Kop

by Hammond, Warren

  The Lotus Club was on the other side of the river. We hit a jam-up just before the bridge intersection. It looked like a car accident. Two drivers were out of their cars, screaming at each other, their faces red with the strain. The fading aircon threatened to suffocate us until the driver dropped the windows. Children immediately reached into the cab with their palms up. I looked straight ahead.

  I called Niki. Her happy-to-see-me hologram sat next to me as I told her I wouldn’t make lunch. I hung up without telling her why. I’d try to finesse that one later. She didn’t want me taking any risks. She was always telling me I was getting too old for it.

  The car accident cleared, and the driver gunned it over one of the half dozen riblike bridges that arced up over the city’s backbone, the Koba River. Rejuvenated aircon pumped out the chill as I took in the city, a haphazard sprawl that sat buried under a wavy brown cloud of polluted jungle haze. Koba was Lagarto’s capital city, its one and only political, cultural, and economic center. My eyes scanned from neighborhood to neighborhood, each one bordered by canals that spiderwebbed through the city, evidence of our once proud agricultural history.

  An offworld vehicle suddenly screamed by, putting a lump in my throat. Sons of bitches thought they owned the road with their accident-proof cars. Only the most filthy rich could afford an offworld vehicle. Lagarto was the victim of a galactic-sized trade imbalance that made the purchase of offworld products next to impossible. Almost everybody on this backwater planet was forced to live a life absent of offworld tech.

  Shit, when I was a kid, the only ways to get around were boats, bikes, and feet. It wasn’t until some enterprising businessmen began manufacturing these antique cars that we finally had an almost affordable mode of transportation. These things were practically medieval, fossil-fuel powered and human navigated. And they came in only three accident-prone models: car, truck, and bus. If you smashed one up, they’d just hammer out the dents and hose off your blood to get it ready for the next owner. Not many people owned one, but cabs and buses were now accessible to all but the severely poor, of whom we had plenty.

  Arriving at the Lotus, I used my left to drop a five-hundred on the driver, keep the change. The morgue boys had already arrived and were waiting in the shade. A couple beat cops blocked the public from the alley. They stepped aside when I flashed my badge.

  The Lotus Club kept a low profile. You entered from the alley, not the street. There was no sign over the door and no ground-level windows. They catered to a higher-class crowd than most whorehouses. Their customers liked discretion. I went past the entrance then back behind the cooling unit. Homicide dicks Josephs and Kim were chatting in the shade.

  Detective Mark Josephs was a thirty-year man. He had worked with me in vice for many years before moving to homicide. Back then, he wouldn’t take his payoffs in cash. Instead, he’d take his cut in the form of drugs and hookers.

  Josephs got in serious trouble back in ’83. It started when he hit a dealer up for some pills. The dumb-shit dealer got confused and gave Josephs a flat from the wrong stash. Dealers would keep two stashes. The good stuff was for the regulars, and they’d unload the cheap shit on offworlders. What were the chances of meeting an offworlder twice? They were all just passing through.

  A few days later, some street cops got called in on reports of a drug-crazed freak at the Royal Hotel. They found a naked Detective Mark Josephs face down on the lobby sofa, humping away at the cushions. The cops tried but couldn’t talk him down from his bad-trip high. Finally, they dragged his naked ass out across the lobby floor. They brought him down to the station, sedated him, then slapped a prison jumpsuit on him and tossed him into the padded room.

  Come morning, he woke up puzzled to find himself locked up with cuff-bruised wrists and rug burn raspberries dotting his face. Cops crammed around his cell. “Nice jumper.” “Hey, Josephs. When did you start headlining at the Royal!” “You go queer yet?”

  When they cut him loose, he came up to vice on the third, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down at his desk like always. His partner asked, “You okay, Mark?”

  “Yeah. It just stings when I pee. Rug burn.”

  We all broke up. Then back to business as usual.

  That night, Josephs caught up with the pusher that dealt him the bad pills. He beat him with a copper pipe and put him in a coma. It turned out the dealer was a minor. The public threw a fit. You know, police brutality. Had the dealer been an adult, nobody would have cared—one less drug-dealing lowlife on the streets.

