by Brian Parker
I waved him away and he waved back. “See ya tomorrow, Detective.”
“See ya,” I replied. I watched his back for a moment before turning toward the alley. I didn’t like having my back to places like that.
I thought about the shifting dynamic at the precinct. Alfonso Cruz was now the chief’s number one detective, regardless of his investigative abilities or solved case rate. Brubaker was eligible to retire in the next few years, he sure as hell didn’t want some scandal involving one of his detectives to bring him down so close to the finish line. I’d do the same thing if the roles were reversed and I was in his shoes.
Things had to change. I couldn’t be the number two guy in the precinct. I was number one. I’d always been number one.
Change. I repeated the word in my head. Why had everything changed so much in the past year? I’d gone from being a steady and reliable cop with a proven track record to an IA fuck’s wet dream. It all started with the droid, Paxton. Since then, my minor blip on IA’s radar from all the sensitivity complaints had ballooned into a massive target on my back that I couldn’t seem to shake. And I kept giving them ammunition to fire at me.
I’d even thought that my personal life had turned around between my time with Avery and then with Teagan. Hell, the goddamn toilet even took me off its watch list, but that all came screeching to a halt yesterday with Teagan fleeing the country. I’d been fooling myself thinking that everything was great with her.
There was a noise in the alley and I drew my service pistol, holding it at the low ready position. I clicked the button to turn on the rail-mounted flashlight and scanned the alleyway.
Empty.
“Great,” I muttered. “Now my mind is playing tricks on me too.”
A set of headlights flashed the side of the Regal Eagle and then angled away down the alley before disappearing completely as the medical examiner’s vehicle turned into a parking spot. Two humanoid droids stepped out of the vehicle, walking rapidly to where I waited. I opened my duster enough to show my badge resting on my belt.
“Good morning, officer,” the first droid to reach me stated. “Where are the bodies for transport to the morgue?”
“Come on, follow me,” I said, turning down the alley.
We walked into the darkness and the droids turned on the floodlights mounted on their shoulders, illuminating three men who’d pressed up against the wall, startling me.
They sprang into action faster than I would have given the average street thug credit for. I’d practiced Krav Maga for almost two decades, something I started in college, and the martial art had saved my ass more than a few times. Two of the attackers came forward, knives held at waist level, while the third held back.
“That’s the guy Karimov wants,” the leader said, directing the other two.
I stepped back, bumping up against one of the useless droids, and pivoted around it, using it as a shield. Predictably, they split up, going to either side of it and I kicked out, catching the faster of the two in the kneecap. He screamed, dropping to the ground.
His buddy got half a step on me, thrusting the knife before I could turn completely to face him. It slid in between my open jacket along my hip. I felt the skin separate.
Why did lacerations hurt worse than puncture wounds? It had to be something about the surface area involved.
“You mother fucker,” I hissed, twisting with the knife still trapped inside my duster. The move pulled the man with me and I followed through, delivering an elbow to the side of his face. That stunned him, and as I finished the turn, I put both hands against the side of his head, ramming it into the droid’s metallic back. I bashed his skull until he passed out.
“Goddamn it!” I bellowed, pain spreading across my lower body. The fucker with the bashed knee had stabbed me in the calf.
I pulled my pistol. Fuck the department’s regulations to respond in kind. I didn’t have a knife to fight them with.
“Drop it,” I ordered, aiming the gun at the cripple’s head.
He complied and I lifted my weapon up toward the leader, but he was already running down the alley. I tested my leg. There was no way I’d be able to chase him.
I was so frustrated that I pistol-whipped the guy who’d surrendered, knocking him unconscious like his buddy.
It was a lapse in judgement that I’d soon regret.
SEVEN: SUNDAY
“You, my good friend, are an idiot.”
“Amir! You stop that right now!” Amanda scolded from the kitchen.
