by Neil Hunter
“I’ll give you five seconds to answer a question before I pull this trigger,” Cade said tonelessly. “No one will ask why I shot you. Right now you’re dead—unless I get what I need. Where are the hostages?”
The perp, bleeding heavily, stared up at the Justice cop. He was hurting already, and the SPAS’s hot muzzle didn’t ease his position.
“Look...I quit. Okay? No arguments. I ain’t about to give you mothers the chance to blow me away.”
Cade stared at the guy, unsure how to take his swift capitulation. Drug dealers weren’t renowned for their superior intelligence, but they usually fought to the last man if cornered. Better to go down fighting than risk the chance of a stretch on Mars. Few criminals, however hard they claimed to be, relished the thought of working the penal colony on the red planet.
“You looking to make a deal?” Cade asked. “If I buy, it has to be top quality.”
The perp shook his bloody head. “I just want out of this place.”
“So answer the question. Where are the undercover cops? And the NYPD officer you grabbed?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the perp said, refusing to meet Cade’s eyes.
Cade grabbed his shirtfront, yanked him to his feet and rammed him against the wall.
“If they’re...”he began.
The perp held his hands up in a silent protest.
“T.J.,” Janek called from the head of the stairs. “You’d better see this.”
Cade shoved the captive ahead of him, forcing him up the stairs. On the landing Janek jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating an open door.
“In there.”
Cade crossed to the door and peered inside.
The three Justice cops lay on the floor, bloody and torn, shot to death. None of them had a weapon in his hands. Cade stared for a long time. He knew each man personally, had worked with them all from time to time. They had been experienced, streetwise cops with a lifetime of knowledge shared between them.
“I’d say they were shot without warning,” Janek offered
“‘Executed’ is the word you’re looking for,” Cade said dully.
He moved into the bare, grubby room, vaguely thinking that it was a shitty place for anyone to die. As he moved forward, something crunched under his foot. Glancing down, he brushed the object aside with his foot and continued into the room.
Behind him Janek picked something up from the floor. He examined it carefully before dropping it into his pocket.
“Milt?” Cade asked. “He isn’t here.”
“He’s along the hall,” the captive perp mumbled.
Cade strode down the hall. As he passed the stairs he noticed the NYPD cops coming up. He reached the door of the room and booted it open.
Milt Schuberg, disheveled, with a large bruise on his face, was slumped in a chair. He was bound to the chair with lengths of plastic cord. He raised his head and stared at Cade with an angry scowl.
“So don’t you ever knock?” he asked.
Cade leaned against the doorframe, the SPAS sagging in his hands.
“You seen the mess we got here?”
Schuberg nodded. “ ‘Mess’ is the word, T.J. If the local cops hadn’t come screaming in with sirens blazing, I’d be dead along with those three poor bastards.”
“I got one of the perps alive,” Cade said as he moved to free Schuberg. “At least we can sink him with the responsibility.”
“You got it wrong,” Schuberg said. He shoved up out of the chair. “The creeps here didn’t off your boys. They grabbed me the minute I came in to negotiate. I got the feeling then that they were edgy. Like they were expecting something to happen. So one minute I’m sitting here, and the next thing I know the war’s going on. I didn’t know what the hell was going on until this bastard shows himself and points this handgun at me. Jesus, T.J., it was the biggest fuckin’ thing I ever seen. He just sort of stands there, lookin’ at me. ‘I ain’t get-tin’ paid to ice you,’ he says. ‘My deal was for the three Justice cops and the mothers in this joint. But what the hell...’ Just then the sirens started wailing. Somebody takes a shot at this guy. He fires back, then takes off.”
“Auto Casull,” Janek said from the doorway. He held a misshapen bullet in one hand, along with several shell casings. “Took it out of the wall back there. I’d guess this was the standard .454-caliber load. They do make higher velocity loads for the Casull, but if those had been used we’d need to search the next block for the slugs.”
