Something malicious.
The closet opened without a sound, revealing toys, clothes, and coats.
“Do you feel it?” asked Evan.
She nodded. “Yeah. Did you mess with any others aside from Abernathy?”
“The guy in the bathroom who tried to hit me.” Evan hurried over to his wardrobe and changed into pajamas.
“That ghost won’t be attacking anyone again.” Kirsten glared around at the room.
He walked up to her. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”
It’s a bit early for me to crash… what the hell; I could use some extra sleep. “Okay.” Is it tied to this room, or will it try something if he’s not alone?
She backed out, killed the lights, and sent him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Worry that the creepy abyssal he’d driven into a church on the hood of the patrol craft might have come back got her to bite her lip. No… that bitch is beyond dead. Who would want to hurt him? This only started after we moved here… it’s got to be a former resident being territorial. She scowled. That I can deal with.
Evan raced out of the bathroom, shot past her, and dove onto the queen-sized Comforgel pad in her room. She smiled at him and headed for the attached bathroom. After brushing her teeth and emptying her bladder, she climbed in, unable to remember the last time she’d gone to bed at ten p.m.
espite going to sleep early, Kirsten struggled to wake up at the alarm. Evan jumped on top of her, straddling her stomach while shaking her by the shoulders. She groaned, grabbed him by the wrists, and pulled him down to the left while rolling onto her side. Nose to nose, they stared at each other for a few seconds before the laughing started.
“Get ready for school.”
“You’re gonna be late.”
She yawned, rolled onto her back, and stretched. Evan darted off to his room. The effect of extra sleep kicked in, and she shrugged off the fog far faster than she usually did. A quick shower later, she got into her uniform and ran out the door with Evan in tow.
He looked up at her in the hallway. “We forgot breakfast.”
“No time. I’m gonna order it on the way.”
“Cool!”
“What do you want?”
“Where are you ordering from?” He raced her to the elevator.
“A place I used to get food from every day before I started burning my own. It’s good.”
“What’cha gettin’?”
“Omelet sandwich with jalapeños.”
“Can I have that too?”
“It’s hot. Spicy.”
He shrugged. “I wanna try it.”
“You can try a bit of mine first, and next time―”
“Aww. I can handle it.”
She put in an order from the patrol craft, timing it so she parked in front of the little deli with about a minute to spare. Evan waited in the car while she ran in and picked up two white cartons, one large mocha coffee, and an orange juice.
After pulling airborne again, she set the patrol craft to auto drive and opened her food.
“You got him one of those abominations?” asked Dorian from the back seat.
“They’re good!” Kirsten picked half her sandwich up. “Ugh, I hate it when they cut it in half. The owner leaves it whole.”
“He’s going to scream.” Dorian smiled.
Evan opened the carton and took a hesitant sniff. “Wow. It’s as big as my head.” He got his fingers around a half, and took a bite. Within seconds, the look on his face sounded the alarm, but he soldiered on.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it.” She took a huge bite of hers. “I can order you something else and give that one to Nicole.”
He gasped for air. “It’s okay. My mouth burns a little, but I’m not gonna scream.”
Dorian laughed. “Takes a while to get used to spicy.”
“I’m gonna eat it.” Evan sucked in air and fanned his tongue.
By the time the Police Administrative Center came into view up ahead, Kirsten’s sandwich was a distant, fond memory, and Evan had finished one half. His face remained pink, and he shifted an ice cube from his juice back and forth in his mouth. Kirsten reverted to manual flight control and brought the patrol craft down on the roof in the ‘temporary’ parking area.
“Going back out?” asked Dorian.
“Yep. Today I’m going to grill Lamb over liver.”
Dorian winced. “You’re having too much fun with that.”
“You’re gonna try to make lamb?” Evan’s eyebrows went up.
“Oh hush.” She poked him in the side.
Kirsten walked Evan to the school and returned to the car. Dorian had migrated to his usual spot in the passenger seat, and pored over three holo-panels scrolling with mugshots.
“What’s that?” She pulled the door down and closed.
“I’m looking over Division 1 records of known black market organ dealers, as well as their associates… the ones who do the actual collecting. Trying to see if there’s any electronic traces linking Lamb to the illicit trade of body parts.” Dorian glanced at her. “And if you make another bad food joke, I’m going to cite you for assault on the English language.”
“You started it.” She laughed. “That poor guy. Must’ve been rough going through school with that name.”
“No worse than being the one kid in Cairo who had a European father.” Dorian chuckled. “Of course, I was like six when they moved here.”
“Oh, Dorian… are you sure you don’t want me to help you talk to your family?”
His expression darkened. “I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”
“It might be easier on them if they know you’re not ‘gone.’”
“Trust me. You don’t want my mother having your PID. You think the ‘mini rings constantly now…”
Kirsten laughed.
At 10:42 a.m., Kirsten landed at the Ancora Medical Pavilion. Six minutes later, she walked up to the same care station and smiled at the artificial nurse.
“Excuse me. I need to see Robert Lamb.”
