The Black Market DNA Series: Books 1-3

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “Doc said he wanted to keep an eye on you for the first couple hours of recovery.”

  “Is that a lame pun? Please tell me it’s unintentional.” Chris swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stumbled off, the drop slightly more than he’d anticipated. He supposed the cybernetic implant would take a bit more calibrating to get his depth perception back on track.

  Jordan grabbed Chris’s shoulder to steady him. “Intentional or not, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “Then help me get to Robin’s room.”

  ***

  Chris held her hand. Her fingers, interlaced with his, felt cold. Not unusual for her, but he still shuddered at the frigid touch.

  Her eyes remained closed, and her dark brown hair spilled across the white pillow under her head. He gave her hand a squeeze and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

  Brushing her hair back, he kissed her again.

  The EKG holoprojection showed normal zigzags, reporting a healthy heartbeat. Chris felt grateful Jordan had called for help immediately as he’d promised. He shuddered when he considered what might have happened if more of Reed’s people had flooded the halls or the paramedics and ambulatory drone had not reached Robin in time.

  Her eyes fluttered slightly.

  Chris’s heart stopped.

  Slowly, her eyelids parted. She blinked once, twice. “Chris?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes.”

  Her lips curled in a weak smile. “I’m not used to being the patient.”

  Chris laughed, relieved at her humor, at her persevering vitality. “I’m happy to see you again.”

  She tilted her head. “What’s in your eye?

  “This one?” He pointed to his right eye and recalled the green glint he’d seen in the cybernetic irises of the body alteration enthusiasts back in Korea. “It’s new.”

  “Oh, God, are you okay?”

  He squeezed her hand. She’d been shot, had almost bled to death, and upon waking up was concerned about him. “I’m fine.” He smiled briefly before his expression turned dour, and he reflected on the events of the past few days. Vincent was still out there, maybe in Korea, maybe somewhere else. Jordan had already destroyed his and Chris’s comm cards to prevent the man from spying on them anymore. But he wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d never hear from him again. “I’m worried this all isn’t over.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” Robin managed a grin. “I’m a doctor, Chris. I treat one patient, and the next day, there’s a new patient in the same bed.”

  “But that’s it. You’re a doctor, a—”

  “I know what I am, thank you very much.”

  Chris couldn’t refrain from a short chortle. “I don’t want to drag you into another mess like this. I’m bad news, you know?”

  Robin shook her head and placed one clammy palm on the side of his face. “If this is your attempt to get out of the date you owe me, the one Jordan so rudely interrupted by showing up at your apartment in the middle of the night, then you are sorely mistaken. It’s not going to work.”

  “I kind of hoped you’d say that.” Chris leaned into her, and she reached back. They embraced, and he soaked in her touch, her hands across his back, her cheek pressed against his.

  They had their work cut out for them, and Chris knew it. From developing the genetic enhancement reversal treatments to helping Ana with her case against Linda Thomas and David Reed, the challenges appeared almost insurmountable.

  But he realized in that moment that it would be worth it. He’d seen the immense dedication Robin possessed for her patients—for all those, including him, who trusted her.

  Inwardly, he vowed to dedicate himself to the tasks ahead with as much fervor as she displayed. If he could do that, if he could be half as committed as her, maybe they stood a chance, however small, at chiseling away the dark side of illegal genetic enhancements.

  Fatal Injection

  Anthony J Melchiorri

  Chapter 1

  February 9, 2056

  Baltimore, Maryland

  A breeze cut through the winter night, and Officer Ana Dellaporta cinched up her Baltimore PD–issued jacket. “I hate these things.”

  “Why?” Miguel Cruz sauntered beside her, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. His boots crunched over broken glass. “A little too drafty for you? Got to dress in layers.”

  “No, no.” Ana avoided a shopping cart filled with cardboard and blankets parked in the middle of the cracked sidewalk. Row houses with bars across their windows lined the street. Graffiti decorated almost half of them. She glanced at one porch, its paint peeling, on which a sofa sat with its stuffing pouring out of its rips and tears like the guts of a wounded animal. “It’s the damn POLICE on the back of the coats. We’re walking targets. Might as well light us up in neon.” She swiveled and pointed to the softball-sized security drone hovering behind them. The bot floated on, its tiny cameras swiveling around like lifeless eyeballs. “And with that thing following us, the department really is trying to get us shot.”

