Kop k-1

by Warren Hammond

  Peter Vlotsky dropped his mass into an armchair and took up a sweaty drink in his meaty hand. Jelka Vlotsky sat with her legs crossed and didn’t get up to greet us. Her hair was pulled back, so taut that when you looked at her dead on, you couldn’t see her hair at all.

  “We are so sorry for your loss,” I opened.

  Mrs. Vlotsky met my eyes with an icy glare. “Where have you been? Our son was murdered this morning, and you waited until now to come?”

  “Didn’t you get a call from the chief of detectives, Diego Banks?”

  “Yes. He called to tell us our son was dead.”

  “I know it’s hard to hear that kind of news over the phone. We’re sorry we couldn’t be here earlier, but we needed to wrap up the crime scene first. We have to gather the physical evidence while we can.”

  “Are you telling me that the two of you are the only police officers in the entire Office of Police? Surely that must be the case, or you would have assigned other officers to that task while you came to tell me my son was dead.”

  “I understand how you must feel at a time like this, but I want you to know that the Office of Police is giving your son’s case the highest priority. Chief Chang has taken a personal interest in this case, and he won’t rest until it’s solved.”

  Mrs. Vlotsky turned away from me; she made no attempt to hide her contempt.

  Mr. Vlotsky spun the ice around the inside of his glass and took a quick sip. “Please, Jelka. I’m sure they are doing the best they can.” Focusing his attention on us, he said, “What can we do for you?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Ask us anything if it will help you catch this savage.”

  “When was the last time you saw your son?”

  Mrs. Vlotsky answered with a tone clipped as tightly as her hair. “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No.”

  “Does your son have a girlfriend?”

  “No, not currently.”

  “Has he received any threats?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of anybody who might want to hurt your son?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Did he tell you about the other members of his unit?”

  “No.”

  “Did he tell you about the operations he’s been involved in?”

  “No, that’s classified. He couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Did he seem nervous or agitated yesterday?”

  “No.”

  “How about you, Mr. Vlotsky? Do you have anything to add?”

  Peter Vlotsky looked lost in thought until my question brought him back to the conversation. “No, I’m afraid not. I wish I could be of more help.”

  “I understand you work for the city?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I chair the board that issues business licenses.”

  “And you, Mrs. Vlotsky?”

  “I don’t work.”

  “Does your son have a room here?”

  “Yes. It’s upstairs.”

  “Can we take a look around?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think you’ll find anything.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “We just moved in two weeks ago. Most of his things are still boxed up. This was the first time Dmitri had been here. He didn’t bring much more than a bag.”

  “Still, we’d like to check it out.”

  I hit the lights. Geckos dashed under the floorboards.

  Vlotsky’s room was sparse, nothing but an unmade bed and an Army-issue bag on the floor. Maggie looked at the bag tentatively. I nodded, as if to say, “Go for it.” She pulled the drawstring and dumped the contents on the bed. Mostly clothes. I searched the pockets-nothing but condoms and a matchbook.

  I looked out the window and checked out the new car in the drive. New house, new car, offworld artwork…Mr. Vlotsky had another source of income. Nobody who worked for the city made that kind of scratch. I should know.

  We hopped back into the cab and rode shoulder to shoulder.

  The mils were going to make it red-tape tough to proceed on the investigation. They weren’t going to let us interview any soldiers until they figured out what was going on. They’d protect themselves first, and for once, they’d have good reason-Army officers high on O, POWs set free, an entire unit sicced on the enemy with sabotaged weapons and left for dead…

  Lieutenant Vlotsky learned a lesson in that alley last night. If you were going to set somebody up to die, you’d better make sure it worked. We had ten members of Unit 29 with a murder motive. Number one on my list was ringleader and ex-con Jhuko Kapasi.

  “What now?” Maggie asked.

  “We call it a day and start fresh in the morning.” I didn’t tell her about my banquet plans.

  “Where do we start?” Maggie’s voice was flat. Her face was shadowed, but I could see the way her shoulders were slumped in fatigue.

