by Brian Parker
“Zach,” Andi interrupted me mid-swing at the face of a man wearing a tuxedo shirt with dirty dreadlocks.
“I’m a little busy, Andi.”
My fist impacted against the youth’s cheekbone and I felt it cave in. He fell away, clutching his face, sobbing.
“Chief Brubaker has ordered an immediate withdrawal of the riot police. The protest is to be allowed to continue unmolested.”
“Little late for that,” I huffed as I took a rock to the face shield, scaring the shit out of me. “These guys are rioting and we’ve got to stop them.”
“It is a direct order to have the men pull back and allow the protest to continue peacefully.”
“They’re not acting peaceful,” I groaned. The overhead cameras had to see what was happening. Surely Brubaker would see that.
“You also have a message from Teagan.”
“What?” I grunted, ducking under a street sign pole that some degenerate had pulled from the sidewalk.
“Teagan has left a message marked ‘Highest Priority’.”
“It’ll have to wait.” I parried a punch from a kid wearing a woolen cap, in May of all things, with my left forearm and returned the favor; mine connected across the bridge of his nose. He crumpled like a rag doll. A lot of these kids liked to start problems, but couldn’t back up their mouths.
I was having a great time.
“Zach, Teagan sounds upset that you’re missing her graduation dinner with her and her parents.”
I stopped. “Huh?”
Of course, standing there like an idiot in the middle of a rebellion got me knocked upside the helmet. I staggered back, then looked at the ground near my feet. Somebody had thrown a brick. Thank goodness I’d followed Brubaker’s orders to wear it or I’d have gotten a frontal lobotomy, free of charge.
I’d forgotten about the dinner. There was a full-on riot in progress, surely she’d understand. I ducked a large, green wine bottle that shattered on the ground behind me. I had to focus and put Teagan out of my mind for right now.
“Sergeant!” I yelled.
My partner, Drake, and the patrol sergeant both answered.
“Uh, I mean, Sergeant Dubois.”
“Yes, Detective?”
“We need to end this. We need to extract Ortega, and then pull your men out of here before these protestors get themselves hurt.”
“I can have a drone pick him up, but without being charged with a crime, his lawyer may consider it an illegal arrest.”
My head throbbed inside the helmet where I’d been hit. All around me, riot police defended themselves with stun batons as they reached around the safety of their shields. The five-thousand-strong crowd was in a frenzy and there was nothing a line of eighty cops was going to do to stop them. Either the protestors or an officer was going to get seriously hurt soon if we didn’t make the decision to end this.
“I’ll have to risk it,” I replied. “Have a drone pluck him out of the crowd and subdue him.”
Sergeant Dubois turned to me. “Detective Forrest, are you ordering me to use a patrol drone to apprehend Carlos Ortega for questioning?”
It wasn’t lost on me that the angle he’d set himself in allowed his helmet camera to record my face. Smart move on his part. Pass all the blame to the senior officer on scene.
“Yes,” I replied. “Detain Ortega so we can withdraw our police officers and allow the rally to continue.”
“You got it.”
I watched him type something into the flexscreen on his arm. The nearest drone rose ominously from an alleyway and hovered over the crowd. Then, Sergeant Dubois used an infrared pointer to designate Ortega as the target. The IR light was invisible to the naked eye, but easily detectible if anyone had any cybernetic upgrades to their vision.
The drone shot Ortega with two metal wires and sent a meager 80,000 volts of electricity through him. He fell, convulsing. The protestors began screaming in earnest as they realized that things were not going as they’d planned. Somehow, a space cleared around the march leader as people pushed even harder to escape.
Two of the drone’s spindly legs descended and grasped Ortega under the armpits, wrapping themselves securely around his shoulders, while a third wrapped around his waist. More pieces of brick and rocks clanged uselessly off the drone’s side as it lifted skyward, carrying a limp Carlos Ortega underneath.
“Pull your men back,” I told Dubois once Ortega was clear of the crowd and on his way back toward the Easytown Precinct headquarters.
The sergeant acknowledged and spoke on an internal radio line that I couldn’t hear. The riot officers began stepping backward in formation while the drones blocking the alleyways and further down Jubilee Lane floated skyward, creating avenues of escape for the rioters.
It was an orderly withdrawal, perfectly executed, as the officers backed away to take up our original position blocking access to the Chef Menteur Highway. The interim mayor had ordered that absolutely no protestors would be allowed to get up onto US Route 90, which connected Easytown with the rest of New Orleans, so that was our no-penetration line.
“Zach, Chief Brubaker is holding for you,” Andi interrupted my thoughts as we withdrew.
“I’m still busy, Andi.”
“It’s not up for debate, Zach. Patching him through now.”
“Andi, no. I—”
“Forrest!” Chief Brubaker barked over my earpiece. “What the fuck have you done this time?”
“Chief, I—”
“Can it, Forrest. Why did you deliver a dead body to my precinct?”
“Dead body?” I asked in confusion.
“The guy you plucked out of the crowd on international television was D.O.A. Get your ass down here right now.”
THREE: THURSDAY
I had twelve minutes to talk to Teagan on the drive back to the precinct, so I had Andi dial her number.