“I said it was a big gun,” Schuberg said. He glanced at Janek. “Can’t be many guys around using one of those.”
“I’ll run a check,” the cyborg said. “See if I can come up with anything.”
“What about the shooter?” Cade asked. “You ID him?”
“Big sucker,” Schuberg said. “All in black. Hair in a ponytail, pulled back from his face. Leather jacket. Wore aviator glasses. Had a good tan, the kind you have to work on under a lamp. Big hands to match his build. I didn’t know him. He could be an out-of-town hitter.”
Cade returned to the room where the dead Justice cops lay. Uniformed NYPD cops stood in silence around the door.
“I radioed for the ambulance,” Frank told Cade. “Sorry about your guys.”
“Thanks, Frank.”
Cade went downstairs and out onto the street. As he walked across to the cruiser, he spotted Harrigan talking to a plainclothes cop.
“You can go in now, Harrigan,” Cade said. “It’s safe.”
“The hell with you, Cade,” Harrigan stormed.
Janek was locked to the inboard computer. His fingertip sensors connected him with the Justice Department computer. The cyborg glanced up as Cade approached.
“Can we talk, or are you having a micro-orgasm again?” Cade asked.
“Humor at my expense is a wasted effort, Thomas,” Janek said with a smirk. “I refuse to rise to your baiting.”
Cade slumped in the driver’s seat, fishing a cigar from his pocket.
“Not even a small tantrum?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun anymore.”
Cade lit the cigar. He leaned his head against the headrest, staring out at the feverish activity around the tenement building.
Janek broke contact with the computer and glanced at his partner. The cyborg obviously had some interesting information to pass along. Cade could sense the cyborg’s mood as well as any human partner’s. He deliberately ignored Janek, drawing heavily on his cigar.
“You’re having the attitude problem instead, I take it?” Janek asked after a silent period.
“I am? Why? Did you have something to tell me?”
“All right, Thomas, you’re funny. Okay. Ha-ha-ha.”
“So what have you found?”
“While the computer was searching anyone who favors an Auto Casull, I checked to see if there had been any other incidents recently.”
“And?”
“There was a shooting in an apartment on Park Avenue. A single male victim. Shot to death. The officers called in found shell casings on the floor that were identified as .454 Auto Casull. The dead man has been named as Antonio Villas. Cuban born. A known drug dealer belonging to the same organization as the men in the tenement building.”
“When did this happen?” Cade asked as he fired up the cruiser’s turbocharged engine. Janek smiled. “Less than three hours ago.” There was a squeal of tires, and Cade switched on the siren before he cleared the cordon of police vehicles.
Chapter Two
Cade had picked up Park Avenue Elevated-2 after driving across the Harlem River. He pushed the cruiser to the limit, leaving the decaying sprawl of the South Bronx behind, the elevated road taking them high above the city streets. In the deep canyons of New York the population sweltered in the cloying heat while Cade enjoyed the rush of air from the open window. He would have preferred it to have been colder, but he wasn’t going to complain too much. He picked up the police marker beacon hovering ov
er the plaza fronting the apartment tower and swung the cruiser off the highway. The wide plaza, decorated with ebony sculptures, was thronged with NYPD cruisers and the entrance had been closed off with barriers.
“Hey, Zack,” Cade called to one of the uniformed cops. “Let me in.”
The cop waved and activated the barrier. Cade drove onto the plaza and parked.
“We can all go home now, boys.” The cop named Zack grinned as Cade and Janek stepped out of the cruiser. “The city’s finest detective team is here to crack the case.”
“Who’s running this circus?” Cade asked.
“Lieutenant Dixon.”
“He up there?”
Zack nodded.
Cade led the way inside, showing his badge to a uniformed KC-200 android on the foyer door.
In the elevator Cade glanced at his silent partner. “Something on your mind?”
The cyborg shook his head. “Not to do with the case.”
“So you can still tell me.”
“I find this difficult to discuss … ”
“What? You got someone pregnant?”
