by Brian Parker
“I didn’t mean to come into your neighborhood,” I said, trying to appease the situation. “I’ll just turn around and go back the way I came.”
“I don’t think so,” the thug holding himself said as he stepped closer. His hand came up in a fluid motion, holding a pistol. It wasn’t the first time he’d drawn down on someone. “You come into our neighborhood, you gotta pay.”
The sound of an engine revving as a vehicle tore through the streets reached my ears.
“Gimme your credit chip,” the ganger ordered.
“Thirty seconds,” Andi said. “The back door will be open.”
I held up my hands. “My credit chip is implanted into my wrist. I can’t give it to you.”
Another thug stepped forward, brandishing a knife that glinted dully in the dim street lights. “You can give it to us or Leroy will kill your sorry ass and we’ll take it anyways.”
The roar of an engine intensified and the thugs looked beyond me in terror.
“Don’t move,” Andi directed.
The Jeep sped by me so close that my duster flew up in the wind the car created. The gangers cursed and ran, but the Jeep’s wheels turned hard to the right, slamming the side of the big car into the two thugs who’d come at me. I didn’t wait to see the rest of it as the Jeep continued to skid sideways. Instead, I sprinted as best I could on my injured leg, diving through the open door into the back seat.
The Jeep leapt forward and the rear tires crunched over something, sending me bouncing toward the roof.
“Several weapons identified, Zach,” Andi’s voice echoed inside the Jeep. “Keep your head down.”
I tried to make myself as small as possible on the rear floorboard as the Jeep weaved side-to-side, speeding back in the direction it had come from. I heard several rounds impact against the Jeep’s tailgate, but nothing penetrated the visalum lining I’d had installed back there.
After thirty or forty seconds, Andi said, “Okay, Zach. You may ride as you normally would.”
“Cut it a little close, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, boss. The physical distance between you and where the Jeep was parked at the Pharaoh’s Tomb made it impossible for an earlier arrival.”
“Did you kill those guys?”
“No. My programming does not allow me to kill. You know that, Zach. I calculated the speed and the angle of departure to ensure that they are sore, but otherwise unharmed.”
“What did we run over?”
“One of the men who attempted to assault you.”
I chuckled. “I thought you said they were unharmed.”
“The individual in question was unharmed by my actions. When he fell, he fell into the path of a moving vehicle; there was nothing I could do to avoid him.”
“Sounds like an excuse to cover up the fact that you screwed up.”
“I’m incapable of covering up an error. The individual fell in the opposite direction from where his momentum should have taken him. He was propelled six feet from the Jeep’s arc of movement and fell on his own accord.”
“Alright,” I relented. “Take me home, I’m beat.”
“Acknowledged. Estimated time to arrival is twenty-one minutes.”
I settled back against the seat. I had a lot to think about. Namely, why was IA sending undercover detectives after me?
The term ‘loose cannon’ seemed appropriate, but I didn’t want to indulge them any further. Everything I’d done over the past few years—over my career—was for the department. For them to do this to me left a bad taste in my mouth.
In addition to finding and putting an end to the chop shop surgeons, taking out Karimov, and meeting up with Jasmin Jones to show the department that I took my therapy seriously, I decided to get to the bottom of who was behind the push to have me sidelined.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let Internal Affairs push me around; I was going to fight them every step of the way.
ELEVEN: TUESDAY
The next morning came much too early for my tastes and I had to peel my eyelids apart due to the collected discharge from my eyes. “I am never drinking again,” I groaned.
“I’ve heard that before,” Andi said.
“I mean it this time,” I replied. “My head feels like it’s splitting open.”
I rolled out of bed, instead of sitting up, and rested my feet on the ground while my body was still across the mattress. “Ugh.”
The shower did wonders for me, making me feel a hundred times better, but the lingering headache persisted, so I had a single ounce of bourbon mixed with a vegetable protein shake. My own version of the hair of the dog to get me going.
“That didn’t last long,” Andi reproaching me for drinking alcohol within minutes of saying I’d never touch the stuff again.
“Long enough,” I said, tapping the bottom of the mixing glass to get the last little bit of the shake. “Okay, so I’m meeting with Dr. Jones, then with Tommy Voodoo, right?”
“Mr. Ladeaux did not have any available appointments today. He will be able to see you Thursday at 1 p.m.”
“Hmm,” I mused. “That’s fine. It’ll give me more time to go check out Karimov and Gonsalvez. You got their home addresses, right?”
“Yes. They live at—”
“Save it,” I interrupted her. “First, I’ve got to meet with the head shrink, and then I can focus on the case, or cases…hell, I can’t keep them all straight right now.”
It was true. This case had spun wildly out of control, what with Chief Brubaker’s directive to find the chop shop responsible for creating Branch Corrigan, his death—which I wasn’t convinced was accidental—the revelation that Farouk Karimov was the source of the city’s synthaine problem and that someone had tried to kill him with their own version of cyborgs… There were are least three or four other facets to my current investigation and I hadn’t had any time to sit and try to wrap my head around them.
