Galactic Vice: A Jafla Base Vice Squad Novel

by Jake Bible

  “Not happening,” Angie said. “Which is why I need you to work your street connections. S’lunn’s face and ID are plastered all over every holo in the docking hangars. With a face like his, he’ll last about two seconds if he tries to board a ship and get off planet.”

  “He won’t last long on the street, either,” Kalaka said. “Authorities on the hunt for a GV means the streets are loving it. They’ll turn him in for the fun of it. The reward will be a bonus.”

  “Make the comm calls,” Angie ordered. “I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

  “You know what you’re asking?” Kalaka replied. “I’ll be spending some serious street capital, McDade. It would be way better to let this play out naturally. S’lunn isn’t gonna be able to hide for long. I’m telling you that someone will snitch within twenty-four hours and you’ll have your Shiv’erna in hand by this time tomorrow.”

  “Make. The. Calls,” Angie snarled.

  “All the Hells,” Kalaka growled as he rubbed at his face. “Favors to a fucking scalper. Favors to that damn Schigg. Now I’ll be cashing in favors that are not worth cashing in over something like this.”

  “Something like this?” Angie roared as she grabbed the front of Kalaka’s jacket and slammed him against the wall. “Etch Knowles is dead, you asshole! That is not something!”

  She continued slamming him over and over. Kalaka brought out his claws, but he never got a chance to use them to defend himself. His head smacked hard against the wall and his eyes rolled up to show whites. If four uniformed Jafla PD officers hadn’t yanked Angie off the Cervile, Kalaka would have been dead in a few minutes.

  “I’m good! I’m good!” Angie yelled as she thrashed herself free of the yanking and pulling hands. “I’m good, dammit!”

  The PD officers backed off, but two of them put themselves between her and Kalaka who was collapsed on the floor, moaning and struggling to rub the back of his head. He mostly made weak, swiping motions at his skull, missing the back of his head entirely.

  “Get him a medic,” Angie ordered then turned on her heel and stomped off towards the stairs. She needed air.

  She reached the roof in record time, her feet barely touching the steps and landings of the floors she sprinted past.

  The air was far from refreshing. It felt hot and thick on her flushed skin. The lights of holo billboards blinked off in the distance. There were no billboards in Mesker District. No financial point. But the rest of the base was lit up like a carnival.

  Angie crossed to the short ledge and swung her legs over the side, dangling them above several stories of open space. Down below, she could see the angry crowd of tenants that were busy snapping and shouting at the uniforms assigned to keep them back. Angie wondered when the beings would finally have enough and go after the PD officers.

  “Fuck, Knowles,” she mumbled. “What happened?”

  Angie went over every detail of every bit of information she’d gathered since landing on Jafla. She lined up facts and data and processed each piece, bit by bit, in her mind, but couldn’t come to any conclusion other than someone in on the op had ratted Knowles out. Gants may have suspected, but he couldn’t have had hard proof. And the way Knowles was killed was meant to send a message. From everything Angie knew about Gants, his message always involved barrels of acid, not evisceration and skinning people.

  Skinning was a Willz thing. Angie knew that. Which pointed all fingers back to S’lunn, if Kalaka was right that S’lunn was working for the Willz Syndicate. Except why would S’lunn be on the run if the syndicate he was in league with had ordered the hit of Knowles? The smart thing would be to play stupid and let the case dry up and die. It’d always be hanging over him, but considering the corruption inside the Jafla Vice Squad, he wouldn’t be the only GVD with dirt ready to avalanche over his head.

  No, Angie had a hard time believing that S’lunn was the rat. Except S’lunn had to be since he was the only one that knew…

  Angie started and almost fell off the ledge. She scrambled backwards and fell onto her back on the roof. She managed to get her feet under her and headed back to the stairwell. She raced down almost as fast as she’d raced up.

  “You’re coming with me,” Angie said, pointing at a semi-recovered Kalaka.

  “Like fuck I am,” Kalaka snapped. “I see like two of you, McDade. I need a med pod.”