  As chief of the Koba Office of Police, Paul Chang had to move fast. He’d always said we couldn’t have the public losing faith in KOP. There was always an anticorruption faction in the city government, and if they got hold of this, it could threaten the police empire the two of us had built two decades earlier. He hurried to put a story together: Josephs saw the dealer making a score. He didn’t know he was a minor. It was too dark. The kid resisted arrest and fell during the struggle, hitting his head on the pavement. Josephs was only too happy to play along.

  Paul sent me to the hospital to do some intimidation—medical style. After a five-minute scare session with a doctor and a defibrillator, the docs rewrote the charts to match Paul’s cover story. That was my last rough-up job before I went to Paul and told him I didn’t have the heart for it anymore. At first, he fought me on it, saying I was betraying him. I told him he owed me. For twenty years, I’d done the dirty work. The blood was always on my hands. He tried to tell me to get over myself. He said he was the one who made all the tough calls. All that blood was on his hands, not mine. Fuck that, I told him. I had to face them. He was just the general giving orders. I was the soldier, the executioner. There was no comparison. When I finally made him understand the toll it was taking on me, he relented and recruited some new heavies for himself, categorizing me as “ass-stomping inactive.” He still sent the occasional bagman job or frame job my way, but other than that I was strictly a collections man.

  As for the Josephs situation, Paul sent the news station some KOP-approved vids of the kid. The vids showed concerned-looking doctors hovering over the hospital bed. Tubes ran from the kid’s mouth to a ventilator that pumped his chest up and down. White blankets covered him from the neck down. One bandage was strategically placed on his head to match the fake single-head-trauma story. The pictures didn’t show the broken ribs, legs, or arm. You couldn’t see the punctured lung, ruptured liver, or internal bleeding.

  To make it look good, Josephs was suspended for thirty days and transferred from vice to homicide. Paul told the press how they put every officer through a two-hour refresher course on proper restraint techniques to “prevent further unfortunate accidents like this one.” Paul’s out-and-out mastery of public manipulation never ceased to amaze me.

  Paul put Josephs in rehab, out of the public eye. He told him he had thirty days to clean up his act or else….

  As for the kid, he died before the suspension was up.

  These days Mark Josephs partnered with Detective Yuan Kim. I didn’t know Kim that well. What I did know was this: Kim was second-generation police. His father and uncle were both cops. His pop did twenty in homicide. He and I crossed paths a few times over the years. Good cop. His uncle was a beat cop for his whole career. When Kim joined the force, Daddy pulled strings to get him a stint as a beat cop in the Northwest Quarter. We’re talking seriously soft duty, rich neighborhoods with nothing but burglaries and domestic disputes. He made detective in record time and was assigned to homicide just like his father. Cops didn’t respect him. They said he never did shit to get that job. They thought he was living off his father’s name.

  Josephs shook my hand. I pulled it out of my pocket fast, quick shake, back in. Josephs looked wired, eyes on fire. He was probably back on stims. “Juno, how ya doin’? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Okay.” Straight to business. “What do we have so far?”

  Yuan Kim’s face was soaked in sweat. His glasses sli
pped down his nose. “What the hell’s goin’ on, Juno? Why are you taking over our case? You haven’t worked a hommy in ten years.”

  “Take it up with the chief.”

  Josephs said, “The chief put you on this? Does he know the vic or what?”

  “Beats me. He just said he wanted me to work this stiff.”

  “You still takin’ care of his dirty laundry, Juno? I know you two are still buds, but enough is enough. I’d tell him to fuck off and take care of his own shit.”

  Kim wiped his forehead with his index finger and flicked the sweat to the ground. “This is bullshit. Chang can’t just take our case and give it to a vice cop. No offense, Juno, but this is our case.”

  Josephs scoffed at his partner. “Get over it, Kim. We got three missing-persons cases to work. If the chief wants Juno to work this one, fine by me. I just don’t see what Juno gets out of workin’ a homicide after all this time.”

