Gray frowned, thought it over for a moment, and then called Moody’s direct line. It rang a few times, and then, just before Gray was about to hang up and call again later, Moody’s voice flowed like bitter waters from the speakers hidden throughout the car’s interior.
“Good evening, Detective,” the Vice monster said. Another audio-only call. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“Well, here I am nonetheless,” said Gray.
“Sure are.” There was a pause, and Moody’s tone warmed a little. “I see you’re calling from the Cerico,” he said. “What do you think about it, huh?”
Gray shrugged. “It’s a great car,” he said, “You know how great it is, you put me in it. Look, do you have a minute?”
“For you?” Moody chuckled. “I have all the time in the world, until I don’t again. What can I do for you, Dan?”
“I have a question for you,” said Gray. “I’ve been doing a little digging on my own, since you’ve got Angie over there doing your work for you.”
“Uh-huh. So what is it you want to know?”
“I’m a little unsure as to how to ask this, but…who is Wilson Hammersmith, and why do you have such a hate on for him?”
There was silence for a long moment. The Cerico stopped at a red light, and Gray watched a pair of young men in red cycle leathers and towering hairstyles walk by, arm in arm. “That’s a name that you shouldn’t have an interest in,” said Moody as the light turned green again. “As a matter of fact, I’m pretty pissed that you do – but since you do, sure, I’ll tell you. He’s a person of interest, that’s all.”
“Give me some credit,” said Gray, who frowned at the console as if it were Moody himself. “Your person of interest owns nightspots across the city, and they’re all under investigation by your squad.”
“You’re fencing with me again,” said Moody, and his voice had dropped a few degrees. “I thought I’d told you about that.”
“Not a bit, sir.” Gray wasn’t aiming to piss Moody off entirely, but on the other hand he wasn’t going to back down, either. It was the only way he was going to get a response. “Look, I don’t care if he’s sponsoring illegal activities – what I care about is if he’s connected to my case.”
Moody grunted. “Well I can satisfy your curiosity there,” he said. “Vice doesn’t have any kind of connection to your case that I’m aware of, and even if it did the whole thing’s shut so I couldn’t do anything with it in the first place. If you want to help that girl you’re ‘not dating’, Detective, I suggest you point any information you might get about Hammersmith directly to me, you understand? I know you think that you’re clever, but you’re going to find that you’re not anywhere near as clever as me.”
Gray scowled at the console again. “Yes, yes, I get that,” he said, wanting to haul off and punch the fucking thing. That asshole, talking to him like this. Well, fuck you, sir, he thought. Clever as you are, I was able to discover this project of the rather secretive Vice subsidiary, wasn’t I? “But I need to know if you pick up anything as well, all right? I’m not trying to piss in your beer, sir, I just want to make sure that all avenues are properly investigated.”
“And in doing so you may well end up overturning a massive investigation and wasting thousands of billable hours’ worth of work!” Though Moody was very nearly Gray’s age, he certainly had no problem sounding like some ancient executive when he was lecturing about budget. “I don’t think I need to remind you that things are different now, Detective. We don’t have to worry about civil constraints – this is a business, and businesses make money. We make money by billing the client, which in the case of Civil Protection is the city of Seattle and by extension the state of Washington. If you end up fucking this thing up, it’s not going to be just your career on the block, and do you think I’m going to take that lying down?” By now Moody’s voice had descended into black depths, every word frosted with a controlled but very intimidating rage. “You’re an employee – you aren’t my subordinate, but I have superiority and that means I can and will throw you to the wolves if you so much as disturb my timetable by an hour, do you understand me? Are we clear?”
“We’re clear,” said Gray. He had pulled his own anger back, though there was no shortage of it – it was there, brimming and fiery, but held away out of sheer desire to retain his position. Ambition still existed, however compartmentalized, in his mind. “I’m just looking out for my own investigation, sir, and for my friends. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“I understand that your ‘friend’ is a walking ethics violation where you’re concerned.” Moody practically roared at him now. “And if you get in my way, I will throw you under the bus for it. Right the fuck under, do you understand?”
