Ex-kop k-2

by Warren Hammond

  “Mom! Dad! They're harassing me!”

  “Be quiet you little-”

  “Mom! Dad!”

  Shit.

  The sister disappeared an instant before Mr. and Mrs. Gupta came rushing in. “What's going on here?”

  “They're harassing me,” Raj griped.

  Maggie was glaring at me. Fuck me.

  “Call our lawyer,” said the father.

  “No need to do that,” I said. “We were just leaving.”

  I followed Maggie to the door, utterly defeated. I took one last peek back-mother and father standing together, behind their son, and way over, in the corner, was the sister, making very deliberate eye contact with me.

  Maggie laid into me the instant the door closed. “Dammit, Juno. I had it under control. What were you thinking?” I circled around to the side of the house as Maggie kept jawing. “Don't forget that I'm the cop.” I ignored her and picked my way into the overgrown jungle that clung to the side of the house. “Where are you going?”

  “I'll be right back.” I got soaked by large drops of water that shook loose from the vines above as I rustled my way alongside the house, breaking through any vines that tried to hold me back. I made it to the back patio and looked at the windows, trying to guess which one was hers. She made it easy by flicking her light on and off. Smart girl. I crept up to her window and attempted a one-handed chin-up, winding up on my ass. I found a patio chair and pulled it over to the window then stepped up, reached my hand through the bars, and rapped lightly on the glass.

  Raj's little sister opened the window with the biggest brace-faced smile I'd ever seen. She handed me a vid then put her finger to her mouth and shushed.

  SIXTEEN

  My phone rang: Ian.

  Maggie paused the vid we got from Raj's sister, and Margarita Juarez's bobbing head stopped in fellating freeze-frame.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  A holographic Ian overlaid the scene, his appearance blocking the blowing. “Hey, boy-o, it's time for your report.”

  My nerves hummed. I'd already planned out what I would tell him, but that didn't stop a surge of doubt from suddenly running through me. Maybe I was forgetting something. Maybe I'd say the wrong thing. “Maggie interviewed Inez Shenko. Remember her?”

  “Yeah. Did you go with her?”

  “Of course I did. Inez told her about the affair between Adela's boyfriend and her mother.”

  He said, “Damn.” He sounded frustrated, yet his holo kept up its brainless grinning. Most of the time these canned phone holos were a real nuisance, always looking happier than you'd ever seen that person look in real life, but with Holo-Ian it was totally eerie, him standing there with that plastered-on smile. “Anything else?” he asked, sounding like he was asking through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah. After Shenko, she went to visit Adela's boyfriend, Raj, but Maggie didn't get shit out of him. He denied the affair, and the parents threatened to lawyer up. Still, you might want to talk to him. He looked a little shaky when Maggie started pushing him.”

  I waited for his reaction, my ears tuned to his mood, trying to pick up any sign that he was getting suspicious.

  “Okay. Is that it?” he said.

  There was no hint of suspicion in his voice. I had him. I was getting nervous for nothing. It was time I nudged him. I braced for the worst as I upped the ante. “Yeah, but it might help if you told me why you're covering for the kid. It's hard to steer the questioning down a safe road when I don't know where the cliffs are.”

  I held my breath as Holo-Ian took a long time answering. “Not over the phone, boy-o. Come to Roby's.”

  “Will do.”

  Holo-Ian vanished, leaving us staring at Margarita taking a mouthful of Raj Gupta.

  Maggie started the vid again. “Do you thing it's wise to meet with him again?”

  “I think so. Nothing's changed since last night.”

  “Except we interviewed Inez and, and lover boy.” Maggie threw a disgusted gesture at the vid.

  “So?”

  “Ian covered for Raj once before, so who do you think Raj is going to run to now that he's feeling the heat?”

  “So what if he does? I just told Ian you interviewed him.”

  “But they might get to talking, and Raj might tell him about how he saw you at Yuri's.”

  “I was just thinking about that,” I said. “Let's say Raj does tell him I was at Yuri's. If Ian confronts me on it, I'll just admit it. I'll tell Ian I was there, that I was observing the interview.”

