’d taken too long to respond to her. “I was just thinking about where a cabinet would go.”

  “How about right there in the corner next to your gun safe?”

  I glanced at the safe. There was enough space for an upright filing cabinet that wasn’t being used.

  “Sounds good. Andi, can you order a filing cabinet that will fit beside the safe?”

  “Metal or composite? Three or five drawer? Lockable or not? Do you require an additional alarm system?”

  “Uh… Composite, five, yes and no?”

  “We’re in luck, boss. There’s one in stock, in town. It will be here by 3 p.m.”

  “Whoa,” Teagan exclaimed. “That was crazy.”

  “That’s why I have her,” I replied. “Let’s see this vid you’re so exuberant to show me, Andi.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, Chris Young’s message displayed on the wall:

  Zach, you need to watch this. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been on site when my cameraman recorded it. This is the raw footage from our live feed yesterday and I haven’t had the opportunity to edit or prepare the voiceover yet, which we’ll broadcast on the megavid screens throughout town this afternoon. But, since you have so much invested in this case I decided to let you get the first look.

  Ignore the rocket comment. I was obviously dazed and we’ll edit that out. Your troubles are over!

  Cheers,

  Chris

  After a couple of seconds passed to allow me to read what he’d typed, the vid began playing. It showed several marked state police cars and what I assumed were unmarked cars parked in a vee formation blocking the entrance to the parking lot outside what looked like a large hotel. I didn’t recognize the place.

  In the video, Chris said, “Are we live? Are we— Hello, this is Chris Young. I’m coming to you live from the prestigious Windmere Resort & Spa in Gramercy, about fifty miles west of New Orleans. As you can see, the Louisiana State Police, the Gramercy SWAT team and members of the FBI have been called to this location because of a potential hostage situation.

  “We have word that the New Orleans mayor, Mayor Derek Cantrell, is involved. You may remember that Mayor Cantrell was recently removed from office after he was implicated in the so-called torture tourism ring, kidnapping and murder, and the illegal manufacture of human clones. He’s been missing since being relieved of his office.

  “Our sources say that Mayor Cantrell is inside the Windmere Resort & Spa and may be a hostage.” He put his finger to his ear and nodded. “No, I’m being told that the mayor may be the one who took the hostages, not the other way around.”

  The video cut between scenes and it was obviously later in the day, the sun beating down onto the police officers on the perimeter.

  “So, if you can see behind me, the building is laid out almost like an uppercase H-design when viewed from above. As you can imagine, a building this large is exceptionally hard for police officers to raid and secure since there is so much space to hide and so many potential exits. Additionally, we don’t know where the hostages are being held at this time. If I had to guess—”

  The camera shook and then fell to the ground as a massive explosion took out the top two floors of the far right wing of the front building. One moment everything was seemingly peaceful, the next, it had gone to shit.

  Large chunks of burning drywall and roof shingles rained down around the prone cameraman. “Get up, Danny!” Chris said.

  “Gail, are you getting this? There was some type of explosion at the Windmere Resort & Spa. We’d been following the developing story of Mayor Derek Cantrell, the recently removed mayor of New Orleans, when the building exploded.”

  He pointed to the missing floors. “As you can see, it was a massive explosion. It looks like it destroyed the top two floors of the resort. We don’t know yet whether the explosion came from inside the resort or if the police fired some type of rocket at the building. It’s too early to tell.”

  The camera focused on officers opening a clamshell trailer. Once the roof and sides were out of the way, a drone similar to what the NOPD used lifted skyward. It circled the building multiple times and I knew it was scanning. I didn’t know what type of equipment it was equipped with, so it could have been scanning for people or more explosives.

  Chris remained silent for the first pass and then continued talking. “As you can see, Gail, the police have released a drone. We’re being told it’s an EOD drone—that’s Explosive Ordnance Disposal—that is searching for more explosives.”

  The camera zoomed out to show police officers running forward. “The drone must have cleared the building,” Chris stated, “because officers are now moving in.”

  Chris and his cameraman advanced several feet until they were stopped by a uniformed officer. “We’re being told that we can’t go any closer, Gail. This is as close as the state police are going to allow us to go. There’s—hey! Look over there, the SWAT team appears to have two people in custody.

  “Can you? Yeah, zoom in on that.” The camera zoomed in and I recognized the mayor. He was in handcuffs between two cops. Behind him, a giant bear of a man was also in handcuffs. Neither looked like they’d gone down without a fight.

