Ex-KOP

by Warren Hammond

  I could imagine the look on Adela's face when she'd found out her boyfriend didn't alibi her. The little vix thought she had the kid pussy-whipped. She thought he'd do anything she said to keep getting between her legs. She must've thought she was the hottest lay on the planet. Turned out her boyfriend was thinking, “Not so much.”

  “You killed your parents,” I said as I brushed some flying roach from my shoulder. “I saw what you did to them.”

  “You a cop?”

  “You must've really hated them, the way you sliced them up.”

  “I'm not saying another word until you tell me who you are.” She made a show of clamming up tight by crossing her arms across her chest and squeezing her lips together.

  This might take a while. All I wanted was a simple admission so I could go back and tell Maggie that Ian arrested the right person. Then I could collect my fee. I needed that money.

  We stared at each other for a few, and then she started looking around, like there were a lot more interesting things to look at than me. I needed a strategy. I could hint around about her father and see if she'd just come out with it. My father raped me. That was all I needed to hear. She hadn't admitted it to Ian, but that was before she'd been sentenced to death. She'd had some time to think about it since then. I'd tried the same hinting around with Niki. There were times over the years, especially during her down periods, where I thought she'd be better off if she admitted what her father did to her. I'd drop little hints, give her little openings to bring it up. I thought it might make a difference if she could unbury the secret. It never worked. She locked that history down so long ago that I wasn't even sure she still had a key.

  And now Niki was in that hospital, paralyzed, breathing through a fucking tube. …

  All the sudden, I found myself going at Adela full bore. “How'd it feel to slice up your own mother?” I had no control. The words shot out like daggers. “I wish I could've seen it. You swingin' that whip around, lashin' out at her. Can you imagine what it was like for her? I bet you can. One minute she's sleepin' and the next she's got this whip comin' at her. She puts up her hands to protect herself and a second later her hands are gone, whipped right the fuck off.”

  Her eyes began to water. She fought to keep her trembling lips pressed together.

  I got on a roll, the venom spraying from my mouth. “And your father, I bet you were going for his crotch, weren't you? You wanted to whip his cock off so he couldn't hurt you anymore. But he rolled over, didn't he? That must've made you sooo angry. …”

  “Who are you?” It came out as a whisper.

  I had my face pressed up against the bars. “Oh, but you taught him, didn't you? He'll never touch you again, will he?”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Tears were streaming now.

  “He used to come in the middle of the night, right? He'd wait until your mother fell asleep before he came to visit his little princess. He'd tell you that there was a special way for a daughter to show how much she loved her father. He'd press himself up against you, wouldn't he? I bet his cheek felt scratchy when it rubbed against yours.”

  “Stop it,” she said as she swiped away the tears.

  “Why won't you admit it? People think you're a spoiled little brat. They think you killed your parents because they wouldn't let you see your boyfriend. They think you're a petty little bitch that never got spanked. Is that how you want people to remember you after they gas you?”

  She was crying full out now. She stuttered out a “No.”

  “So tell me,” I ordered. “Tell me about your father. Tell me what he did to you. People need to know that you're not who they think you are. They need to know you were defending yourself.”

  “He didn't do any … anything to me.”

  “Then why'd you kill him?”

  “I didn't do it,” she said between sobs. “I didn't kill him.”

  She was good. I almost believed her the way she said it. “I watched you confess.”

  “I n-never confessed.”

  “I watched you.”

  Her crying reached that moaning and bubbling stage. “I'm telling y-you, it n-never happened. I didn't c-confess, and I didn't k-kill my parents. I loved them. Why w-won't you believe m-me?”

  Visions of quick cash dissipated. Maybe I could get the guard to let me in her cell. I could grab her by her pretty little throat, make her admit it.

  To hell with it. I was outta here. I waved for the guard.

  “Wait,” she whined, little-girl charm coming through strong. “Please help me. Please believe me. I didn't do it.”

  I was already on the move. I decided that I'd just tell Maggie that Adela divulged her father's molestation. That was why she did it. It was the truth whether Adela would admit it or not. Maggie was wrong on this one. When I watched that interrogation, I knew Adela was abused. I knew those eyes.