  “You’ve got a good nose for this; why don’t you tell me?”

  She looked at me, searching my face, looking for a trace of sarcasm. I meant what I said. I hoped she could see that. It must’ve been too dark to read me since she answered cautiously. “I think we need to talk to Kapasi. He has to be our top suspect.”

  I played the devil’s advocate. “But Jimmy Bushong told us that the whole unit wanted to kill Lieutenant Vlotsky.”

  “Yes, but Jimmy also told us that most of them answered to Kapasi. If one of them did it, my guess is Kapasi put him up to it. It sounds like they don’t do anything without his say-so.”

  “What do you think of the Vlotsky family?”

  “Mrs. Vlotsky is a cold woman. How do you lose a son and not shed a single tear? Mr. Vlotsky is hard to read. He was very subdued.”

  “I agree on both counts. Why do you think Mr. Vlotsky was so quiet?”

  “I’m not sure. It could be he was in shock…or drunk. Maybe he’s just docile around his wife. She seems like the domineering type.”

  “What do you think of their house?”

  “I guess it’s okay.”

  “The new car?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Do you think he can buy those things on a city salary?”

  “I don’t know, maybe not. I guess I didn’t think about it.” Maggie Orzo’s rich-girl upbringing was coming through strong.

  The cab dropped her at a hotel that had lizard statues guarding the entrance. She said she was staying there until she could find a place of her own, something about needing to get away from her mother. I didn’t ask her for details.

  Since Private Jhuko Kapasi was from Loja, we made plans to meet at the north dock-early.

  On the way home, I made a quick stop at the Lotus Club. I wanted to see if our peed-his-pants peeper was back in his erogenous zone. No luck. The perv was probably scared he’d be next to get his lips stripped.

  SEVEN

  When I finally got home, I keyed through the front gate into the courtyard. The fountain in its center was completely overgrown with greenery. I could hear just the slightest trickle of water muffled by the layers of foliage. Niki was the one who had wanted the fountain. I’d told her it was crazy to have a fountain on Lagarto. You might as well put a giant fucking petri dish in the courtyard.

  I went through the front door. A voice came from the bedroom, “That you, Juno?”

  “Yeah.” I went into the kitchen and cut some bread and cheese, trimming off the mold.

  I heard her feet coming up behind me. I turned around to see her showing off her dress, red and heavy on the sequins. “What do you think?”

  “I love it.” And I did. Her obsidian hair was pulled into an updo, leaving her brown shoulders bare except for the spaghetti straps holding up the dress. Just for the chance to see her like this, I should’ve agreed to go to the banquet long ago.

  “I have your tux ready,” she
said.

  “Thanks.”

  “So what’s this case about?”

  “It’s just a case.”

  “Is it the Army lieutenant?”

  “Yeah. How do you know about that?”

  “Jessie ran the story on the news. She and I were going to go shopping this afternoon, but she canceled. Why is Paul so interested in this one?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

  “You have to tell him no.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Yes you can, Juno. Paul doesn’t own you. A few years ago, you told him you weren’t going to enforce for him anymore. Remember how crazy you were about that?”

  “He needs my help.”

  “Why?”

  I took a bite of cheese. I didn’t want to talk about it.

  She kept staring me down. “You promised me you wouldn’t do his dirty work anymore.”

  I was instantly aggravated. “Give it a rest.”

  She cranked up the intensity of her stare. “I will not give it a rest. We had an agreement.”

  “This is different, Niki. He’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Paul is very capable of taking care of himself you know.”

  “He wouldn’t ask for my help if he didn’t need it.”

  “What’s so important about this case that he needs your help?”

  “Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know.”

  “Okay, so you don’t know. Can’t you just say that without getting so nasty?”

  I could feel myself turning red. “Dammit, Nik, I did say it. Now can we just drop it?”

  “Sure.” She turned away, sending a chill in my direction. She walked out, certain to make her footsteps louder than necessary.

