by Neil Hunter
“... and I suppose the bar’s something you pick your teeth with?” Janek was saying to the unshaven perp.
“How the hell am I supposed to know you’re cops?” the perp replied defiantly. He glanced over his shoulder at Cade. “Jesus!” he snarled. “You pricks always travel in pairs?”
“Easier to take you out,” Cade said. “He holds you—I beat your brains out. In your case that could take a long time.”
“Look what he did,” Janek said, pointing to a scratch on the door near the lock.
“I was checking out how tough the paint job is,” the perp said.
Janek plucked the bar from the perp’s hand. “I suggest you beat it, Jack. Far and fast.”
“Yeah? Hey, this ain’t your turf, cop.”
Janek smiled pleasantly. “True. But this could be your neck.” As he spoke the cybo effortlessly bent the iron bar into a horseshoe shape.
The perp’s face crumpled. He stared at Janek, realizing what he was facing, and decided he was on a losing streak. “Okay, okay, I got the message.”
Janek let go, and the perp stepped back, both hands raised in defeat. Then he turned and ran.
“I’m ashamed of you,” Cade said. “Threatening a citizen with physical violence.”
Janek examined the twisted bar before throwing it aside. “Worked, though, didn’t it?”
They moved along the sidewalk, stepping over the sprawled drunks and sleeping derelicts. The heat at street level was intense, shimmering off the sidewalk. It closed in tightly, filled with decaying odors.
“Does this place really smell as bad as I think it does?” Janek asked.
“Worse.”
Cade shoved open the door to the pool hall. The interior, wreathed in smoke, was just as gloomy as the bar, and the air stank of unwashed bodies.
“There’s Sammy,” Janek whispered to Cade.
Following his partner’s gaze, Cade picked out the man’s hunched figure as he made a lazy shot across the scarred surface of a pool table. He watched the ball roll as if it was the most important thing in his life. He was alone at the table.
Sammy J. was a lean, washed-out figure in shabby, mismatched clothing. His age was indeterminate—he might have been thirty, or fifty, or somewhere in between. When he straightened up from the table, the yellow light catching his face, his loose flesh appeared to be carved out of old, cracked leather. His eyes told it all. They had once been clear and blue, but now, set deep in their sockets, they told his story better than a thousand words. All the misery and deprivation he’d suffered was mirrored in them.
“Sammy,” Cade said as he reached the table.
Sammy J. turned to the Justice cop, his watery eyes trying to focus. He rubbed them with the back of a trembling, wrinkled hand.
“You tryin’ to ruin a guy’s reputation comin’ in here?” he asked. His voice was dry and raspy, but there was a trace of the old humor there.
“Yours or ours?” Janek asked.
Sammy waved a loose hand at the cyborg. “Still runnin’ around with the metal man, T.J.? What’s wrong—can’t you off-load him?”
“He’s got too much on me, Sammy. Trouble with cybos is they never forget a damn thing.”
Sammy chuckled dryly. “You want to take a walk with me, guys?” he asked.
They made their way outside, and Sammy led them into the alley beside the pool hall.
“So you got business for me?” Sammy asked. He fumbled in his pockets for a squashed pack of cigarettes, lighting one with shaky hands.
“I only deal with the best.”
“I only give the best. So what do you need?”
“Antonio Villas got himself iced earlier today,” Cade said. “And there was a raid on one of the Outfit’s distribution houses over in the Bronx. Three Justice cops bought it in the raid. It was all the work of one guy. An enforcer named Tate Jessup.”
“I heard the name. Works out of L.A. Nasty bastard.”
“We figure there’s a fallout going down inside the Outfit. Maybe somebody trying to take over. I need some info on it, Sammy. You heard anything?”
“I did pick up a scrap about Jessup being contracted. But the scam was thin.”
“You can do better than that, Sammy,” Janek said evenly.
“If the game’s on the streets, I might be able to pick something up now. Give me an hour, and I’ll have something for you.” Sammy glanced at the tall Justice cop. “My word, T.J.”
“Good enough, Sammy.”
“Meet me here. One hour.”
