“Yeah, he sold her, too. He ran that crazy gambling scheme that blew up in his face, and he had to pay off some big debts before he went to jail, so he sold her to Simba. That was when Simba was just getting started on the slavery thing.”
My brain locked the pieces into place. “So you approached Kapasi.”
“Yeah. I told him I’d pay him to snuff Lieutenant Vlotsky. He got all excited about it. He told me how big a prick Lieutenant Vlotsky was and how the lieutenant screwed his whole unit over on some operation. I thought he was onboard. He’d kill Chairman Vlotsky’s kid, and I’d go tell him he’s next if he doesn’t vote our way, but Kapasi fucked the whole thing up.”
“How?”
“I gave Kapasi half the dough up front. I was going to give him the other half after he did the job. He was running around in the jungle with Vlotsky for days. How hard could it be to pop the guy?”
“He didn’t do it?”
“He didn’t do shit. I don’t know if he ain’t got the cojones or what. I figured that a guy who sells his sister as a slave won’t mind killing somebody, but this guy must not like to get his hands dirty. I called him on it, and he said the unit was going on leave. I thought, ‘Good, then I can do it myself.’ I told him to send my money back, but the fucker kept it, and he called me a couple days later and told me he killed Vlotsky. What kind of fucked-up job is that?”
“Then what?”
“A few days later, I got tipped off that there was a witness. I tried to get Kapasi on the line, but the Army had him in some kind of lockup. They were worried that Vlotsky’s murder was Army-related. It cost me a fucking fortune in bribes to get him on the line. I told him that somebody saw him kill Lieutenant Vlotsky. He told me there was no way anybody saw him kill Vlotsky since he didn’t kill him. Can you believe this asshole? I said, ‘If you didn’t kill him, who did?’ He told me he gave the front money to his old cellmate from the Zoo to do the job. He was going to keep the second payment for himself. ‘For the referral,’ he said.”
Mdoba asked for more water. He coughed most of it up before carrying on. “I about shit on the spot. He told me about Zorno. You already know about him since you killed him.”
Holes were filling in lightning fast. My brain raced to keep up—Simba hired Mdoba to fix the board’s vote; Mdoba hired Kapasi to whack Lieutenant Vlotsky; Kapasi subcontracted the job to lip-obsessed serial killer Ali Zorno. “Why’d you come here to Kapasi’s house?”
“Kapasi went back on leave today. The Army decided he had nothing to do with Vlotsky’s death, so they let him go. He called me, asking for the second half of his payment. I acted real nice and told him he did a great job, and I’d be there as soon as I could. I met him here and told him I wasn’t going to pay him. You should have seen him getting all pissy about it. Why should I pay him for hitting Vlotsky when he didn’t hit nobody?”
“What did you do to him?”
“I shot him. He had it coming to him. Then his dumb-fuck brother got all pathetic, crying and shit, so I burned a hole through his chest to put him out of his misery. I figure he’s better off dead. His momma shoulda smothered him the minute she popped him out and saw he was a retard, am I right?”
Maggie was watching now. The repulsive torture scene not quite so repulsive anymore.
Mdoba rattled on. “Once I finished feeding the Kapasi brothers to the lizards, I was gonna open the cage and let the monitors loose. Let ’em shit the evidence all over Loja. Once I hosed that basement down there was no way it coulda gotten traced back to me.”
After another dose of morphine, I asked, “What’s Simba’s relationship with Mayor Samir?”
“They’re working together.”
This final confirmation announced Paul’s vulnerability in bright lights. “How so?”
“Simba approached Samir before the elections, asked him, ‘Why split the power four ways when we can split it two?’ You see what he meant? Bandur runs the drugs, gambling, loan-sharking, and prostitution in Koba. Chief Chang runs KOP. Mayor Samir runs the city government, and Simba runs his slavery operation. Get rid of Bandur and Chang, and you got only two left—Simba for the illegal shit and Mayor Samir for everything else.”
The battle lines were finally clearly drawn—Simba, Nguyen, and the mayor versus Paul, Bandur, and me. “How is the mayor planning to bring down Chief Chang?”