  I rolled my eyes. I knew I shouldn’t have been short with her, but we’d been having this same stupid argument since I gave up enforcing. Whether it was a case or a bagman job for Paul, I’d tell her I had to do this. It was important. She’d come back with “you need to be home more,” “you’re getting too old,” “it’s too dangerous.” Eventually she’d hit me with “you promised you’d quit.” She was right of course, which is why I always got so sore.

  I’d made the promise a few years ago. Back then, my drinking was out of control. I’d become an ugly drunk. It got so bad that Niki threatened to leave. That was when I promised her I’d quit KOP. And I’d truly meant it when I said it. I was going to quit.

  But actually following through was another matter.

  I just couldn’t do it. I kept putting it off. Day after day, I’d tell myself tomorrow would be a better day to do it. Pretty soon, the tomorrows added up to a week, then a month. I couldn’t quit being a cop. It was who I was.

  I’d apologized a thousand times for letting her down. I’d explained it as best I could, yet she insisted on continuing to beat me over the head with it. “You said you’d quit. You promised.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. I fucking get it already. What do you want me to say?

  It wasn’t like I’d totally blown her off. I eventually did work up the courage to cold-turkey my enforcing. I demoted myself to a collections man-no investigatory responsibilities. If a cop or pimp got out of line, I’d make the referral to Paul, who would take care of it with one of his young-buck thugs. Giving up the enforcing was the key. Without the need to constantly anesthetize my soul, I’d been able to drop myself down to a two-glass-a-day habit. Wasn’t that the important part? How about a little credit?

  I started hurrying into my tux. I got hung up on the shirt, damn hand. These buttons were a bitch, especially the ones on the cuffs, but I’d be damned if I was going to call her for help. I’d get it done without her. It wasn’t like she was so perfect. Shit, she popped more painkillers than a damn cancer ward.

  There. I’d finally gotten the last button. Now for the bowtie. How the hell am I going do that? Fucking hell. I swallowed my pride and apologized.

  We took the car. I’d bought it straight off the manufacturing line in ’84. I had it classed up with black paint, silver trim, and a monitor-hide interior. Niki talked the whole way, about shopping and then I didn’t know what. My head was back on the case. Why was it that the mayor’s man, Karl Gilkyson, got to hang out in Paul’s office? Paul had never answered to the mayor’s office. He operated KOP independently.

  It was true that Mayor Samir was the most powerful politician on Lagarto. Lagarto’s planetary government was a joke. More than half the planet’s people lived inside the Koba city limits, and Lagarto’s entire economy was controlled out of Koba. Whoever ran the city ran the planet. Despite the mayor’s political dominance, he had no standing with KOP and no right to station one of his lawyers in Paul’s office. Beyond the technicality that the mayor appointed the chief, there was no relationship between the two entities, and everybody knew that it was really the previous chief who appointed the next chief; the mayor would just sign off on it. It was the way the system worked.

  Yet, Karl Gilkyson had been planted in Paul’s office. How much trouble was Paul in? What’s been happening since I stopped enforcing?

  The Iguana King loomed ahead, ten stories of Lagartan luxury. A sign ran from the ground to the roof, the words “Iguana King” riding the back of the largest lizard you’ve ever seen, outlined in bright green neon, with a curled red-neon tongue that whipped out at a neon fly buzzing ten meters above the rooftop, in a four-stage repeating capture sequence.

  I stopped at the back of a line of cars waiting for valet service. I left my keys in the ignition and walked around to the passenger side to open Niki’s door. We walked past the cars, every one of them freshly washed and waxed. There were a few offworld cars in the mix-miners and orbital-station entrepreneurs networking with Lagarto’s rich and politically powerful, looking for ways to save money on Lagartan food or lobbying for development projects like the half dozen resorts in the works. They liked to run their own resorts. That way, vacationers wouldn’t have to come in contact with us natives. Not at all what Paul intended when he set out to increase offworld tourism so many years ago.

  We made our way toward the main entrance. Tuxedos and evening gowns crowded into a who’s-who mass of winks, handshakes, and pecks on the cheek.

