Maggie had her arms crossed. “What happened to your daughter Shamal?”
His dopey face went serious. “I don’t know. She disappeared.”
I socked him in the gut, using my legs to put all my weight into it. He went down to the ground, his face landing in a dirty puddle. He sucked in a breath, choking on puddle water. I felt a power surge in my shaking right. It could still do some damage.
When he stopped gurgling and sputtering, Maggie repeated, “What happened to your daughter?”
“I don’t kn—”
I kicked him in the side. A good futbol kick, where foot met leg, no toe. He rolled on the ground, out into the rain.
Maggie was all cold steel. “What happened to your daughter?”
This time, there was no denial. Broken ribs were telling him to cooperate.
“Where did you get that money?”
Wolski vomited shine and puddle water. The rib pain threatened to make him pass out. I lunged in, grabbed his hair, and turned his face up into the driving rain until his eyes looked alert.
Maggie started the questioning again. “What did you do to your daughter?”
“I got her a job.”
I had to lean in to hear him.
She bent over him. “You mean you sold her.”
He didn’t respond.
“Answer me! Did you sell her?”
“Yes. What of it?”
I put my foot on his rib cage and pushed, sending him squirming.
“Who bought her?”
“Carlos Simba.”
“What’s he going to do with her?”
He didn’t answer.
I rifled his pockets and took every last peso before we left him moaning on the ground.
Quick stop at the Wolski house. I gave Mrs. Wolski her husband’s money and padded it out of my own pocket. When we told her that her husband sold Shamal, she broke down.
One of her children entered, looking terrified to see his mother crying. He drew close and rubbed her back the same way she had probably calmed him so many times.
It didn’t help.
Lagarto had finally found something new to export. Slaves.
twenty-five
MAGGIE and I rolled through the dark afternoon streets. Conversation was impossible as sheets of rain slapped onto the car’s metallic roof, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Knowing what to look for, it had only taken us a couple hours of surfing financials to figure out the basics of the operation. Carlos Simba had been running a slave trade. The buyer was Universal Mining. Free labor equals big profits. The middleman was the electric bitch, Mai Nguyen. We’d checked the shipping manifests. There were four shipping containers a week sent to Nguyen Imports from Vanguard Supplies, a warehouse located on the Loja waterfront that was probably a front for the Simba organization.
The slave business must have been going gangbusters. Four shipping containers a week simply hadn’t been cutting it anymore so Simba, Nguyen, and Universal Mining had gone in together on a freighter, an outright slave ship.
Since there was only one spaceport, Simba had to run the operation from Koba. To get approval from the city, he tried to pass the thing off as a legitimate shipping company. He submitted a business plan to the board of the Koba Office of Business Affairs. He played up the patriotic angle—a shipping company owned and operated by Lagartans.
Simba didn’t stand a chance with the board. They didn’t like dealing with kingpins, plus the fix was in—Chairman of the Board Peter Vlotsky had been scoring big money from an offworld shipping company trying to maintain its monopoly.
Enter Sanders Mdoba—a Bandur crony who must’ve liked the looks of Simba’s slave money. He ran a blackmail scheme on the board, using compromising vids of board members to buy votes.
Chairman Peter Vlotsky didn’t play. His wife already knew he was screwing around, and the offworld money was too good for him to pass up. Mdoba turned up the heat—killed Vlotsky’s kid—and Simba got his shipping company signed and sealed.
The still missing pieces were Private Jhuko Kapasi and the grand prize, Mayor Omar Samir.
We rode through the outskirts of the city. Kicked-up mud from dirt roads stuck to the windshield. The towers of the Koba Spaceport were now visible, poking up through the jungle.
The cab dropped us at the spaceport gates. We used our badges to get past the guards minus our weapons.
The cargo docks housed five massive freighters that towered like high-rises while cranes dangled metal boxes going into and out of gaping cargo holds. Simba’s new purchase, the Sunda, stood in the second position. Trucks on the ground cannoned the ship with water, hiding all but the tip behind falling clouds of mist.
