Acts of Violence

by Ross Harrison

  ‘There have been a few disappearances around Dick Webster,’ Lawrence said. His voice told me he was reluctant to part with any information that might have me stay here a second longer. ‘Never any evidence he was involved, except that in the early days he was seen hassling every one of them. Now, whatever’s going on, he’s too smart to be seen directly involved.’

  ‘Little Dick Webster and smart don’t belong side by side in any sentence that doesn’t include a hearty laugh,’ I said. ‘And he has the money to make sure any evidence evaporated.’ There was a slow, hard release of breath behind me, but Lawrence said nothing. He knew it was true. His frustration was probably as much about that fact as my pointing it out.

  ‘What about the barmaid?’ DeMartino said. ‘She was, at best, half white.’

  ‘Webster said she was an experiment. Don’t know what he meant by that.’

  DeMartino’s eyebrows tried to embrace. ‘Experiment,’ he said to himself. ‘Richard Webster told you this?’

  I shook my head. Smiled for some reason. Perhaps I just liked the feeling of knowing more than him. ‘Cole Webster.’

  The eyebrows relaxed back into place. Lawrence stepped slowly around to where I could see him. He looked something like an asthmatic with a cold.

  ‘Are you telling me you can finger Cole Webster in your breakout and attempted murder?’ he said carefully.

  ‘I thought they were helping me escape.’

  ‘Maybe I was mistaken, Jack.’

  SEVEN | DELICATE ALLIANCES

  Things were looking less gloomy for me. I didn’t want to get my hopes up though. Especially with Lawrence after my head. It looked like I might not be bound for Anshan just yet. All thanks to a mystery woman in the next room.

  DeMartino and Lawrence stared at me. I thought maybe they were holding their breath. Waiting to see if I was going to be able to help them put away Cole Webster. I had to think about it.

  In Harem, helping the police wasn’t a good idea. Not only did it invite retribution on the fingerer from the fingered, but you could never tell what cop was in whose pocket. I didn’t think I’d have that problem with these two though. Especially DeMartino. An off-world UPSF agent was hardly likely to be in anyone’s pocket. Not anyone in Harem anyway.

  ‘Something tells me that my testimony alone won’t put Webster away,’ I said.

  ‘The testimony of a convicted murderer sitting in Anshan?’ Lawrence said. ‘Not likely. But it would help.’

  ‘Actually, Mr. Mason won’t be going to Anshan,’ DeMartino piped up. Took a deep breath. He was ready for the anger.

  ‘What? And just why the hell not, Agent?’ Lawrence demanded. He managed to keep his voice just below a shout.

  ‘Can I call you Larry?’ I asked. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know his first name though.

  ‘You can call me whatever you want,’ Lawrence said, without looking away from DeMartino, ‘long as you don’t mind me shooting you in the face. You got an answer for me yet, Agent?’

  ‘Yes, Detective. Firstly, that girl next door has pictures on her comm that are pretty compelling—’

  ‘They don’t mean shit!’ He shouted this time. DeMartino’s lips pursed and he shut his eyes tight in annoyance. ‘Just some pictures of him leaving the apartment and some guys – one of which bears a slight resemblance to Dick Webster – going in. That does not…mean…shit!’

  It should have amused me. Lawrence losing his cool. Shouting at a man with more pull than him. But I felt sorry for him. All he wanted to do was put away a killer. Someone who had murdered at least two women. With the evidence piled up against me, how could it be this hard? If I was him, I might have fallen back on my sidearm by now.

  ‘Please don’t interrupt me, Detective. I understand that it’s frustrating—’ A sharp glance here prevented Lawrence interrupting again. ‘The pictures may indeed be meaningless. But both were taken within a few minutes of the girl’s death. The fact that the very man whom she humiliated the previous night was in the building at the time of her death frankly throws doubt onto Mr. Mason’s guilt.’

  ‘It wasn’t a positive ID.’ Lawrence couldn’t help it. Probably could, actually. But he wasn’t the type to let some little wannabe in a fancy suit tell him when he could talk.

  ‘When we put it all together, Mr. Mason here seems least guilty. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Mason, you do nonetheless look very guilty. But, Detective, as I said, I think he knows things that could be of great importance to me. And to you, if you wish to see Cole Webster in prison.’