“I don’t know that part. Simba never told me. All I know is they talk every day, so they can coordinate things.”
“Who tipped you off about our witness?”
“Mayor Samir.”
“Mayor Samir?”
“Yeah. He came to my boat to tell me.”
“He was on your boat?”
“That’s what I said. He told me that a cop—”
“Which cop?”
“Some guy named Kim. This Kim told the mayor that you guys had a witness, so the mayor came and told me about it.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“I just told you.”
“Tell me again.”
Mdoba used a nursing-home voice—slow, loud, and deliberate. “He said that Kim from Homicide Division came and told him that there was a witness to the Vlotsky murder—some peeping-tom kid. He recited the kid’s name and address for me, and then he left.”
Make Yuan Kim our rat-fink cop.
Maggie stepped over and leaned into Mdoba’s line of vision. “Do you have proof that the mayor came to your boat?”
“I have it on vid. I know how to cover my ass. He may be mayor, but he ain’t half as smart as he thinks he is.”
“Where’s the vid?”
He was grinning now. “How ’bout lettin’ me walk outta here?”
Sasaki said, “Tip, I think Juno could use your help.”
Tipaldi moved in fast. He yanked one of Mdoba’s hands toward the monitor who was hungry for seconds.
Mdoba shrieked. “STOP! STOP! I don’t know where it is. STOP!”
Tipaldi stopped. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
Mdoba panted, “I gave it to my girlfriend. I told her to hide it.”
“Where’d she put it?”
The monitor was snapping at Mdoba’s just-out-of-reach hand.
Mdoba said, “I don’t know! I told her not to tell me where she put it. If you don’t let me outta here, she’ll have it destroyed. Call her. She’ll tell you.”
We needed that vid. It was our smoking gun. I turned to Sasaki. “What do you say?”
Sasaki fingered his lapels, shaking his head no.
“Paul needs this,” I said with determined desperation. “You have to do this for him.”
“Leaving a traitor alive is bad for business, Juno. We can’t have people thinking it’s okay to betray us.”
“He’s already lost most of his fingers. Tell people you let him live so that when people see his hands, it’ll remind them of what happens to traitors.”
Sasaki was thinking it over.
I said, “Paul won’t survive without that vid, Matsuo.”
Sasaki rubbed his face with a pinkyless hand and gave the smallest nod.
I called Mdoba’s boat. Malis’s buxom hologram dropped into the kitchen. I had it one-way conferenced—everybody could hear her side of the conversation, but she could only hear me.
“Have you ever met Mayor Samir?” I asked.
“Sure. He came to the boat to talk with Sanders.”
“What about?”
“You want the vid, don’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Sanders told me to hide it. He said that if he got in trouble, I should use the vid to get him out. Is he in trouble?”
“Yes, he is.”
“How can I be sure?”
I let Mdoba’s voice on the line. “Do what he says, babe. Everthing’s gonna be okay if you just do what he says.”
“Are they going to kill you?”
“Not if you do what Juno says. Okay?”
I cut Mdoba off then s
poke to Malis. “I want you to bring the vid to me.”
“I want money,” she said. Mdoba tensed.
“I don’t think you understand,” I said. “If you don’t bring me the vid, he’ll die.”
“I understand just fine. Go ahead and kill him, I don’t care. How much can you pay?” Mdoba was fucked—sold out by his squeeze.
Mdoba turned wild at her betrayal. He was shouting and flailing his half-hands. The kitchen air crackled with lase-fire. Mdoba took three hits, the last to the head. Tipaldi kept his lase-pistol on target until Mdoba slumped over dead. Tipaldi put his piece back in his belt.
Maggie was stunned. I shrugged.
Malis and I settled on price. She told me she was already on her way back to Koba to retrieve the vid. She said to meet her at Club Dynasty on Bangkok at 2:00 AM.
I rang up Paul. His holo dropped into the Kapasi brothers’ living room, setting off another round of hysterical lizard fits. “Paul, it’s Juno.”
“Yeah.”
“We have confirmation that Mayor Samir and Carlos Simba are conspiring together. They’re planning to take you and Bandur out.”