“Yeah, can it, Amir,” I groaned. “I just wanted to sit here and feel sorry for myself while I nursed this little injury for as long as possible.”
My best friend and his wife had come to my place for once, choosing to continue to honor our Sunday ritual of having dinner together. Truth be told, I’d recovered enough that the wound in my leg was only a minor nuisance, but I’d used it as an excuse to be alone for the evening. Amanda wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer, so Amir called me when they were already on their way with groceries.
He looked around my apartment at the mess the collection droids had made while searching for all of Teagan’s property. It seemed like they’d opened every cabinet and overturned every piece of furniture.
Amir handed me a glass of bourbon, raising his own. “It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.”
“That’s cute,” I grimaced, taking a sip for his toast. “Did you write that or is it some ancient Egyptian proverb you’ve been saving for a special occasion?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, I wonder how we are friends. We went to the same school, but we did not learn the same subjects, Zach. That quote is Tennyson, as in Alfred Lord Tennyson, the poet.”
“Never heard of him,” I replied.
“Incorrigible,” he muttered under his breath.
“Watch it, pal. You’re supposed to be making me feel better, not questioning my upbringing.”
“You’re right. Sorry.” He took a drink and frowned. “So, she just up and left, then?”
“Amir,” his wife cautioned, looking annoyed.
“It’s okay, Amanda,” I said. “Yeah, she left with no notice. Don’t get me wrong, I had a lot to do with her deciding to leave, but it sure as hell caught me off guard.”
“How so?”
Great, I spent enough time talking to shrinks, now Amir wanted me to elaborate on my feelings. “You know me, buddy. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to have a normal relationship with a woman—of any age. I get comfortable hiding behind my job and letting that be my excuse for missing things. It’s pretty fucked up.”
He slapped the arm of the sofa. “At least you can see this, my friend. That means there is hope for you yet.”
“I doubt it.” I needed to change the subject and get away from the pity-party going on in my head. “So, did you hire anyone to replace her yet?”
“Teagan? No, not yet,” Amir sighed. “She worked so many hours that I’ll probably have to hire two people to replace her. I’m even considering a servant droid, but they are very expensive.”
“A servant droid? At the Pharaoh? I thought you avoided technology as much as possible.”
“I do believe that there are better options for most things, but I’m coming around to the idea of a droid. The up-front costs are astronomically high, but over time, it would pay for itself. Wages and employee health insurance are killing my bottom line. A droid doesn’t need either of those things. It doesn’t need smoke or restroom breaks, doesn’t get flustered when it has a bad day, doesn’t call in sick and leave the restaurant in trouble…”
“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” I stated. “I assume you’ve ran the numbers, how long until you recoup the cost of a droid?”
“If I buy one, it’s just over two years. If I buy two droids, there’s a manufacturer’s rebate and I could reduce the wait staff even further to cut some
of the dead weight. With two, it’s only three years and two months until they are paid off and the numbers begin to work in my favor.”
“Two droids? Looks like you’ve caught the tech bug.”
“On the contrary, Forrest. I’m running the numbers and considering them, but I’d never fully abandon the human wait staff or the cook staff. Just like you, they are my family as well. I may bring in a droid to help make the restaurant more efficient, but I’d never let everyone go like some restaurants have.”
Talking about the Pharaoh’s finances jogged my memory. “Is Tommy Ladeaux keeping up his end of our bargain?”
“So far,” Amir confirmed. “I can only hope he decides to sell the building. I’d buy it in a heartbeat.”
“Not if you spend all your money on droids,” Amanda quipped.
Tommy Ladeaux, aka Tommy Voodoo, had bought the building where the Pharaoh’s Tomb was located in an effort to get leverage on me. It worked, to an extent. I agreed to investigate a clone torture ring that was eating into his bottom line and didn’t sit well with his favorite sex partner, Anastasia, who was also a clone. Torturing and murdering clones wasn’t technically illegal, but I found out that some of the people being killed weren’t clones, they were the actual person who’d been replaced by a clone. In exchange for helping him, he agreed to leave Amir’s rent at its current rate for a period of five years.