  “That’s Mayor Cantrell! He was probably trying to use the explosion as a distraction to escape on the opposite end of the building.

  “Can you see this, Gail? It appears that New Orleans Mayor Derek Cantrell is in custody after a dramatic chain of events. We don’t have positive identification yet, but from what we can tell, it certainly looks like him. Of course, if you remember my exclusive report on illegal cloning last week, the FBI will still need to conduct DNA testing to determine if he’s a clone. If he is a clone, then the real Derek Cantrell may still be on the run.”

  The video ended and I glanced at Teagan, who stared openmouthed at the blank wall where the video had played.

  “Um, that did not play live yesterday,” she managed to say.

&nb
sp; “They’re keeping it under wraps,” I answered. “Smart. That way, they make sure they’ve got the real Cantrell and not a clone.”

  “Are you ready to watch Chief Brubaker’s message?” Andi asked. “It correlates directly with what you are discussing.”

  “Yeah. Go ahead and play it back.”

  “Forrest, this is Brubaker,” the chief’s gruff voice echoed over my apartment’s speakers as his craggy face filled the wall. “Your AI tells me that you’re still sleeping. Good. Get some rest now because we have a giant backlog of cases that Cruz couldn’t handle on his own. Seems there’s some new type of killer robot wars happening between rival gangs and civilians are getting caught in the crossfire.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about the standoff in Gramercy by now. DNA evidence confirms that the real Derek Cantrell is behind bars. The DA’s office had a field day with the evidence you provided and subpoenaed Biologiqué International’s network servers and every computer still functioning. It seems there was a massive amount of damage to the local network the other night by unknown vandals.

  “One more thing. There’s been a string of deaths among prominent people in the city. Seems they’re all dying of some type of inoperable kidney failure. They go in to the hospital and ten, twelve hours later they’re dead. Some of them were on Bloomfield’s list of known clones, most of them aren’t. Seems like without the juice from Cantrell, they shrivel up and die. The department has taken a few of them into custody and provided the injections that will keep them alive.

  “They’re singing like birds as long as we give them their daily shot of life. We recovered four cases of the stuff in Cantrell’s home, but we’ll have to lean on your pal, Ladeaux, to get the manufacturing process turned back on for that serum—it’s going quick.”

  He paused to spit out a bit of chewed tobacco, which echoed around my living room and caused Teagan to blanch.

  “Oh yeah, before I forget,” Brubaker’s message continued. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch. Thomas Ladeaux has decided not to press charges against you for breaking and entering his building, destroying his property, restraining security personnel and setting his cloning business back by several months and an untold amount of money. The DA is also dropping the two murder charges against you since the video only shows the Paladin in Slidell, not you. Saint Michael must be watching after your sorry ass.”

  He cleared his throat and continued, “In all seriousness, I’m glad you’re alright and that none of those bullshit charges against you panned out. I’ll see you Monday at the precinct.”

  The message ended and Andi said, “You have four more days until Monday, Zach. I recommend you get as much rest as possible. Studies show that rest and decreased activity are key factors in the healing process.”

  I took a long sip from my coffee and then set the mug back on the coffee table. “I’m sick of lying in bed, Andi. I need to do something.”

  Teagan grabbed my hand and interlocked her fingers in mine. “You could take me out to dinner tonight. We still haven’t had our official first date yet.”

  “We had that picnic,” I stated.

  “Oh, no you don’t, mister. You’re gonna take me someplace nice. I’m sure that New Orleans Hero Cop Zachary Forrest can get us reservations somewhere last minute while I’m in class.”

  I groaned at her use of Chris Young’s term. “I’m not gonna live that one down, am I?”

  She threw her leg over mine and then straddled me. “Maybe in time—but you’re gonna have to work it off.”

  I met with Sadie a couple of days after I learned of the mayor’s arrest. The police department had allowed her to return to her home in Lakeshore, a posh neighborhood that only the very rich could afford. They’d completed their search and hadn’t found anything at the house.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked. She’d been devastated when I’d originally told her that she was implicated in the torture tourism case.

  “As well as can be expected, I guess. I’ve been put through a battery of medical and psychological tests, but they can’t find any trace of my memories from my time at Biologiqué International. Since my mind was wiped by those sick bastards, the district attorney has decided not to seek criminal charges against me, although there may be a civil case in the future by families of the victims.”