  Maggie shook her head. “But Yuri and Ian have surely talked since then. Yuri must've told Ian that I interviewed him alone.”

  “Right, so I'll say that I was observing the interview without Yuri's knowledge. I was watching from the kitchen, and I got bored for a minute and wandered into that room with all the vid equipment.”

  “Why would you watch in secret? Why not interview him with me, like we did Inez and Raj?”

  I need a drink. Things were getting too complicated. I took a deep breath and set my brain to concentrating on the problem. I dug deep, looking for that perfect lie. I waded through all my years of being the right hand to the greatest manipulator in KOP history. All those years of cover-ups and backroom politicking…

  “Got it,” I said. “Lieutenant Rusedski scolded you already for inviting me to the barge, right?”

  “Yep. And thanks for that, by the way.”

  “No problem. But you would've gotten into more trouble if you had let me sit in on Yuri's interview, right? You made me hide out because you knew that Yuri would talk to Ian, and you were afraid that when Ian found out I was there, he'd tattle to the KOP brass about you bringing a disgraced cop into official police business, and that was after you'd been warned. It'd put your promotion in jeopardy.”

  Maggie nodded agreement. “And I let you attend the interview of Inez Shenko because…?”

  I grinned as the pieces fell into place. “Because you had no reason to believe Ian would find out about it. Inez isn't mixed up in any of this. She was hardly going to go call Ian.”

  Maggie leaped ahead of me. “And I let you attend Raj's interview because he'd already seen you at Yuri's. What harm would there be in letting him see you again?”

  “Right.” I ran through the pile of lies in my mind, looking for contradictions and finding none. “Piece of cake.”

  “And what if Raj finds out that his sister gave this vid to us? You didn't tell Ian about that.”

  “That would be a problem,” I agreed.

  “You need to cut ties with Ian.”

  I nodded like I was thinking it over, but I'd already decided to go. Ian was starting to trust me, and I was already running scripts through my head, things to say, ways to ask questions without sounding like a snoop. If we were going to bring him and his cabal down, we'd have to take some risks.

  Plus I wanted to keep Ian's money flowing into my pocket. I had a spine to pay for.

  The vid was still running, and Raj was now jackhammering Adela's mother from behind. Raj was wearing a loincloth, which was just plain silly since it didn't cover anything, like trying to cover the flagpole with the flag. I was certain they were on the Juarez's bed. I recognized the bedding, the wallpaper, the nightstand, all looking better in their pre-lase-whipped state. Raj and Margarita had some guts doing this in her bedroom. What if Hector came home? Or Adela?

  We refocused on the vid. We wanted to know who was working the camera, zooming it in and out, panning left and right. He'd talk from time to time, saying things like, “Oh, that's hot,” and “That's right, suck it.” We kept watching, scene after scene, looking for that one glimpse of the man.

  Maggie kept the vid rolling. Raj and Margarita cycled through positions like they were Kama Sutra obsessed. Margarita was getting more adventurous with each session. The first few sessions featured a nervous and deliberate Margarita Juarez. But then, by the time they'd had a dozen-odd sessions in the bag, she'd completely transformed her
self from a shrinking violet into a Venus flytrap. Instead of just lying there like she was at the beginning, she was now ordering the loincloth-clad Raj around, a greedy glutton with an unquenchable appetite for his young flesh. Raj, on the other hand, had the endurance of a marathoner. The kid could go forever before letting loose, and even then, his loincloth would only drop to half mast for a couple minutes before he was ready to run it back up for another go round.

  Maggie and I were long past the discomfort of watching the erotic material in each other's presence and had now entered a phase of total pornographic overload. We had to keep it rolling, though. We needed to know who was working the camera.

  After another half hour of muff-diving, titty-fucking, anal-popping action, I was tempted to tell Maggie to turn it off, thinking he would never show himself. I was pretty confident it was Yuri Kiper anyway. We already knew he'd filmed the barge murders so picturing him as the debaucherous director wasn't a big leap. It was like the guy was putting a portfolio together to be the devil's personal filmographer.

