by Brian Parker
I knew all too well that line of thinking. I’d followed the same logic when I had the clone, Sadie, do an interview after I’d rescued her. Getting the public talking about clone rights was the only way to make the political establishment weigh in. Otherwise, they would have been content to let the matter continue without any intervention.
“I did not call for anyone to throw rocks or break windows,” Gonsalvez finished.
“Okay. What about Karimov? Did you hear him inciting anyone to riot?”
He thought for a moment and slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t recall hearing him give any orders to go crazy like some of that crowd did. I think getting trapped on that street like rats in a maze set some of them off and then it escalated from there.”
“So you think it’s the police department’s fault that the protest turned into a riot?”
“I don’t want to offend you, sir, but yes, to answer your question directly. We were cut off by a line of policemen wearing armor with shields and shock batons. Then the side streets and the back was blocked off by those big, creepy police droids. There was a very real fear of dying in that moment.”
“Hmm… I hadn’t seen it that way before,” I said. Inside my head, I added another tick mark in the column of evidence against me in the Internal Affairs case. According to Gonsalvez, I was the one who should be up on charges since I’d ordered the drones to block off Ortega’s potential escape.
“It was scary,” Hector continued. “I don’t condone their actions, but I can see why people began rioting and trying to fight back. Then, when Carlos was snatched from the crowd, panic set in for a few moments. The fact that those droids can swoop in and take anyone they choose is terrifying.” He paused, picking at his fingernails, telling me he was nervous and wanted to add more, so I remained silent, letting him process it in his mind.
“No one has heard anything from Carlos since that day. The police are holding him in isolation somewhere. Please, don’t take me from my family, sir.”
“I don’t think we’re going to have to do that, Mr. Gonsalvez,” I replied truthfully. He didn’t know anything and I doubted the search was going to yield any results. “I’m sorry to inform you that Carlos Ortega is dead. He died of a heart attack on the way to the precinct.”
“Dios mio!” he muttered. “You killed him.”
“No,” I said forcefully. “He died of a heart attack. We did not kill him. He had a pre-existing heart condition and died while in transport.”
Hell, maybe in the purest sense of the word, we did kill him. The drone carrying him didn’t know that he was experiencing a medical emergency, so those seven or eight minutes he was in the air could have made the difference if it’d been equipped with different types of sensors. It could have diverted to a hospital or even a fire station for emergency care.
Sergeant Drake appeared in my line of sight and motioned me over. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”
I walked up to him, positioning myself so I could watch the homeowners as he spoke. All we needed was for one of them to pull a weapon from somewhere and get the drop on us.
“The house is mostly clean,” Drake rumbled as he held up a small baggie holding a quarter-sized square of a black, putty-like substance and another bag with a syringe, rubber tubing, a blackened spoon and a flamer torch. “We did find this in one of the children’s rooms. Looks to be a boy by the posters on the wall.”
“Heroin?”
“Probably,” Drake confirmed. “Not the worst of the shit out there, by far, but it’ll do a number on you.” He hefted the bag, “This is about two ounces, maybe a little more or less.”
I motioned him into the living room and pointed at the baggie of drugs and the bag of supplies. “Mr. and Mrs. Gonsalvez, did you know that one of your children was using heroin?”
The woman gasped, throwing her hand to her chest as she flung herself backward. Her husband shook his head slowly. “No, sir. We didn’t. Which room was that found in?”
“The one with the grey walls and the giant vid screen connected to the VR equipment,” Drake replied.
“Marco. That lying little—please forgive me, Mr. Detective. I did not know that he did such things; especially not under my roof.”
“There’s enough here to put him away for three months, no questions asked, no concern for his age,” I said. “I’m going to have to hand this evidence over to the Narcotics Division. I’m sorry.”
The woman wailed uncontrollably while Mr. Gonsalvez nodded grimly. “It doesn’t matter that he is only thirteen?”
“No, sir. The state has a zero-tolerance for any controlled substance. It takes away the emotions of the arresting officers since they have no say in the matter. Heroin, while certainly not as deadly or as some of the other shit—excuse me—while not as deadly as other substances on the street, is still illegal. I’m not a narcotics expert, but I can tell you that we’ve put eleven-year-old kids in prison for dealing. That’s a life-changing event for such a young person.”
“The youngest person incarcerated for drug use was Allan Grant, aged ten,” Andi’s voice stated in my ear.
I ignored her and said, “I’m sorry. Legally, there is no recourse, someone from this house will go to jail today. Once a Narcotics detective arrives and tests the evidence for fingerprints and DNA, they’ll be able to tell us who the user is and that person will be gone by nightfall. It is what it is.”
Mr. Gonsalvez nodded his chin grimly. “I understand.” He reached across to grab his wife’s hand and she jerked away from him.
“It’s mine,” she stated in Spanish.
“What?”
“I am the user.” She kicked off a shoe and spread her toes. Little scabbed dots of blood showed where she shot up. “I hide my supplies in Marco’s room because I know he never cleans, only plays that stupid video game.”
“Sarah…” Mr. Gonsalvez muttered.