“Highly amusing,” Janek muttered. He began to study the elevator walls.
“Hey, partner, I’m still here.”
“You’ll laugh,” Janek complained.
“No.”
“I... it’s Abby,” Janek said.
Dr. Abigail Landers was in charge of Cybo Tech’s New York facility. Janek had been visiting her following the discovery that his development had exceeded the expectations built into his electronic brain. Abby Landers, full of curiosity, had agreed to counsel Janek but to keep her findings to herself.
“So?” Cade asked.
“T.J., I’ve started to develop strange feelings where Abby is concerned. I find them hard to control.”
“Hostility? I thought you liked her.”
“I do. And that’s the problem. The feelings are connected to the fact that I like her. It’s odd, T.J. Sometimes those feelings make me happy, but sometimes I feel depressed. And I shouldn’t be experiencing those feelings. I’m a cyborg, not a living being.”
“Hey, you’ll handle it,” Cade said. “Know what you just described?”
“What?”
“Being in love.”
“I was being serious, T.J.”
“And so was I. Just think about it,” Cade said.
The car stopped, and the doors slid open. Cade and Janek stepped into the corridor. The apartment they wanted had a cop on the door. Cade showed his badge, Janek doing the same. They went inside. Although the SOC team had finished its work, the corpse was still in place, covered by a transparent plastic sheet.
A homicide detective was reclining in a body form lounger. He was black and in his thirties, with the kind of looks that would have netted him a fortune in the movies. He looked up when he became aware of Cade and Janek.
“So it’s you two again,” he said by way of greeting. Climbing out of the lounger, he took Cade’s hand. “Been a while, T.J. How you doing?”
“Surviving,” Cade said. “What you got for us?”
“Antonio Villas. One of the Outfit’s top boys,” Dixon said. “Way things have been happening today, I’d say we’ve got ourselves the beginnings of a gang fallout here.”
“You heard about the mess over the Bronx?” Cade asked, gazing around the luxury apartment.
Dixon nodded. “I also heard you pulled Milt Schuberg out of the shit, too.”
“Mind if I talk to the recorder?” Janek asked.
“Go ahead,” Dixon said.
The cyborg crossed the room to where a short, bulky android was questioning the house droid. The android had an NYPD emblem fixed to its upper chest.
“Marshal Janek,” the cyborg said, showing his badge.
The recorder android scanned the badge’s bar code, acknowledging Janek’s identity.
“Can I help?” it asked. Its voice was smooth, bland, with no tonal values.
“Just give me a summation.”
“Victim identified as Antonio Villas. Known member of an illegal organization manufacturing and distributing drugs within the state of New York and having connections with a trafficking network extending across several other states—”
“How did he die?” Janek interrupted.
The recorder android scanned its internal video and tape banks, making quick adjustments.
“Victim died from gunshot wounds to head and body. The majority of shots were unnecessary. The weapon was a Casull .454. Used cartridge casings were found scattered about the floor.”
“You find anything else?”
The android considered the question, rapidly examining the results of its inspection of the room.
“Yes. A number of husks were seen. They were found to be from pistachio nuts. Of a variety found in-”
“That’s all I need,” Janek said. He swung around to face the house droid.
“Did you see the man who shot Villas?”
The droid nodded its silver skull.
“Tell me about him.”
“Tall man. Dressed in black. He had black hair in a ponytail. And he was very tanned.”
“Thanks,” Janek said, and turned away, smiling as he returned slowly to where Cade was inspecting the body.
“Why is he smiling?” Dixon asked.
“Usually means he’s figured out an angle nobody else has picked up on. I call it his smart-ass mood.”
“You feel like telling us?” Dixon asked.
