by Brian Parker
“Hi,” Amanda said, sliding around me. “I’m Amanda.” She shook Katheryn’s hand softly. “And that idiot with a knife is Amir, my husband.”
“Why’s he have a knife?”
“Because,” I said. “People that come to my apartment tend to have bad intentions. Speaking of, how’d you find out where I lived?”
“You think I have bad intentions?” Katheryn asked with a lopsided grin.
“No, I meant that’s why he had a knife, because of the type of people who seek me out typically try to kill me.”
“That’s… That’s really sad,” she replied.
“Isn’t it?” Amanda said. “Well, I’m not rude like Zach. Please come in.”
“Wait. What?” I said in confusion. We were supposed to have a simple dinner and some drinks. Now Amanda was inviting strangers into my home?
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Katheryn said.
“Nonsense,” Amanda answered, pushing me aside. Luckily, I was holding onto the door, or I’d have fallen. “You come inside. Would you like something to drink?”
“I would love to have whatever Detective Forrest is having.” She pointed at my glass. “May I?”
“Huh?”
“Your drink. Can I try it to see if I like it?”
“Uh… Sure,” I replied, handing her my glass of bourbon.
She took a large pull from the glass and handed it back to me, breathing out of her open mouth. “That’s a little rough on the front end, but it finishes smooth and smoky.”
I blinked. “That’s exactly why I like it.”
“It’s good. I’ll take one,” Katheryn said, handing my glass back to me and walking inside.
“Ah… You know a cleaning service doesn’t cost that much, right?” she asked, surveying the overturned boxes and piles of junk that the collection droids had left after they collected Teagan’s things.
“His girlfriend left him Friday,” Amanda said, much to my chagrin. “She sent some droids over to get her stuff and this is how they left the place.”
“Friday?” She seemed surprised. “Like, the day you were out at Sabatier with that piece of evidence and the same day you got stabbed?”
I frowned. “Yeah, timing was never my thing.”
She accepted my answer with the same refreshing, laissez-faire attitude that seemed to be the woman’s hallmark.
The next hour was one of the strangest social situations I could remember besides the first time I woke up to a stranger in my bed that I’d brought home from a bar. Katheryn seemed able to actively participate in any conversation that occurred; whether it was talk about cooking methods, police work, social issues, or sports, she was extremely well-rounded and engaging. Even better, she could take a good-natured joke and return the favor.
She’d make a good cop, I decided.
As the evening wore down, Amir and Amanda took their leave. Their babysitter had to go home and get ready for her final week of high school. I was surprised when Katheryn didn’t leave at the same time, which is usually how those things worked. Amir gave me a sloppy hug and mumbled something about getting a tiger before his wife laughed, helping him stagger down the hall to the elevator.
I closed the door and limped back to the dining room where my ‘desk’ had actually been used as a table for the first time that I could remember. All of my case files were in a haphazard pile near the wall and Katheryn was staring at the top sheet, which was my notes from the riot on Thursday.
“So, ah, can I get you another drink?” I asked, pointing at her empty glass.
“Can I get some water, please?”
I took her tumbler and set it on the kitchen counter before getting a clean glass for her from the cabinet. “Do you live far from here?”
“No. Just a few blocks away,” she said. “Same neighborhood and everything.”
I handed her the glass and sat down beside her. “Why do you do it?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” I replied in confusion.
“Why are you a police officer, a detective? Like I told you the other day, I’ve sorta followed your career for a while. You’ve been shot, stabbed,” she pointed at my bandaged leg, as she continued her list of injuries, “beaten, and had several broken bones over the years. From what your friends said, your career holds you back in the relationship department; so, why do you do it?”
I thought drunkenly about my answer, and how I wanted to respond. I chose to answer her sincerely. “I believe in helping people. In my job, I see the absolute worst of the human spirit. Every damn day. I don’t get the benefit of meeting the good ones and interacting with the community like a beat cop, but I do get to help them. I go out there each night and every day, to get the worst of the worst off the street so regular people can go about their lives without fear of getting murdered for whatever’s in their wallet or on their credit implant.
“It’s changed me over the years, I’ll freely admit that. I’m still a single guy with no family, while everyone I grew up with, all of my friends, are married with children. I can’t even keep a pet because it’d be cruel to leave them alone for so long.”
I paused. “I don’t regret it, though. I’ve been one of the most successful homicide detectives that the Easytown Precinct has ever had.”
Katheryn smiled, but somehow managed to appear sad. “Hey, what is it?” I asked.
“It’s just… You seem like such a good man, I—”
“Whoa!” I said, holding up my hands and cutting her off. “I’m not without my faults.” I lifted my nearly empty glass. “For starters, I drink way too much, and I’m not particularly nice with the perps.”
“Both are coping mechanisms for dealing with what you’ve seen and done. The same with your relationship problems, it’s probably—”
“Alright, that’s enough,” I cut her off again. “You’re a nice woman, Katheryn, but I already see a shrink. I don’t need another person trying to analyze me.”
She ducked her head, sending her hair flying once more. “You’re right. Sorry. You don’t realize it, but I really am trying to help.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Sorry,” she said, standing from the table on unsteady legs. “I’ve got to go, Zach. Early morning at the evidence locker.”