Gray thought he understood the man a little better now. It was clear that he was one of those who, upon getting started, really had to work at it to calm back down again. It wasn’t the kind of man that Gray wanted to be on the bad side of, that’s for sure, but on the other hand he had to wonder how much of it might simply be angry bluster. “I understand,” he said, forcing docility now. “And I apologize if you thought that I was intending to get in the way of things. I understand that this is privileged information, and I don’t want to get in the way of your job.”
“Fine.” Only with due deference, it appeared, did Moody’s anger find an avenue for abatement. “Fine. I’m sorry to threaten you, Gray, it’s just…this is a serious project that we’re working on. This guy, Hammersmith, he’s into a lot of nasty shit. I’m a ruthless fucker, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see some justice done. You understand?”
Gray shook his head. “Of course,” he said, though he didn’t really. This man was a dragon, not a civil-minded person. No doubt he thought he’d try and win Gray over by playing the part. “And I will of course tell you should I get any further information on the topic.”
“Fine,” Moody said yet again. “There anything else?”
It was with delicacy that Gray spoke again, as a thought had just came to mind. “I’m…curious, actually,” he began. “Do you know Jack Marowitz? You know, from Evidence?”
“You mean that incompetent motherfucker that got fired for not being able to deal with his own gear? Yeah, I heard about him. We weren’t close or anything, though. Why do you ask?”
Gray clucked his tongue. “Nothing,” he said. “Just heard you did work with him in the past, thought I’d get your opinion. Man’s an idiot, like you said, but he’s good with tech. Thought that I might throw some cash his way, cultivate him as a resource.”
There was another silence on Moody’s end. “…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said finally, and Gray was surprised to hear as much delicacy in Moody’s voice as he had used to open the topic. “He’s…unstable.”
“Unstable how?”
“Chemically so. Man has a real taste for stimulants, maybe even nootropics. They have a real effect on the mind when you come down – I’m thinking that’s how he ended up coming apart. Not planning on giving him any shit, since he was a company man in all other respects, but…”
Well, this was certainly an interesting development. “I get what you’re saying,” said Gray, and he checked the map. “Did you have any…conflicts…with him about it?”
“I took out his supplier,” said Moody, “If that’s what you’re asking. Twenty years in a federal freezer.”
“Twenty years,” Gray repeated. “On a drug offense?”
“Girl had sixteen kilos of purified dimethylhaxilene in her trunk when we pulled her over. Got her for possession with intention to distribute.”
“Fucking hell!” Dimethylhaxilene, also known on the streets as Racer Red, was a very powerful nootropic engineered from industrial chemicals. As toxic as methamphetamine to make and five times as expensive. “That’s what, ten, twenty–”
“Twenty-two million dollars’ worth of mind-enhancing chemicals,” Moody replied. “Singlehanded
ly broke the back of a major smuggling ring. You might have heard of it a few years ago, the Duwamish were running it? Turns out she was operating in properties owned by this Hammersmith character – there’s a connection for you, by the way. We thought that Marowitz was in on it, but it turned out that he was just an occasional user. Guess he’s been taking a lot more since then, fucked his brain up a little. I’d steer clear of him if I were you.”
“But why would you get into a conflict over a drug dealer?” There was something here that he was missing. “I mean, I heard that he was mad at you, but. Was he fucking her or something?”
To this, Gray was surprised to hear Moody reply with ringing laughter. “Christ,” he said, panting between peals of cackling, “I fucking hope not. I mean I know incest is legal if you got a license now, but holy shit!”
Gray stared at the console. “Incest? I don’t understand.”
“Marowitz wasn’t that girl’s strawberry,” Moody chortled. “She was his sister!” And then he launched into such a gale of laughter that Gray flinched from the volume of it, carried through the speakers like the roaring of a wave.
