by Colin Harvey
LXI
Shah had to run half a block before he could commandeer a rare LPG cab. Forwarding the APB to the driver's eyepiece as authorization, and his ID to the protesting passenger, he hauled the man out. "Sorry sir. Make a claim for the inconvenience quoting my ID, the date and 'officer responding to urgent call for assistance' and please accept my apologies and have a nice day thank you." Pulling the door shut on the still-complaining passenger he took a lung-filling haul of air, then exhaled.
He'd just about got his breath back when the cab arrived. He pushed through to where a uniformed officer was guarding the building entrance. Shah knew the guy by sight if not by name, and when the guard waved him through raised an acknowledging palm.
Shah couldn't take the stairs because they were blocked by a pair of overalled CSIs scrutinizing them step by step, but the elevators were free, and the five-minute wait for the protesting antique gave him time to chat to the second cop, guarding the lobby and CSIs.
"I dunno much," she said, chewing a wad of gum. "All I heard was that shots were fired on the penthouse floor–" Oh shit, Leslyn! Shah thought. "–but there's no fatalities."
Shah exhaled heavily, and tapping his foot pressed the call elevator button a third time.
"Won't come no quicker," the cop said with a friendly flash of teeth.
"Makes me feel better, though."
"Always so impatient, you oldsters." She added hastily, "Didn't mean–"
Shah waved her half-apology away. "Don't worry 'bout it. At last!" He jumped into the square box and rode it alone, listening to every screech, every clank, every groan, sure that at any moment it would judder to a halt between floors, leaving him even more in limbo.
It seemed like hours later that he leapt out, but it was probably less than five minutes.
The steel-paneled door he and Doug had reinforced during the last food riots five years earlier hung off its hinges. The thugs hadn't bothered going through it, but simply blown its weak spot – the hinges – with explosive bullets. If you'd gone to a proper outfit who fit covered hinges 'stead of letting that tightwad talk you into corner-cutting this wouldn't have happened.
"Doug," Shah said to a crumpled figure on the lounge floor, who was being treated by a pair of paramedics. Stickel stood watching a pair of CSIs tagging debris. "Where's Leslyn?"
"He can't talk now," one paramedic said. "The other vic's outside. She–"
Shah was already running to the balcony.
The rooftop patio ran around the penthouse, a lip about six feet wide on each side. Chairs and tables were smashed, and Shah followed the smashed windows and bullet-riddled walls until he found Leslyn, who like Doug was also lying prone between two paramedics. CSIs photographed beyond her.
"Leslyn!" Shah called out. In answer, she held up her hand.
One of the paramedics stood up. "Give us a few minutes," she said. "She has multiple splinters from the wooden frames the Gro-bags were resting on, but aside from that and being severely shocked, she's unharmed. That's a miracle, given how bad they shot the place up."
Shah went inside. Doug lay groaning on the ground while one of the CSIs took a memory copy, and Shah hovered impatiently. "You wait your turn," Stickel called. "Give Bailey a hand hunting the clowns that did this. Your friend," she indicated McCoy, "wasn't the main target, at least when they shot their way in. He bought her time to hide."
"Bailey can take care of it," Shah said. "We know who's behind this, and it isn't a couple of hop-heads." He stared at McCoy in disbelief. "He stood up to armed intruders?"
Stickel held up a hand as she downloaded from the scanner. "Here you go." Shah's eyepiece chimed the announcement of an upload. She laughed, "You didn't get it from me."
"Of course." Shah hit 'play:'
The door crashes in. You gawp at the motley gang of villains spilling through it.
"Where is she?" A tall black kid yells.
"What?" This isn't happening. It can't be happening.
"Where's the bitch, grandpa?" The youth yells. He waves a gun in your face. You almost wet yourself with terror, but damned if you'll let this little punk see it. "I gotta ask again, I'm gonna blow your balls off."
"In which case, young man, I'm even less likely to answer your questions. My co-husband is a policeman–"
"Oh, he's a policeman," sneers a second youth, this one white. There's an Indian, and a Hispanic one as well. It's like the old United Nations. Then your reverie is shattered by the backhander that snaps your head back.
"I said, grandpa, where's your bitch?"
"Calea," you say before you can stop yourself. There's blood or snot or something running from your nose, and you're close to crying. Shah has always said that your pedantry will get you into trouble one day. "Her name is Leslyn Ca-l-ea, you little thug, and she isn't here." Please God, whatever they do to me, don't let them find her, rape her, whatever they intend to do to her.
"Where." Slap! "Is." Slap! "She?" This last accompanied by a punch that slams the air out of you, as if someone's pushed a Hoover down your gullet and switched it on. You can't tell them anything now, even if you wanted to.
Another punch tears your cheek. Lights flash across your field of vision, and you try to play possum against the punches raining down on your head and body…
Shah cut the feed. "My God, they're dumb," Shah said.