  When we finally made it in, I said, “I have to talk to Paul. Then I’m yours. Okay?”

  Niki went off without answering. She moved effortlessly from one social circle to another, an elbow grab here and a formal hug there. I immediately felt naked without her. She would class me up enough to hang in high-society circles like these. She was the one who could talk the talk and fill the conversation lulls. She elevated me beyond my Tenttown upbringing. I was out of my league without her in a place like this.

  I went off to find Paul. Tall windows ran down both sides of the ballroom. Plush red drapes were tied back with gold ropes. A twenty-piece band kept the dance floor busy. Waiters carried silver trays loaded with drinks. Hoity-toity dilettantes and pseudo-intellectuals gathered in small cliques speaking snob to one another. I betted my new partner’s parents were around here somewhere. I passed a group of brown-nosed Lagartans hanging on some offworlder’s every word. The offworlder was probably twice my age, but looked like a thirty-year-old vid-star.

  I navigated the perimeter of the room, looking for the police table.

  “Juno!”

  I turned to the voice.

  Matsuo Sasaki said, “Come have a drink with me.”

  Shit, I didn’t need this right now. I sat down. You didn’t snub Sasaki. “Hey, Matsuo. Long time no see.”

  “You can say that again.” He snapped, and a waiter appeared. “A glass of brandy for my companion.”

  Matsuo Sasaki was the number two man of the Bandur cartel. He’d served under Ram Bandur from the beginning. Since Ram’s death, he worked for Bandur’s son, Ben. He was wearing a white tux that went well with his silver hair. He clapped me on the back with his four
-fingered hand. “It’s been too long, Juno. What have you been up to?”

  “I’m still working the streets, making collections and keeping my head down.”

  “You are a wise man, Juno Mozambe.”

  “Where’s Ben?”

  “He couldn’t make it.” He spoke crisply, like he was unhappy about Ben’s absence. It sounded like there was a little trouble in the Bandur camp. Sasaki normally kept his emotions corralled.

  I didn’t ask why Bandur didn’t come. You didn’t question Sasaki. His toughness was legendary. The story went that Sasaki was one of many lieutenants working for Ram Bandur in the early days of his organization. They were all vying for Bandur’s favor. At one of their meetings, Bandur joked that his lieutenants should be willing to cut off their own fingers to serve him. Sasaki saw his opportunity and abruptly left the meeting, returning ten minutes later with a pair of pruning shears and his severed pinky. The sick fuck didn’t even use a lase-blade. That way, at least the wound would have been partly cauterized and a hell of a lot less painful. Ram Bandur instantly made him his pinkyless right-hand man.

  Somebody was on stage, making a toast. Holy hell, it was Bandur’s chief rival, Carlos Simba. Sasaki gritted his teeth. I was stunned. What was he doing up there?

  Simba was wearing an ill-fitting tux. High-water pants showed sock, and a purple cummerbund clashed over a blue shirt. He loved his uncouth image. It endeared him to the impoverished Lojan people. He stuck it to the rich. Nobody cared that he was a drug-dealing mass murderer.

  He held his glass high. “I won’t speak long. I know you are all having a good time, so I’ll make my comments brief. I want to speak on all of your behalf by thanking Mayor Samir for inviting us to this fantastic banquet.”

  The room sounded gentle applause. Sasaki looked ready to blow. The audaciousness of the Loja crime lord toasting the mayor of Koba was too much for him. He stamped out. A collective intake of breath ran through the neighboring tables.

  Ben Bandur should’ve been here. Simba wouldn’t have been so daring as to affront him in person. I realized for the first time that the outcome of the war between Simba and Bandur’s cartels might not be as predetermined as I thought. I had deemed Simba’s attempt to take over Bandur’s organization nothing but megalomaniacal folly. Loja was a mere fraction the size of Koba and had no tourist business to speak of. I thought Bandur’s monetary dominance was impenetrable. Tonight, I wasn’t so sure.