The doll looked up at her, whirring audible from the neck joint. Emerald light surrounding the irises pulsated in an illusion of rotating motion. “Good morning, Agent. One moment.” She/it remained eerily motionless for three seconds before the head tilted to the left. “I am sorry, Agent. Patient Lamb, Robert M., checked out at 9:23 this morning.”
Kirsten’s body shivered with the effort it took not to scream an impolite word. Aside from some color showing up in her cheeks, she concealed any outward reaction. “Thank you.”
“Think he’s running?” asked Dorian.
“For his sake, I hope not.” She held her left forearm up. Sensing her right hand approaching, it projected a holo-panel screen, rendered in lime green and black. She tapped the icon for ‘police utilities.’
National Registry.
A text box popped open: Notice: Use of police access to the National Registry is limited to official investigations and―
Swipe.
NetMini registration database.
Swipe.
A virtual keyboard scrolled open left to right. She entered his name and age. After a brief search, she found the Robert Lamb she wanted and poked the entry showing his PID. Her touch initiated an outbound vid call at the same time running a location trace. A blue shield icon at the top right offered a shortcut to a pickup warrant that would send a notification to any Division 1 unit within ten miles of his NetMini signal.
“Hello?” The holographic face looked like death in a red bathrobe, a far cry from the neat and tidy manager.
“Mr. Lamb. This is Agent Wren from Division Zero. I’m at the Ancora building looking for you.”
“Oh. Sorry. Insurance guy said I was in good enough shape to go home. Ancora’s not cheap you know. If it was some other place, they probably would’ve let me spend a day or two. I can’t swing it out of pocket.”
“Ugh.” She sighed, her anger fading as fast as it had appeared. “I need to talk
to you.”
“I got the day off at least. You’re welcome to stop by.” He rubbed his face. “If it takes me a bit to get to the door, I might be asleep. These pain meds are a bit more potent than I’m used to.”
“All right. Thank you, Mr. Lamb. I’ll be there soon.” She hung up.
“Gotta love insurance.” Dorian shook his head. “At least he’s not running. Maybe he doesn’t know you know about his discount body part?”
“Or doesn’t care. It’s not like they’d confiscate it… and I have no evidence proving a man was murdered to steal his liver… or that a man was murdered at all.”
Dorian opened his mouth.
“Proof. I’m sure someone was killed. I can’t prove it.”
Dorian smiled. “Always in the details.”
Robert Lamb resided on the ninety-fourth floor of a silver-and-black apartment tower in a glimmering, ritzy district full of micro parks and potted trees where the average resident occupied a niche between comfortable and wealthy. She didn’t envy them, at least not if they all worked themselves to death like Lamb had to do. A routine check of his finances, which seemed like a good idea while investigating potential illegal trade in organs, showed him claiming 2.1 million credits per year. Her salary, barely a quarter of that, made her feel a twinge of jealousy until she remembered the way he stared at the liquor, and how late he worked.
Yeah. I’d rather jump off buildings and get shot at.
Then again, starting Division 1 patrol officers made about 200k a year. Much to her surprise, she did find a transaction that looked promising. He’d withdrawn Ͼ76,000 to a credstick nine weeks ago, the only time he’d transferred money to the less-traceable medium in the past eighteen years. It didn’t prove anything, but it would back up firmer evidence if it came down to it.
She circled the towers of Lamb’s apartment complex, a pair of hundred and nine story obelisks flanking a square central building less than half as tall. Within seconds of her getting out of the car, a twelve-inch orb bot with the voice of a posh English butler zipped up into her face.
“Excuse me, Ma’am. Olympian Suites is valet parking only. I also do not detect a resident’s transponder in your vehicle. I am going to have to ask you to move. As a courtesy, we will allot you fifteen seconds before assessing a convenience fee of two-thousand credits.”
“Dorian, do stunrods work on bots, or should I just shoot this one?”
The hover-bot wobbled. “What? How dare you threaten―”
He glared at it, and the orb fell straight down with a clank, dark and motionless. Tiny wisps of electricity crawled in a serpentine path across the roof to his shoes.
“Thanks.” She sent off an email to Admin, requesting they ‘fine the piss’ out of the management company of this apartment for failing to install the proper equipment to detect and respond to official vehicles.
A pyramid of amber-hued glass stood at the center of the square roof, holding a café as well as elevators. Each of the towers had separate entrances as well. Since Lamb’s apartment was in the south tower, she headed for it.
Two men in navy-blue jumpsuits bearing the markings of ‘Peerless Security Services’ rushed out of the door and got in her way.
She glared at the one on the left for two seconds before aiming her contempt at the other. “Stand aside. I’m not in the mood right now, and I’d have no trouble arresting you both for impeding an investigation.”
“I’m sorry, missy. We have to detain you for destroying property.”
“Missy?” She gasped. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
The other man grinned. “She’s in character. I love cop stripp―”
“Shut up.” Kirsten’s eyes flared with a momentary glow.
Dorian looked off in a random direction, muttering. “Oh, damn.”
The security guard stared at her, his eyes as well as the tendons in the sides of his neck bulged.
She locked eyes with the other man. “Comm. Eze.”
“Good morning, Kirsten,” said Captain Eze in her earbud, three seconds later.
