by Brian Parker
“Bullshit,” I said, bursting through the doors to the outside. “Send the Jeep to pick me up. Andi, go through your logs, find some time when Teagan called her mother from inside the apartment and analyze the touch tones.”
“It may take me a few minutes.”
“I don’t care, just do it.” The rain had increased and poured down in great sheets while I waited under a large pedestrian rain shield.
My mind began to kick into overdrive. I’d busted a lot of very bad people over the years. It wasn’t impossible to get messages out of Sabatier; did someone from inside have Teagan kidnapped? Or was it some of Ortega’s people in retaliation for his death? Was it possible that a leftover crony of Mayor Cantrell had offed her? We hadn’t been overt in our relationship, but she did live with me, so if any of my enemies had managed to figure out where I lived, it wasn’t a far stretch to think they could also figure out who she was.
The Jeep’s headlights cut through the deluge and I hopped into the passenger seat, choosing the closest door over the need for control. The Jeep’s speakers began to ring hollowly, letting me know that Andi was placing an outgoing call.
“Hello, Detective Forrest,” a woman answered.
“Hi, Dhamiria,” I said, familiar enough with Teagan’s mother who was only a few years older than me. “I just left Teagan’s graduation ceremony, she wasn’t there. I’ve been trying—”
“I know, Zach,” Dhamiria interrupted. “She informed us of her decision not to attend the graduation last night.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I—She told me not to tell you.”
“I’m a cop, Dhamiria. I can file a missing person’s report and have the city scoured for her. I’ll find her, wherever she is.”
“Zach,” Andi cut in.
“I’m talking with Teagan’s mother.”
“I know,” Andi continued. “However, there are two collection droids requesting entry into the apartment to secure Teagan Thibodaux’s personal items.”
“Dhamiria, my AI just told me that there are two droids at my apartment,” I said. “They’re collecting Teagan’s things. This is spinning out of control over a misunderstanding.”
“Zach,” her voice cracked. “Believe me, when she told her father and I where she was going, we were very upset as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have hurt her greatly. She chose to leave the country. She flew to Indonesia this morning.”
“Indonesia?” My mind couldn’t process what Dhamiria said. Why the hell would she go to that backward shithole? It was less than a third-world country, if there were such a classification. The people were in constant danger of succumbing to famine, disease, and war. It was worse than New Orleans could ever be.
Finally, I settled on, “Why?”
“She accepted a position teaching English at the Jesuit school in Jakarta. She tried to find information about going to Europe, but they use droids to teach students. Only the Southeast Asia countries still pay to import teachers from the West.”
“I don’t—”
“Please, Zach. She begged me not to tell you where she was going, but I didn’t feel that was the right thing to do to you. In time, she’ll learn that you cannot simply cease to be the person you were—and abandoning those you left behind, leaving them wondering about you is not proper. Teagan will be fine. Maybe some distance is all she needed.”
“Uh… Mmm hmm,” I mumbled. “Okay, thank you for telling me.”
I hung up the call and stared blankly out the windshield. I was a complete and utter fuck-up and I’d caused that girl to ruin her life. She was throwing away a golden opportunity to teach here in New Orleans in favor of escaping from me.
I needed a drink, I said aloud to nobody. “Take me to Matilda’s on The Lane,” I muttered to the Jeep.
I needed several drinks…
SIX: FRIDAY
“Another one,” I slurred.
“Mr. Forrest,” the droid behind the bar leaned forward in a semblance of someone wanting to talk without being overheard. “You have had five double bourbons. I am no longer required to provide alcohol to you. Please, go home and have a good Friday night.”
“I don’t want to go home,” I replied. “I want a drink.”
“Do you require companionship?” the droid asked. “There is a club next door. I hear their services are top notch.”
I laughed, loudly and bitterly. I’d already been down that road when the droid Paxton seduced me into having sex with her and violating the NOPD’s Immorality Clause.