  Lawrence had begun pacing around behind me. I could almost feel the anger and frustration, like a solid bubble pressing against the back of my head. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the next thing I felt against the back of my head was the cold steel of a magnum. But Lawrence was better than that. Better than me. And that’s why I wasn’t amused. That’s why I felt a little weight on my heart.

  ‘Now, Mr. Mason, tell us about your “investigation”.’

  That was going to be tricky. I’d only just started looking into Little Dick. I had nothing at all but a few rumours. ‘I don’t think I’ll do that, Mr. Martino.’

  ‘Agent DeMartino,’ he corrected.

  ‘I didn’t do all that legwork for you to waltz in and take the credit for it—’

  Lawrence grabbed a handful of my hair. Yanked my head back. ‘You tell us what you’ve got, Jack,’ he growled in my ear, ‘or you are going to Anshan.’

  ‘I’m afraid Detective Lawrence is right. You may have misconstrued the situation. You’re not going to Anshan, because you know things that can help us. If you don’t tell us those things, then you go to Anshan. The girl’s pictures have given me doubts, but a jury won’t feel the same, I think.’

  Lawrence released his grip. I cracked my neck. Tried to feel at least slightly tough after having my hair pulled like I was a little girl in the schoolyard.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. I didn’t have much choice. I didn’t know what they’d do with me after I told them everything, but I knew what they’d do if I didn’t. The problem was still that I had nothing to tell. I’d have to make it up. Turn my wild guesses into confident statements.

  ‘Well?’ DeMartino prompted, as Lawrence started pacing again.

  ‘Well I have to keep some things back, or I’ll be sitting in Anshan by the end of the day. Not that I don’t trust you, of course.’ I smiled. It was returned. That ruined it. ‘Suffice to say the Websters are involved in human trafficking and drug smuggling. All run out of Webster’s mining operation. A front, like you said.’

  Lawrence had stopped pacing as soon as I said ‘human trafficking’. He was still and silent.

  DeMartino latched on to the other offence. ‘Drug smuggling?’

  ‘I don’t know if they manufacture it here or if it’s something they’re digging out of the mines.’ I didn’t even know if that was possible, but the more I talked, the more they’d feel I was giving them. ‘That’s what was cut out of the girl last night. I’d bet my life on it.’

  ‘You are,’ Lawrence reminded me.

  ‘Explain that one to me,’ DeMartino said. ‘If they smuggle people, and drugs inside them, why was she working as a barmaid? Isn’t the point of smuggling drugs to get them from one place to another? Where’s a barmaid going to go?’

  ‘That I can’t be sure of,’ I admitted in my most thoughtful tone. As far as I was concerned, I was doing a good job making it sound as though that was just one small issue in a sea of information I’d gathered. ‘Webster said she was an experiment, remember? Maybe the drug thing’s new. They wanted to be sure it wasn’t going to burst inside her or something. Stuff it in her and send her out to see how everyday life affected it.’

  ‘Why didn’t she ask you for help?’ Lawrence asked. Holes were being picked in my theory already and it hadn’t even finished forming in my head.

  ‘She was afraid. Maybe she had a bomb in her. You’ve heard about those slavers that work out of space stations. Th
ey implant the slaves with explosives. If they try to escape, they don’t get far.’ That was true, but I was grasping now.

  I thought about the barmaid’s behaviour. She hadn’t acted frightened or under threat. She’d acted curious. She’d been pretty interested in my investigation into Little Dick. Just like this morning, I’d wondered if she’d gone home with me to find out what I knew about Webster’s operation. Discover what I’d found out and report back to Webster. I thought that was the most likely scenario. She’d suddenly got interested in me after I mentioned Little Dick.

  That meant she must have known who Little Dick was after all. Someone who’d tan his cheek like that would be someone who knew he couldn’t touch them. Yeah, she was more important to Cole Webster’s operation than I’d told DeMartino and Lawrence. But how?

  DeMartino stared at me. Lawrence stared at DeMartino. I stared at the barmaid’s mutilated corpse. It was a strange feeling. Leaving her in one piece. Coming back less than an hour later to that… The image wouldn’t leave my head. Perhaps strange wasn’t the word.