We entered the command tower and marched down the cinder-block halls. The walls were alive with molds and mosses. We looked for the office of Clay Reinholt, nightshift supervisor. His signatures were on almost half of the delivery receipts from Vanguard Supplies to Nguyen Imports.
We found his office, ignored his receptionist’s protests, and strode for the door. She jumped up and blocked our path. Maggie’s dirty look convinced her to move out of our way.
We headed through the door with the adrenaline-pumped confidence of three successful bully sessions in a row. I was revved—hadn’t felt like this in years.
I stopped face to face with Mai Nguyen. NGUYEN! Maggie bumped into me from behind. The corner of my eye picked up something coming from the side. Before I could turn, I was tackled. My face bounced off the floor. Maggie screamed. My vision went red, and my gasket blew sky high. I thrashed against hands that held me stock still. I jerked violently to no avail, my body overheating with the effort. When my flame finally burned out, the hands lifted me off the floor and sat me in a chair. Maggie was already seated. The hands pinned my arms behind the chair. I couldn’t move.
Mai Nguyen stood before me like a déjà vu doomsday. She studied my face with her not-a-day-older eyes. She extended her index finger toward my nose. I slipped into a fried-nose panic. I strained against the hands that held my head. She gave my nose a poke.
She retreated to a desk and sat on its front edge, leaning forward so her impressive cleavage offered a view with the utmost titillation. “How nice to see you, Officer Mozambe. I thought you looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure. I’m not used to people who age. I stole a few skin cells off your nose for a DNA test which verified your identity. I’m sure you don’t mind.” She spoke to the hands. “You can let them go.”
Hands released me. I looked over my shoulder at the offworld bodyguards. The one behind me didn’t look familiar, but I recognized the one behind Maggie from a quarter-century ago. I took in the rest of the room. Off to the side stood a nervous-looking local man. It had to be the nightshift supervisor we’d come to see. Nguyen shot him a look, and he made a quick exit.
Nguyen aimed her cleavage at Maggie. “Who are you?”
Maggie spoke with straight-ahead cool. “Detective Magda Orzo.”
“Are you partners?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry for the rough treatment you just received, but you can hardly blame my bodyguards for reacting that way. You didn’t give them much choice, entering unannounced the way you did. What brings you here, officers?”
My hand was outright gyrating. I tucked it under my leg. I didn’t want her knowing how badly she’d hurt me. “We’d like to know about your dealings with Carlos Simba.”
Nguyen wore an amused expression. “Mr. Simba is an entrepreneur. He approached me to see if I would invest in his new shipping company. Lagarto Lines looked like a sound investment, so here I am.”
“Carlos Simba is a known figure in organized crime.”
“He’s nothing of the sort. He’s a very successful businessman. He’s going to be the first Lagartan to compete with non-Lagartan shippers. That means jobs and affordable shipping prices for Lagartans. I would think he’d be a hero to your people.”
“What goods does he plan
to ship?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters if he’s going to sell our people as slaves.”
“Don’t be so shortsighted, Officer Mozambe. Mr. Simba will be able to cut into Lagarto’s trade deficit. That means the peso will be stronger. Think of all the things Lagartans could buy with a peso that’s worth something—medicine, robots, computers. This is the first step for Lagarto to enter the galactic economy.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You don’t care about Lagarto. You’re selling slaves for your own profit.”
“Look who is suddenly the moralist. That’s quite the attitude from a hatchet man for the Bandur organization. Bandur enslaves his people with their own vices for his profit. I fail to see the difference.”
“But…but…” I stammered like a fool. I couldn’t find the words to defend myself. Maybe because there weren’t any. Maybe there was no difference between Nguyen and me.
“You tire me.” She looked to her bodyguards, “Escort them out, will you. See to it that the guards don’t let them back in without a warrant.”
I stood up and dropped my right into my pocket. My gut stirred anger, vengeance, and guilt into a vile stew that I couldn’t vomit.