  The knot in my stomach clenched at the thought of lying to Maggie, but it was for her own good. The last thing she needed was to get into a pissing match with Ian. Whether he was dirty or not, she was better off staying out of his way. I saw the way he was tossing around that cameraman. I saw the way those young cops were following his lead. Ian was dangerous. Even if it meant he beat out Maggie for that promotion, there'd be another one coming up soon. KOP was in flux, and that meant opportunities. Maggie just needed to stay focused on her caseload.

  I left the Zoo, unable to shake the feeling that the real reason I was so willing to lie to Maggie was because I wanted her money. I needed that money.

  five

  MY calves ached by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs that led down from the Zoo to the river. I was already sweating. The sun was out for the first time in days. The docks jutted out in front of me. It was time to go to the hospital. On cue, my stomach stepped up its flipping and flopping. Damn hospital. I hated that place. I tilted my flask back and swallowed the last couple drops. I stopped at a newsstand by the dock and bought a minibottle, slugging down the entire contents in a couple swallows.

  I walked out onto the warped dock, where moored boats were scraping against the pilings. There was a man coming my way. I moved to the left to let him pass, but he kept walking down the middle of the dock, claiming it as his own. Who did this asshole think he was? I angled closer to the edge, and he aimed in the same direction. Hair bristled on the back of my neck.

  I suddenly recognized him. He was one of the hommy boys; Hoshi was his name. He was coming right at me. I ducked and moved back for the middle, but the brandy impaired my agility. Hoshi had a hold of me, and he was pushing me to the edge. I tried to counter by shifting my weight but wound up losing my balance instead. I was tipping off the side. I grasped at his arm, wanting to pull myself back up, or even pull him over with me—either way. I got a hold of his sleeve, but he yanked his arm free, and I went over backward.

  I landed hard on the deck of a boat, my shoulder and back screaming in pain. Hoshi hadn't jumped down yet, but there was already another one on me, his foot pinning my throat. I squirmed out from under, but he recovered quickly, this time coming down with his knee in my face. I kicked out, but my legs couldn't find leverage. They were both on me now, holding me down. I reached my hands out, grasping for anything. …

  I stopped resisting when I felt the barrel of a lase-pistol digging into my temple.

  “Good to see you, Juno.”

  I strained to make the face out through my tears. “Ian?”

  “That's right, boy-o. And you're going to listen up, because I'm only going to say this once. You stay the fuck out of my business, you hear me?”

  I nodded my head, totally conscious of the lase-pistol rubbing my skull.

  “Good. And you're going to do something else. You're going to get Maggie off my ass. You're going to tell her that whatever she thinks I did, I didn't do it. You're going to tell her that I'm a good cop, a great cop. You're going to be my character witness, you get me?”

  Again I nodded.


  The two of them got up. I stayed down. Hoshi flashed his badge at a couple onlookers who took the hint and moved off.

  Ian turned back to me, his lase-pistol leveled at my chest. “You're not so tough now, are you?”

  I kept silent as I tried to rein in my galloping heart.

  “Say it, boy-o.”

  “Say what?”

  “Say you're not so tough.”

  He can't be serious.

  Ian wagged his piece at me. “Say it.”

  I was about to launch into a four-letter frenzy, but then I looked at his piece and then his wild eyes. I took my time answering, making sure my voice didn't quiver. “I'm not so tough.”

  “Did you hear that?” Ian said to Hoshi. “He's not so tough. I gotta say, I'm a bit disappointed. My pop used to tell me about you. He respected you, said you were a real badass. Turns out my pop was full of shit.”

  A voice sounded from the dock. “You got him?”

  “Yeah, we got him.”

  I couldn't see the voice's face—he was backlit by the sun—but I could make out the girth of his shadow, which was double-wide. “Okay,” he said. “Unless you need anything, I'll be going back up then.” He sounded like he was out of breath.

  “We got it under control, boy-o. Good work.”

  “No problem, Ian.” His eclipsing shadow moved on, but not before I ID'ed him as the block super who had chewed me out, the sloppy eater with fish in his beard.

  Ian gestured with his piece, “What's wrong with your hand, boy-o?”

  “Old injury.”