  Finally, the camera operator showed himself. He stepped in front of the camera to readjust the shade of a floor lamp, aiming the light at the bed. His back was turned. We couldn't see his face, but we already knew it wasn't Yuri Kiper-this guy was too thin. He turned back toward the camera and gave us a clear view. Unbelievable. I didn't know why I was so surprised…

  Husband, father, and vid-station exec Hector Juarez.

  It was Friday night and Bangkok Street was hopping. Roby's had a line outside the door, mostly offworlders, steam fogging out of the gaps in their slickers. I walked past them and cut ahead of the line despite their protests. The bouncer ushered me in as they clamored at my back. They'd probably assume I was there to clean the toilets. How else would a raggedy old local get in before them?

  I forced my way through the crowd. I couldn't even see the floor show because there were so many bodies packed in. The crowd thinned as I made it past the bar and into the side room. I scanned the room and picked up the wave of Ian's hand from the far side, where he was sitting with a group of cops. Again, I tallied the names, putting together a mental roll call of Ian's crew. They dispersed as I approached, and I took the seat opposite Ian at a table designed to look like a huge razor blade.

  “Hey, boy-o, have a drink,” and before I could say no, he poured some brandy into one of those damn goblets.

  “Cheers,” I said and took a swig of brandy that tasted like it had been infused with aluminum foil. Cheap-ass goblets. “Where's your girlfriend?”

  Ian ignored the question altogether. “So you think I should tell you about Raj Gupta?”

  “It's up to you, Ian. I'm just saying that it'd make my job a lot easier.”

  “And you think I can trust you?”

  I looked across the room toward the door that led back to the bar. Hoshi was standing there with Freddie Lumbela, the two of them yukking it up. “It's up to you, Ian.” I glanced at the fire exit; two more hommy boys swapping stories. A hinky feeling crept up from my gut. Standard KOP procedure-cover the exits. I kept my voice level. “Give me the lowdown on the kid, or don't. It's your choice.”

  “Tell me why I should trust you,” he said with his jaw clenched, sinewy neck muscles buttressing down to his shoulders.

  Adrenaline was already pumping through me. The urge to flee dominated my senses. I saw the waitress walk out and saw an opportunity. “Quit the third degree already. Either tell me or don't. I don't give a shit.” I took a swig from my goblet and made a sour face. “I can't drink this garbage. Where did that waitress go? I'll be right back,” I said. “You can think about it while I run to the bar to get a glass. Want anything?”

  He shook his head.

  I was up out of my seat, moving for the door that led to the bar. I weaved around tables toward the blaring demonic screech of music pulsing from the main room. Hoshi and his cop buddy saw me approaching and straightened up, their conversation suddenly over.

  My fingers twitched as I looked for signs of aggression in their body language. My vision narrowed. The room got smaller. The walls closed around me, and I could feel the hollow stares of the skull sconces. Hoshi was looking past me, looking to Ian for direction. I kept walking with purposeful steps, my left hand reaching back for my piece.

  Hoshi stepped into the doorway with his arms crossed. Then picking up the cue, Freddie Lumbela joined him shoulder to shoulder, the pair of them barring the door. I slipped my hand under my untucked shirt, feeling the cold metal tucked into my waistband. I wrapped my fingers around the grip and pulled it free an instant before arriving at the doorway. I brandished my piece unnaturally as a lefty, looking more like a joke than a threat.

  “Step aside,” I said with an enforcer's authority.

  “Why you getting so spooked, Juno?” asked Hoshi without budging.

  I chanced a look back over my shoulder-four, maybe five guys coming this way. My finger twitched on the trigger as I prepared to fry my way out of here. “Move. You know I'm not joking.”

  Freddie Lumbela stepped aside. He'd been a cop long enough to know my reputation. Hoshi stayed in place, blocking the right side of the broad doorway and staring me down. I went left and slipped past him, keeping my piece trained on his chest as I backed into the crowd at the bar, bumping my way backward through people who muttered angry complaints until they saw my weapon and moved aside. I kept backing away from the door while Ian and crew stood there like they were posing for a group photo. I set my mind on taking a mental snapshot, adding their names to the exposure… Kripsen, Deluski, Lumbela… I kept backing my way through, leaving a wake of parted partyers behind. That was too easy. I was halfway to the front door before I did the math. There were five of them standing in that doorway, watching me go. I counted six or seven a minute ago. I took another step back, and another, as I processed the information. The missing one, maybe two, they would've gone out the side room's fire exit, then run around the block to the front door and reentered the club where they could approach me from behind. They'd be here soon, and I was backing right into them.