  “I know who ratted Knowles out and I know where S’lunn is,” Angie said. “You coming or not?”

  “You can’t get another GVD to go with?” Kalaka asked. “There must be one on the way. I’m not the only GVD that responded to this, am I?”

  “The others are doing their jobs and working their own contacts, asshole,” Angie said. “I didn’t have to slam them against a wall to get them to comply. Well, not all of them.”

  Angie paused.

  “And I can’t trust them.”

  “But you can trust me?” Kalaka laughed and continued rubbing his head. “Funny way of showing it.”

  “I don’t know who is corrupt and who isn’t,” Angie said. “You do.”

  “Fine,” Kalaka said. “But let me find a medic so he can ice my skull for me. You nearly cracked my head open.”

  “Not caring much about that,” Angie said. “You’re coming with. Now.”

  Angie stomped towards the stairs at the other end of the hallway without looking back. She grinned when she heard the stumbling shuffle of Kalaka a few feet behind her.

  27.

  Angie overrode the security system on Mess’a Tikk’s apartment like she’d done before. She shoved the apartment door all the way open and rushed inside.

  “S’lunn!” Angie yelled, pistol up and sweeping the short hallway that led from the front door and into the living room. “Put down any weapons and lay face first on the carpet! I will not issue a warning shot!”

  She hit the living room and covered it fast, her pistol aimed at every shadow, nook, and corner of the room. Nothing and no one. But the place was a hellish mess. Furniture was tossed and broken. Cushions slashed completely open. Pictures and belongings shattered and strewn here and there.

  “Kalaka!” Angie yelled. “Get your ass in here!”

  Kalaka had his weapon drawn as well, but his grip wasn’t nearly as solid as Angie’s. His hands shook as he came in sweeping. Angie glanced over and shook her head.

  “You watch the front door,” she said. “I’ll check the bedrooms. Try not to pass out.”

  “I’m not making any promises,” Kalaka said, sounding one hundred percent sincere.

  “Then try not to shoot me,” Angie said. “Can you handle that?”

  “That I can handle,” Kalaka said.

  Angie moved from the living room to the hallway. She carefully placed one foot in front of the other, making sure she didn’t trigger any boobytraps that may have been left. All she felt was over-piled carpet that had to be a cleaning bot’s nightmare.

  “S’lunn!” Angie called out as she reached the first door. “Show yourself and this will go a lot easier!”

  She slammed her elbow against the door panel and it slid open quickly. Angie rushed in to the guest lavatory, clearing it in seconds. Empty other than the tchotchkes that beings always thought others wanted to see. Angie hated useless clutter and the lavatory counter was nothing but useless clutter.

  Angie growled low and left the lavatory, proceeding to the next door across the hallway.

  “Kalaka? You still alive?” Angie yelled.

  “I think so,” Kalaka called back.

  “Good,” Angie said as she kicked the panel for the next door. It slid wide and she rushed into that room.

  Craft room. Angie noted that the tchotchkes in the lavatory had been handmade in the craft room. Or tentacle made considering the race of the owner. Angie cleared under the couple of tables then kicked open the closet door to reveal a highly organized system of drawers and shelving, all filled with supplies needed to make more worthless, useless crap.

  N
o one had bothered to touch the craft room. Nothing was overturned or thrashed. It was the complete opposite of the living room. That told Angie that the mess she’d first walked into was staged. If someone was truly hunting for something, they would have destroyed the craft room as well.

  Out of the craft room and down the hallway to the last door, Angie gripped her pistol tighter as she put her back to the wall next to the door.

  “S’lunn?” Angie called. “I’ll give you one more chance to come out on your own! If I have to come in there, and you even look like you’re going to hint at being difficult, then these will be the last words you ever hear! Got me, S’lunn? I’m gonna shoot first and probably not ask any Eight Million Gods damn questions!”

  No response.

  Angie ground her teeth then smacked the door panel.

  As the door slid open, Angie smelled it instantly. Blood. A lot of blood. She’d become very familiar with the stench that night. She noticed the smell didn’t have that heavy bass note of hours old blood, but the tang of freshly spilled. In she went, her pistol aiming left then right. Nothing moved.