“Don’t you ‘Sarah’ me. You don’t understand how hard life is here. You go to work, each day I don’t know if you’ll be coming home. Now you are involved in protests against the government and the police attack you. It’s only a matter of time before you are dead too. Political dissenters don’t last long in America. We should have moved to Argentina with my family; I hate it here.”
Her worldview was a little skewed, but I didn’t interject myself into the conversation between husband and wife. When their discussion began to wind down, I placed handcuffs on Sarah Gonsalvez and read her rights to her. She refused to look at me or speak further once the cuffs were on, so I tried to finish up with her husband while we waited for a Narcotics dick to arrive.
Talk about a turn of events. I hadn’t seen that one coming.
“I think we’re just about done here, Mr. Gonsalvez. Last question. Do you know Farouk Karimov?”
“He is at planning meetings for events, but I have never interacted with him socially outside of those. The man is a jerk. His job at the Dockyards has made him hard, so he does not interact well with people he deems less-hard… I’m sorry, I can’t think of the term.”
“Weaker than him?” I offered.
“Yes, something like that.” He glanced at his wife and then back at me. “This jail term is immediate?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. If her DNA is found on those supplies, they’ll take her today. A judge will pass sentence in a few days based on mandatory sentencing requirements for possession based on weight of the product. The Narcotics detective will be able to give you a better estimate on timelines.”
He nodded quietly.
“So you’re sure you’ve never interacted with Karimov outside of planning rallies and protests?”
“I am positive. He is an abrasive man who curses with every breath. I do not like to be around people like that. If I can avoid them, I will.”
I felt like he was telling the truth. Hector Gonsalvez was out there trying to stick up for the little man against the government; he wasn’t the fish I was after. Unfort
unately, his wife happened to get caught in the net.
Enough fishing metaphors, I groaned internally as Andi updated me on the arrival time of the Narc cops. Aloud, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Gonsalvez. The Narcotics officer should be here in about ten minutes to discuss what’s going to happen today. I don’t have any more questions for you.”
I knelt at his feet and unshackled him. He was free to go. “Mrs. Gonsalvez, I’m sorry that you were found out through the course of this investigation.” Her husband translated for me.
She tossed several curse words my way, causing Hector to throw his hands to his mouth and recoil in shock. Apparently, drug use wasn’t the only thing his wife was keeping secret from him.
“Alright, Drake,” I said as we walked out the front door of the Gonsalvez home. “Let’s schlepp across town and check in on the Karimov search.”
“No need,” he replied.
“Why’s that?”
“The man lives in a studio apartment. Our guys notified me that the search took less than an hour. The most condemning thing they found was a laundry basket full of dirty clothes. Otherwise, the place was spotless,” Drake said. “The ranking officer on scene released Karimov when it became apparent that they weren’t going to find anything.”
“What the fuck?” I said, slamming my open palm onto the roof of the Jeep. “Corrigan implicated Karimov as the guy behind the synthaine problem. What’s he doing living in a studio apartment?”
“Either Corrigan was lying to you or Karimov is smart enough not to shit where he sleeps.”
“You’re probably right on that account,” I conceded. “This synthaine shit has given Narc fits, so the guy’s obviously pretty damn smart. Guy like that wouldn’t manufacture it in his home or have any type of paraphilia that might incriminate him.”
I thought back to Corrigan’s statement. I believed that he was telling the truth. Karimov was the person who was behind the synthaine—and if it wasn’t him, he was at least close enough to the source to get the answer.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered. We were at another dead end. “Since we aren’t rushing back over to Easytown, are you ready to eat now instead of later?”
“I’m always ready to eat, Detective.”
I punched in the Pharaoh’s address into the Jeep’s nav system and we both sat back in silence. We’d run into yet another brick wall in this investigation. I needed to talk to Karimov and my opportunity to do so had been fucked up by some cop who wanted to get off scene as quickly as possible.
Fucking beat cops.
“There’s not another seat available?” I asked Karina, the hostess.
“No, I’m sorry, Zach,” she replied. “We’re really busy right now. That’s the only table.”
“Okay, fine. Thank you.”
As we walked toward the table Karina had indicated, I looked over my shoulder at my big partner. “I hate this guy,” I said.
“I know. He’s a mouthy jerk who tries to get under people’s skin.” I felt a large hand descend on my shoulder. “I don’t know why you two don’t get along better. You’ve got a lot of the same personality traits.”
I gave him the bird and sat in the seat right next to Liam Tidewell and his partner, Jake. I did my best to look the other way, but no matter how much I tried to blend in, Drake’s size made him stick out like a sore thumb.
“Detective Forrest!” Jake Hannity exclaimed. “How’ve you been?”
“Good, kid,” I lied. There wasn’t any sense in ruining the young cop’s day with my drama.
“Not what I heard,” Tidewell muttered.
“What’s that?” I asked. Hell, IA was already going to throw the book at me, might as well add fighting with another officer in public to the list.
Tidewell shifted in his seat, turning to face me and spreading his legs wide in the booth. “Word is you’re up on assault charges.”
“What’s new?”