  I was getting irritated. “Leave that to me, okay? What I do is my business. I don’t need you humps telling me this is fucked up. I already know that.”

  Josephs said, “That’s cool, Juno. No need to get pissy. We’re all on the same side. Isn’t that right, Kim?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He said it in an unconvincing mumble.

  I asked, “You guys know a detective named Maggie Orzo?”

  Yuan Kim replied, “Yeah, but she’s no detective. She’s fresh out of the academy.”

  “She’s a detective now. The chief’s partnering me up with her on this one.”

  Josephs started chuckling. “Holy shit. Hooking you up with a rookie on a murder case? First, I thought Chang was using you as his errand boy. Now, I think he must be punishing you. That or he’s gone fucking ape shit. I never heard of anything so crazy in my life.”

  “What’s she like, Kim?”

  He pushed his glasses up his nose. They just slid back down. “She’s solid. Smart and tough. Still, I think she’s a little green for a job like this.”

  “A little?” Josephs was winding up. “She’s a rookie. Juno’s gonna have to work twice as hard just to keep her from screwing things up. Hell, she’s gonna start puking the minute she sees that body.”

  Kim shook his head, “She’s not like that, Mark. You don’t even know her. I’m telling you, she’s solid.”

  “What the hell you talkin’ about? You got a crush on her or what?”

  “No.” Kim said it too fast. It came off defensive. “I’m just saying she’s not your typical rookie. She’s got a way about her.”

  “Shit, you’re in love with her, aren’t you? You believe this shit, Juno?”

  Kim was getting flushed. “Fuck you, Mark. I am not in love with her. She’s just not what you think. She’s not the type to lose her shit just because she sees a corpse, okay?”

  “She’s comin’ here, right, Juno? This is gonna be good. I can’t wait to see her on her knees heaving her guts out. Hey, Kim, you gonna hold her hair back?”

  “She’s not going to puke.”

  “You wanna put some money on that?”

  “I told you she’s not going to puke.”

  “I got five thousand says your girlfriend is going to blow her breakfast all over this alley. You want in on this, Juno?”

  I said, “No way, I don’t want any part of this. I have to work with her.”

  Josephs prodded. “C’mon, Kim. You in or not?”

  “Five thou?”

  “Yeah five…whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

  “You’re on. Five thousand.”

  “Yes! You sure you don’t want in on this, Juno?”

  “I’m sure. Now, can we move on? Fill me in.”

  Kim pushed up his glasses and held them in place for a few seconds. “We don’t know much yet. You know Rose?”

  She ran the Lotus. “Yeah.”

  “She called it in two hours ago. One of her whores came out here bringing out the trash. She spotted the body and tossed the trash—” He paused to point to a bag on the ground. “—then ran back in, literally screaming bloody murder.”

  I wiped my brow. “The chief told me he’s Army.”

  “Yeah, we bagged the vic’s wallet. He’s an officer.” Kim checked his pad. “Lieutenant Dmitri Vlotsky. No cash in the wallet. Could have been a robbery, but I doubt it. Whoever it was butchered him pretty bad.”

  A female voice came up behind me. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Detective Mozambe.”

  “I’m Juno Mozambe.”

  “Hello, I’m Maggie Orzo.” She put her hand out for a shake.

  I shook hands with her. I made it a quick shake, and I made sure to say something at the same time so she wouldn’t notice my quaky hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective Orzo.”

  “You better call me Maggie if we’re going to be partners.”

  Partners. We’ll see about that. “Maggie it is,” I said.

  I could see right away why Yuan Kim had eyes for her. She was young with a confident smile and her hair was done up in the latest style. She was wearing a stylish outfit that made her look far too nice to be a cop. Cops didn’t wear “outfits.” Her most striking feature was her eyes, which were a stunning sky blue. Her dark hair and olive complexion told me those eyes couldn’t have been her birth eyes. Surely, she’d been born with brown eyes. She had to be rich. How else could she afford replacement eyes? Knowing her eyes weren’t original, I wondered what else wasn’t…maybe that perfect little nose, or maybe those round lips, or how about those nice ample breasts. After taking in the complete package of Maggie Orzo, I decided that I really didn’t care what was original and what wasn’t.