Amir grimaced at Amanda’s statement. “That’s the only thing holding me back with the droid decision. I need that flexibility if he suddenly decides it’s not worth the bother and puts the building up for sale.”
“I don’t envy you,” I stated, and then glanced toward the kitchen. “Amanda, is there anything I can do for you?”
“Um, yeah, actually. I need a set of hands to hold the colander over the sink.”
I finished my drink and handed the empty glass to Amir before hobbling into the kitchen. The stab wound to my calf wasn’t even the most serious injury I’d suffered this year, but it sure was painful. I’d been so high on pain pills for a few weeks after they inserted the plate in my skull that I hardly felt any pain. I’d foolishly declined the meds this time around out of spite when the doc told me they weren’t going to use genetic stimulation and I’d have to heal the old-fashioned way.
“So…” I muttered when I got in the kitchen. “What’s a colander?”
“Are you—? Never mind,” Amanda laughed, handing me a clear plastic bowl with holes in it. “This is a colander. Just hold it over the sink so the water from the pasta doesn’t get everywhere.”
I held the useless bowl as directed and she poured the pasta and water into it. Miraculously, the water drained out of the holes, leaving only the pasta. “Hmpf,” I grunted. “I had no idea that’s what this was for.”
“How do you normally make pasta?” she asked.
“Andi orders delivery for me. Besides toast, I don’t cook much.”
“That’s not cooking.”
Amir appeared, holding two full glasses of bourbon. I accepted the one he offered me. “You remember when you asked me how you and me could be friends?” I asked.
“Of course, it was only a few minutes ago.”
“Well, this,” I held up the glass, “is how we can be friends. Cheers, buddy.”
We tapped the rims together lightly and I started to take a sip when Andi’s voice emitted from the kitchen speaker. “Zach, an unknown female is standing in front of—”
The doorbell rang, temporarily cutting her off. “She is ringing the doorbell.”
“Thanks, Andi. Any idea who she is?”
“Scanning criminal database now,” Andi replied. “Negative results.”
I began limping toward the door.
“Performing a standard database query. Hit.”
I stopped. “Who is she?”
“Katheryn Townlain. No police record.”
The name meant nothing to me until Andi continued talking. “She works as a contractor for the New Orleans Police Department, Easytown Precinct.”
“Who is it?” Amir asked guardedly. He was probably regretting his decision to come here. I had a habit of finding trouble, which was one of the reasons I thought I was a damn good cop. I didn’t need to go far to find a criminal.
“It’s an employee from the precinct. She’s okay,” I assured him.
Regardless of my assertion that Katheryn didn’t pose a threat, he grabbed a knife from the chopping block and stood in front of Amanda. I shook my head. If a bad guy had a pulse blaster, no amount of human shielding would stop the blast.
I opened the door and Katheryn straightened up quickly. It looked like she’d been listening at the door; I’d have to go into the hallway video and see what she was doing while Amir and I were talking.
“Uh, hello, Katheryn,” I said.
“Detective Forrest!” she said dryly, obviously surprised at being caught. Her wind-blown hair was still a mess. “I heard about you getting injured. I wasn’t sure if you were at home.”
“Occupational hazard,” I stated, deflecting her concern.
“I’m sorry to bother you—are you? Are you having a party?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the Khalil’s. They were in the kitchen, still watching the front door expectantly. “I— Not really.”
“Oh, I just thought since there was music and it smells like some nice food…”
“My friends and I eat dinner together every Sunday night. It’s kind of our thing.”
She smiled. Her little button nose seemed to get even more cute. “Well, isn’t that sweet? Is it… Is it just the three of you?”
“Uh, yeah. Just the three of us.”
“That’s so nice,” she said, sticking her chin out slightly.