  Miguel laughed and patted his hip holster. “At least they’re letting us carry guns again and not just those damn stunners.” He nodded to indicate the plastic bag full of food she held in her left hand. “And if all else fails, you can bribe them with those sandwiches you’ve got there.”

  Ana rolled her eyes. “Just one night, I’d appreciate it if they let us do this beat in a patrol car. I’m getting real tired of doing these loops on foot.”

  “But command says we have to connect with the people,” Miguel said, his tone facetious. They both felt that most people in this neighborhood avoided any and all connections with the police.

  A sallow-faced man watched them from the steps of a store. Just another resident who preferred the police stay out of the area altogether. A holosign above him read Liquor and Beer. He wrapped his right hand around one of the bars protecting the storefront’s window, and in his other hand, he clutched a liquor bottle. Another man exited the store and joined him. They glared at Ana as if daring her to react.

  But she continued walking. She and Miguel had accepted that issuing a ticket for public consumption of alcohol or making a public intox arrest was a waste of time in this neighborhood. “What do you think it’ll be tonight? Gunshots heard on Bradford? Dead body found behind the laundromat? Suspect biocontraband?”

  “Biocontraband?” Miguel folded his arms and paused. “We’d be lucky if the only thing we find is an enhancer hopped up on genetic mods. Shit.”

  “I was on beat with Erikson last week, and we ran across a guy whose memory was wiped by a neuromod. Poor guy didn’t have a clue what was going on. He was just walking around naked.”

  Miguel shook his head. “Think someone zapped his brain so they could rob him? Or you think he bought crappy mods that left him mindless, and some scumbag took advantage of the guy?”

  “Either scenario seems as likely.” Ana readjusted her grip on the bag of sandwiches. The cold air crept through her gloves, making her fingertips feel numb.

  A sudden crash broke the silence around them.

  “Trouble starting early?” Ana turned to the drone. “Locate noise disturbance.”

  With its electric motors whirring, the drone hovered past them and zipped across the street. Ana and Miguel sprinted after it. Loud gunfire cracked out. Ana’s heart jumped, and adrenaline surged through her. Cold instinct kicked in, and she pulled her stunner from her holster. Every nerve, every muscle fiber acted in unison as she raced for the source of the gunshots. The rest of the world seemed to fade away. Her focus turned toward executing her duty as a police officer. She dropped the plastic bag of food and charged ahead.

  Another loud crash accompanied the sound of glass shattering across asphalt.

  The bot darted into an alleyway. Ana’s breath churned in the air, white plumes billowing from the cold when she exhaled. The drone took another left between the drab brick walls.

  It stopped and hovered in midair.


  “Illuminate,” Ana said. The drone lit up the alleyway with intense LEDs.

  A dumpster lay on its side, torn trash bags spilled and scattered. Amid the redolent refuse, a ferrous odor stung Ana’s nostrils. She recognized the scent and moved forward cautiously. The drone hummed above, and Miguel followed in her footsteps.

  Ana kicked a couple large trash bags, and they broke open. Rotten food and tatters of paper slid out. What she unveiled twisted her stomach into a painful knot. “You seeing this, Miguel?”

  Miguel gulped. “Yes, ma’am.” He withdrew a comm card from his pocket with one hand, his gun drawn and leveled around the alley in the other. “Dispatch, this is unit ninety-five. We have a body.”

  ***

  Aaron Browne, a detective from the Baltimore PD’s Bio Unit, sidled up to Ana and Miguel. He scratched at the stubble lining his undefined jawline and stared at the dead man lying amid the trash. Steam still rose from the two bullet holes in the man’s bare chest. Two more holes rendered the man’s face an unrecognizable mess. Blood matted the long gray beard under his chin, and he wore nothing but a ragged pair of shorts despite the frigid weather.

