A com alert sounded, and I was informed I had a message from Captain Flint. I played the vid, thankful for the distraction.
"Burnside!" he snapped. "The gal I talked to said you arrived at the station last night. How the hell did you get there so quickly? I'm looking for a status report. I've got politicos from three levels up breathing down my neck over this. What do you think is going to happen to you and me if Hunter gets killed while you're there?" He took a breath and blinked slowly, looking like he felt the need to calm himself. "I await your response."
I let my heartrate settle, before I opened a vid in return.
"One of Hunter's people was at Avon, and I got a tow," I said, answering his first question first.
I didn't see the need to go into detail. Hunter and his people likely didn't appreciate anyone talking about their operation any more than was absolutely necessary.
"As for status, there's nothing to report. I'm liaising with local PD. I'll contact you as soon as there is something worth reporting. Unless you want a detailed report on how much better Australian beer is."
And, to be honest, I really don't like you. In spite of this, and having second thoughts, I wound the vid back a bit, and changed beer to coffee. There was no point in giving him the impression I was just here boozing.
"As for what happens to you and me if Hunter dies, I wouldn't know about you, but I imagine I'll be floating out the nearest airlock. So believe me when I say, I'm taking the situation very seriously."
I sent the message and waited, imagining Flint yelling obscenities while he watched it, which felt oddly satisfying.
"Fine," he said in his response about ten minutes later. His voice was still on edge. "Since you arrived before the killer, do you at least have a plan?"
That was a good question. I still only knew the basics of what Janet and Jane were cooking up for when Hunter arrived.
"I don't want to get into specifics," I responded. "This station is in Hunter's space, and whatever happens here is outside ESPD jurisdiction. I'm not going to risk getting tossed in the brig just to satisfy your curiosity. All I'm going to say is we're planning a trap. Once we force the killer to reveal herself, we can spring it, and bring her in."
Another ten minutes later, his face appeared again, looking puzzled and frustrated.
"Trap? What kind of trap?"
A ten minute turn around for what was actually a conversation, not one way vids, was usually annoying. For once I was enjoying it.
"The kind that catches killers," I responded. "Hunter's people are working out the details."
I sent it off and waited, wondering if he'd spot the fact I didn't know any of the actual plan.
When Flint's face reappeared, he looked as grave as I'd ever seen him.
"All right, Burnside," he said. "It's your show, and I guess I can't stop you."
I felt a but coming up, and I wasn't disappointed.
"But I want you to think about this. If you let Hunter's people take the point on this, it goes sideways, and the hero of the Midgard War ends up dead as a result of your inaction, well, you're the one who brought up being tossed out of the nearest airlock. Flint out."
I stood there for a long time after the message ended, wondering again if I was making a colossal mistake.
Twenty Five
A butler droid arrived mid-afternoon with a tray for me, and Janet walked in just as the butler was headed out. She joined me at the screens.
"Thayer hasn't left her quarters since she arrived," I said. "Blakstov made the rounds of a couple of bars, then turned in herself. Neither of them are doing anything assassin-ish, which has made for a bloody boring day so far."
"Maybe I can do something about that," said a familiar voice from the doorway.
I looked up to see Jane walking in, looking satisfied.
"Productive day?" I asked.
"Very," she smiled. "How about you?"
"If you can call watching closed doors through a surveillance system productive, then yeah."
"He's just being contrary," said Janet. "We identified two women who arrived earlier today as prime suspects. The fact neither of them has made a move yet is apparently making Dick anxious."
"Not anxious," I balked. "Cautious, maybe. Or suspicious. I'm not used to this kind of scenario."
"I wonder," Janet mused. "Are you still holding on to the belief you're dealing with a serial killer?"
The vids from Flint had rattled me more than I wanted to admit, so I didn't bother to bring it up.
"It's not easy to give up something you've been nursing for two years," I said. "Especially after twelve similar crime scenes. But no, to answer your question, I'm on board with you two. Your wish is my command, and all that good shit."
"I highly doubt that," Jane smirked, as she took a seat beside me. "But we appreciate the sentiment. You have to remember assassins are a specific breed of killer. They don't take life out of desire or compulsion, and they definitely don't get caught up in the heat of the moment. With most jobs, you either become competent, or you get fired. With assassins, if you're not competent, you're dead. Therefore, any assassin who is still alive is, by definition, good at their job."
"Well, these two must be management material, given how boring they've been," I said.
Turned out Janet had already brought Jane up to speed on what we'd discussed, and I filled the two of them in on what little had happened while they'd been gone. I asked Jane what she'd been doing all day, but was gently told it was none of my business. Again I was struck by the feeling I was just here for the ride, and again, it irked me. But hey, I was working closely with two hot young ladies, which wasn't bad for a crusty old cop.
"So what do I do for the rest of the day?" I asked. "If I can't risk being seen, do I put on a helmet and just go back to my room? If that's the case, what am I even doing here?"
"Like I said, I might be able to do something about that," said Jane. "I think it might be time for some surveillance outside of the camera's eye."
"How so?"
"We have resources available to us that go beyond the limits of technology."