  She said, “Must’ve been quite a surprise to find out you had a new partner.”

  “Yep,” I said without trying to hide my unhappiness. Pretty or not, I didn’t need a partner slowing me down. “We’re just getting started.”

  Maggie Orzo looked at a smitten Yuan Kim. “Hi, Kim.”

  Kim was looking stupid as he pushed his glasses back up. “H-hey, Maggie, this is my partner.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maggie. I’m Mark Josephs. Kim here has been telling me all about you. I think he likes you.”

  Kim looked stupid-angry.

  Maggie Orzo changed the subject. “What have we been able to determine so far?”

  Josephs said, “The coroner is still working the body. Why don’t you come check it out?” He gave me a look as if to say, “Watch this,” then he talked to Maggie, real patronizing. “Now, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  She was emphatic. “I’m sure.”

  She walked deeper into the alley. We all followed her past some garbage cans and around the corner. Sweat streamed down my face and back. My shirt was soaked through. The ripe smell of the corpse was overpowering in the heat. Blood was pooled on the pavement. Lizards chattered in small groups, waiting for an opportunity to scavenge while flies buzzed around our heads.

  Koba’s head coroner, Abdul Salaam, was hunched over the body. How did he still do it at his age? Down on his knees, with the heat kicking off the pavement like that. Abdul was one of the few guys around who was older than me, in years, that is. In attitude, he must have been half my age. Abdul and I went way back, old friends. “Hey, Abdul.”

  He looked up, squinting through his too-thick glasses. “That you, Juno?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m working this case, with Officer Orzo here.”

  He tried to wave the flies away, his bloodied gloves acting more like a magnet than a repellant. “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “Paul sent me.”

  “Doesn’t he know that you’re too old for this kind of work?” he said with his poker face.

  “Fuck you, old man.” Poker face right back at him. I couldn’t hold it. I broke out in a wide smile that Abdul mirrored back.

  I studied the vic. He was dressed in blood-soaked white linens with good shoes. He couldn’t be poor. P
oor people went barefoot or wore jellies, not shoes. And there was no way a poor person could afford to get laid at the Lotus. Rich, then? No. His watch had a plastic band. He was strictly middle class.

  His fingertips were gnawed off—lizards. Abdul had the vic’s shirt open. Maybe a dozen wounds, all festering, overflowing with maggots. Abdul was bagging some maggot samples, cleaning out the rest. Lagartan flies were nastier than flies from any other planet. They would drop eggs from the air. Living or dead, an open wound would get infested in less than five minutes. Abdul would use the maggots to nail down the time of attack—very accurate.

  The corpse’s throat was cut deep and wide. His face was already cleaned and had yellow gel laid on thick—the gel would kill flies and eggs. The mutilations were still visible under the gel mask. The stiff’s teeth and gums were showing—lips gone, cheeks gone. The rest of his face was pocked and chewed upon—lizards again.

  I looked up to find Josephs and Kim watching my temporary partner. She was focused on Abdul’s ME work. Her face was pale…very pale, but holding together.

  Yuan Kim was looking stupid-satisfied now, imagining how he was going to spend the five g’s.

  Josephs decided to push things. “The killer must’ve used a knife on the face. He trimmed away the lips and cheeks real careful. Notice there’s no cuts on the gums. My father was a butcher. I used to watch him work. He would trim the fat off beef the same way. Grab a hold of the fat and pull. Run a knife along nice and slow. Sometimes the fat would slip through his fingers. He’d have to grab on tight.”

  Maggie Orzo turned green; Kim turned red, ticked to the nth. Josephs’s father was never a butcher. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed deep, concentrating hard. She opened her eyes and eyeballed the gore with determination. Color started to return to her cheeks. She was a strong woman. Josephs saw her pull herself together and stormed off. Kim was beaming, five thou richer.