  But underneath the crimson liquid and gunk from the tilted dumpster, the man’s limbs bulged with unnaturally large muscles. Clear track marks from repeated hypodermic needle use had left scabs across his right arm.

  “Definitely an enhancer,” Browne, the Bio Unit detective, said. “Obviously, the man dabbled in strength mods. That much is evident, but all those injection marks... man’s DNA must be overloaded with biocontraband.”

  “Who is he?” Ana asked.

  “Can’t make a facial recognition mask. Too disfigured. We’ll have to run his genome.”

  Ana nodded. Undoubtedly the man was an enhancer. “Maybe he was in a gang—could be a casualty of gang warfare.”

  “Could be,” Browne said. A couple of CSI team members nudged past Ana and set up drones to capture a three-dimensional rendering of the area. Another drone hummed and flitted among investigators, trash, and the body. It soaked up the miniscule molecules floating through the air to secure additional evidence such as scent signatures of the environment and anyone else who had traipsed through the alley. Browne jotted a couple notes. “And you didn’t see who shot this man?”

  “No, unfortunately not. We didn’t so much as see someone run off.”

  The detective arched an eyebrow and wrote something else on his comm card.

  Homicide detective Maggie Roland joined them. She tilted her head, and her long blond ponytail bounced. “Officer, you’re telling me you heard gunshots, found the vic here, and didn’t bother with a search to see if perps were still around?”

  “No, I didn’t bother,” Ana said, her nose scrunched in a snarl. A spark of frustration flared at Detective Roland’s patronizing attitude. The woman worked behind a desk or rolled around in her car to go interview witnesses. She didn’t walk beats around Baltimore hellholes like the McElderry neighborhood where Ana and Miguel’s beat was, and she seemed to think detectives were akin to royalty in the department. “Look, we didn’t exactly have options. We could run after an assailant willy-nilly with no idea who we were looking for or where they went, or we could stay together and preserve the crime scene—which makes your job easier, detective.”

  “Seems like you wanted the easy job, Dellaporta.” Roland sneered. “You or your partner could’ve gone out with the drone while the other waited for us to show up.”

  “You’ve let your brain go soft sitting at your damn desk,” Ana said. “Drone or not, a cop roaming around alone needs a suicide note written up and ready to go in their front pocket.”

  Roland gave her a dismissive wave and crouched next to one of the CSI investigators picking through the trash near the enhancer’s cooling body. Ana seethed at Roland’s insolence but refrained from rising to her bait further.

  “You uploaded your report?” Browne asked.

  “Yep,” Miguel said. “Lieutenant already signed off on it.”

  “Then I guess you two are free to go.”

  Ana rubbed the back of her neck. “There’s nothing else we can do to help?”

  “Not like you two can do much to help. Probably better if you leave us to take care of this mess.” He gestured to the security drone hovering above Miguel and Ana. “Besides, everything you two saw was already recorded, and we can review the holovideos if we need to. Best for you to get back on beat.”

  Ana spun on her heels and trudged out of the alley. Miguel trailed after. On their way to the street, she picked up the bag of food she’d dropped earlier. She opened it and peered inside. The wrapped sandwiches and fresh fruits she’d prepared were mangled together in a mess, appearing no more appetizing than what they’d found in the upheaved dumpster. In the mad rush to get to the crime scene, someone must have trampled the meal intended for Roy, one of the few residents of these streets who willingly spoke with Ana and Miguel. He also happened to be homeless. “Damn it.”

  “Oh, come on, you think Roy’s that picky? Guy eats out of the trash.”

  Ana prodded Miguel’s chest. “Don’t be an asshole. Just because the guy’s homeless doesn’t mean we can treat him like a goddamn animal.”

  “Fine, fine,” Miguel said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. He lowered them, and creases formed across his brow. “Do you think he heard something? I mean, he usually keeps his ear to the ground, right?”

  Ana threw the bag of smashed food atop an overflowing trash can. “Maybe.” The prospect of finding a witness to the apparent murder and gaining an advantage over Roland proved too enticing an opportunity to pass up. She grinned. “God, I hope you’re right. It’d be great to get a scoop on the dicks back there, huh?”