Gray didn’t know what to think about it. His sister? His sister? He didn’t even know that Marowitz had a sister, much less one buried to her tits in illegal brain drugs! “Wait,” he finally said, the mental wind knocked out of him. “I thought that Marowitz didn’t have a sister. The file doesn’t mention it.”
“It’s been sanitized. I want to cultivate him, remember?”
“I guess…that explains it. Thanks, Moody, I appreciate it.”
“Yeah,” said Moody, and hung up without further word. He was laughing too hard to do anything else.
And so there was Gray, unsure of what the shit was going on. So Moody had put away his sister for twenty years – that would be a reason to try and ruin the man, absolutely. But if she had gotten caught with nearly thirty million dollars worth of illegal nootropics, then she absolutely got what she deserved. What the fuck, then? He was getting pulled into a little war now between this man and the Vice commander, but to what end? He was going to find out what was going on, and the fat little bastard wasn’t going to deflect him with dirty pictures of Angie this time around.
Gray killed the course in the computer and had it plot a direct line to Marowitz’s place; as he did, anger began to surge up from his gut. It was a species heretofore not experienced by the man, a raw, red thing that came on like a high-pressure hose spewing boiling salt water straight into his face. It burned inside him, growing by the mile no matter how much he willed it back. All he could think of was Angie, how she was in the middle of whatever war the others were waging against one another. And now there were mysterious underworld figures coming to the surface, and she was the kind of loose end that this kind of anonymous motherfucker tended to snip off with a bullet.
And then there was his career – he just got a fucking promotion, for fuck’s sake! He had pushed so hard for it, the new badge, the prestige, the paycheck, and then after only a week of having won it everything was put under threat of being pulled out from underneath him. This was bullshit – all of it, steaming, freshly-laid bullshit – and he was going to put it all to order straight away. Even if he had to take them both in, Marowitz and Cinders. He would not be made a pawn for a vendetta.
Chapter Nineteen
By the time Gray drove the Cerico to Marowitz’s neighborhood and pulled onto the far end of his street, he was ready to march up to the door and put his fist through it just trying to knock. As the car cut the autodrive upon reaching the target street and he took hold of the wheel, Gray was keenly aware of his heart pounding in his chest – he had to calm down. He couldn’t go down there and talk to Marowitz as angry as he was. He had to be cool – and as he realized how much he really wasn’t, he was startled. He wondered at the horrible thing that had climbed out of his heart on the way to the place, taken his flesh, and nearly driven it through another man’s door in a red haze. What was coming over him these days? Did he know? What could he do about it? How could he keep it from happening again? Gray shook his head, pushing the question – and the anger – away. He would have to deal with that later. As he came down the street, he was very much aware that other matters required his immediate attention.
The lights were on in Marowitz’s brownstone. Gray parked the Cerico up the street again, not wanting to place himself right in front of the place. He made his way down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, clenching his fists in order to better help him stave down the remnants of that terrifying rage, and he tried hard to put his professional face back on. Iceman, Dan, he thought to himself, trying to still his pounding heart. Gotta be the iceman.
Gray knocked on the door with authority, and as he did he felt the flushing of his face recede, the muscles fall into place one by one as if they were mechanical parts. By the time it opened, he had again become the cold machine of justice that he had so carefully striven to project.
Marowitz looked up at him. He was dressed in a robe and sweats, both red, and a t-shirt so old and holey that whatever had been printed across the front was an illegible blob. “Well, Detective,” he said, facing Gray with the same casual attitude he had before, “You look grim as usual. Something I can do for you?”
Behind his pursed lips, Gray was gritting his teeth. “Let’s talk about your sister,” he said in the flattest tones that he could summon. “Just the two of us.”
For a moment or two, there was nothing – just the soft whistling of the breeze as it washed through the doorway, the buzzing of the lights inside. “All right then,” Jack said. “I guess you’d better come inside.”
Marowitz stepped into the house, and Gray followed him. He resolved that he would not leave again until he knew the full breadth of the truth.
God – if he ever existed – would have to help Jack Marowitz if he resisted, because nobody else could.