  No shadows to hide in since the room was lit up like a landing strip. Every light had been moved and was trained on a single area against the wall and above the bed.

  Angie kept her pistol up and sweeping back and forth even though the strength had almost left her muscles and all she wanted to do was sag against a wall and slide slowly to the floor.

  Tipo had gotten the same treatment as Etch. The former GVD was crucified to the wall, skin flayed off and strewn about the bedroom amongst the piles of offal. Blood still dripped from the corpse.

  “Kalaka! Call it in now!” Angie said and pointed her wrist at the corpse. She swiped right and yelled, “You get that?”

  “Got it,” Kalaka called back. “Shit…”

  “Still fresh!” Angie yelled. “Perp could be in the building or the neighborhood! You know what to do?”

  “I’m on it!” Kalaka yelled back sounding slightly more alert. “We’ll get the district locked down!”

  “Good,” Angie replied quietly.

  She did a semi-thorough going over of the room, including the walk-in closet and master lavatory. The gory mess was contained within the bedroom itself. There was no sign of struggle in the lavatory and it didn’t look like the closet had been opened at all.

  Angie sighed and let her arm drop to her side, the pistol aimed at the floor. She stared at the words that had been written next to S’lunn’s body.

  “Disappointing, GVD S’lunn,” the words read.

  “What did you do, S’lunn?” Angie asked aloud.

  “We have half the PD and all of the Squad that aren’t working the Knowles scene on the way,” Kalaka said as he came into the bedroom. “Holy shit…”

  He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he read the words.

  “Looks like the Willz Syndicate was not happy with S’lunn’s performance,” Kalaka said. “Or that’s what I’m getting from this message.”

  “Why take out S’lunn too?” Angie asked. “I see why Knowles was killed. It happens to undercover GVDs more times than I’d like to admit. But why S’lunn? Wouldn’t he be more valuable alive and still on the take?”

  “You’re forgetting what was found at his place,” Kalaka said. “Looks like he was running. He wasn’t going to be of any use to the Willz Syndicate anyway. So they found him and silenced him just in case he decided to cut a deal and spill what he knew.”

  “Probably right,” Angie said. “If I’d caught him, he would have spilled everything he knew. Everything.”

  “So they cut him up like this to send another message,” Kalaka said. “Keep everyone in line.”

  “Who?” Angie asked.

  “What?”

  “Keep who in line? Who else works for the Willz Syndicate?” Angie asked. “This isn’t a warning for those that work for other syndicates. This is for those still being paid off by Willz. Who is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Kalaka said, sounding honestly disappointed in himself. “I knew of S’lunn. If Willz has others, then I don’t know which GVD it is.”

  “Or GVDs,” Angie said.

  “The only way we could possibly find out is to haul in each and every GVD in the Squad for questioning,” Kalaka said and laughed.

  Angie didn’t laugh. She turned slowly and regarded Kalaka with a very dangerous look on her face.

  “Oh, no way,” Kalaka said. “I’m not getting involved with this. The Squad already hates me. There is absolutely no way I will be part of any internal investigation. Which is Fleet Intelligence Service’s job, by the way. You know that, McDade.”

  “Maybe we get the ball rolling for them,” Angie said. “Grease the wheels and see what goes slipping and sliding out onto the floor.”

  “You’ve lost your crackers, lady,” Kalaka said. “You can’t take on the Squad all by yourself.” He pointed at the corpse. “You want to end up like him or Knowles? You might as well bang your head against a fully active Morigun wasps’ nest. It’ll be less painful. You go after the whole Jafla Squad and you can kiss your career goodbye.”

  “I’m Division,” Angie stated. “If I want to put the Squad under my heel, then that’s what I’ll do until someone above me tells me different.”

  “Come on, McDade!” Kalaka exclaimed. “You are not…”

  He paused and blinked a few times, his ears standing straight up on his head.

