Raw Justice

by Martyn J. Pass

  Mason gave me a distrustful look and I shook my head, warding off further inquiry.

  “I had a friend,” I said. “Managed 5 before the law came in.”

  Eldritch gave me a long look, must have seen that I wasn't trying to offend him and changed his opinion of me.

  “I was a detective for the program,” he explained. “A damn good one. When the law came in and I was 'expelled' they offered me work at Sargon PD. I act as a freelancer, sometimes solving cold cases when it’s quiet, that sort of thing.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “I miss home,” he said. “I assume your friend does too.”

  “He did. Sadly, he took his own life.”

  Eldritch gave me a slow nod and shook the bottle.

  “I take these four times a day. Sometimes I forget and the images begin to surface again. They blend with the day, like falling asleep but not.”

  “They weren't available to him.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  His order came and he thanked the waitress. Then, sipping at the coffee he examined the cake.

  “Looks nice today,” he said. “Cheryl must be at the oven.”

  He took a bite and chewed on it. Then another, washing it down with more coffee. “Your company has gone, by the way.”

  “You were aware of them?” asked Mason.

  “Yeah. They've been showing up for a couple of days now, ever since I got a break on where they're holding up.”

  “They?”

  “I assume they're here for the same reason you are – to find that missing squad. Argo warned me you were coming, of course. No need for the cloak and dagger stuff now.”

  “How did you get involved?” I asked.

  “They haven't been idle here on Sargon,” he began. “The first time I heard of them was when one of the local crime syndicates began whining to our inside men that a rival faction was stealing their arms business but that they couldn't figure out who they were. Sargon PD handed the case to me and I've been chewing away at it for a while. Then, out of the blue, this Navy Captain contacts me about the reports I've submitted to JAG. You see, I had a gut feeling for a long time that they were former soldiers, the kind that have contacts for moving this sort of gear. So, of course, I start with the Judge Advocates office to find out which of our boys and girls are MIA, which ones have a history, and which have the access. I guess I kicked up some dust.”

  “What did Argo say?”

  “That I was to keep him informed and that these suspects were implicated in other more serious crimes, the kind he couldn't tell me about. I'm not sure how he made the leap, but he seems to think that these are the people he's looking for. Then I got a message last night warning me that you were coming. So, I kept my eye on the ports and saw you dock. Now here we are and already you've picked up a tail. I don't know who this new element could be, but I've no doubt that we'll find out soon, right?”

  Malcolm Eldritch was the kind of man who spoke as if he didn't really care if you were listening or not. He ate his cake, sipped his coffee and told you what you wanted to hear but already his eyes had become glassy and distant, like he was someplace else, which he was. He was home, the place he'd been for 25 years before Earth Government banned the use of all total-immersion systems and thrown 'lifers' out into the big wide world. The fact that he'd lasted this long was a testament to his willpower; he'd been living another life, a better life, for most of his own, one with a wife and children, a career and it would all have been perfect, man-made without suffering and sorrow. Now he'd had the plug pulled – the scarring on the back of his neck a vivid reminder of that, and his world was now bleak and wet and painful. The pills would keep his fractured mind together like superglue but for some, living this life was no life at all and they made other arrangements.

  “How far did you get with your investigation?” I asked.

  “Not very,” he replied. “I have a few leads, some better than others. I was hoping that you'd be able to help.”

  “In what way?”

  “I'm restricted by Sargon laws, even as a freelancer. Maybe if I were to give you the directions you'd be able to... achieve your objectives yourself.”

  “In return for some cooperation?” I asked. He shook his head.

  “I don't give a shit either way. It closes a case, that's all. Argo said you had a keen interest in finding this rogue element, right?”

  “It's a long story.”

  “They always are. They're always about people over missions, personal sacrifices over the bigger picture. Let me guess – a friend of yours needs your help, right?” I nodded. “Nothing new.”

  “No I guess it's not,” I said. “Does that make it less important?” Eldritch shrugged.