  “We can both agree on that,” Miguel said. His neck swiveled as he gazed down the alleys they passed. “Where do you think our boy Roy is tonight?”

  Ana froze. A dim light hanging above a door in an alley illuminated a sprawled body draped in a pile of ratty blankets. Her heart sank.

  “Explore,” Miguel directed the security drone, and it buzzed over the lifeless form. “I hope that’s not him.”

  Chapter 2

  The security drone circled above the body, its lights glaring. Ana recognized Roy’s face, his eyes shut. She dove to his side and grabbed his shoulders. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

  The coppery scent of blood was absent, but the odor of alcohol wafted from Roy. Her heart settled when his eyes peeled open.

  “Officer, I wasn’t...” he trailed off, his eyes shutting.

  “Roy, come on, man,” Ana said. “Get your ass up.”

  Roy shook his head. His dreads whipped as he did. “Ana... how’s it... how’s it going?”

  Miguel folded his arms across his chest. “Jesus, Roy, we thought you were dead.”

  “Not dead...” Roy held up a gloved finger. “Just dead drunk.”

  Normally, Ana would lash out at the man and scold him for his stupidity, but she refrained from doing so tonight. “Can’t you find shelter somewhere?”

  Roy slowly shook his head. Ana already knew the answer. The shelters, which were few and far between anyway, wouldn’t let in a drunk or a man with a history of alcoholism on his Net records. Even if Roy showed up stone sober, the shelters wouldn’t provide him a bed.

  “You think you can get your head together enough for a quick chat?” Ana asked, still kneeling beside him. She hoped he’d be coherent enough to help them understand why they’d found a half-naked enhancer dead in an alley. And admittedly, she wanted to ensure Roy could handle himself in the cold and not end up another statistic in the tally of homeless Baltimoreans who’d succumbed to the harsh winter.

  Roy nodded. “Anything... anything for you.”

  “First things first: I lost your food tonight. Long story.”

  He reached out with one hand and patted hers. “That’s okay... You’re an angel. Don’t worry.”

  His slurred words sounded a fraction c
learer, but Ana still strained to understand him. “Did you hear those gunshots earlier?”

  Wrinkles formed across Roy’s forehead. “No, ma’am... afraid I passed out cold.” His lips curled into a smile, baring his yellow teeth. “Cold... get it?”

  “Yep, I get it,” Ana said. “We found a body about an hour ago. Back near Luzerne Street.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Miguel toyed with his comm card. “I grabbed a picture.” He gestured over the card, and a hologram of the man’s bloodied face floated in the air between them. “I know he’s a mess, but do you recognize him?”

  “Not sure...” Roy squinted. “But looks like a guy... looks like a guy I’ve seen on the streets.”

  “Homeless?” Ana asked.

  Miguel arched an eyebrow. “Are you absolutely certain about this?”

  Roy shrugged. “Don’t know... but I’d give it pretty high odds.” He drew both his arms back under the blanket and shivered.

  “I promise I’ll get you another sand—”

  “Tell you what,” Roy said. “Don’t you worry about no food. You’re too kind to me, anyway.” His head rolled to the side.

  “Come on, Ana. We aren’t getting anywhere with him. He’s more smashed than usual.”

  “No... no.” Roy straightened up. “I’ll give you something... A lot of guys on the street been disappearing... Taken away, I think.” He raised a hand in the air, imitating an airplane taking off.

  “Taken to where?” Ana asked, narrowing her eyes. Had there actually been an organized charitable effort to help get people off the street—or, as she feared Roy insinuated, was something more nefarious going on?

  “Don’t know. Just gone... disappeared.” Roy’s eyes closed again, and his chin fell against his chest.

  “Roy?”

  But he didn’t respond. White clouds of his warm breath still condensed in the frigid air, signaling he hadn’t expired. Still, she wished the man had found something warmer than a pile of dirty blankets next to a dumpster.

  “Should we take off? Keep looking?” Miguel asked.