by Brian Parker
Love it or hate it, IA played their cards exactly like they should have. They played by a different set of rules than the rest of us. Putting a cop into a compromising situation was legal for them to do if they suspected ethics violations under the department’s Immorality Clauses. Thankfully, I’d kept my senses and not taken Katheryn up on her advances when she posed as a contractor.
“I still don’t like it, Zach. I’ve worked here long enough to know that something like that isn’t done very often. They’re gunning hard for you.”
“Yeah, I’ve got Andi looking through the NOPDnet and MainFrame to find out who ordered this investigation. So far, we’ve came up with nothing.”
“Doesn’t that point a finger at them? If everything was on the up-and-up with their investigation, why do they need to hide information?”
“There’s no requirement for them to disclose any information about on-going investigations, so they’re keeping everything on a separate, disconnected server—or worse, analog,” I said. “It’s a smart move on their part, Andi could wipe everything they have and not leave a trace of her presence there if they were operating on the police server.”
Okay, that part wasn’t technically true. Andi was a good hacker, but I didn’t spend a lot of money on those types of programs, so everything she knew how to do had been through trial and error. She could probably break into any secure file on MainFrame, but she’d leave a path of destruction as wide as the rushing water from a broken levee.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Dr. Jones asked.
I shrugged. “What can I do?”
My chair screeched on the tile floor as I pushed back from her desk and stood up. I crammed my hands in my pants pockets and walked aimlessly to the window. “I can’t change what I’m currently doing because that would indicate to whoever was watching me that I had something to hide. That means, I continue on with my current investigation and follow a few leads on other things I’ve gained over the past few days.”
“What are you going to do about that lying bitch detective?”
I thought of Katheryn’s cute, button-nose and the way the corner of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I really don’t blame her for anything. She was following orders and admirably, she pulled herself out when things got out of control.”
“She could have single-handedly gotten you fired.”
“Probably. It would’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back; that’s for sure. I’ve done a lot of things that would have gotten an average cop relieved. So far, my saving grace has been solving the high-profile cases that came down the pipe toward Easytown, which is why my current investigation needs to go well.”
“What happens when those run out or your luck gives way and you don’t solve the big case before something major happens?”
“Well, then I guess I’ll get shit-canned.”
I started to go back to my chair across from the doctor, but thought better of it, and sat heavily on the couch instead. “So, we gonna do this therapy thing or what?” I asked.
Dr. Jones sighed and used the desk to help lift herself up. There was a noticeable bulge in the front of her dress that wasn’t there the last time we talked. What’s it been? I asked myself. Two months? Three?
She’d been instrumental in helping me get Sadie off the street when the mayor’s people were looking for her. That was in February. I hadn’t been in any type of altercations that required special therapy sessions recently… Was that case the last time I’d seen her?
“Ah…” I hesitated. What if I was wrong? “Congratulations?”
Her hand went to her stomach and she smoothed the dress down. “Thank you. We’re excited; my six-year-old especially. She can’t wait to be a big sister.”
“I’m sure she’ll be great.”
“Thanks,” she said, walking over to the wingback chair she sat in for our sessions. “Okay, the main reason I wanted to bring you in today was to let you know about the investigation; you’ve stepped into that one up to your knees. Part of helping you out—as a friend and as your therapist—is ensuring that your records are straight on my end, which I’ve done. Getting you here, today, will also look good from the clinical standpoint that you are seeking counseling even when not mandated by the department. That shows self-awareness and emotional control versus someone who has moved beyond the ability to feel emotions.”
“Great. I know you didn’t have a lot of time,” I replied, sitting up. “So, I’ll just be—”
“I’ll make time,” Dr. Jones stated, the edge to her voice letting me know she was serious. “You made a conscious decision to move over to the therapy couch. Why?”
“I felt like lying down.”
“Bullshit, Zach. I’ve been thinking about this since you told me about the IA detective—Katheryn, was it?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did they send her after you if you’re seeing Teagan? The few times I’ve talked to you since you began dating, you were happy. Your medical profile even states that you’ve been removed from the watch list of stroke and kidney failure victims. What’s their game? Is there something I don’t know?”
I sighed, louder than I meant to. “Teagan walked out on me last Friday. Actually, she walked out on everything and moved to Indonesia.”
“That’s… Hmm, that’s a major life change. I thought you and I were good.”
I glanced over at her. “What do you mean? Of course we’re good.”
“You’re supposed to contact me as soon as you can when a major life event occurs. I would have expected a call on Saturday or Sunday.”
“I’ve been busy, which, consequently, is one of the reasons Teagan left. I’m always too busy.”
Dr. Jones did what she did best, by steering the conversation along with gentle pushes in the right direction and prods to keep me talking. After our thirty minutes stretched to over forty-five, I felt better. Truly better. Teagan’s departure hadn’t been entirely my fault, it was a shared failure on both of our parts. I’d ignored her needs and desires, while she’d failed to tell me what she wanted or expected, until it was too late.