Stickel shook her head. "I get the impression that these aren't Kotian's regular goons. Someone's subcontracted a stage too far. While you were vicariously enjoying your buddy getting the crap beaten out of them" – she grinned as he mouthed "enjoy?" at her – "I stomped all over your good lady's civil rights by demanding a copy before she could forget anything or get counseling. Here you go."
"How is she?" Shah said.
"Shaken up. But hiding under them man-sized Gro-bags was a masterstroke. Damned clever woman. Makes me wonder why she'd marry a donut like you."
"It's my hidden charms," Shah said as he opened the clip, and the last thing he heard was Stickel's snort.
–you look around, your heart rattling like an out-of-control piledriver. Behind the chairs? No, too obvious. There's no way down from here, and no way back in, so it has to be – and you remember Doug's scorn at the Nero Wolfe story where they hide her under the orchids – under the Gro-bags! There's a bathtubshaped depression beneath the bags barely big enough to squeeze into, and for the first time in your life you're grateful you're so small.
The sacking is cold and damp against your flesh, but you lie very, very still, barely even daring to breathe.
"Where the bitch gone?" You hear one of them say. Sounds of movement, something being dragged.
"She under these bag things?"
Please God, no, don't let them look under here.
"Naw, nowhere to hide there, dumbo."
More scraping sounds, a crash. A shattering sound, that of a pot dropped on the ground. Another crash.
"The bitch ain't here!"
"Jimbo was sure she was here."
"Ain't gonna do no rip today."
"Fuck it, let's trash the place!"
The last comment is followed by a staccato rattle. Fear feels like a large stone lodged in your throat. Something stings and you bite into the sacking to stop yourself crying out. A couple of seconds of quiet is followed by another two-second burst of fire. Quiet again, and you lick your lips. There's another rattle, and something burns your arm; you whimper, but luckily they don't hear you.
Then there is silence until someone calls, "Pigs coming!"
You lie there for what seems like an eternity, biting your lip against the need to piss.
Only when you hear someone call, "Hello" do you dare push back the sacking.
LXII
"They caught the Hispanic one," Stickel said.
Shah surveyed the devastation that was his bedroom. "Anyone we know?" The gang had circled right round the balcony, spraying the walls with explosive bullets and they had smashed through the walls as if they were
made of paper. Pictures had been blown off, Shah's comp and music system were pockmarked with through-and-throughs and were unusable, while his clothes had been shredded. Shah sighed.
"You can't stay here," Stickel said. "Book into a hotel."
Shah wondered whether Aurora was working, and called her. "No answer," he muttered and was about to hang up when she finally answered.
Before he could speak, Aurora whispered, "It's not a good time. I'll call you back."
Shah raised his eyebrows and turned to Stickel, who was studying the bullet-riddled walls. "Who's the perp?"
Stickel was silent. Finally she said, "Rico Calvatoni. His rap sheet includes serious assaults, so this is third strike for the little weasel. He lawyered up before we even read him his rights. Hasn't said a word since."
"Let me guess. One of Kotian's lawyers."
"Surprisingly, no. Which makes me think it's a subcontract gone bad."
"Guess if he's not Indian and was subbed, there'd be no reason for one of Kotian's tame Rottweilers to counsel for him. Where's the kid now?"
Stickel shook her head. "Oh no, no. You cohabit with the victims. You set foot in the same room as him you compromise the case."
Shah held up his hands in surrender. "Just asking."
"Just saying. Go visit your girlfriend or a bar or something – anything, but you stay away from that little bastard. Leave it to us, Pete."
"Sure," Shah said. "Guess I ought to buy some things from an all-nighter. Can I take any of my stuff that's undamaged?"
"You already know, so why ask?"
Shah shrugged. "Making conversation, is all."
"Make it somewhere else. Scram."
Shah was buying an overpriced shirt, toothpaste and toothbrush, soap and deodorant in the convenience store when Aurora called back. "Where are you?" She sounded slightly out of breath, as if she was walking as she talked.
Shah told her.
"Wait outside," she said. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
She took barely five. When she came close, Shah noticed her lower lip was cut.
"Kotian?"
She nodded. "He tried to get me to set you up. When I was less than enthusiastic…" she gestured at her lip.
Shah gazed at her, but she looked away. Gently, he reached out and touched the cut on her lip. She hissed an indrawn breath, but stayed still. "At least it's stopped bleeding." Shah stroked it as gently as he could. "If he hurts you again, I'll kill him myself."
Her eyes glinted. "Don't go all white-knight on me. Remember what I said before – about not being sure I want to exchange one protector for another?"
"You can't expect me to stand by while he beats the crap out of you – I don't do it for strangers, so why would I for someone I care about?"
"Do you?" Aurora said. "Care?"
"You know I do."
"I guess." Aurora paused, as if thinking. "When Kotian had gone, I called Grunwald to ask for Witness Protection. She agreed."