  “What does any of it matter?” he said. “Do you want me to help you for some kind of moral reason?”

  “I never asked for your help.”

  “Argo did.”

  “I don't work for Argo.”

  “Are you sure?” He grinned and that lopsided smile faintly reminded me of the Captain. Were all scars basically the same? Did they inflict the same kinds of damage that Eldritch and Argo suffered from? A cold, heartless view on living?

  “No,” I replied. “But I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. You had a good life, I can see that. Things in a total-immersion environment were what you craved and you got it, every credit you paid for. For 25 years you lived a life the rest of us only dream about and when your time was up you found yourself facing reality and it sucked. I don't blame you for being bitter.”

  “Yeah, I'm bitter.”

  “But here we are. Right now. Here. This guy-” I pointed to Mason. “His chest was caved in and now it's made of metal. Me? I have an artificial spine because I was betrayed by a co-worker. We aren't married. We have no kids. We've got this and this is all we have. A friend is in trouble. We want to help her.

  “Her?”

  “Angel. She's locked up facing charges of treason and only this team has the answers we need. Now I tell you this-” Here I leaned forward, putting my face in his as I'd done for my friend so many years ago before he blew his own brains out. “You have a chance to help her. You can take it or you can walk away. It doesn't bother me which because either way I'm going to find these guys and drag them back to Earth Gov. It'll be easier if someone who knows what he's doing helps me.”

  Eldritch grinned. I knew it was a grin because even the dead parts of his face managed to crease along with the others. I saw his pain, there was no doubt about that, but as a wise man had once said, be careful with others – they're fighting a harder battle than you.

  “Okay,” he said. “I believe you.”

  “Believe me?”

  “Yeah. Most people say they knew a lifer once. I actually believe you did.”

  13

  Eldritch didn't waste time. We left the cafe and saw that our tails had gone – for now. He hailed a cab and, thanks to Thor's reduced size, we were all able to get in although the vehicle did sink considerably. According to the Freelancer's instruction, we were heading to Fall Street.

  “Are you carrying?” he asked as the taxi lurched into the air.

  “Yeah,” said Mason.

  “They don't let me own a gun,” he said. “Don't let the PD catch you with it. Sargon Police are a little nervous around firearms and if they think you have one they'll call in the Shock Squad.”

  “The what?” I asked.

  “Security bots. Very fast, very deadly. They'll drill you full of holes without a word. They'll even clean up the mess you leave too.”

  “Why the aggression?”

  “Sargon has a long history of wanting to break from Earth Government and go it alone. Every so often we get a run of terrorism and the PD, not the Military, have to take the brunt of it. Last year 26 cops were murdered by Sicos.”

  “Who?”

  “Sargon Independence Cadre. Not very origi
nal but effective at ruining the day for millions of people just trying to scratch out a living. They're our mutual interest's primary customers, or so I'm led to believe.”

  “Have they been here long?” asked Mason.

  “I haven't been able to figure that out. Gun running has always been a problem here; Sargon is the home of Python Munitions and they have many warehouses beyond the city limits. It's not uncommon for them to get hit and report a lot of missing stock to the PD who promptly go about doing nothing.”

  “I get the impression you aren't a huge fan of local law enforcement.”

  “I'm not. They're a bunch of lazy ass-holes who like nothing better than to catch traffic offenders but show up late to break-ins and murders. A couple of guys got a visit from the Shock Squad because they were caught carrying gym bags into an all-hours gym. I mean, it might have taken most of the Investigation Squad days to work out what they were doing there I guess. Two guys. Big bags. A gym. The clues were there, I guess the answer just eluded them.”

  The taxi cruised along the lanes, its windows drenched in rainfall but the wipers cleared them long enough for me to see the city. It glistened in the darkness, neon lights twinkling in the wet making the streets below appear liquid, flowing like a stream but one that ran in many directions, this way and that. There was a beauty to it that overlooked the constant downpour and made it neo-noir like it had fallen straight out of a movie.