Silence dragged on the other end. Paul said, “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Mdoba’s girlfriend is selling us a vid of the mayor telling Mdoba about our witness. We’re meeting her at—” I almost said the name of the place, but I smartly held back. No telling who could be listening in. “We’re meeting her in a couple hours.”
“You want backup?”
“No,” I said. Yuan Kim was a confirmed rat. C of D Banks was a likely rat. And it might not stop there. At this point, I didn’t trust any cops not named Paul or Maggie. “We better do this alone.”
“I understand. Bring it to my office as soon as you get it. We’ll hash out how to go about getting the mayor neutralized.”
“Got it. I’ll see you there.”
Paul sounded more exhausted than relieved. “Thanks, Juno.”
I clicked off.
Maggie came up from behind and spoke in a quiet voice, not wanting Sasaki and Tipaldi to listen in from the kitchen. With all the lizard chatter coming from the cages, she didn’t have to worry. “How long is this going to take?” she asked. “We have to get moving.”
“It’ll probably take Tip another ten or fifteen minutes to finish cleaning up. We’ll hitch a ride back to Koba in Sasaki’s flyer. We have plenty of time.”
Maggie didn’t look pleased about the idea of riding back with Sasaki and Tipaldi. “They didn’t have to kill him.”
“He was no use anymore.”
Maggie shook her head disgustedly.
“What?” I said. “You really care what happens to a piece of trash like Mdoba?”
“It’s you I’m worried about.”
“What does that mean?”
“You act like this was no big deal. They fed a man’s hands to a monitor for god’s sake and you could care less.”
“What do you think we did to that guy in Tenttown? And that bartender?”
“We didn’t kill them.”
“No. I just beat the shit out of them.”
“I know,” she said, and she covered her face with her hands. “That was wrong. I shouldn’t have let you do it.”
“If I hadn’t done it, we’d still be wondering how our witness got killed right in front of us.”
“This isn’t why I became a cop, Juno. I wanted to do good.”
“We are doing good, Maggie. We’re going to stop a corrupt mayor.”
She looked me in the eye. “But KOP is corrupt. You’re corrupt. The chief’s corrupt. And now I’m corrupt. What good does it do to stop a corrupt mayor when we’re corrupt ourselves?”
“No. We’re different from the mayor. The mayor’s out for himself. He’s conspiring with slavers.”
“You and Chief Chang conspire with those animals in there. You really think you’re better than the mayor?”
Her words cut right through me, the way the truth always did.
twenty-seven
JUNE 32, 2787
IT was time to meet Malis. Maggie and I cruised through the city. I turned onto the Bangkok Street Strip. The street was still abuzz with late night action. Cars weaved helter-skelter with bikes zipping in between. Partiers rollicked in every direction, brandy glasses in hand. Signs interleaved so tightly over the narrow street that they created a neon ceiling. I parked at the end of the block rather than battle my way down the pedestrian-crowded street.
We stuck to the less crowded street center as we walked. Broken glass crunched under my shoes. Flashing neon stung my eyes. Doormen solicited offworld passersby with megaphone-amplified shouts of “First drink free” and “Live sex acts onstage.” My brain fizzed with overload.
The Club Dynasty doorwoman collected cover charges in full S&M regalia: monitor-hide skivvies and studded collar. She play-whipped customers through the door. I passed her a couple bills. She ran her whip up my thigh, stopping just short of my crotch. I ducked the hand she extended toward my temple. She moved for Maggie, touching the device attached to her fingertips to Maggie’s temple, bombarding her brain with pornographic imagery. Maggie jerked away. I should’ve warned her.
Club Dynasty blared with eardrum-rattling dance beats. The dance floor was fogged over with O smoke. A small number of offworld men laid down dance moves with scads of Lagartan women who were wearing homemade miniskirts and cheap high heels. The women were battling for the affections of the offworld men. Hopes of finding an offworld suitor brought them out to the clubs with Cinderella dreams.