“No thanks, Sam,” I replied. “I like my women warm and soft, not—”
I stopped. I’d came to the bar to forget about my problems with women, not talk about them to a bartender droid like a fucking drunk loser. “Can I just get another drink, Sam? I’ll sit here and be quiet.”
“This establishment is legally within its rights to refuse service to anyone determined to be publicly intoxicated. Once you finish your drink, you will not be served for the next one hour and twelve minutes.”
I held out my hand, “Just charge my chip. I’ll go somewhere else.”
The droid scanned my credit chip and had the nerve to ask if I wanted to leave a tip.
I gulped down the remainder of my drink and then slammed the glass down on the counter. “You’re a goddamned droid. Why would I tip you? Extra oil for the joints?”
The bartender turned away and walked to the end of the counter where another patron had raised their hand. I shoved back from the bar, standing unsteadily for a moment until I got my balance, and then walked out onto the street.
Outside, The Lane was as busy as always on a Friday night—despite the ever-present rain. Small groups of people passed by as I stood under the bar’s awning with a hand against the window to keep from falling. I drank in the sights and sounds of the night, reveling in the atmosphere.
Jubilee Lane had a lighter feel to it, like it always did during the summer months. With all the college graduations across town, tonight was the first official night of summer for the clubs in Easytown. The city’s residents, both temporary and permanent, were out celebrating one last time before the college kids went home and the tourists flocked into town. Old friendships were renewed and new ones made.
These kids had no idea what the future held in store for them.
The laughter of a group of girls reminded me that I needed to get to the Jeep and go home. I called it up and had it meet me near an alley a few blocks away. I stepped out from under the rain shield and stumbled to the bright lights of the next establishment’s awning.
Neon lights flashed mesmerizingly and a doorman called out to the crowds to come experience the pleasure of the girls at Art’s Performing Center. I glanced through the windows. Inside, girls of every ethnicity lounged on sofas or sat in chairs. A blonde wearing a skimpy, white lace outfit saw me looking in and stood, coming over to the window. A thin, see-through top revealed pale skin, with just a hint of muscle tone.
She reached out a hand and extended a slender finger in my direction, beckoning me inside. The urge to just throw it all away and walk through those doors was overwhelming. I didn’t need this shit. I could simply go inside and let nature take over. Forget about rules and regulations; live in the moment and all that.
The prostitute slid aside the crotch of her panties, revealing everything the tiny fabric had hidden. I gaped at her for a moment and then tore my eyes up to her face. She arched an eyebrow and smirked, willing me to come inside the brothel to her. All I had to do was just walk in and she’d do the rest.
My feet obeyed some primal urge, something that didn’t even register in my mind. I needed to go inside. That blonde—droid or human, I didn’t care at that point—needed me to go inside as well. I took three steps and she shadowed me in the window, keeping pace with me.
“Zach, the Jeep reports that it’s been waiting for your arrival for three minutes,” Andi’s voice interrupted, b
reaking the prostitute’s spell. “It will be required to move if you don’t get in soon.”
“Uh, yeah,” I responded, stumbling from the cover of the awning out into the rain. I stood in the downpour for a moment, letting the water wash over me and clear my thoughts. When the temptation had passed, I walked awkwardly through the rain to where the Jeep waited without looking back. I sat heavily into the back seat, bumping into the hovertray and Corrigan’s weapon.
“You big, dumb bastard,” I said, not entirely sure if I was talking about the arm or myself. It didn’t matter.
A hand slapped hard against my window a moment after I shut the door, causing me to jump. I glanced over and saw a group of three tweakers. The two brandished small clubs and the one who’d hit my window had a knife. They must have been trying to rob me as I stood in the rain like an idiot and I’d simply made it to the car before they could act.
“Go!” I ordered the Jeep, which shot forward into traffic, leaving the would-be muggers behind.
“Andi, call into the precinct that there are tweakers with weapons back there.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Zach.”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I was drunk, but I wasn’t incapacitated. “Why?”