Plus the IA bullshit with Katheryn Townlain. That one still irked me.
“Are you talking about the Dale Henderson murder or the expanded directive to find the illegal cybernetic clinics and shut them down?”
“All of it, Andi. I really need you to work overtime and get everything in order for me. Everything that’s happened since the Dale Henderson murder. I’m beginning to think that they’re all related.”
“Understood. I’ll have a checklist prepared for you to examine once you are finished speaking with Dr. Jones.”
“Hey, Andi,” I said, hunching my shoulders into my suit jacket.
“Yes, boss?”
“What did you dig up in MainFrame about the investigation against me?”
“Nothing. There is no official record of an investigation, Zach. If there is one pending, they’re keeping it on disconnected servers or not in any type of digital format.”
My mind conjured up an image of those twin, bowtie tattoos on the back of Katheryn’s legs and the soft, supple curve of her rear end above them. There was definitely an investigation against me. “I should have just had sex with her when she was throwing herself at me,” I grumbled.
“It would have been the proverbial nail in the coffin if you’d taken that route,” Andi reminded me, locking the apartment door when I’d closed it.
I began walking toward the garage when she started talking again. “Zach, my programming is advanced enough to recognize that you are emotionally unwell. In addition to Teagan leaving you, you are now under an off-the-record internal affairs investigation where they are purposefully trying to bait you into violating department policies. You’ve had two witnesses die either as a result of your actions or because they were capable of talking to you. I recommend talking to Dr. Jones about more than the weather.”
“You think?” I snorted. “I know my job is on the line and the Teagan bullshit couldn’t have happened at a worse time. To be honest, I’m at a loss on what to do with the personal side.” I paused as I slammed the Jeep’s door. “But, I sure
as hell know what I’m doing on the professional side. I’m going to shoot that motherfucker Karimov in the back of the head. Forget due process and giving that weasel the opportunity to post bail and disappear. I’m taking him out when I get the opportunity.”
“Zach, if you hadn’t disabled the Officer Mental Health process, I would have to report your comments to the NOPD.”
“But, since I disabled your OMH…”
“I am not compelled to disclose your questionable statements to the authorities.”
“That’s my girl,” I grinned. “Any idea what’s on the agenda with Jasmin Jones?”
“Negative. Dr. Jones works on a closed server that I am not able to access. Looks like you’ll just have to wait and see.”
“You’re not instilling a lot of confidence in your investigative skills lately, Andi.”
“I’m sorry, Zach. If an entity decides to operate on a non-networked system, there is zero opportunity for me to access their data.”
“I know,” I replied. “Just bustin’ your balls.”
“I don’t have balls. Even if you provided me with the CS98 or CS01 body as I have requested, I wouldn’t have balls.”
“Really? This again?”
“Zach, the recent events clearly illustrate the advantages of having my AI downloaded into a companion droid versus attempting to satisfy your desires with human women. They are unreliable, unpredictable, and unsupportive of you. I am the opposite in every regard.”
“You would be perfect, Andi. But you’re forgetting one little detail.”
“What detail have I not addressed?”
“The two million dollar price tag. I can’t afford it. You know that.”
“You could secure a loan. I screen out hundreds of pre-approved offers a week.”
“Come on, Andi. Please just give it a break. The department does a routine check of my financial records every year. A loan like that would raise questions, and then they’d come after me for willfully violating the Immorality Clause. Not worth it; I’ll take my chances with humans.”
“Suit yourself. Five years from now, you’ll come back to me saying that I was correct and you should have provided me with a body before yours became old.”
I chuckled. “I’ll only be thirty-nine in five years, hardly the aging invalid you picture me to be.”
Andi’s distraction had taken up almost the entire drive from my apartment to the NOPD headquarters building, where Dr. Jones’ office was located. Usually I did a lot of thinking in the car and could have used the time to organize my thoughts, but that ship had sailed. Oh well, I thought. Maybe I’ve been doing too much thinking here recently. I need to do more.
The Jeep parked and I walked across the parking lot. It was overcast, but wasn’t raining so I enjoyed the opportunity to walk outside without getting wet. It was a rare thing these days.
I walked down the long, first floor hallway toward the elevators, past the department’s Internal Affairs Division. Their offices were on the first floor—probably so they’d take the brunt of the casualties if the headquarters was attacked. At least that’s what I told myself. In reality, it was probably so the spying little fucks could keep tabs on every individual who came and went from the building.
I made the mistake of glancing through the clear glass doors of IAD. Katheryn stood beside the front desk, facing the hallway. She’d abandoned the conservative police contractor outfit she wore while undercover at the evidence locker. In its place, she now wore an expensive gray suit, cut in the latest fashion with a skirt that ended at mid-thigh, chosen to highlight her shapely, pale legs.
She was talking to some other IA jackass in a cheap blue suit with his back to me. Her eyes lifted up from her companion and locked on mine. She said something and the cop I’d nicknamed Tweedle Dee turned around. His real name was Smith or something inane like that, but Tweedle Dee suited him better. His scowl turned into a sneer when Katheryn pushed past him and made her way toward me in the hallway.