“Did you see the request I submitted regarding Olympian Suite’s failure to maintain proper transponder recognition for official National Police Force vehicles? I just met a pair of genetic throwbacks who seem to think I’m a stripper. Obviously, adult entertainers in this part of the city routinely carry live laser weaponry. Can you send over a Div 2 team to deep dive the financial records of this place to make sure everything is in order? I’d also like your opinion on charging these two with impeding an investigation, plus anything Div 1 can rubber glove out of their records for the past, oh fifteen years?”
Dorian whistled, and grinned. “Division 0―the smiling face of psionics for the new century.”
The guard not paralyzed by a suggestion glanced at his partner. “Sorry. Is that necessary? If we get arrested, we’ll get fired. You, uhh, did blow up one of the orbs.”
“Maybe you two can get work as strippers.” She folded her arms. “Don’t bother talking. Every time you open your mouth, you lose ten points of IQ. It’s not destroyed; it’s powered down.”
Captain Eze’s voice chuckled in her ear. “I hope you’ve scared them. The forensic accounting is an overreach. If you feel they’ve impeded your investigation, go ahead and call for Div 1 to pick them up.”
“You’re not that person, K.” Dorian patted her on the shoulder. “You’re the good cop remember? Let me be bad cop.”
His body shimmered translucent. “Division 0. Stand clear.”
The guards ran in opposite directions to the sides, one screaming, one attempting to scream with a clenched jaw.
Kirsten attempted a meditative breath. “I am really getting sick of people not recognizing the uniform.”
“I’m sure they did. They were probably trying to be cute and make a pass.”
“Do you think I should complain to their boss, or would that make me self-absorbed?”
Dorian shrugged. “Either that or kick their asses. But you’re not that kind of cop.”
She grumbled. “Lamb’s waiting.”
“Don’t want it to get cold?”
“Go to hell.” She sighed into a laugh.
Robert Lamb’s door slid open four minutes after she’d hit the page button for the fifth time. The towering figure leaning there looked somewhere between hung over and raised from the dead. Pale, unshaven, disheveled, in a too-tight white tee shirt that exposed his belly and oversized plaid boxers.
“Come in. Sorry if I’m not prettied up right now.” He ambled inside, leaving Kirsten to close the door after entering.
Aside from the empty cartons of a recently-ordered breakfast, the expansive apartment looked immaculate. A square coffee table of smoky onyx glass capped at the corners by white plastisteel boxes hovered in the center of a C-shaped black sectional large enough for twelve people. She approached, wondering why anyone would want a table constantly emitting hover-bot thrum. The theme ran throughout the dining room and an interior hallway; anything not black or dark grey consisted of metallic silver. He eased himself down on the sofa, letting off a heavy grunt as his weight settled into the cushions.
She sat at the tip of the C nearest the door. “How are you feeling?”
“I’d feel a lot better if Sudha would leave me the hell alone for more than twenty damn minutes.” He cringed and pressed on his side. “Better than the other night, that’s for damn sure.”
Kirsten leaned forward, forearms across her knees, fingers laced. “I’m not big on going in circles, Mr. Lamb. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s happened to you, and you’re not going to like it. But, I need you to be honest with me if we’re going to get anywhere.”
He fidgeted at the bottom of his shirt, trying to cover his navel.
“I know you purchased a replacement liver from an illegal source. I’m convinced the person who was murdered to obtain that liver wants it back.”
“Back?” asked Dorian.
“Back wit
h his remains.” Kirsten tapped at her armguard and projected an image of the squeezed liver. “Those are finger indentations, Mr. Lamb. A spirit stuck his hands inside you and tried to crush it.”
Dorian slapped his leg. “That makes perfect sense. The ghost isn’t that old, but because the liver is his, he can somehow interact with it more easily than other solid matter.”
She glanced at Dorian.
“I-Is he here now?” Lamb broke out in a sweat.
“No, but there is a ghost in the room with us. He’s not a threat. Can you explain to me why a man in your position has to resort to a street doc for spare parts? That’s usually the domain of cybergang punks, corporate mercenaries, or Syndicate operating outside legal channels.”
Lamb coughed into his hand. “Fucking insurance.” He grumbled. “I’ve worked for NewsNet for twenty-one years… you’d think all that time paying into their system they’d cover me for a regen… oh but that’s how the whole insurance scam works.” A grunt slipped out as he leaned forward to point at her. “All they really want is free money. The minute someone needs them, they look for every damn excuse they can think of to deny you.”
“Your employment record looked more or less spotless. What reason could they possibly have had to refuse?”
“Aside from the couple million credits regenerating an organ costs?” Dorian wandered off, looking around the apartment. “If they can get a lawyer to agree to it, they can make up any reason they want.”
“They said it was a self-inflicted preventable injury.” Lamb’s fists shook; his face reddened for a second before he went paler than before. “I was, uhh, fond of the whiskey. Had maybe a bit too much. According to the Pantheon rep, they’re not liable to pay out when a person injures themselves. They determined that my liver disease was ‘self-inflicted injury’ and refused to cover it.”
“That’s…” Kirsten blinked.
Guardian Page 27