  Actually, that was me trying to tell myself I was more sympathetic than I really was. In truth, that image hadn’t haunted my mind since the first time Holt shocked me. I was too concerned with my own situation.

  DeMartino was still staring at me. Lawrence was staring at me too now. I wondered what could be going through their heads. Lawrence’s head would be a mess. He wanted me strapped to a chair with a needle in my arm, looking out through a glass window to see that no one had turned up to cry over my execution. To see just how pointless and empty my life had been. To look out through a glass window and see only him. With a smile on his face. But he would also want Cole Webster taken down. He’d probably be wondering if I really knew as much as DeMartino thought I did. I was glad the UPSF had higher authority. Lawrence knew me too well to trust me. DeMartino was smart, but not smart enough to realise Lawrence had good instincts.

  ‘Okay,’ DeMartino said, as though he’d finally come to a conclusion. ‘I’ve had a long trip and I’d like to get some sleep. I’m sure you’d like to clean up your apartment before it starts to stink, Mr. Mason.’

  I hoped to hell he wasn’t serious. Didn’t the police have a team they brought in to do the clean up after a messy death? I wouldn’t have put it past Lawrence to call them off this time.

  ‘What time is it, anyway?’ I asked.

  ‘Just before four.’

  ‘So we’re going to let him go home?’ Lawrence said, still keeping his cool. ‘Just release him back onto the streets? Give him time to get his thoughts together and come up with more convincing lies for us?’

  ‘I want Mr. Mason to go back to his apartment and stay there.’ DeMartino raised his eyebrows at me. Probably meant he was serious. Raised eyebrows equalled seriousness in the world of the UPSF agent. ‘I want him to sit in the scene of an atrocious murder and mutilation and think about how he’s going to help us tomorrow. Think about all the helpful things he’ll tell us. All the helpful people he’ll introduce us to. And where he’ll be spending tomorrow night if he doesn’t.’

  Lawrence slowly let out a deep breath that rumbled in his throat a bit, like a quiet growl. ‘Hear that, Jack? We’re going to be friends. Allies in the war against miners.’ He didn’t mean it. DeMartino knew that as well as I did. Lawrence knew how bad Webster was. With most of his colleagues in the man’s pocket, though, there wasn’t much the city’s only straight cop could do on his own.

  ‘Just remember, Mr. Mason, that I’ll be watching your every move.’

  I doubted it. Sure, Lawrence would put a man or two on my apartment. But I felt sure DeMartino was the only proper UPSF agent in Harem. He’d brought the two grunts and a pilot with him, but that was it. The flyer was a run of the mill transport. It could have carried some crates of equipment, sure, but I suspected not. If the UPSF had signed off on a flyer full of surveillance equipment and the like, then they’d have also signed off on more agents and a kitted out flyer. No, DeMartino was here on a hunch and some rumours. Like I'd been, at The Web. In short, some useless Harem cops would be watching me, not trained government agents.

  EIGHT | NIGHTCAP

  DeMartino had been serious. The brown stains on the carpet reminded me of Lucy. Then, unsurprisingly, they reminded me of the girl whose blood had made them.

  I looked around the apartment. I’d considered putting up a partition of wood and glass – the bubbly kind, whatever it was called. The most immediate area would be a waiting room for clients and office for my secretary. The second would be my office, and I’d curtain off the bed and kitchen. But I never got my PI licence. Never got my clients. Never got my secretary. The apartment was too small for all that anyway.

  I’d have to take up the carpet. Wasn’t something that weighed on my mind though. After tomorrow, my apartment might be six square feet of bricks and bars. I had to find something that would keep me important to DeMartino. And I had to find it tonight.

  My stomach reminded me how it had been neglected since some time yesterday. I finally got that cup of coffee and made it a little more filling with the bottle from my bedside cupboard. I’d need real food soon. I couldn’t think properly when I was hungry. And I needed to think now more than ever.

  Next, I had a brief shower and changed into a clean suit. After another mug of coffee, I went back into the bathroom. Over the sink, a mirror glittered with condensation. I was glad I couldn’t see my reflection. I pulled it off the wall.