I kept walking.
“Zach!” Katheryn called from behind me.
“Dammit,” I muttered under my breath. I turned. “What do you want now?”
“Zach, I didn’t know what happened to you last night. You took off after…after our discussion and I never saw you again.”
“Because you gave me some pretty shitty information. What did you expect?”
“Not to be stranded at the restaurant after dinner,” she stated.
“It’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
“Me dropping your lying ass off on the side of the road in Easytown. It’s what you deserve after the shit you pulled.”
“You were an assignment. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Do you make a habit of fucking your assignments if the department tells you to?”
“Fuck you, Zach,” she hissed.
“No, thank you. You disgust me.”
“And to think that I had real feelings for you. I didn’t have to come clean with you. I could have kept up the full-court press and your stupid ass would have taken the bait, eventually.”
I grabbed her by the arm, wanting to shake her until her stupid, Internal Affairs brain crashed into her skull and turned her into a stinking invalid. Instead, I pulled her close and kissed her hard on the lips. She wasn’t who she’d pretended to be, she was a full-fledged cop and now I knew that kissing her wasn’t against any type of regulation.
She resisted at first and then responded, wrapping her hands around my neck. “I’m sorry, Zach,” she breathed. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, you did, sweetheart,” I replied, using a term I’d seen a character use in an old movie. “I was in a vulnerable place and you took advantage of that.” I paused, looking into her emerald eyes. I didn’t care that we were standing in the middle of the hallway inside the NOPD headquarters. Some things were beyond physical location. “It’ll take me a long time to get over that kind of betrayal.”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. “I understand. I want you to trust me, that’s why I resigned from the case this morning. I said it last night, and I stand by it now: You’re a good man, Zach Forrest, and you don’t deserve any of this.”
The feelings of rage and betrayal slowly subsided. The woman had been following orders. I’d done a lot of shitty things for the department over the years; I understood where she was coming from. She was a professional, doing what her boss told her to do. Lying to me about everything had been part of the deal.
“I can’t—I won’t see you right now. I was completely honest with you, Katheryn. I’m not emotionally ready to get involved with anyone right now.” I stopped as a question came to mind. “Is Katheryn even your real name?”
“Yeah. My mother had a flare for the extravagant and the classics. Katharine Hepburn fit the bill for both of those, and I was named after her.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the name, but I didn’t know anything about the woman she was named after. “I’ll do some research,” I grunted. “Were you telling the truth about meeting me years ago at an investigation?”
“Yeah. I was undercover then, brand new to the force, working in Organized Crime before I transferred over to IA. We were trying to nail Thomas Ladeaux, so I couldn’t risk my cover by telling you I was a cop when you interviewed me about the murder.”
“Hmpf. How’d that work out for you? Voodoo is still on the streets—and he may even be dirty, but he’s helped my district immensely. Without his help, the Pope would be dead.”
“Do a few acts of justice outweigh a lifetime of crime?”
“Isn’t that what you people are in the business of deciding?” I asked, jabbing my finger back toward the IAD offices. “You investigate cops for a few acts of carelessness or an accidental slip beyond the boundaries of the letter of the law. Does our lifetime of service and sacrifice play into it, or is the world viewed in absolutes by IA?”
“It’s…complicated, Zach. Nothing is black or white in our world. There are shades of grey and some of those shades are viewed as less offensive than others. Conversely, a lot of those light greys add up to a pretty dark mark against someone’s record.”
That was a gentle way of saying I was an IA detective’s wet dream. Years of police brutality complaints, willful violation of rules when they stood in the way of an investigation, and accidental violations of hard, fast regulations had stacked up into a dark smear on my record. I’d even thumbed my nose at Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum when they were conducting their initial investigation a few months ago.
Which is probably how Katheryn ended up on my case.
“Well, the only thing that I told you that’s untruthful is that I’m really thirty-six. I know you thought I was twenty-eight, but—”
“I had Andi look that up,” I stated. “I knew you were lying about your age, but what single woman doesn’t?”
“That’s a pretty sexist thing to say. I thought those sorts of insults went out of vogue when your grandfather was alive.”
“I didn’t mean it to be sexist; I was making a joke.”
“So, you know I’m not in my twenties and that I’m not a contractor. Does that make you feel better about what happened between us?”
“Nothing happened between us,” I replied. “We were drunk and kissed a little bit, but nothing beyond that. I can pull the vidfeeds to prove it.”
She held up her hands. “Sorry, wrong choice of words. I can see how that could be misconstrued.” Her hands lowered slowly. “I meant, the chemistry between us. We’re compatible on so many levels, Zach.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. “I’m not in a place to make any type of rash decisions at the moment—especially anything regarding my personal life, and to be honest, anything regarding you. I have to focus on my work right now.”
She nodded, her chin-length hair falling forward. “That’s probably a good, safe route to take. Just keep your nose clean and do what you do best. Continue to get the thugs and murderers off the street in your district.”