I stood as well. “I can walk with you to the garage and we can get that weapon from my Jeep.”
“You left it in your car?”
“Uh… Yeah. The security system in the Jeep is top-of-the-line, protected by a secure garage facility. I wasn’t in the best shape to retrieve it Friday or Saturday. The hospital only did a small amount of regenerative genetic stimulation since, as you said, I’ve been injured so much and the docs are worried about the long term effects of so many procedures.”
“I’m sorry, Zach,” she said, leaning into me, sliding her hands around my waist.
I wrapped her in my arms. Dizziness from the alcohol and antibiotics mixture intensified and before I realized what was happening, Katheryn and I were kissing. My brain screamed for me to stop; my body urged me further along toward the impending disaster.
Katheryn broke away first. “I—I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” Jackass, I thought.
“I just can’t, Zach. It’s complicated.” She stepped back and put a hand on the table to steady herself. “Can you please bring the weapon to the evidence locker first thing in the morning?”
She didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she stumbled to the apartment door and hurried into the hallway.
I sat back down at the table to think about the mess I’d made, both in my personal life and at work. I needed to get things straight, but first I needed another drink—which may have been a contributing factor to some of my problems. I sure as hell wasn’t prepared to give it up, though.
EIGHT: MONDAY
“Zach, it’s time to go to work.”
“Can it, Andi. I’m on convalescent leave,” I grumbled into my pillow.
“
Technically, you’re leave ended at six o’clock this morning. The hospital gave you forty-eight hours after you came out of surgery. You’re back on the clock, Zach, and there is a message waiting for you from Dr. Jasmin Jones.”
“Mother fucker,” I groaned. “Turn the lights on to the dimmest setting we have.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“And tone down the cheeriness. I feel like crap.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Andi replied with a distortion filter superimposed over her normal voice, although it didn’t hide her standard voice protocols, which were annoying to me right now. “Do you want me to make this voice profile standard?”
“No, goddamn it. Just talk normal, but quietly.” I rolled over and my waistline hurt. “What? Aww, crap.”
I’d slept in my clothes and the jeans I’d worn yesterday had bitten into my hips, scraping away the scab where the knife had sliced me. “Andi, what have I told you about reminding me to take my clothes off?”
“You have said, ‘Do not let me go to sleep in my clothes, Andi.’ However, I can do nothing besides provide verbal cues to remind you to remove your garments, Zach. I do not have a physical presence at this time. If you want to provide me with a synthetic body, I would ensure that your every need was taken care of.”
I turned on the shower and stepped inside. “I wish I could afford something like that, Andi. I’d buy you a robot skin and just be done with it. But I can’t, so stop bringing it up.”
I showered in peace after that and toweled off when I was done. Andi had coffee ready and said a breakfast delivery droid was on the way. As I waited, I contemplated what had happened last night.
Katheryn had acted a bit strangely—or maybe that was normal for her, I didn’t know. She seemed insistent to hear about my background, and what was that she said about trying to help me? What did I need her help for? And the kiss… She’d been into it for a moment and then changed her mind, leaving suddenly.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, wondering if she was another fucking droid. “Andi, access the vitals from last night, verify that Katheryn Townlain is human.”
“She has a regular heartbeat and exhibits normal breathing patterns associated with a sober individual when she arrived versus the breathing patterns, body heat, and heartbeat of an intoxicated person later in the evening.”
“Compare that information to the Paxton Himura droid. Is your assessment that Katheryn is a robot?”
“No, Zach. Unless there are major advancements in the field of robotics that I am unaware of, Miss Townlain is a human.”
I was being paranoid again. Every woman I met was not secretly a droid trying to infiltrate my life. I needed to move on from that major fuck-up and focus on the present.
“Play the message from Dr. Jones.”
“Zach, it’s Jasmine Jones. I’m getting automated reports that you’re under investigation for police brutality. I thought we were past all that. I have some time on my schedule this morning at 10 a.m. Why don’t you come down to HQ and meet with me? It’ll go a long way in your defense that you’re actively seeking treatment for mental health issues.”
“Actively seeking treatment?” I muttered. “Andi, dig around Mainframe, see what you can find out about the investigation that Dr. Jones mentioned.”
“You got it, boss,” she replied.
I walked into the closet, accidentally kicking a pile of clothes that the collection droids had knocked to the floor when they checked brands and sizes for Teagan’s clothing. Her leaving the way she did was bad enough; the droids trashing my apartment was inexcusable.
“Andi, have the maid service come in here while I’m gone,” I said, sliding a white t-shirt over my head. “I want everything put back the way it was before those droids came through.”
“Excellent. I will display pictures for the cleaning droid for reference.”
“Good idea,” I replied. “How much time do I have?”
“You really should be leaving in the next ten minutes.”
“So I have time to sit and eat my breakfast and have a cup of coffee?”
“As I mentioned, the coffee is ready, however the breakfast is running late. You may be required to eat in the Jeep.”