Sammy scuttled off, his agility belying his gaunt appearance.
“So what do we do? Spend an hour taking in the sights of the Bowery?” Janek asked scathingly. “My education isn’t lacking so much that I need this.”
“We’ll take a drive. I need to talk to Milt.”
“How you feeling?” Cade asked.
Milt Schuberg’s image wavered on the screen of the vid-phone. It was a bad connection. Maybe the heat had something to do with it, Cade thought.
‘Tine, T.J.,” Schuberg insisted. “Hey, you pick anything up?”
“Not yet. Did Dixon fill you in?”
“Yeah. We’ve got Jessup’s rap sheet going through all the city agencies. The word is to maintain sight only. Trouble is we might get some trigger-happy rookie out to make his bones.”
“Get his bones broken if Jessup makes him,” Janek muttered. He was standing to one side of the vid-phone, but his words reached Schuberg.
“Listen, Marshal Janek, I’ll back any of my boys against those KC-200 metal men any day.”
“Hah!” Janek scoffed. “But are you ready to put money where your mouth is?”
“Will you two quit this?” Cade complained. “I’d start worrying if I didn’t know you liked each other.”
“T.J., we’ve been checking up on Villas’s three partners. You know what? The whole damn bunch has vanished. Crawled undo: their rocks and dug in. Even the dealers have gone to ground. The independents think it’s Christmas. And we’ve been getting reports on a rash of homicides. First IDs have come up with a few names having dealt with the Outfit.”
“This whole damn deal smells,” Cade said. “Gives me an itch, Milt, and I can’t find the right spot to scratch.”
“Hey, give it time. It’s early in the first quarter.”
“Yeah, but you know me. I hate standing around waiting for the action to happen.”
“If there’s anything to find, Sammy J. will dig it up,” Schuberg said.
“I’ll call soon as I get anything,” Cade said.
“Before you hang up, T.J., I got a message for you. From Frank Cipio.”
Frank Cipio was the uniformed cop Cade had spoken to at the tenement building. Cade watched the vid-screen fuzz, then clear as Cipio’s taped message was played through.
“Just a word, T.J.,” Cipio said. The cop looked nervous. “Shit, T. J., I can only do this the way I know. I got a funny feeling about Harrigan. You know I never trusted him. After you took off for that other squeal and the word came over the wire that Antonio Villas had bought it, Harrigan got kind of upset. I guess I was the only one watching him. Anyhow, he scooted off along the street, heading for a pay phone like his pants were on fire. He made a call. Looked like he was upset with someone. Soon as he finished his call, he got in his car and rolled out. Maybe Fm getting paranoid, but the way he acted... well, it looked weird to me. That’s it, pal.”
Schuberg’s face reappeared as the recording ran out. He stared at Cade. “What was that? Cipio’s tape was for your eyes only, with an inbuilt wipe once you viewed it. You going to give?”
“Have to check something out first, then I’ll let you know,” Cade said.
He hung up, turning to survey the near-deserted liner. The place glittered with plastic and chrome.
Little had been done to alter the traditional decor of the uniquely American phenomenon, and even now, well into the twenty-first century, the diner didn’t look out of place. The on
ly distinct difference was the counterman. Clad in spotless whites, cap perched on the side of its gleaming skull, the droid exuded homely warmth and an eagerness to please.
“Give me another coffee,” Cade said. “And a piece of that pie.”
“Coming right up, sir,” the droid warbled.
Janek visibly cringed. “I hate it when they do that.”
“Cut it out, Janek. You know it’s only working to its program. It’s happy.” Cade slid into the booth, watching Janek across the table. “All you do is gripe about everything.”
“I have cause,” the cybo pointed out. “How often do you think he gets shot at? Blown up? Raced around town in a car driven by a maniac?”
“When did that happen?”
“The last time you took the damn wheel.”
The droid appeared with Cade’s order. It placed the items on the table with smooth precision.
“You got the bill?” Cade asked.
The droid produced the bill. Cade paid, and the droid beamed at him. “Enjoy your meal, sir.”
“Choke on your pie, sir,” Janek muttered in perfect mimicry of the droid’s voice.