“Where are you?” she asked when she answered the phone on the first ring. “Cause you better be on your way over here right now.”
“Teagan, I’m sorry. I—”
“Don’t give me excuses, Zach.” The phone rustled and I heard her excuse herself from the table. We were supposed to go to dinner with her parents at some fancy French restaurant to celebrate her upcoming graduation, so that must have been who she was talking to.
Teagan’s face appeared in the Jeep’s dashboard as she switched from audio to video. The background looked like she was in some type of hallway, probably the one leading to the restrooms. “What the fuck, Zach?” she hissed, barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry. There was a riot and I had to arrest a guy.”
“A riot? Wait.” Her head distanced itself from the camera and her wavy blonde hair shook back and forth. “You’re a homicide detective. Why were you at a riot?”
“I had a suspect that I—”
“Zach, your job isn’t supposed to be exciting and you’re not supposed to get in gunfights. You’re supposed to search for clues at a crime scene. You’re not some beat cop; why the hell do you keep getting into these situations?”
“I’m just lucky, I guess.”
“Bullshit. You go looking for trouble. It’s getting old.”
She pulled the camera closer to her face, filling the screen once again. “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to the precinct. I got called in.”
“So you’re not coming to dinner?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it, Teagan. Chief Brubaker is pissed.”
“So am I,” she retorted. “You know what? Don’t bother coming to the restaurant. I’m too angry and I don’t want you to ruin my night any more than you already have.”
There was a long pause and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say something or keep my mouth shut. I never knew what to do in these types of situations, which was probably how I’d managed to stay single as long as I had.
Teagan answered for me. “I’m done with it.” I could see her hair waving back an
d forth again. Her voice lowered when she spoke once more, “I’m just done.”
She hung up the phone.
“Shit,” I said, slamming my hand onto the Jeep’s steering wheel. I had a brief moment of panic, remembering when I had to drive a couple of months ago. A stupid move like that would have caused an accident. Thankfully, I was back on the grid and the Jeep was on nav control.
“Andi, have flowers delivered to Teagan at the restaurant.”
“On it, boss.”
The Jeep pulled into the Easytown Precinct’s parking lot and turned right, toward a parking spot. “No, no, no. No!” I grumbled, tapping the nav readout. The low clouds that had threatened to open up during the riot were now pouring down rain. I wasn’t about to walk through that before going into the building.
I felt the vehicle accelerate beneath me and we made our way around the back of the lot toward the precinct. The building was a squat, utilitarian three-story brick square. Like everything else in Easytown that wasn’t right on Jubilee Lane, little attention had been paid to the building’s aesthetics. It was simply a shelter from the elements for the police officers and a temporary place to hold perps while they waited to go out to Sabatier Island.
The Jeep dropped me off at the employee entrance and I pressed my hand against the scanner to unlock the door. I decided to take the back steps, partially to avoid my friend Sandra at the front desk—I was in no mood for her light-hearted bullshit. I jogged lightly up the stairs until I made it to the top floor where Brubaker’s office was.
“What did I tell you about keeping your nose clean?” he asked as soon as I knocked on the door.
“I am, Chief.”
“Tell that to Ortega’s widow,” he huffed. “Goddammit, Forrest. The arrest was broadcast live.”
“Was it an underlying heart condition?” I asked. I’d been thinking about how he could have died. The Taser shock was a great way to subdue perps—unless they were one of the one half of one percent of the population that were adversely affected by the apprehension method, then it was a bad day for them.
“Preliminary reports look that way. The precinct’s medical droid says there was preexisting trauma on his heart muscle, but can’t give any further diagnosis. We’ll need an MD’s findings for the report—which you’re going to file, by the way.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
He chewed on the end of an unlit cigar for a moment as he stared at me. I’d known the man for more than a decade, so I guessed that he was trying to figure out a way to suspend me without violating any HR policies.
“Did you get my message about allowing the protest to go on as planned?”
“Yes…sir.” I felt the subtle shift in the conversation. I needed to be careful here. “The protest had already turned violent by the time I received your message.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “If this goes anywhere, they’ll check the timestamps on your message log.”
“Positive. The police line had advanced and was engaged with the crowd as we attempted to discuss the Henderson case with Ortega. The protestors began throwing bricks and hitting the officers with bottles and rocks. A few minutes after that began was when I got your message to withdraw. I saw the opportunity to pick up Ortega since he’d been giving us the slip for the past few days and I took it. At the same time, I relayed your orders to pull back to the sergeant in charge of the uniformed officers. Everything seemed to go well in that respect, until you told me that Ortega had died.”
The chief chewed harder. “Are you sure of your timeline? Not leaving out any details?”
“I’m positive, sir.” I didn’t need to think about the situation. I was in the right.
“Okay,” he said after a moment of deliberation. “I’ll work with IA and provide them your side of the story.”
IA, Internal Affairs. They were notorious for being assholes and I’d had my fair share of run-ins with them over the years. It wasn’t only that they were cops who investigated other cops, it was that the entire NOPD IA department seemed to genuinely enjoy being dickheads.