  The cab descended to a stop on Fall Street and Eldritch was the first to get out. The rain hammered down on us as I pulled up my hood, my hair soaked already.

  “This way,” he said and we followed him down the empty street lined with imitation silver birch trees set in the stonework of the pavement. The buildings on either side loomed tall over us. They looked like apartment blocks. A few lights shone in the windows. Most were in darkness.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To the first breadcrumb,” he replied. “Over there is an apartment rented under the alias of Fred Bolg. We're going to check it out.”

  “You haven't done that yet?” said Mason.

  “No. Remember – this was a dull case until Argo called me. I had this place in the file, but I hadn't had any reason to follow it until now. Things are going to have to move faster than a normal investigation would allow, especially given the appearance of those two outside the cafe.”

  “Because someone else is on the trail too?” I asked. Eldritch nodded.

  “I doubt they have the contacts to alert them to Argo's snooping so that means someone else has warned them about other parties on the hunt.”

  We crossed the street as he did, noting that there was hardly a sound beyond the hum of speeders far overhead. I made sure my coat was unfastened and that the pistol was loose in the holster.

  “Our friend was their pilot.”

  “And she's been arrested because of what they've been up to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe someone is looking to tie up loose ends?”

  “That would be my first assumption,” said Mason.

  “Mine too.”

  Outside of a brown stone building perhaps 20 stories high, Eldritch stopped and mounted the concrete steps leading up to the door. He peered at the windows, maybe halfway up.

  “Floor 9, apartment 12. Fred Bolg is a made-up name, he doesn't exist but the rent payments tie it to a company that sells underfloor heating to factories. Specifically munitions factories.”

  “Seems a bit of a slip up on their part,” I said.

  “People are lazy. They don't expect anyone to dig beyond a surface investigation and so they cut corners. What's a bank account for an apartment rent to someone investigating massive arms dealing?”

  “I guess I expected more from them.”

  “It's like any profession – there are good ones and there are bad ones. If we're lucky then they'll be bad at what they do.”

  He opened the front door with a shove and we were soon inside, dripping onto the hardwood floor where the water ran into another gutter. Thor remained standing there in his trench coat and hat, not saying much.

  “You okay to guard the door while we check it out?” I asked him.

  “Of course, sir,” he replied. I looked at him.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, sir. Well sir, maybe not, sir.” He leaned forward to speak lower. “I'm thinkin' about me little Jimmy, sir.”

  “He's safe with Jo and Baz,” I said. “You need to focus on what we're doing here, buddy. This is important too – Angel needs you.”

  “Aye sir,” he said. “It's just a little distractin' sir, that's all.”

  “I understand. Hold the door – don't let anyone in, okay?”

  “Gotcha, sir.”

  I turned back to Eldritch who was staring at the bot with a puzzled look on his face. Moisture glistened on his pale skin. He looked deathly in the dim light.

  “I'll let one of you go first,” he said. “You look like you know what you're doing.”

  Mason and I drew our weapons and primed them, flicking on the flashlights mounted under the barrels. The hallway was in complete darkness with only the lamplight spilling in through a window in the front door. We shook off the long coats and hung them up on pegs fixed to the wall above another drainage gutter. Then we moved, taking slow steps along the hall, Mason opposite me with Eldritch behind.

  We cleared the corner and saw the elevator up ahead. A stairwell was on the right and another to the left. We took the right hand one, sweeping the way above us with the plasma pistols using familiar drills. It took longer than our nerves wanted but that kind of work required stealth. Step, stop, listen, step again. Sweep, step, stop listen.

  We reached the ninth floor and Mason pushed open the double glass doors while I dashed under his elbow, weapon raised. Nothing. The lights were faulty, and they flickered along the entire length of the hall, making my eyes struggle to keep focused. The place stunk of damp and the walls were a mottled yellow, faded and black in places where moisture was seeping in.