  The cops hadn’t done a particularly thorough job of searching the apartment. They’d pulled out drawers and left them lying on the floor with their contents spilled out, but they hadn’t used scanners. If they had, they’d have found my little hiding spot in no time. This was an outside wall, so I’d been able to build a crude and not particularly secure safe into the cavity.

  I pulled out my spare pistol. A revolver. Six bullets in the gun and more in a box. I’d never been one for plasma or laser. Right now though, with Cole Webster after my head, a million-shot pistol would have been my best friend. I tipped half the contents of the box into my pocket.

  Next out of the cavity was another badge. I had about twelve of them. I figured Lawrence would be notified if I used my card, so I grabbed a handful of credit chips too. There weren’t many in there, but I’d only need them for food. I wasn’t in the bribing mood. More the shouting, smashing and threatening mood. That was if I could find someone with information I needed.

  I’d lost track of my trench coat. I couldn’t remember if the cops had taken it from me, or Webster’s goons, or if I’d even been wearing it this morning. I supposed I must have been. In this town, you wore your coat more often than your socks. I had an old one in the wardrobe. One arm had been slashed by some drug dealing punk a few months ago and I’d never got it fixed. Better than nothing.

  Now I was ready to go. The only question was where. The obvious places were club Web and the barmaid’s apartment. I didn’t know where she’d lived, so The Web was the only real option. Little Dick had lived in his father’s mansion down at the mining operation, so searching his place was out of the question for now.

  I peered down at the street, staying as far back from the window as I could. A patrol car sat a little way down. I couldn’t see how many occupants it had. If I set foot through the front door, I’d be spotted right away. I’d lose another gun and another badge. And the only hope I had to stay out of Anshan.

  There was a fire escape, but the cops would be watching that too. I could probably think up some distraction, but it was better the cops had no reason to come and check on me. I doubted they’d be using technology to watch me through the walls. Harem PD probably didn’t have such tech.

  It wasn’t a problem. I knew something about this building that the cops didn’t.

  The sky was getting darker. It was just after five, but in this weather, it wouldn’t be long before night slithered through the city. I switched on the bedside lamp and the standing lamp besi
de the couch. That would do for now, but I could be out all night. I programmed them both to switch off at thirteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds past eleven. More of a natural time. Not that the cops would even notice, probably. Made me feel clever, at least.

  Finally, I left my apartment and went downstairs. Outside apartment three, I pulled the ever-present umbrella from the stand beside the door. I’d return it to the old man later.

  A glance through the glass front doors reassured me that the cops couldn’t see me from where they’d parked. I took the door under the stairs and went down another flight.

  The air rising from the basement was cool. Smelled musty and old. A cobweb tried to smother me. Something was leaking somewhere down here. As soon as I took my first step off the stairs, it made a splash. A thin layer of brown water. Or maybe the floor was just brown. The light was too bad to tell.

  About a year ago, the apartment building beside mine had its backup generator removed. That generator used to serve both buildings, until mine got a new one all to itself. That meant it had been built into the wall so both sides could access it. When it was taken out, the hole was never bricked up and the genny was never replaced.

  I hunched down and squeezed through the gap. The next basement was dry. Had the same smell of dust and mould though. There was another smell on top of that. A warmer smell. Cigarette smoke.

  ‘Evening,’ a voice said. An ageing man in ripped jeans and a stained T-shirt sat on a pipe in the corner of the room, smoking.

  ‘Evening,’ I said. ‘Another nice day.’ I shrugged the umbrella.

  ‘Uh huh.’ He eyed the umbrella for a second. Took a drag. Returned to the battered datapad in his hand. I could hear the faint yelling of sports commentary coming from it. A trench-coated man with an umbrella wandering through his basement was less interesting.

  As I moved on, I had to cough the lump of nerves out of my throat. In that second between smelling the smoke and hearing the voice, I’d pictured Lawrence standing there waiting for me. Now I had the luxury of hindsight, it wouldn’t have surprised me at all. He was smart enough. Crafty enough. But the day’s stress had probably tired him out, too, and he’d have reports to write. I’d be flattering myself if I thought I was going to run into him.