“Thanks, Chief.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Forrest,” he stated. “If Cruz wasn’t starting vacation tomorrow, I’d pull you off this and have a second set of eyes on the case, but the bastard is gonna be in Jamaica for two weeks. So, you’re all I’ve got.”
“Well, guess that makes it clear where I stand now,” I grimaced. “If you think I need to do things differently, then tell me so.”
“I tell you just about every goddamned time that you’re doing things wrong, Forrest,” he grumbled.
“I read your report on the disc shooter, Branch Corrigan,” Brubaker continued, changing the subject. “Funny thing is I busted the same guy eighteen years ago for murder. You believe that?”
“Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “I can’t believe he’s still alive since he’s been in the game that long.”
“Fucker got locked up on a reduced sentence because he was looney. Crazies only get a few years, regardless of how heinous the crime.” He readjusted his ass on his chair, leaning first to one side, and then the other. “You didn’t mention his connection with Henderson.”
“It’s circumstantial, at best,” I admitted. “The same ammunition was used to kill Henderson, but there’s no telling how many thugs in Easytown are using that weaponry.”
“The Henderson family is doing a lot of talking with the media about how the NOPD isn’t doing our job. We need to find his killer. What have you gotten from Corrigan?”
“Haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”
“He’s out at Sabatier already, in their hospital ward, so you’ll have to take the ferry. He’s the only cyborg we’ve managed to keep alive. Besides the Henderson connection, I want to find out who’s making these damn things and shut them down. They’re getting more dangerous and putting my officer’s lives at risk. I want you out there first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Got it.”
“But first, I want your full, written report about the protest.”
“Riot,” I corrected him.
“Okay, fine. Riot. I want that report in my inbox by 10 p.m. You understand?”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “What’s with all these two-hour deadlines recently, Chief?”
He smirked. “This one’s coincidental. I want to read it before I go to bed. That way I can mull over what I’m gonna say to IA while I’m asleep.”
“Got it,” I responded. “Anything else, Chief? I’ve got a report to write.”
“Get out of here.” He waved me off and stood up, collecting his rain jacket.
The chief gets to go home, all the little Indians stay and work, I thought as I stepped out of his office and headed down the hall for mine.
I say ‘my office,’ but in reality it was a shared workspace with my partner, Sergeant Greg Drake, and Alfonso Cruz and his partner, Sergeant Tim Smith. Cruz was the other full-time Easytown homicide detective; he was straight-laced, by the book…and had a much lower success rate than I did for investigations. I chalked it up to my charming personality.
Cruz was there, tapping his teeth with his fingernail to a beat only he could hear, and shaking his leg as he worked. I glared at him as I walked by, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the machine.
“Careful,” Cruz said hoarsely. “You used up your last clean shirt two days ago.”
“Did I? I’ll need to remember to bring some more in.” Cruz got under my skin in all sorts of ways, from his Boy Scout-like appearance to his mannerisms. I don’t think he tried to be annoying; he just was.
The coffee pot in the office was possessed. It constantly sputtered coffee onto my clothes, often spraying it directly from the percolator somehow onto my stomach. On the off chance it didn’t do that, something would invariably go wrong with the heating element and it would burn the coffee or the machine would decide to squirt cream and sugar into my cup. It was a mixed bag what was gonna come o
ut of that thing, but that’s how most technology was around me for some reason. So far, the only tech that hadn’t failed me was Andi and my Aegis pistol.
Thankfully, the cup that I pulled out of the coffee machine tonight was hot, black and brewed correctly, without ruining my white button-down. I carried the cup to my desk, which was strategically placed as far away from Cruz as the space allowed.
“Andi, remind me that I need to bring in some backup shirts.”
“Got it.”
“Also, please let Teagan know that I’m sorry about dinner and will make it up to her.”
“Do you want me to send that message or remind you to send the message? It would appear strange for me to send it to her on your behalf.”
“Uh… Yeah, ghostwrite an apology for me and send it from my phone.”
“Understood. Anything else?”
“Yeah, send me a transcript from the police drone logs. I want to incorporate what they saw into my report on the riot.”
“It’s in your inbox now, boss.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, opening her email. There was an attachment with more than seven hundred pages of transcribed audio, picked up by the drones during the forty minutes of the riot.
“Jesus, Andi.” It was a lot of data. I needed to narrow down what I was looking at or else I’d use up all my available time skimming the transcripts. “Keyword search Ortega, Karimov, police officers, cops, pigs, and resist.”
A new document appeared in my inbox. This one only had a hundred and fifty-six pages. I could work with that.
I began typing and Andi gave me quarterly updates to the time. Before I knew it, my report was nowhere near complete, but the ten o’clock deadline was up. I called the chief and had to tell him that I wasn’t going to make his deadline; to which, he called me several colorful names and gave me until the morning to finish the report.
As I typed and cross-referenced the audio files, I discovered that I was much more interested in Karimov than Ortega, even though the latter had been the organizer and was the subject of my latest IA investigation. Karimov was an enigma, seemingly doing well financially with a steady job that had also employed droids alongside humans for more than fifty years.