“You told me an hour ago to ignore all calls from the precinct and dispatch has been trying to reach you.”
“Shit,” I grumbled. Couldn’t I just get a night off? Just one? “Go ahead and send it in. And patch me through to Drake.”
The phone rang once and Drake picked up. “Evening, Detective.”
“Hey, Drake. What’s up? It’s my night off.”
“Not according to the schedule,” he replied. “We’re on and Lieutenant Cruz and Tim Smith are on vacation.”
“Huh? Hold on a second.” I tapped the hold button. “Andi, didn’t I request off for Teagan’s graduation?”
“You did, boss. But the request was denied due to Lieutenant Cruz’s vacation. It was already scheduled by the time you requested the day off.”
“Shit.” I tapped the button to take me back to Drake. “Alright, guess we’re on. What’ve you got?”
“A pissed off chief of police for starters.”
“Dammit,” I groaned. “What’s the deal?”
“Brubaker is down here, running the scene—and he is not happy about it.”
“Brubaker’s running the scene?” Fuck, it was worse than I thought.
“Yeah. There’s gonna be hell to pay for this one. We’re over at the Regal Eagle. Dead businessman and dead prostitute.”
‘Regal Eagle’ was cop slang for the Eagle Apartment complex at the farthest end of Jubilee Lane, not to be confused with the posh Regal Apartments that Paxton Himura had lived in over in Venetian Isles. Lots of prostitutes and club workers lived in the Regal Eagle because of the cheap price of rent and the proximity to clients on The Lane. We worked that building a lot.
I thought for a moment and then said, “Alright, buddy. I’m in Easytown already. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Sure thing, Detective. You may want to let dispatch know that you’re en route so they quit calling you out as a no-show.”
“I just had Andi call it in. I’ll be there in a few.”
The Jeep’s speed eased up as Andi input the directions to the crime scene. I sighed and stood up in the back seat to reach around into the glove box up front. A small auto-injector sat inside and I lifted it out. I held the device up to the interior dome lights to read the contents—it never hurt to be safe. When I was satisfied that the injector had the right drug, I lifted my shirt and pressed it against my stomach. A sharp twinge of momentary pain told me I’d pushed the right button.
I hated using stims, but sometimes it was necessary in my line of work. Most cops used them to help get through twenty-four hour shifts and stay awake on stakeouts. I only used the damn things when I needed to clear alcohol from my system in a hurry. I placed the injector back in the glovebox and sat back, waiting for it to kick in.
By the time I reached the Regal Eagle, I felt like a million bucks. Physiologically, the alcohol was still in my system, but the stims helped to counteract the depressants. I hadn’t ever used them when I wasn’t drunk, but I could see how young cops got addicted to the crap and shot up when they weren’t needed.
I stepped out into the pissing rain and ran right into Chief Brubaker, standing in the deluge with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Do you want to have a job with the New Orleans Police Department, Forrest?”
“I thought I had the night off, Chief. Honest mistake.”
He turned his head and spat out part of his waterlogged cigar. “Well your mistake got broadcast across the entire New Orleans Policenet. Dispatch was frantic about securing the scene and your phone was turned off, not even accepting messages. IA heard that shit for sure. It’s another condemnation against you. If I hadn’t stepped in to take this, HQ was going to send someone from another precinct to work our neighborhood. Can you imagine how bad that would look?”
Shit, now my bullshit was starting to affect other people. I respected Brubaker, he’d gone to bat for me more times than I could count. If HQ assigned an outside detective to our precinct that we didn’t request, it would reflect poorly on Brubaker and his ability to manage the station.
“I spent twenty-five years as a homicide dick, Forrest,” Chief Brubaker said calmly. “Twenty-three of them right here in Easytown. You know how many times I was derelict in my duties and didn’t answer a call, or showed up three hours late to a crime scene?”
“Probably none, Chief.”