“This one’s getting some traction already. Seems you pistol-whipped a defenseless guy laying on the ground after you’d already shattered his knee. All of the ligaments that connect the muscles in the lower leg to the upper leg were destroyed and you still felt the need to beat him unconscious.”
“The perp stabbed me.”
“And surrendered after you drew down on him, but you still beat him up. Bashing his buddy’s head into a medical examiner’s droid wasn’t enough for you, Forrest? What’s the matter, there wasn’t enough blood for your high-profile record, so you had to go for a bigger bang?”
“Liam,” Jake cut in.
“Can it, Jake. This is between me and Detective Forrest.”
“What’s your deal with me, Tidewell? Did I fuck your mother or steal your girlfriend in high school?”
“I just don’t like you,” he admitted. “You’re a reckless cop that is gonna get others killed.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I said.
“You make young cops, like Jake here, think that every day is about big explosions and gunfights and saving the world. Vidflash, hotshot, it’s not. Good cops do their jobs and then go home to their families at night. The ones who try to emulate you go home in a body bag.”
“I’ve never asked for anyone to try and be like me. Truth be told, it’s a pretty miserable existence.”
“Well they do,” Tidewell shot back. “I can’t get Hannity to shut up about your damn cases and how many times you’ve been in a gunfight with no repercussions from the department. If it were him or me, we’d be on administrative leave the moment we fired a shot. You? You get nationwide TV interviews.”
He had a point. I didn’t seek the media coverage, but they sure as hell wanted to follow me around on investigations. Saving the Pope’s life had been an accident. I was trying to stop a killer who preyed on Easytown; the rest just fell into my lap.
I glanced around the diner. More than half the patrons were cops—and most of them nodded their heads in agreement with Tidewell. “I just do my job,” I said. “Unfortunately, I deal with the worst of the worst. All the time. You and your partner may run into a few bad apples in a month. My job is to examine the handiwork of those bad apples and go out to stop them from doing it again…and again. Without people like me hunting them down, your job would be a lot harder, Patrolman Tidewell.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you self-righteous prick You’re not any better than the rest of us.”
“That’s enough, Tidewell,” Drake rumbled, pushing back from the table slightly. Even sitting down, the man was huge.
“You his nursemaid now too?” Tidewell asked.
“You ever wonder how he arrests so many people? Detective Forrest is a karate master. He’d wipe the floor with you and not even break a sweat.”
“Krav Maga, Drake,” I whispered, loudly. “How many times do I have to tell you it isn’t karate?”
Drake nodded. “I’ve seen him use that shit on guys bigger than me and he’s taken on five perps at the same time. Don’t let your mouth get your ass in trouble.”
Tidewell snorted. “I’d like to see him try.” He pushed back from the table, standing quickly. I tensed, feeling my injured leg already protesting underneath the table.
“Come on, Jake,” Tidewell said, slapping his arm against the credit chip reader on the table. “We’re done here. Let the son of a bitch rot.”
I eased my guard as he walked away.
“Sorry, Detective Forrest,” Jake Hannity groaned, passing by me and Drake. “He’s such a shit sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” I chuckled. “Every time I’m around the guy.”
“Jake!” his partner yelled across the restaurant.
Hannity looked at Tidewell, back at me, and then back to his partner. It had to be one of the funniest, unplanned things I’d seen in weeks.
“Just go, kid.”
“Right. See you, Detective!” He turned and walked quickly out of the restaurant.
When they were gone, I turned back to Drake, who had a big smile acro
ss his stupid face. “What?”
“That kid is practically in love with you,” he said.
“Infatuation is different than love.”
“Good point. Don’t end up kidnapped and tied up in his basement.”
“New Orleans doesn’t have basements, Drake.”
“You know what I mean,” he replied. “That kid’s got stars in his eyes and he’s gonna do something stupid to try to impress you.”
“Maybe he’ll survive long enough to see me fall from grace,” I offered. “That IA case seems to be moving forward, and now this assault charge bullshit.”
“You did knock a guy out after he’d already surrendered.”
“He stabbed me in the leg. I couldn’t put any weight on it. Knocking him out was the safest thing for me to do.”
“Mmm hmm. Seriously, what are we doing to fight Internal Affairs, Detective?”
I shrugged. “I’m trying to show that my value outweighs my drawbacks. Everyone knows that I’m not perfect, but I do a lot more good for the Crescent City than bad. We need more cops who are willing to step outside the barriers of our own regulations if it means the city will be safer because of it.”
“I agree with you—to a point. We have rules and regulations to keep cops in check so we don’t abuse the power that the city and state have given us. One guy like you is enough.”
I granted him his point. There was a lot of risk associated with going outside of the law. Besides the obvious aspect of the legality of some of my actions—whether they were all done with good intentions, or not—I also risked getting fired on several occasions. I didn’t know what I’d do if I weren’t a cop. Probably join the Army or something along those lines. I made a mental note to check the maximum age allowed for enlisting in the military. They were always getting in scrapes with the Chinese, so that might keep things exciting.
“I guess we’ll just have to deal with whatever the IA dicks’ recommendations are,” I said, trying to bring the conversation back to Drake’s question. “Investigations don’t always mean charges, maybe it’ll just go away like all the others have.”