“What does the gorgeous Dr. Abby Landers have to say about your moods?” Cade asked. “Doesn’t it sort of take the edge off your cozy dates?”
“That isn’t funny, Thomas,” Janek snapped icily. “Deprecating humor is in extremely poor taste.”
Cade grinned. “That’s why I like it.”
“Time we headed back for our meeting with Sammy,” Janek said tersely.
Cade finished his pie and coffee, noting with concealed humor that Janek was allowing his impatience to show. The cyborg sat drumming the table with his fingers. That, Cade thought, was another one for Landers’s file: a cyborg showing signs of stress.
“Let’s go,” Cade said suddenly. “Or are you staying here all day?”
The cruiser rolled through the traffic, with Cade changing lanes when the mood suited him. When the snarl of vehicles became too intense, he hit the siren and cleared a way through, ignoring the clenched fists and insults.
“That was good for public relations,” Janek observed dryly.
Cade cut down a side street, swinging back onto the main drag and veering wildly around the rear of a massive city utilities vehicle. Water was gushing up from a fractured pipe just ahead. A team of droids, supervised by a human, was tackling the break.
“Goddamn city is coming apart at the seams,” Cade grumbled as he powered away. His mood wasn’t improved by the water that had sprayed into the cruiser through the jammed window.
He reached the pool hall with a minute to spare, parking just short of the alley.
“You stay with the car,” Cade said. “Watch my back.”
Janek nodded, reaching down to unlimber the loaded SPAS combat shotgun clamped under the cruiser’s dash. He racked a shell into the breech and clicked off the safety, laying the weapon across his legs.
The cyborg watched his partner reach the mouth of the alley. Sammy J. wasn’t in sight.
The radio on the dash muttered as a stream of police and Justice Department bulletins drifted through the airwaves. Janek’s sensitive hearing was able to isolate and filter out the information he wanted to hear, blanking out everything else. He leaned back. The sun was warm on his face; his built-in sensors told him it was hot. Behind his eye lens a computer readout told him the exact temperature.
Focusing sharply, Janek picked out Sammy J.’s shambling figure approaching Cade. The info peddler stood close to the cop, his arms waving as he relayed his information. He could have picked up Sammy’s voice with his hearing mode, but he found reading Sammy’s lips a more stimulating challenge.
Janek’s attention was drawn to a car rolling along the street. It was nothing out of the ordinary: a standard factory-line Ford in need of a paint job. The cyborg found it curious that it was moving at walking pace, as if the driver was looking for somewhere to park.
Or because it was getting into position for a run.
The vehicle accelerated, burning rubber as it shot forward, swerving onto the sidewalk.
The dark barrels of auto weapons poked out of the windows. As the car bounced along the sidewalk, bearing down on Cade and Sammy J the weapons opened up. The air was punctured by the rattle of auto fire. Concrete and glass filled the air as the slugs chewed at buildings, moving along to where Cade and Sammy J. stood.
Chapter Three
Janek kicked open his door, sprang from the cruiser, swung the SPAS into firing position. He leveled the shotgun and touched the trigger. The barrel lifted as the first shot erupted from the muzzle. The blast took out the windshield and peppered the face of the gunner beside the driver. The stricken guy arched back against the seat, clapping his hands to his bloody face. The unnerved driver let his control slip, and the rocking vehicle swung away from the sidewalk in a deadly curve toward the parked cruiser and Janek.
The cyborg refused to give way. He stood his ground and fixed his gaze on the hit car, raised the SPAS and fired into the chest of the driver. The perp squealed, a high, cold sound, as his chest gushed blood. His body went into spasm, and his right foot jammed hard on the gas pedal. The out-of-control vehicle clipped the front of the cruiser, sending it slithering across the street. Janek, realizing he couldn’t escape in time, took a long stride forward, then threw himself across the hood of the cruiser. He landed on his shoulder and rolled, bouncing as he hit the street on the far side.
The concrete around Janek exploded in a spray of geysers as auto fire from the hit men in the back seat peppered the area. The cybo had the presence of mind to keep rolling as he hit the ground, barely managing to keep ahead of the marching line of slugs.