They went into Jack’s house carefully, with Gray doing his iceman impression and Marowitz acting very aware of all that this implied. Gray undid the single button on his jacket; the dull gray grip of the Hornisse was visible under his arm, sticking out within his easy reach. Marowitz wasn’t a stupid man, and he kept his movements small and measured as he led Gray into the living room.
They said nothing as they came in. The big holographic set was off, and Marowitz wasn’t alone. Seated on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, was Megan Cinders. The lines of her pretty face had been drawn into an expression of surprised sobriety; it was clear that neither of them had expected him to show up. Two bottles of Heineken rested on a coffee table that hadn’t been there before, a glass-topped oval sitting in front of the semicircle of the couch. The beers had been there long enough to leave sweat rings on it. Megan wore a black cable-knit sweater and a pair of dark jeans; her hair was down, her boots were off, and he saw that the nails of her small white toes had been painted gunmetal.
“Evening, Detective,” said Megan. She kept her eyes trained on him. Her hands stayed in her lap.
“Good evening.” Gray kept his expression flat, even in the face of the other officer – Marowitz took a seat by her, reaching for his bottle of beer. He didn’t stop him; Gray didn’t want to alarm them overmuch, not unless they gave him reason to. “I seem to have interrupted something.”
Jack cleared his throat. “We were having a meeting,” he said. “Get you a beer, Detective?”
“No thank you.” He leaned against the wall by the holographic set, leaving them to sit in the semicircle facing them. Very careful, he was. “What was this meeting about?”
Megan glanced at Marowitz. “You, actually,” she said.
Gray arched a brow. “Oh?” He stared into Megan’s face, his blue eyes hard and piercing. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”
Another glance to Marowitz, who was sitting back sipping from his longneck; he didn’t seem concerned as Gray loomed there, matching the Iceman act with the power of Like-I-Give-A-Fuck. “Well, frankly, we
were just wondering how you were doing,” she said. “How far along you were getting in your investigation.”
Gray looked at them both for a moment, then he smiled. “Funny you should mention that,” he said. He leaned back against the wall, near the living room window; his arms folded over his chest so that his hand was still in easy reach of his pistol. “Digging around a bit, I found out who owns the Autumn Heights, for one.”
“Oh?” Megan sat up a bit. “Well, we knew the name already.”
“The name’s a placeholder,” said Jack, sipping at his beer. His expression still remained blasé on the surface, but Gray detected a faint shift toward anticipation in the lines of his mouth. “Sounds like you learned something else, though.”
“I did,” said Gray with a nod. “But let’s put a pin in that for a moment, eh? I’d like to talk about your sister, Jack, before we go any further on that other subject.”
Megan said nothing now, but she could not hide the shock in her face. It was very obvious that she wasn’t expecting this. Marowitz, on the other hand, merely spread his hands. “My sister was into a few little things she shouldn’t have been,” he said. “She went to jail for it. That’s all.”
“I don’t call sixteen kilos of dimethylhaxilene to be any kind of ‘little thing’, Jack.” Gray narrowed his eyes a little bit – he enjoyed the way Megan sort of stared at him, liked the sense of superiority that wielding this new knowledge over them provided. “And I don’t call twenty years in the freezer any kind of chump time.”
Marowitz’s expression flattened somewhat at this point – enough that Megan finally spoke, so that he wouldn’t have to. “Look,” she said, “This isn’t what you think.”
But Gray was starting up his cop routine now and he wouldn’t be blunted, not with the feeling of angry triumph that was beginning to swell in his chest. “It’s not? Because what it looks like is you’re trying to use me to help you take down Moody, while someone I care about is being used as a pawn in this private little war you two have decided to cook up.” He shifted his arms, such that his hand crept closer to the grip of his pistol. He wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t as if he’d consciously intended to draw the damned thing. “And if you don’t have a damned good reason for it – other than because Jack’s sister got run in for trafficking some heavy fucking narco – I’m going to run you both downtown and you can explain it all to Human Relations.”
Bone Wires Page 24