Moving his hand up Shah touched her cheekbone. "If you go into Witness Protection…"
"We'll never see each other again. If we'd been a couple already, we'd have been OK, but they won't let someone else into the program."
"I couldn't anyway," Shah said. "Old Shah used to believe it was my father's murder that triggered my becoming a cop. Now, I'm not so sure. I've only a few memories of my childhood, but I can barely imagine never wanting to be a cop. Pursuing the truth sounds glib, like the sort of thing a hack speechwriter would write, but what if it is just that? Maybe my old idea of why I became a cop's wrong. Instead of my father's death, there was no trigger, and being a cop is simply hardwired into me?"
Aurora kissed his hand. "I'm guessing you're staying put?" She winked to make a joke of the question, but Shah caught the quaver in her voice and kissed her cheek. "Where are you sleeping tonight?" she said. "Kotian told me about the attack on Doug and Leslyn."
"When?" Shah said. If it was before the attack…
"Before he turned off his 'piece to ask me to set you up. Just before you called."
Shah checked timings on his eyepiece, and his shoulders slumped. The news release had been two minutes before his call.
As if reading his mind, Aurora said. "I had to turn my eyepiece off after, so there's no evidence he asked me. He's too careful." She shook her head. "He's getting nasty. I've always known he was ruthless, but it was easy to shut my eyes to it, especially when he was so nice to me." She shook her head, and now it was Shah's turn to keep quiet, to let just her talk it out. "He's been getting more and more erratic, but I never thought he'd hurt innocent people – he was going to have Leslyn ripped, I'm sure of it."
"Got any evidence?"
Aurora shook her head. "Nothing you could use."
"So it always was Sunny, doing the ripping?"
Aurora nodded. "Sunny beat him to that money-spinner."
"Not Papa's sort of thing." Shah thought of his mother's scorn for Twitter and blogging and iPods when he was young.
Aurora nodded.
"Leslyn and Doug are being kept in hospital overnight." Shah laughed bitterly. "Would you believe it – my apartment's a crime scene. I'm going to the nearest hotel."
"I don't want to go home, either, till Grunwald's set up a new identity. Said they'd need a day or three."
Shah snorted. "Budget cuts, no doubt. Next they'll tell us we can only turn so many witnesses a year."
"I know somewhere." Aurora looked suddenly shy. "That is, if you want."
In answer Shah kissed her. When they broke, he felt suddenly awkward. "I've always dated shorter women, like Leslyn." He laughed ruefully.
"Does me being tall bother you?"
"Not exactly," Shah said. "It's just sometimes, it feels odd. I musta dated others before, but I can't remember…"
"It's your inner caveman coming out." Aurora put on a deep voice. "Me man, must be big; you woman, must be carry-able."
They started walking, Shah's hand on her hip feeling the movement. "You realize," Aurora said, "They'll be short of rooms. May only have one."
"As long as they have a bed."
"Just the one? You won't insist on twin beds?"
"Nope, one's fine."
"Want a bolster, or other protection?" She grinned.
"Nope."
Shah and Aurora both checked every few hundred yards they weren't being followed, but saw no sign of it. Almost fifteen minutes later, they reached the hotel. It was small and sparsely furnished but it had four walls and a bed, which was all Shah wanted.
He unpacked his shirt and hung it up, and turned around to find Aurora already in bed. She smiled and pushing back the sheet on his side, patted the mattress. Shah felt awkward undressing in front of her, and as soon as he could turned off the light. He slid into the bed, wincing at the cold sheets, and tried to remember to keep breathing as they fused together.
"Are you sure?" Aurora whispered, perhaps sensing his last minute nerves.
"I'm sure."
In the end it was like any of the other women he remembered making love to, if he disregarded the lump pressing against his cock as he slid into her. As he approached climax, he ceased to even notice it.
Later they fell asleep, in each other's arms.
LXIII
The next morning Shah rose in the pre-dawn half-light, eyes gritty from lack of sleep and dressed without showering. He glanced at the clock: four-oh-five.
"Hmm?" Aurora murmured from the bed.
"Back soon," he whispered, kissing her head.
He pulled the door closed.
As he walked down the street, he called the hospital. Once he'd gone through the routine of identifying himself, the ward clerk confirmed that both patients were OK. "Unless their status changes we'll discharge them at nine o'clock."
Then he called Itandje. "Yeah, we booked in a Ms Calea and a Mr McCoy for a ten o'clock interview," the other officer said. "You need to be in on it? I can leave a voicemail."
"Nah, it's
OK. I just wanted to check the state of the game."
"We've scheduled a hearing for twelve o'clock tomorrow on four specimen charges against your boy Rico. The top of his lawyer's head nearly blew off when he heard, and the guy threatened to call all kinds of shit down on us via IA, but hey. We made sure we filmed the chaos in here last night; we'll plead pressure of work, and take the slap on the wrist."