  Angle knew the look of a Cervile that’s detected something important. She didn’t say a word, only raised one eyebrow. Kalaka held up a finger and turned in a slow circle. Then he left the room and waved for her to follow him.

  They both walked down the hallway to the living room, Kalaka’s ears twitching this way and that. Angie followed close behind, her pistol up and ready again. After a few seconds, Kalaka shook his head and turned to walk back down the hallway. He paused in front of the lavatory door, which had shut itself again after Angie had left.

  Kalaka pointed at the lavatory and pressed the panel as Angie covered the door with her pistol. The door slid open, but the lavatory was still empty. Kalaka nodded. Angie gave him a quizzical look. He tapped one ear then pointed into the lavatory.

  Angie shrugged. Kalaka frowned and pointed again. Angie sighed and stepped into the lavatory, her eyes seeing nothing different than before.

  But her ears…

  “Where?” she whispered to Kalaka.

  “Under the sink,” Kalaka said, his pistol drawn and aimed at the cabinet’s single door.

  Angie pressed a hand to the cabinet door and it retracted to reveal a dark space underneath. It took Angie’s eyes a second to see that the darkness wasn’t shadow, but the black material of a dress. A dress that was on a Groshnel woman.

  “Mess’a,” Angie stated as she knelt down and slowly reached in to touch the woman. “Alive. Call it in!”

  “Medics are already on the way,” Kalaka said. “I called them too when I called everyone else.”

  “Call them back and tell them we have a live one!” Angie snapped.

  Mess’a whimpered, but didn’t make a move to extricate herself from under the sink. Angie was amazed the woman could fit, but then she was a Groshnel and they could very nearly squeeze into an envelope and mail themselves across the galaxy if they wanted to.

  “Mess’a?” Angie asked quietly. “Can you hear me?”

  A slight moan, but no movement.

  Kalaka sniffed.

  “Blood,” Kalaka said.

  “Mess’a? Are you hurt?” Angie asked. “Can you come out of there, please?”

  “Not her blood,” Kalaka said. “S’lunn’s. She’s covered in it. How’d it not get everywhere?”

  “Mess’a, I need you to come out from under there,” Angie insisted. “I don’t want to hurt you pulling you out, but I need you to come out from under the sink.”

  Another moan, but still no movement.

  “Mess’a! Get your ass out from und
er that Eight Million Gods damn—!”

  Angie didn’t see the two tentacles that came shooting out at her. She never felt the cuts or slashes. All she knew was that she was about to reach in and pull out the moaning Groshnel and then she was lying on her back. The pain hit half a second after.

  Movement all about her. Shouting. Screaming. The light above blocked by bodies slamming into each other. More screaming. A hiss and roar of pain. More movement. Then a scream that became a banshee wail followed by three loud plasma blasts and the smell of burning flesh.

  A weight fell across Angie and she cried out as her pain quintupled.

  “Hold on! Hold on!” Kalaka shouted.

  The weight was removed and Angie would have sighed with relief. If she could catch enough breath to sigh.

  “Fuck me, McDade,” Kalaka said, his face appearing in Angie’s line of sight. “Oh, shit, Lieutenant. Hey, McDade? Angie? Can you hear me?”

  “She dead?” Angie gasped.

  “Not quite,” Kalaka said. “It takes a lot to kill a Groshnel. But she’s down. I took her blades from her. They’re out in the hallway out of her reach.”

  “Mess’a?” Angie asked or thought she did. Kalaka didn’t reply.

  The world went dark then came back into focus as Angie felt hands lift her onto a hover stretcher. She managed to turn her head as the stretcher was carried out of the lavatory. In the guest shower was a pile of bloody clothes. Angie caught sight of four Jafla PD officers racing past her to converge on the shower. They grabbed the pile of clothes, which turned out to be a bloody Groshnel, and lifted it up into the air.

  The last thing Angie saw before unconsciousness was Mess’a Tikk’s slack face turning to her, a completely blank look in the woman’s eyes.

  28.

  Kalaka punched the caff machine several times before it finally spit out a cup and began to dribble barely brown liquid from a bent nozzle.