Nguyen’s voice stopped us at the door. “You know I have camera implants in my eyes. Whenever I’m feeling down, I recall the recording of our last meeting. It never fails to cheer me up.”
My hand went spastic within the confines of my pocket. Maggie led me out to the sound of Nguyen’s tech-amplified laughter.
I felt shell-shocked from my run-in with Nguyen. She’d gone from moving O to moving slaves, and she wasn’t shy about letting people know it. I dropped Maggie at her hotel. Seeing all the offworlders coming in and out, I once again marveled at how rich she had to be to afford that place.
I headed home for dinner with Niki. I was looking forward to seeing her. I felt bad about being gone so much. Since I’d stopped my enforcing, we’d spent a lot more time together, and I wasn’t used to going this long without seeing her.
My phone rang. The young girl from the dock dropped into the passenger seat. She looked at least a year younger than her real self—overdue for a holo-update.
“Is Mdoba back?”
“He was,” she said. “But he’s gone again. He took his boat out on the river.”
Thanks for nothing. “Call me when he gets back, okay?”
“Yep.” She disappeared in a flash.
I pulled into the drive and entered the house. I found Niki sleeping on the sofa. “Hey, Niki. It’s me.”
Silence.
“Niki?”
More silence. An empty pill bottle sat on the table.
My mind slid six years to another episode. In an instant, I remembered a blue-skinned Niki breathing shallow, and then the sirens and the stomach pumps. Not again! I flew to her side, checked her pulse. Both my hands shook. Her pulse ran strong and regular; her color was good; her skin felt warm to the touch. I let out the breath I’d been holding and sucked at the air. Ever since that night six years ago, I’d always think the worst. No OD tonight; she’d just double or triple dosed to get to sleep. I’d been neglecting her.
Niki’s mini-relapse complemented my total one with foreboding clarity. My life was running full speed in reverse. I was running around fists first, doing Paul’s bidding, and chasing the hot skirt in some kind of pathetic attempt to recapture my youth. Looking at Niki, my Niki, I could see the ridiculousness of it all.
My galloping heart was slowing to its normal beat. I brushed Niki’s hair off her face and listened to her breathing. I sat on the floor and rubbed my too-sore knuckles. I’d see this case out, because Paul needed me, but then I would be done. I’d quit the force altogether. It was time to put all my energy into Niki. We still cared about each other. We could make it work again.
Niki barely woke when I picked her up. I carried her to bed, whispering soothings in her ear.
I was munching a sandwich when Paul called. Holo-Paul sat across the table from me. “How are things going?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah, we can talk. Catch me up.”
It was hard to know where to start. “Sanders Mdoba is the son of a bitch that tipped off Ali Zorno about our witness.”
Holo-Paul looked delighted. Real-Paul sounded pissed. “Mdoba? SHIT!”
“The kid’s blood is on his hands, Paul. We still don’t know who told Mdoba about our witness, other than it must be a cop. We tossed his boat, a rusted-up number in Phra Kaew. We found vids of Vlotsky’s father and four other board members caught with their dicks out. He blackmailed them into approving a business license for Carlos Simba’s shipping company, Lagarto Lines. He had Vlotsky’s kid killed to keep him in line. He’s moonlighting for Simba.”
“Bandur is losing control. I can’t believe Simba flipped somebody that high up. Does Sasaki know?”
“No, I didn’t tell him. I was afraid Mdoba was working under Sasaki’s orders.”
“What’s this shipping company about?”
“They’re shipping slaves to the mines, Paul. Simba sells them to Universal Mining. We found a man today who sold his daughter to Simba. It’s only one instance so far, but when we start combing through all the missing persons cases, we’ll find lots more. Guess who the middle man is?”
Paul replied, “Mai Nguyen.”
Surprised, I said, “How’d you know?”
“I’ve been digging into Mayor Samir’s funds. There are connections between him, Nguyen, and Simba all over the damn place.”