  “No jail time,” I stated. “That’s huge. Congratulations!”

  “Thanks.”

  She frowned and fretted with a string on her pant leg. “It’s just… What kind of a person would do that stuff? Condone the torture and murder of anyone, let alone potentially hundreds of people. Am I a monster?”

  I shook my head. “No, you’re not. In fact, you’re not even Kelsey Bloomfield anymore. You’re Sadie, the strong, independent woman who’s been through a fuck-ton of shit. You just happen to have the same name as that other person.”

  I paused to arrange my thoughts and put my experience dealing with murderers, rapists and thieves every day for more than a decade into words that would mean something to her. “A monster doesn’t ask whether they are a monster. They accept it, they revel in it. Being evil defines them. That’s not you. You, the person who you’ve been made into today, is not like that. You have a completely blank canvas to paint your masterpiece on. You can be anybody that you want to be.”

  The nod of her chin was barely noticeable. “I don’t want to be like that. I want to help people, not hurt them. I just don’t understand how I—how Kelsey could have gone down that road. I remember her childhood. It was totally fine, there wasn’t anything bad that happened to her that would have made her turn out the way she did.”

  “Sometimes people start out gradually, a faked report here, a lie about a project there, and then before you know it, they’ve slid completely down that slope to become so mired in their lies and misdealings that they’ll grasp at whatever comes along. Maybe that’s what happened to her. Maybe she turned a blind eye to one illegal cloning or needed money for something and eventually it became commonplace. Then, when she tried to blackmail the mayor, she ceased to exist, and then you were born.”

  I didn’t really know what else to say. Even though I’d been on Jasmine Jones’ couch on more occasions than I could count, counseling wasn’t my thing.

  “The slippery slope argument, huh?” she asked.

  “It’s real. I see it every day.”

  “Can I recover from the things that she’s done?”

  “That’s up to you,” I replied. “You could sit here and dwell on all the negative things that the media will surely throw your way, or you can accept that Kelsey Bloomfield was murdered by the mayor’s thugs and her body was left in the street to be discovered and broadcast across the city.

  “If you can do that, accept it and move on, then you’ll be able to begin anew. You hold the keys to your future now, not some dead clone.”

  “I want to be a good person,” she whispered.

  “Then make it happen. Campaign for clone rights, donate your time at a food shelter, whatever you want to do. The future is wide open for you.”

  She smiled and a few tears dribbled down her cheek. “I guess, in a way, being cloned was the best thing that ever happened to me, huh?”

  “Without it, you wouldn’t be who you are right now. You’ve been given a new life. Go live it.”

  “Okay. I will,” she agreed, standing up quickly and then leaning over, hugging me.

  My arms drifted up awkwardly and I hugged her back the best that I could. She’d be alright. With that kind of determination, she’d be just fine.

  Now, what about those cyborgs spreading through Easytown?

  THE END OF BOOK 2

  West End Droids

  &

  East End Dames

  3rd Easytown Novel

  by

  Brian Parker

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Notice: The views expressed herein are NOT endorsed by the United States Government, Department of Defense or Department of the Army.

  West End Droids & East End Dames

  an Easytown Novel

  Copyright © 2017 by Brian Parker

  All rights reserved. Published by Muddy Boots Press.

  www.MuddyBootsPress.com

  Edited by Aurora Dewater

  Cover art designed by Luke Spooner

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  ONE: WEDNESDAY

  Chink! Chink! Chink!

  “Jesus, Drake! Watch out!” I shouted, shoving my partner into an alley. The wall above us had three deep gashes in the concrete where the cyborg had shot at us.

  “Don’t gotta tell me twice,” the big man rumbled.

  I peeked around the corner and my hat went flying, a neat hole torn through the front peak. If I’d stuck my head out just a little farther…

  Just before the cyborg attacked us, Drake and I had signed over the body of Dale Henderson to the medical examiner’s droids. Henderson was a doorman at the thumper club, Liquid Genesis, who’d been murdered in his apartment a few blocks off The Lane. Neither of us saw where the ’borg came from before we were running for our lives, firing our pistols over our shoulder at the maniac.

  “Dammit, Andi, we need support. Now!” I said through gritted teeth; that was my favorite hat. My phone’s microphone picked up my voice, and my ever-present assistant answered.

  “I’ve alerted the police drone dispatcher, boss. They’re trying to decide if the current threat warrants removing a drone from citizen protection duty.”