I pulled my pants on, but didn’t bother with my button-down shirt or tie. If I was eating in the car, I’d wait to put those on until I was finished. Andi poured a cup of coffee and I sat down at the table. I liked being able to see the surface, normally every square inch was covered in papers except for the space occupied by my keyboard and my coffee cup.
“What’s happening in the world,” I whispered, pursing my lips as Andi brought up the daily news, displaying it at my eye level. I started to read the first headline and then my mind processed what I was seeing.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed.
The headline stated, “THIRTY-TWO DEAD IN EASYTOWN NIGHTCLUB.” I read the article quickly. It happened last night at around 11 p.m., when Katheryn was here. Several cyborgs—the article didn’t call them that, but I could tell from the description what they were—walked into Liquid Genesis and opened fire, killing twenty-eight on site and injuring another seventy-three; four more patrons later died of their injuries. Chief Brubaker was interviewed saying it was a tragedy and that the mayor had ordered the district on lockdown. Several different organizations claimed responsibility for the shooting, which likely meant none of them were actually behind it.
“Andi, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“You were still on convalescent leave when the incident occurred, Zach. I was ordered by dispatch not to alert you about the activity in Easytown while you were on convalescent leave.”
“Who’s the detective?” I asked. With both me and Cruz out of the picture, the chief would be dependent upon whatever the other precincts could give.
“Detective Doug Sanders, from the New Orleans Police Department Headquarters.”
“Mother—I hate that guy!” I groaned. Doug Sanders was a dickhead—the same dickhead who’d arrested me back in October on trumped up charges of rape and murder. Good thing those crimes got sorted out.
“Any arrests?”
“Negative. The report hasn’t been submitted yet.”
“What the hell is Brubaker doing? He’d have demanded a report from me by 6 a.m.”
“It is unclear how Chief Brubaker is at fault, Zach.”
“Never mind,” I grumbled. Andi had a damn good AI, but sometimes things slipped past her.
“Where’s Sanders at now?”
“He is at the Easytown Precinct.”
“Then, that’s where I’m going,” I said, grabbing my coffee, shirt, tie and suit jacket.
“Your breakfast is scheduled to arrive in four minutes.”
“Cancel it. I’ve got more important things to do. Also, cancel with Dr. Jones.”
Liquid Genesis was the same club where Dale Henderson worked. I’m not saying they were related, but it was awful suspicious that the two events occurred within days of each other. With Ortega dead, I needed to figure out what his associates Gonsalvez and Karimov knew. Dr. Jones would just have to wait.
“Look who decided to show up for work,” Doug Sanders said as I limped into the office, pushing the hovertray with Branch Corrigan’s weapon toward my desk.
“Hey, Detective,” Sergeant Drake grunted, taciturn as always.
“Drake,” I acknowledged, choosing to ignore Sanders for the moment. “I saw there was a mass-cal event, why didn’t you call me?” Mass-cal was the emergency responders’ term for a mass casualty event, one with more injuries and security needs than there were medical providers and police officers.
“Did they have some type of work release from Sabatier?” Sanders continued to press my buttons.
I whirled on him, pivoting on my injured leg. I immediately regretted it as my leg buckled at the knee and I fell backward. Only Drake’s quick reactions, drilled into him from two decades of football at all levels except the pr
ofessional league, saved me from falling on my ass like a jackhole. He reached out and caught me by the shoulders, his massive hands grasping my duster.
Sanders chuckled as I dangled inside my coat for a moment before getting my good leg under me and then I stood on my own. Fucking doctors should have used that regenerative genetic stimulation, I had a job to do and this injury was going to hold me back. “Thanks, buddy,” I told Drake.
“No problem, Detective.”
I glared back at Sanders, attempting to put as much venom in my voice as possible. It was slightly successful by channeling the pain. “Those were bullshit charges and they were dropped against me, you fucking piece of shit. You know that.”
“The ones coming up will stick, though. You’ll be back on the island before the week’s out. Mark my words.”
His statement passed over me, unheard. “Are you holding a grudge against me specifically or are you just a massive douche canoe to everyone? I bet it’s all the time. You know you’ll never be value added to the city. That’s why they have you working up at HQ. You’re too fucking pathetic to be assigned to a district. They just flex you out to cover down when the real cops are on vacation.”
Sanders stood up and took three rapid steps toward me before running into the brick wall of Drake’s chest as the big man slid in between us. “That’s far enough, Detective Sanders,” his voice rumbled.
“Move out of the way, Sergeant.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, sir. It’s my duty to keep the peace between you two, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to defend my partner, doesn’t matter who the person is.”
Sanders was a jerk, but he wasn’t an idiot. He recognized Drake’s veiled threat and backed down. “Can’t wait to get out of this shithole precinct,” he muttered, going back to his desk.
“You gonna keep it civil?” Drake asked, turning to me.
“Yeah. I’m good,” I replied, hobbling to my chair. “I’ll just sit here and go over the case load.”
Drake nodded and sat back down. I glanced over at his hologram. “Whatcha watching?” I asked.
“Video feed from last night’s shooting,” Sanders stated. “I asked Sergeant Drake to review it while I compile a list of questions for witnesses.”