Jasmin gave us both an F in Communication 101, a little bit of college humor since I’d been dating a girl more than a decade my junior. Everybody’s got jokes.
“You’re gonna be okay, Zach,” the doctor said with an affectionate hand on my upper arm as she saw me to the door to her office. “You’ve got a lot of flaws, but you’re willing to work on them. Believe me, that’s much better than most of my clients.”
“Thanks,” I answered. “Glad I’m not a lost cause.”
“Not even close. I’ll take care of the medical side of the investigation; recommend they retain you and all of that, of course. To be honest, though, if they’re out for blood, I don’t know if they’ll consider my word over Internal Affairs.”
“Every little bit helps. The fact that I’m not a psychopath has gotta be a mark in the WIN column.”
“You’d be surprised at the psychological profiles of some of the people around here.”
“No, I really wouldn’t,” I said, thinking of that looney patrolman, Tidewell.
“So, what’s your next step? How are you gonna fight this?”
I admired her desire to help, it showed that she was a true friend. Those were hard to come by these days.
“I’m going to do my job,” I answered her honestly. “There’s nothing I can do to affect the path of the investigation. I have your endorsement and Katheryn says that she’s recommending retaining me as well. Both of those are huge. I just wish Andi could snoop into the case they’re building against me. I’d like to see all the bullshit up front before it surprises me later.
“Doesn’t matter, though,” I continued. “I’m juggling a few major investigations right now, so the sooner I can focus on each of those and close them out, the better.”
She nodded in understanding. My work was what grounded me, and made me feel normal. The best thing for me
to do was dig in and get to work. “Be safe, Zach. Don’t do anything stupid that will intensify their witch hunt.”
“Oh, you know me. Even when I try to keep my nose clean, trouble seems to come along and throw shit in my face.”
“Maybe you should try ducking once in a while,” Jasmin counseled.
“That’s a move I never learned, Doc.” I opened the door. “I’ll see ya around.”
TWELVE: TUESDAY
“What’s the closest address to where we are, Andi?” I asked, unconsciously motioning to Drake beside me in the Jeep.
“It’s up to you, Zach. You’re perfectly in the middle of the two. Hector Gonsalvez lives and works in Leonidas, while Farouk Karimov lives and works in Easytown.”
I glanced at Drake. “Any preference?”
“Yeah, let’s do the easy one first.”
“Andi, notify the Leonidas Precinct of our arrival time. I want the house locked down by the time we get there to issue the search and arrest warrants.”
“They’ve already been notified and were on standby. I’ll let them know that you’re en route to their location now.”
While the Jeep made the drive out to Leonidas, Drake and I chatted about sports and where to eat after the search. Both of us agreed to the Pharaoh for lunch, but disagreed on the Astros chances for the year. They’d picked up a few new pitchers and a power hitter in the off-season, so he was hopeful for a conference title. I doubted they’d do much more than participate and end near the bottom of the charts like they had for the last nine seasons. Seriously, the Astros stank and they needed to spend some money on enhancement upgrades for their players.
The Gonsalvez residence was on lock-down by the time we arrived in Leonidas a little after 10:30. I found the sergeant in charge at the scene to verify that they’d interrupted all communication signals coming in or going out. We needed to keep this guy from alerting Karimov that the noose was tightening around his neck.
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied. “Standard signal disrupters for anything digital and or satellite, we cut the hard lines to the house, and we’re actively intercepting all drones within a two-mile perimeter. The house is as isolated as we can make it.”
“Thanks. Has there been any communication with the team at Gonsalvez’s work?”
He nodded. “Yup. They breached about four minutes before you got here. Typical snatch and grab operation. The homeowner will be on scene shortly.”
What the sergeant termed as shortly turned out to be almost immediately. Two black and whites rumbled up to our location, the officers wrangling the Hispanic male I’d seen last week at the riot. The four cops from the vehicles prodded the shackled male along until he stood in front of me.
“Hector Gonsalvez, have you been made aware of why you’re being arrested this morning and why we’re searching your residence?” I asked.
“Who the heck are you?”
I introduced myself and went over his rights, just in case the arresting officers forgot to do it back at the furniture shop. Then I told him he was suspected of inciting a riot, and possibly connected with the manufacture and sale of illegal substances.
“You—I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Yeah, I was at the rights demonstration last week, but I didn’t incite no riot. And what’s up with the drug charge? Is that just standard these days for you cops? You already plant your stash on me?”
“Synthaine,” I hissed. “You heard of it?”
“Yeah, sure. Who hasn’t? You can’t go anywhere without seeing some bloody-eyed junkie these days. Maybe you should spend your time hunting down those people instead of hard-working, tax-paying citizens.”
“If we don’t find anything in your home, then you don’t have anything to worry about the drug charges,” I replied, choosing to ignore his barb about the police department’s lack of control over the rampant drug use that’d taken hold over the city.
“I can’t believe this is happening, man,” Gonsalvez practically cried. “I didn’t do nuthin’ but help organize a march for human rights to work. I’m gonna get fired—probably replaced by a robot or something and lose my house. My wife—” he stopped, and a look of sheer terror crossed his face. “My kids don’t know you’re here, do they? They’re not inside, right?”