It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. An offworld man would fall in love and take one of our women up to the orbiting castle in the sky. For her, it would be a dream come true. She’d never go hungry, and her life expectancy would be extended by a hundred years or more. But marrying an offworlder was rare. For most, the night would degenerate into a ruthless slut-off competition. The one who ground and teased the best would get to sleep with the offworlder, all but certain to be discarded the next morning.
We circled the dance floor, scoping tables for Malis. Discount perfume and opium smoke burned my throat. Maggie grabbed my elbow and pointed. Malis was in a wraparound booth surrounded by doped-up bar trash, passing an O pipe.
Maggie showed her shield to the group. Malis smiled and waved in drug-stupor stupidity. Higher-than-a-kite girlfriends cleared out and weaved to the dance floor. Maggie and I escorted Malis to the restrooms. There was a line at the women’s. A steady stream of women was coming out with freshly poofed hair and water-doused shirts that clung to braless bods. We took her into the men’s. The bathroom was empty except for two offworld men swapping stories at the sink. One modeled marbled skin that made him look like statue. The other was going with his everyday look—chiseled chin, sharp eyes, and a beguiling smile. A genetically enhanced ten. I badged them out.
Maggie seized Malis’s bag.
Malis objected in a punch-drunk whine. “Heyyy, that’sss mmmine.”
Maggie pulled the drawstring, reached in, and handed me the vid. I wrapped my hands around it like it was the Holy Grail. The mayor’s going down.
“Youuu cccan’t have that. It’sss mmmine.”
I passed her the overstuffed money envelope.
Malis leaned into me, breasts first, looking for a new sugar daddy. “Hhhey, baby. You wwwant to ppparty? I’ll show yyyou a good timmme.”
Maggie pushed Malis away. “Let’s go.”
We moved back through the club. Maggie stopped. I looked over her shoulder. A badly dressed man had entered the club. I recognized him instantly—Carlos Simba. I grabbed hold of Maggie’s elbow and led her across the dance floor. Gyrating bodies closed around us. We bumped our way through the sweaty mass to the other side and beelined for the back exit.
We dashed through the door. The alley dead-ended to the left. We sprinted right. An offworld car was parked at the end. I tried to stop a
nd turn back. My ankle rolled over. I fell down hard. Maggie helped me up. The offworld car was emptying. Four figures were coming our way. We started trying doors—locked, locked, locked. Simba came out of the Club Dynasty door in front of two offworld heavies. I snatched the vid out of my shirt, scanned for a place to toss it out of their reach—nothing. Shit. Another door—locked! I clutched the vid to my chest. We were so close!
I kept my weight on the good ankle and faced the oncoming figures. They sashayed through ferns and alley trash with an offworld economy of movement. Maggie stayed next to me, putting a proud face over a terrified one.
There were seven of them all told. The offworld thugs didn’t even bother to take our weapons. They knew how useless they’d be against offworld tech.
The seventh figure came face to face with me. Crime lord Carlos Simba said, “I’ll take that.”
My hands were viced onto the vid. I should go for my gun. I might be able to kill Simba before they react. Or I could hostage him, use him to get us and the vid out of the alley. Simba was staring me down, his hand held out for the vid. Offworlders surrounded us, clacking finger blades and flaunting brass knucks that emerged from under their skin. I calculated my chances—zero, zero, zero. I handed over the vid. I felt I was passing over KOP with it.
Simba tossed the vid over his shoulder. One of the thugs caught it and read the data with eye implants. “It’s authentic,” he said.
Simba stood in front of me—slicked hair, peaked forehead, and a poor-fitting store-cut suit that matched his man-of-the-people image. He was going to kill us. My legs went weak. I thought of Niki trying to go it alone and sank to my knees, my ankle wrenching uncomfortably under my weight.
Simba talked to Maggie. “Mayor Samir would like you to know that your deal is off. What good is an informant that chooses not to inform? He is very disappointed in you. You would be well advised to resign from the police. The mayor promises you nothing but shit duty as long as you stay. Consider yourself very lucky that we’re not going to kill you.”
Maggie didn’t shrink from him. “Why not?”
“A dead cop with your family connections would complicate matters. There’d have to be an investigation, and that just doesn’t fit into our plans at the moment.”
Kop Page 26