  I looked at Ian one last time, his arrogant face, and bolted onto the main floor. I beelined for the stage. There had to be a way out behind it, maybe one of those big cargo loading doors. I bumped tables, spilled drinks, tripped over offworld feet. I didn't look back to see if they were in pursuit-didn't need to know that they were tearing across the club waving badges and weapons. I hit the stage and vaulted up. I raced to exit stage left; a performing dominatrix was in my way: I aimed to the right of her, but she dodged in the same direction, and I plowed into her, the two of us tumbling to the floor. I landed on top of her and winced as her spiked leather dug into me. She wriggled out from under me as I scrambled for my footing. Lase-fire crackled over my head as I disappeared behind a curtain that flamed up an instant later.

  I crashed through a set of dominatrix extras, catching a whiff of cheap leather. I saw an exit sign and bulled my way toward it, flinging stagehands out of my way. I slammed my body into the crash bar and erupted out into the alley. I didn't think about which way to run, I just ran. My lungs blazed as I hoped to reach the corner before I heard them come through the door behind me. If I could reach the corner first and get around it, they wouldn't know which way I'd gone. They'd have to split up. I heard the door smash open behind me a full second before I made it around the corner. Fuck. The whole lot of them would still be on my tail.

  I was on Bangkok Street, my feet speeding through a crowd of drunken bar hoppers that wobbled out of my way. I couldn't keep this up. My legs were already getting heavy, and my chest felt ready to explode. I sprinted into a trashy souvenir shop that had a stuffed monitor on its haunches guarding the door. I dashed down an aisle crammed with cheap wood carvings and machine-painted ceramics. When I reached the aisle's end, I threw a shoulder into the shelving before hurtling through the back door to the sound of toppling knickknacks.

  I ran left, sending a group of teenage opium sm
okers clambering. I took a couple more steps and had to stop to keep from collapsing. I turned around and fought to keep from vomiting as I aimed at the door. The door flung open and I squeezed off a stream of lase-fire. I tried to keep my left hand steady, but between having to shoot lefty and my wild breathing, the beam wavered all over the damn place. As bad as the aim was, it was still effective enough to force Ian and Hoshi back into the store. The door swung open again, and I squeezed off a sustained burn that fried a path of raindrops out of the air. I stepped backward down the alley, my eyes trained on the door as I began to catch my breath. Again, the door swung open, and I squeezed off another burst that scorched the brick walls with a scribble of black as my aim fluttered hopelessly about.

  I took off for one last fast-paced sprint. My feet kicked up puddle water, splashing the O heads who had plastered themselves against the alley walls to keep from getting in my way. I got back out onto Bangkok Street and slowed down to a walk. Ian wouldn't be far behind, but I decided to try melting into the crowd of dark-haired, brown-skinned Lagartans, most of whom were wearing their cotton whites just like me. I walked as fast as I could without running. My phone rang. I didn't have to look at the display to know it was Ian trying to run a trace that would lock down my position. I dropped it on the street-should've dumped it as soon as I'd started running.

  I kept moving, not looking back. I saw Froelich, one of the hommy boys who had been guarding the fire exit. He was standing tiptoe trying to pick me out of the crowd, but succeeding only in making himself stand out. I avoided him easily by ducking behind a series of street vendors with canvas tarps tied to lampposts that shielded me from his view. I turned left, down one of the side streets. I tried to stay under the tarps as I passed by the vendors' booths-first a florist, then a souvenir hawker, and finally a snail-selling street vendor who tried to entice me by ladling snail juice over a steaming snail pyramid.

  I came out into the open. My back muscles tightened in expectation of lase-fire. I told myself not to look back. The crowds were thinning and looking back would make me easier to pick out. I kept my feet moving at a controlled pace and hit the end of the block. I turned right, the buzz of Bangkok Street falling away behind me.