"Like what?" I asked. "Astral projection? Are you going to send your third eye out into the station to read people's minds?"
"In a way," she said, a maddening grin spreading across her face.
She tapped her nose, and led us out.
The brig held a handful of three-meter-square holding cells. In the closest one to the door, I saw Speck and his bald companion sitting dejectedly on the mats on the floor. A look of shock appeared on their faces as we walked in.
"This is cruel and unusual!" Speck bawled, standing up. "You can't keep us locked up here!"
"We can do whatever we want, as you well know," Janet said evenly. "I'm the ultimate authority on this station until Jon Hunter arrives. That said, I'm not a despot, and it doesn't give me any pleasure to see you locked up in here."
"Gives me pleasure," I mumbled, prompting Jane to jab me in the ribs with her elbow. It hurt more than it should have. "What's Janet doing?"
"Watch and see."
"So what're you saying, then?" asked Baldy. "You gonna let us go?"
Janet crossed her arms over her chest. It was a tad distracting.
"In a sense. According to your IDs, the two of you are leftovers from the Pompeii civil war. Is that correct?"
Speck frowned.
"Yeah. What of it? Is that against the law now?"
"Not at all. But you two have been mostly idle since it ended. And according to your tab last night, both of you were nursing the cheapest booze the bar had on the menu. You've also both finished your trays of food already, which meant you were starving."
"What are you getting at?" Baldy asked defiantly.
"I think you're running out of credits," said Janet. "And I want to offer you the opportunity to make some."
"What?" I hissed, but Jane silenced me with a tapered finger to her lips.
"How much?" Speck blurted, be
fore getting himself under control. "I mean, it's gotta be worth our while. We're in high demand."
"I'm sure," Janet said drily. "A thousand credits, each, and a one-way ticket off Hunter's Redoubt, if you get my meaning."
The two men shared a glance, then looked back at her.
"What do we have to do?" asked Baldy.
"Be our eyes and ears for a night. Chat up some people, ask a few questions. We'll have cams on you, and a transmitter in your ear."
Speck's eyes narrowed.
"Wear a wire? You kiddin' me? Our reputations wouldn't be worth a burnt-out hydrogen cell if that got around!"
"The choice is yours," said Janet. "Either way, you're leaving the station. You can leave with cash in your hand, or your dick in your hand. Decide."
The two looked ready to spit nails, but they nodded. Maybe they weren't quite as dumb as they looked. I was impressed by how tough Janet was being, but I was still fuming.
"What the hell does she think she's doing?" I whispered furiously to Jane. "What if these clowns decide to go off-script, and start telling everyone who I am instead?"
Jane's only response was to nod in Janet's direction.
"You'll get the credits at the end of the assignment tomorrow night," Janet told the men. "There's a freighter with passenger accommodation leaving at midnight. You'll be on it."
Speck scowled.
"Where's it going?"
"Down-spine, somewhere other than here. Does it really matter? And one more thing."
"What's that?"
"Don't even think about doing anything which might piss me off. Because if you do, I'm going to send Burnside after you."
Baldy grinned.
"Maybe we want that," he said, glancing in my direction.
She caught his gaze with her own, and suddenly his smile vanished.
"I don't think you do," she said in a cold voice. "Because once he's done with you, I'll be there for sloppy seconds."
The look on both their faces was enough to brighten my mood considerably.
In spite of the fact they were more afraid of a slip of a girl, then they were of me.
Twenty Six
"Test, test. Can you hear me?"
Janet rolled her eyes at the screen in front of us.
"I told you I could hear you before you left security yesterday," she hissed. "Nothing has changed, except for the fact you're now in the open, and people can see you touching your ear. Stop it."
We watched Speck's hand pull away from his head. Baldy, turns out his real name was Fritz, walked next to him. Speck, of course, was out of the shot because the cam view was coming from his own eyes, via the basic PC's both men had. Oddly, neither of them had the ability to share sound, hence the old tech earpieces they were wearing. Even so, anyone looking at their ears wouldn’t see them, but tapping the stupid thing was a dead giveaway. Had it been anyone other than these two, Janet probably would have organized a PC upgrade, but they were worth considerably more than the credits promised. And why waste them on a lowlife?
The corridor walls passed by in our peripheral vision as the duo made their way to a high-end nightclub, which was essentially the polar opposite of the bar we'd been in last night. It was my suggestion. The farther they were from the place where they'd been humiliated, the less chance they'd be recognized. Neither of them complained, especially when Janet told them they had an unlimited bar tab.
"What are we supposed to be talking about?" asked Fritz.
"Weapons, stupid," Speck whispered back. "Now shut up, and let me do the talking. They're in my ear, not yours."
"Okay, okay. Geez, you're touchy."
Jane and Janet shook their head in unison, another example of their weird, twin-like dynamic. I knew this was going to be a long shot from the get-go, and my opinion hadn't changed since the two idiots on the screen had walked out of the brig, and started broadcasting back to us.
But at the very least, it was going to be entertaining.
Bright blue light flooded the screen, as Speck and Fritz turned the corner which opened on to the entrance to what locals called The Bridge. The colors cycled through to indigo and violet, then to red, orange, yellow, and green, as the pair approached a very tall, very heavy man standing at the door with his beefy arms crossed over his chest.