  Eldritch silently pointed ahead and we moved, keeping one eye behind us as we went. There was no sound at all from any of the other rooms, no music, no loud obnoxious game shows, nothing. It was both deeply unusual and very disturbing.

  Room 12 was on our left. We approached and Mason continued to the very end of the hall, clearing it before coming back. Then we stood on either side and looked at Eldritch who produced a codebreaker unit. He went to work on the lock, mashing the buttons with efficient skill. There was a click and the door opened.

  He stepped aside and I looked at Mason, counting silently. On three we went in, me left, him right. The first thing that hit us was the smell – all too familiar. The next was the sudden noise that made my guts knot up and my heart thump itself out through my chest.

  “AND ALL THE WAY FROM SARGON 8 IS MISS AMBER JETSON!!”

  The viewscreen on the wall jolted into life the moment we entered, triggering an automatic activation routine no doubt set by the occupant. The lights came on and a coffee machine fired up. We both dropped to below window height and hugged the wall, facing back with our weapons aimed at the door. Eldritch was already working the panel, turning everything off.

  “This is why I hate sneaking around,” snarled Mason. “The world will know we're here now.”

  We waited. If something was going to happen it would happen immediately. Eldritch dropped behind the kitchen counter and waited too. I had to give him credit – he was savvy enough to follow our lead at every turn. I wouldn't have been happy in his shoes, unarmed, relying on two strangers to protect me.

  My legs began to stiffen in the crouch and I shifted weight, never taking my eyes off the door. Silence followed. No hurried footsteps up the stairs, nothing.

  “Anything at your end, Thor?” I asked. The comms unit crackled as the bot replied.

  “Nothin' sir though I did just hear that racket meself.”

  We stood up and I let out a sigh
. “Mason - watch the door while we check the rooms and find the corpse.”

  The smell was terrific, tearing away at the inside of my nose like sandpaper. Eldritch had opened the coffee machine and was holding up the filter; it was packed with mold. He shrugged and began opening the cupboards and drawers in sequence, disturbing nothing but cataloguing everything with his comms unit which snapped pictures of whatever he looked at.

  Pistol raised; I went from room to room. The apartment was old and if it hadn't been for the overpowering scent of death, I knew that it would have reeked of poverty instead. The rooms were barely furnished and what little there was looked cheap and battered and faded with age. The bedroom smelled of sweat and urine and the sheets, yellowed in places, looked like they hadn't been changed for a long time. Dirty clothes were strewn all over the floor and half-eaten takeaway cartons were on every surface. There was an en-suite bathroom which I peered into, finding more than I wanted to see. Narc injectors, empty foil packets, and a sex aid.

  I continued looking around the apartment until I found what I guessed was once Fred Bolg in the bathtub off the hallway with both arms opened at the wrists. He was bloated into a purple-blue sack of necrotic flesh, his features barely discernible.

  “We're clear here, Mason,” I said. “We've got one in the tub. Apparent suicide.”

  “Don't touch anything,” called Eldritch. “I'll get to it in a minute or two.”

  He worked the apartment with amazing speed, leaving nothing unopened or overturned. The interesting part was how he was able to return everything to exactly where it had been; he made it look like he hadn't even been there.

  He wasn't bothered by the sight of the corpse. When he got to the bathroom I followed him inside and he stood for a moment looking down.

  “We won't know who it is without a lab report,” he said. “I've found no ID, no paperwork, nothing so far to say this man even existed.”

  “Suicide?” I asked.

  Eldritch crouched and peered at the cadaver. It took him several long minutes of staring to reach his conclusion.

  “I can't be 100% sure, but I think it's murder,” he said. Then he pointed to the wounds. “The person who lives here is left-handed. Things about the apartment have been left on the opposite side to where right-handed people would leave them – coffee cups, control units, that sort of thing. And if you look,” He lifted the right arm into the air causing flakes of dried blood to fall off. “There's a tan line around the spot his comms unit would be.”