“No, Mr. Gonsalvez. Your children are at school.”
“I can’t let them see me in chains, man. That would ruin their lives. This isn’t fair. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Let’s go inside, Mr. Gonsalvez,” I said gently, beginning to wonder if I’d made a mistake. Either he was a convincing liar or he hadn’t done anything that he felt warranted an arrest and a search of his home.
Leonidas officers were in full search mode when we entered. Machines checked for hidden doorways and hiding places, while others sampled the air and fabrics for evidence of drugs. A middle-aged woman sat on the family’s couch and she jumped to her feet when Hector Gonsalvez shuffled into the room. She lit into him in Spanish, which Andi translated in real-time for me. The wife wanted to know why we were here, what had he done to bring us into their home, was he involved with all the horrible things we’d accused him of, and the like. They were basically the same standard questions that someone who has no clue what’s happened would ask in this type of situation.
The sinking feeling in my stomach descended even further.
I’d wanted to keep my nose clean, but serving a couple of warrants outside of my precinct and enlisting the help of officers I didn’t know, all for a wild goose chase would not look good in the eyes of the reviewing officers for my case. Talk about a shit show if nothing came of this.
I sat beside Hector and his wife, Silvia, on their couch. “Tell me straight, Mr. Gonsalvez. Are you involved in the formulation, manufacture, distribution or sale of any controlled substance?”
“No, sir,” he pleaded. “I’ve never even drank alcohol except for the holy sacrament on Sundays at Mass. We are a clean, God-fearing family. I would never have anything to do with drugs of any kind, Mr. Detective.”
Shit. This was going south quick.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s calm down. I’m going to ask you a few questions here at your home instead of taking you down to the station. That will save us some time, and hopefully we’ll be finished before your children come home. Does that work?”
“Yes! Yes, sir,” Hector answered.
I glanced at his wife and then pulled my handcuff key from my pocket. Gesturing for Gonsalvez’s hands, I leaned toward him. He lifted his hands hopefully and I started to unlock them.
“Wait,” I said. “Did you get frisked?”
“Uh? I don’t remember.”
“Stand up, I’m going to pat you down and make sure you don’t have anything that can hurt you or me.”
I went through the motions of making sure he didn’t have any concealed weapons or anything that could be used as a weapon. When I was satisfied that he was clean, I took off the cuffs, but left the leg shackles in place; just in case.
“Better?” I asked. Hector nodded his head. “What is your association with Carlos Ortega?”
“He is a community activist,” Gonsalvez replied. “He organizes events—like the human rights rally we held last week.”
“Don’t try to sugar coat it,” I interrupted. “It was an anti-robot rally.”
“Some of the protestors may have had that agenda, but not all of us. It started out as a protest against our elected officials to improve working conditions. Increasingly, robots are being utilized in the workplace, and as a result of their precision programming, other things like safety are being neglected. A robot isn’t going to accidentally get a scrap of clothing caught in a machine press, so they’ve gotten bigger, much harder to handle for the humans still working them. And there has been a rise in deaths among factory workers as a result.”
“I haven’t heard of a growing number of factory worker fatalities.”
“You probably haven’t. Things like t
hat get covered up in the name of profit. There used to be a federal organization called the Occupational Safety and Health Administration—OSHA for short. That organization no longer exists, so it’s up to the states and local authorities to ensure the safety of our workers. New Orleans doesn’t give a hoot about us.”
I didn’t really have a comment on his statement, so I simply nodded my head about the defunct organization. “So you were there protesting for workers’ rights and safety,” I said. “There were also teachers and prostitutes, bus and taxi drivers. Where they there protesting for rights or against the robots that are taking their jobs?”
“Eh, you may be right, sir. For me, and the fellows I recruited to come to the rally, it was about our rights. I can see how the others you mentioned would have legitimate concerns with simply losing their jobs to robots, not the dangers of working alongside them.”
His statement hit home. I’d seen firsthand, on several occasions, the dangers of the police drones. Once they landed and their targeting protocols kicked in, they were more dangerous than the criminals they were brought in to stop. The city seemed to be perfectly fine with the collateral damage as long as they could point to their robot defenders and the reduced crime rates that were associated with them.
“Did you ever associate with Carlos Ortega outside of planning these events?”
“No, sir.”
“Did he ever ask you to work with him on any special projects or events that were illegal?”
“No, sir. We got permits to protest before every rally we ever held. We’ve had five or six of them; only that last one turned ugly.”
“I was there,” I stated. “I saw you near Ortega. When the drones blocked the march’s access, he said something to you and another man named Farouk Karimov. Did Ortega order you to tell the protestors to become violent?”
“No, sir,” Gonsalvez replied. “He told us to help him spread the word that the police wouldn’t shut down our legal protest. I was shouting to the people around me to keep moving along the route, and not to be deterred by the droids’ presence. Getting media coverage of our plight is the first step to make the politicians discuss the topic.”