"You two again," the bouncer sighed. "What'd I tell you last time?"
"That was a misunderstanding," said Speck.
Janet turned to me.
"The misunderstanding was Speck and Fritz thought they could drink, and leave without paying."
"Of course it was," I replied, with a dry chuckle.
The bouncer's huge hands had closed around the back of the duo's necks, and I thought the night was going to end before it'd even begun. Then a middle-aged woman in an outfit which probably cost what I made in a month appeared, and placed a hand on the bouncer's arm.
"It's okay, Bruno," she said with a practiced smile. "These gentlemen are the guests of the station commander tonight."
I cocked an eyebrow.
"When did you have time to get in touch with her?"
"I'm even better at multitasking, than I am at compartmentalizing," Janet replied, her eyes never leaving the screen.
I'd forgotten she'd told me. Or maybe it was I hadn’t believed her. I still wasn’t sure I believed her. Both were full time jobs with no room for anything else. I shook the thoughts off, and kept watching.
Bruno reluctantly let go of the pair's scruffs, and allowed them to pass into the club. Pulsing music and light assaulted my senses, as Speck and Fritz navigated the floor to the bar. They each ordered a triple, of course, and headed for a group of people at a section of stand-up tables. It was early, and the place wasn't crowded, so they managed to work their way into the middle of the area within a minute.
Three women in cocktail dresses noted the pair right away. One raised a hand in greeting, and shouted a hello, while the other two stared across the room to make sure everyone knew they had better things to do than be here in this disco. And yes, it did appear to be more of a disco than a night club. One of the things which should have died a quick death centuries ago, still provided people with a place to meet, shrouded by darkness and too much noise.
Janet turned up the volume, and adjusted settings to filter out the noise.
We watched and listened as Speck approached the trio, and my heart rate suddenly doubled as I recognized the friendly one. She'd traded in a uniform for a cocktail dress, but there was no mistaking Ingrid Blakstov.
"Hello, suspect," I breathed.
"Interesting," said Janet. "Speck, get this one talking."
As intrigued as I was, something just didn't seem right about the situation. An assassin wouldn't expose herself this way, especially if she was planning a very public hit.
My hopes sank, as she instantly started into a sales pitch for the Universal Church of Unlimited Opportunity, which I was pretty sure was a multilevel marketing scheme recruiting distributors throughout the spine. Speck listened patiently as she droned on about how the Universe shows us open doors all the time, but most people weren't able to perceive the opportunities. She grinned, and told him she was absolutely positive he was smarter than most people.
I exchanged a look with the women, and they both nodded. At least we'd eliminated a suspect, which narrowed it down to one. Yay us.
"Move on," I snapped in Speck's ear. "You're not getting anywhere with her, and if you hang around much longer, this woman is going to have your reward in her pocketbook, before you even see it."
Speck grumbled something, but the two bid the woman adieu, and continued cruising. They stopped by the bar first for a refill, and Janet warned them to keep their wits about them.
"They'd have to have had wits to start with," I said.
Jane shot me a look.
"You're not helping."
No, but it was true anyway.
The pair continued through the club, Speck scanning the place for us, for
another twenty minutes without incident. I was beginning to think it would be a bust, when Speck's eyes landed on a face I recognized. The hair was different, shorter and lighter than the last time I'd seen it, but there was no mistaking that chiseled jaw, and the apartment-sized dimple in his chin. I sat up straight, and leaned towards the screen for a better look.
"That's Antonio DeLeo," I said.
"Who?" the women asked in unison.
"A gunrunner from Earth Sector. More important is where, as in why is he here instead of prison, where he's supposed to be?"
I told Speck to look in DeLeo's direction without drawing attention to himself, which, amazingly, he managed to do.
"Station records say his name is Stephen Anderson, which is obviously false," said Janet, consulting her PC. "He's been here since the end of the civil war."
"That figures," I said. "I don't know how he got out of lockup, but he's the sort of guy who'd be all over the Pompeii situation. Probably sold weapons to both sides, then hid here when it was over to lay low, invest his profits, and wait for the next war. Given he's essentially in no-mans-land at the moment, he probably chose wisely. You guys need to interface with the other sector PD's, and find out who's currently not where they're supposed to be."
"There's no law against him being here," said Jane.
"I know. It just seems odd, that's all. I bet he's got enough credits to buy this station outright. If he escaped prison, there's probably a bounty on his head."
"If he's as connected as you say, there would be more than one," said Jane. "Someone who armed both sides in a conflict would make a lot of enemies. Jon would know. He's connected as far as American sector. I'll see what I can find out."
"That's not our current concern," said Janet. "Move along, Speck."
The duo refreshed their drinks again, and headed towards the VIP section in the back. It was an open area, but separated from the main section of the club by a charged particle screen. Essentially, the regular peons in the club could see how the other half lived, but if they tried to cross into their space, they'd regret it.
On the edge of the screen was another familiar face, and I shot forward again.
Burnside's Killer_Extended Version Page 12