“You’re goddamned right. I didn’t miss a single fucking day on the job,” Brubaker barked, his calm demeanor shattered. “Kids’ birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, I didn’t miss any of those either—because I fucking planned ahead. Hell, you even have that fancy robot assistant and you can’t keep your shit together.”
I felt it best not to correct him. Andi wasn’t a robot, no matter how many times she tried to convince me to shell out the cash for a body.
“You got anything to say for yourself?”
“Sir, I—”
“Can it, Forrest. I don’t want to hear your excuses. There’s nothing I can do to cover for you on this one. Being absent without leave is a big deal.”
He turned around and gestured over his shoulder. “Come on, asshole. I’ll tell you what I know, then I’m going to bed. I want a full report by the time I wake up tomorrow.”
The first body we came to was female. The killer had gotten her in the alley near the back stairwell. The lower half of her body was under the concrete steps, likely dragged there after death. The upper half was in the rain. Even through the bruises on her face, I could see that the deceased had been pretty enough, for a prostitute, likely earning her pimp a little more than the average working girl. The cause of death was easily recognizable. Several massive lacerations across her abdomen spilled part of her intestines onto the pavement and at least one perforating wound to her chest probably took out a lung. Another jagged cut along her forearm showed where her credit implant was cut out.
“Her name was Rose Finch,” Brubaker said, pulling me out of my rapid examination. “Known prostitute on The Lane, works out of the Regal Apartments, right here. Same, tragic story as half the working girls in Easytown: she was a college student with a bright future, got hooked on drugs, and then ended up dropping out and going off the radar when she started working the streets. Her parents filed a missing person’s report almost two years ago, but Finch appeared in person to dispute the claim and the case was dropped. Her pimp is a guy named Robert Andrews. Sergeant Drake is talking to him now.”
Chief Brubaker gestured toward the corpse. “Besides the obvious injuries on the front, there’s a massive contusion on the back of her head. Looks like she got clocked from behind. She has a small bag with some clothes in it that was open when we got here, probably rifled through for valuables. Alright, let’s go
upstairs.”
I sidestepped around the body and then realized what was missing. “Has the scene already been photographed?”
“Yeah, an hour ago,” the chief grunted as he climbed the stairs. I hadn’t ever been this late to a crime scene. The photographers had come and gone, leaving just the regular building lighting to examine the scene.
We walked down a narrow hallway of closed doors until we came to the only open one. I shook the rain off my jacked and ducked under a line of police tape to go inside. The room was like all of the others in the Eagle: small, cramped, and pathetic. The bed and a dresser were all that the prostitute had in the way of furniture. There wasn’t even a restroom, just a porcelain sink covered in blood.
The copper smell of blood mingled with the stench of shit in the tenement’s oppressive heat. The air was out in the building, must have made the sex just awful.
“This is Gerald Wentworth,” Brubaker said, pointing at the bloody mass of flesh.
The man—probably a john—still wore his pants and had one shoe off. He’d been stabbed in the neck, which accounted for all the blood scattered across the room, but what finished him off had been the nail file that still stuck out of his eye socket.
“Somebody was in a bad mood,” I muttered. “Let me guess, this is the dead prostitute’s room.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Brubaker replied. “From the initial discussion with the pimp, he arranged for Finch and Wentworth to conduct a transaction, she met him at the designated spot on The Lane, and then brought him up here. After that, the pimp went to work sales for his other nine employees. All of Wentworth’s money on his credit chip was transferred to Finch. That’s all we’ve got on site. About an hour ago, Finch’s credit chip was accessed at a transfer machine and everything was downloaded to a burner chip.”
Shit, a burner chip meant the trail was already cold. They’d probably already transferred the money from the burner to their real chip and that was it, no more evidence. “Any witnesses?”
“No, the other girls were in their rooms. Typically, they only use the back stairs in the day, outside of work hours, because johns don’t hang out in the alley behind the apartments. They linger on the sidewalk out front.”