The alliance between Mai Nguyen, Carlos Simba, and Mayor Samir solidified in my mind. “We’re getting close, Paul.” I was up out of my seat, pacing. “The Vlotsky hit looks like Simba’s doing, but the mayor must have a stake in the slave trade. Simba must’ve asked him to try and keep us from digging too deep.”
“Do you think that your Army guy has anything to do with it?”
“Yeah. I keep trying to discount him, but it’s too big a coincidence that he and Zorno were cellmates. Why?”
“Private Kapasi’s back on leave as of this morning. Once the Army heard the news reports that we caught Vlotsky’s killer, they decided the murder wasn’t Army related. He should have made it back to Loja this afternoon.”
“Hold on.” I froze Paul’s image and had the system dial up the little girl from the dock.
“Hello?” she said.
“Which way did he take the boat?”
“Upriver.”
I hung up and unfroze Paul. “I gotta go, Paul. Mdoba’s heading upriver. How much you want to bet he’s going to meet with Kapasi?”
I was already out the door. Holo-Paul followed me through the courtyard. “Get me proof, Juno. We’re running out of time.”
I sped to Maggie’s hotel, honking through the intersections. I tried calling, but she didn’t answer, so I left a message. What the hell was she doing?
I recklessly rounded the last corner, the hotel dead ahead. Hell with it. If she wasn’t there, I was going to Loja without her. I rolled the car up near the entrance and caught sight of Maggie getting out of somebody’s car. My heart involuntarily jumped in excitement. I kiboshed the feeling—I was a one-woman guy. I almost called out to her, but my instincts kept me silent. Whose car is that?
She walked through the double doors into the hotel. The car she’d exited was turning around. I swerved onto the street; I had to get close. The car drove right by me. The driver—Karl Gilkyson.
I braked, my mind in a stupor. I couldn’t think straight. Maggie and Gilkyson? I decided I had to ditch Maggie. I needed to swing the car around. I cruised into the hotel turnaround, getting stopped behind another vehicle with an open trunk. Two offworld tourists were supervising a group of bellhops on the proper way to carry their luggage. Like they’d never seen luggage that hovered.
Before I could pull all the way through, the passenger door opened, and Maggie dropped into the seat. “I just got your message. Why are we going to Loja
?”
My brain went haywire on a conflicting mixture of being excited to see her and a double-crossed rage.
“They released Private Kapasi,” I said.
My skin slithered as I drove. I could be sitting next to the mayor’s plant. I tried to ice my firing thoughts with careful deliberation. A cop informed Mdoba about Pedro. Could it have been Maggie? Can’t be. She’d saved my life last night. She could’ve waited for psycho Zorno to slice me up before she came in. She didn’t have to come in at all. Better yet, she could have lost Zorno’s trail; she’d had plenty of opportunity to claim she’d lost him in the labyrinthine Floodbank corridors. She wasn’t the mayor’s plant—simply couldn’t be. My nerves cooled from a boil to a simmer.
What then? The mayor was worried about me. The mayor was making a play for her. He wanted her to start informing for him. He wanted her on his side. She probably told him to fuck off, but I couldn’t be sure.
The boat tore through the water. I paid extra for a high-powered fishing boat instead of a skiff—should cut the trip to Loja down by a half hour. We’d arrive well before midnight. I sat on a fish chest, my brain dazed by plots and subplots. My eyelids began to feel weighted. My barely open eyes blurred fishnets into what look like whip-wielding slavers.
Maggie’s voice sounded next to me. “I had a visitor today.”
I tried rubbing my face awake. “Who?”
“Karl Gilkyson. He brought me to see the mayor.”
I tried to keep a level expression. “What did you talk about?”
“He wanted me to tell him about our investigation.”
“What did you say?”
“That I was under orders from Chief Chang not to talk.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He just asked more questions.”
I was already feeling less suspicious of her. If she wanted to hide things from me, she’d be hiding them instead of talking about them. “Tell me more,” I said tentatively.
Kop Page 24