“I’m certain now our assassin is Tate Jessup,” the cyborg stated. “Out-of-state enforcer. Based on the West Coast, but he’ll travel for a contract. Come up with his price, and he’s your friend for life. Always wears black. Hair in a ponytail. Likes to sport an all-year tan. Favored weapon is the Model 4 Casull .454 autopistol. Jessup has a passion for pistachio nuts. Always carries a pack in his pocket. His failing is that he throws the husks around like calling cards. It could be deliberate. He’s never been one for hiding in the shadows.” Janek reached into his pocket and pulled out a few husks. “I picked these up at the tenement building. Near the murdered officers. The recorder here registered some husks on the floor near Villas’s body.”
“This the info you pulled from the computers?” Cade asked.
Janek nodded. “I wanted to see if it tallied with SOC descriptions first.”
“I’ll put a call for Jessup to be pulled in,” Dixon said.
“Might be advisable to wait,” Janek offered.
“Why?”
“Give Jessup enough freedom, and he might lead us to whoever’s hiring him.”
Dixon grinned at Cade. “Too damn smart, T.J. I was happier when all they did was serve drinks and sweep the floor.”
“That’s discrimination,” Janek said huffily.
“You guys need anything else?” Dixon asked.
Cade shook his head. “No. Thanks for hanging on.”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” Dixon said. “Request we try to spot Jessup but leave him alone. We’ll watch his movements and see if he goes home.”
“We owe you,” Cade said. “I want the whole bunch responsible for those cops dying. Jessup was only the trigger. Somebody pointed him in the right direction.”
Minutes later, as they crossed the plaza, Cade tossed the keys to Janek.
“You drive.”
“Where to?”
“Downtown. Bowery Row. I want to pick up some street talk. If there’s a gang fallout going on, someone has to have heard something.”
“Sammy J.?” Janek asked.
“If there’s been a whisper, Sammy will know about it.”
“If he isn’t hitting the juice again,” Janek muttered.
Cade dropped into the passenger seat. “Drunk or sober, Sammy’s the best info peddler we’ve ever had.”
Janek rolled the cruiser onto the down ramp, back to the elevated, picking up the feeder lane for the Lower East Side.
“T.J., one day we’ll go looking for
Sammy and they’ll have him in a specimen jar.”
Pushing the cruiser to a steady sixty, Janek pulled over on the cross-town link. He swung the cruiser onto the access for the lower ramp, easing through the maze of staggered down-lanes until he was back at street level and on the fringe of the Bowery.
Due to the escalating financial problems that had beset New York since the late twentieth century, many derelict areas were still being ignored. For as long as most could recall, the Bowery had been home to down-and-outs, vagrants and winos. It was the place where the desperate and the lost came when they gave up hope. On Bowery Row no one gave a damn who you were or where you came from. Here everyone was equally dispossessed.
Janek rolled the cruiser to a stop at the curb outside an anonymous grubby bar. He parked behind a battered Toyota Aircruiser.
“Count how many wheels we’ve got,” Cade advised as they climbed out.
Janek activated the electro-lock, sealing the doors and the windows.
“I think we’re being watched,” he said.
“I’d be worried if we weren’t,” Cade said, stepping across the filthy sidewalk.
The gloom inside the bar was depressing. The smoky room stank of sweat, vomit and cheap booze. There was also the lingering trace of drugs in the heavy air.
From somewhere a Muzak HoloBox shoved out tired tunes and images from overused tapes. Cade ignored it all as he crossed to the long bar. A slow-moving bar-droid was listlessly wiping the wet bar top with a grubby cloth.
“Get you something” it slurred.
Cade showed his badge. The droid’s worn functions activated dully. It scanned the badge. Somewhere deep in its circuits a memory stirred, and the droid raised its scarred head.
“You want information, Marshal?”
“I sure as hell don’t want a drink,” Cade said. “Fm looking for Sammy J.”
“He was in yesterday,” the droid said, eyes brightening.
“Where does he hang out when he isn’t in here?”
“Try the pool hall three doors down.”
Janek was already striding out. Close behind, Cade heard the cyborg yell in anger. He burst out of the door to see Janek grabbing the arm of a lanky guy. The perp, clad in greasy denims and clutching an iron bar, was standing beside the parked cruiser.