The heavy rap of an autopistol joined the melee. Cade had pushed Sammy J. aside, then pulled his .357 and drew a bead on the car as it swept by. As the vehicle struck the side of the cruiser, Cade laid down a volley of fire that ripped into the hit car. Window glass exploded in glittering sprays, and metal clanged. Altering his aim, Cade put a single slug through a rear tire. The Ford sagged onto the metal rim, sparks flying as it careered even farther off course.
Drifting across the street, it slammed into a parked van and came to a juddering halt. The rear doors burst open, and a trio of gunners spilled out, turning their auto weapons on the advancing Justice cops.
Cade took out the closest guy, laying a trio of .357s into his chest. The guy twisted around, slamming up against the side of the stalled car before pitching face down on the ground.
Janek, up on his feet, laid the SPAS over the hood of the cruiser and triggered rapidly. He caught one guy on the run. The impact knocked the would-be killer across the sidewalk and face first into the wall. Crumpling as if his legs had been chopped from beneath him, he flopped face down on the dirty pavement.
The sole survivor traded a couple of shots with Cade, then went down with a .357 slug through his left knee. He threw his gun aside, wrapped his hands around his mushy kneecap and screamed bloody murder.
Janek crossed the street to check the interior of the Ford. He found two dead men and a number of weapons. Satisfied, the cyborg approached the wounded hitman. Ignoring his protests, Janek took him by the collar and hauled him across the street. He dumped the guy against the side of the cruiser so he could keep an eye on him. Reaching inside, Janek put in a call for backup and a med-team.
Shaken, Sammy J. gathered his wits in record time. He pushed aside Cade’s offer of help and stormed over to where the wounded perp sat.
“You miserable shithead,” the info peddler yelled. Viciously he kicked the toe of his shoe into the perp’s side. The guy rolled over, groaning.
“Hey! That’s enough, Sammy,” Cade said, pulling him away from the injured man.
“Enough, my ass,” Sammy protested. “They were trying to kill us! Want me to kiss him?”
“No. I also don’t want him kicked to death before I talk to him.”
Janek took Sammy’s arm and led him a
way.
Crouching beside the wounded perp, Cade lit one of his thin cigars. “You want to satisfy my curiosity?” he asked.
The perp eyed him with undisguised hostility. “That partner of yours is homicidal,” he said petulantly.
“He doesn’t take kindly to being shot at. Now stop wasting time. The para-meds will be here in a minute. It’ll be too late then. Off to hospital to fix your knee, then a long trip to Mars for recuperation.”
“Mars? What the hell you talking about?”
“Don’t give me that,” Cade said. “You know the penalty for armed assault. Minimum two years on the penal colony.”
“There a way I can pull a stretch on a farm?”
“I need information. Maybe we can deal. You’re out of it now. You’ve blown your contract. Nobody’s going to rush in and bail you out. So make your offer.”
The perp scrubbed a hand across his face. “Can I trust you?”
The Justice cop smiled. “Can you trust your mother?”
“You ain’t seen mine.”
The sound of approaching sirens caught the perp’s ears. “So?” he asked.
“Why the killing? Villas? The tenement massacre and the other homicides we’ve been getting? Which of the partners hired Jessup?”
“Brak,” the perp said. “Loren Brak hired us. He wants to take control of it all. Knock out his partners. Grab the syntho-drug formulations and head out to the West Coast. L.A. somewhere.”
“And Sammy?”
“We got wind he was snooping around. Asking too many questions. So Brak figured if we followed we’d latch on to his buyer.” The perp snorted. “Only we found you.”
“You got lucky,” Cade said. “Where’s Brak holed up?”
“Hell, I don’t know. He did all his arranging by phone. I only did a face-to-face with Jessup. We were hired to keep the New York end under control. Jessup’s job is to bodyguard Brak and see he gets wherever he wants to go.”
“I’ll find him.”
Cade rose as air cruisers hovered overhead. A white-and-red med-cruiser dropped to street level with a whine of air turbines.