“So, ah… You come for that piece of evidence I got on Friday?”
“Yeah. I figured since you got hurt, it’d be easier if I just came to you.”
Katheryn smoothed the simple dress she wore along her thighs, and I felt movement behind me. Her eyes told me that someone was behind me.
“Hi,” Amanda said, sliding around me. “I’m Amanda.” She shook Katheryn’s hand softly. “And that idiot with a knife is Amir, my husband.”
“Why’s he have a knife?”
“Because,” I said. “People that come to my apartment tend to have bad intentions. Speaking of, how’d you find out where I lived?”
“You think I have bad intentions?” Katheryn asked with a lopsided grin.
“No, I meant that’s why he had a knife, because of the type of people who seek me out typically try to kill me.”
“That’s… That’s really sad,” she replied.
“Isn’t it?” Amanda said. “Well, I’m not rude like Zach. Please come in.”
“Wait. What?” I said in confusion. We were supposed to have a simple dinner and some drinks. Now Amanda was inviting strangers into my home?
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Katheryn said.
“Nonsense,” Amanda answered, pushing me aside. Luckily, I was holding onto the door, or I’d have fallen. “You come inside. Would you like something to drink?”
“I would love to have whatever Detective Forrest is having.” She pointed at my glass. “May I?”
“Huh?”
“Your drink. Can I try it to see if I like it?”
“Uh… Sure,” I replied, handing her my glass of bourbon.
She took a large pull from the glass and handed it back to me, breathing out of her open mouth. “That’s a little rough on the front end, but it finishes smooth and smoky.”
I blinked. “That’s exactly why I like it.”
“It’s good. I’ll take one,” Katheryn said, handing my glass back to me and walking inside.
“Ah… You know a cleaning service doesn’t cost that much, right?” she asked, surveying the overturned boxes and piles of junk that the collection droids had left after they collected Teagan’s things.
“His girlfriend left him Friday,” Amanda said, much to my
chagrin. “She sent some droids over to get her stuff and this is how they left the place.”
“Friday?” She seemed surprised. “Like, the day you were out at Sabatier with that piece of evidence and the same day you got stabbed?”
I frowned. “Yeah, timing was never my thing.”
She accepted my answer with the same refreshing, laissez-faire attitude that seemed to be the woman’s hallmark.
The next hour was one of the strangest social situations I could remember besides the first time I woke up to a stranger in my bed that I’d brought home from a bar. Katheryn seemed able to actively participate in any conversation that occurred; whether it was talk about cooking methods, police work, social issues, or sports, she was extremely well-rounded and engaging. Even better, she could take a good-natured joke and return the favor.
She’d make a good cop, I decided.
As the evening wore down, Amir and Amanda took their leave. Their babysitter had to go home and get ready for her final week of high school. I was surprised when Katheryn didn’t leave at the same time, which is usually how those things worked. Amir gave me a sloppy hug and mumbled something about getting a tiger before his wife laughed, helping him stagger down the hall to the elevator.
I closed the door and limped back to the dining room where my ‘desk’ had actually been used as a table for the first time that I could remember. All of my case files were in a haphazard pile near the wall and Katheryn was staring at the top sheet, which was my notes from the riot on Thursday.
“So, ah, can I get you another drink?” I asked, pointing at her empty glass.
“Can I get some water, please?”
I took her tumbler and set it on the kitchen counter before getting a clean glass for her from the cabinet. “Do you live far from here?”
“No. Just a few blocks away,” she said. “Same neighborhood and everything.”
I handed her the glass and sat down beside her. “Why do you do it?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” I replied in confusion.
“Why are you a police officer, a detective? Like I told you the other day, I’ve sorta followed your career for a while. You’ve been shot, stabbed,” she pointed at my bandaged leg, as she continued her list of injuries, “beaten, and had several broken bones over the years. From what your friends said, your career holds you back in the relationship department; so, why do you do it?”