  “Bullshit. I think you're scared. Imagine that. Juno Mozambe shaking like a little girl. You're not used to being on the other end, are you? You're used to being the one that's in control, beating out all those confessions, knocking all those cops around. You were a real force. You even beat my pop down one time. You remember that? Can't say I blame you for that one. You should've done him in and saved me the guilt of cutting ties with the bastard. Yeah, you used to be a real mean bastard. But now, turn the tables, and you're just a little faggot, cryin' for mama.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Ooh, a little sensitive now, aren't we?” Ian was hovering over me now, flaunting his weapon. I looked over at his accomplice. I calculated the odds: no way I could snatch Ian's piece and kill both of them without getting cut in half. Still, it might be worth it if I could kill Ian before I died. As if Ian could tell what I was thinking, he tucked his weapon away, out of my reach.

  “Stop moving your hand; it bothers me,” he said.

  “I can't.”

  “I said stop.”

  “I told you. I can't.”

  Ian dropped on top of me, grabbing my right hand with unbelievable strength. I twisted from under his weight, my left going for his holster. I stopped cold when I felt the muzzle of a lase-pistol jabbing into my back.

  “Don't fight it,” Hoshi said.

  Ian had a hold of my pinky now. “I told you to stop moving your hand.” The pain had already electrified my brain before the sound of the snap could reach my ears.

  I lost all control, screaming like mad as I thrashed and yanked, trying unsuccessfully to wrench my hand free until, two snaps later, things mercifully went black.

  six

  I WOKE up feeling something crawling on my face. I swatted the gecko away with my left. I held up my shaking right, fingers pointing every which way like some fork gone horribly wrong. Pain ricocheted up into my wrist with every sway of my quaking hand.

  I couldn't see straight. I couldn't think.

  It was all I could do to muster up a simple course of action.

  First step: I hit the newsstand and bought up enough minibottles to make a maxibottle.

  Second step: I paid a thousand pesos to a teenager with a boat—take me to the city morgue and bring me to Abdul Salaam.

  Third step: I knocked back minibottle after minibottle until I couldn't feel a damn thing, not my fingers, not the stomach pain, not a damn thing.

  I moved through the hospital corridors. With this hand, I looked more like a patient than a visitor. Abdul did a fine job wrapping it, not bad for a coroner. He'd splinted my four fingers into a karate chop and left my unbroken thumb free. Ian must've gotten bored when I passed out, stopping after the index finger.

  Who did that punk think he was? Bracing me. Me! In my mind, I kept replaying the scene with different endings: sometimes spinning out from under his grasp and snatching his lase-pistol; or other times I'd just tackle him and bash his head into the decking until he went limp; or better yet, I'd pull a lase-blade out of my belt and watch the look on his face as it sizzled into his chest. Then, just when I'd really start getting into my fantasized victories, the shame of being nothing but a drunken old has-been would bring my broken-fingered reality front and center, which would just end up making me all the angrier.

  Rage seeped into my gait, my footsteps becoming footstomps as I turned onto the long-term-care ward. I saw the nurses wheeling their carts, the patients shuffling in their open-assed gowns and thought that if just one of them so much as looked at me …

  Let it go. You got your money. That was all that mattered for now. I didn't need any more trouble with Ian. Niki had to be my top priority.

  From Abdul's office, I'd called Maggie as soon as I'd sobered enough to speak without slurring and told her that the girl fessed up. I told her that the girl was getting dicked by her father, and she decided to de-dickify him. End of story. Maggie sounded short of 100 percent convinced, but her whole premise that the girl was innocent was flimsy from the get-go. I persuaded her to get off Ian's case, despite the fact that, in reality, I knew Ian was involved. How, I didn't know, but I had four broken fingers telling me so.

  Maggie had wanted to get together and buy me a drink, but I'd declined. If she found out about Ian's little finger-snapping fiesta, she'd go all out investigating him. Then how long would it be before Ian and his posse showed up at my door ready to break the rest of my bones in order to find out what I'd told her? It was better this way, safer for both of us.

  I'd chatted with Maggie a while longer, letting her vent about police politics, with me listening, wishing I was still a cop. Right before I hung up, I recited my account number despite the protestations of the knot in my stomach. I needed that money. Maybe when this was over, and Niki was fully rebuilt, Maggie and I could partner up again and find out what Ian was up to. Together, we could bust that asshole.

  Not since I was a kid had I had to worry about money. As the chief's right hand, I'd pocketed a shitload. If it was illegal, we took our cut: opium-den dinero, hooker fuck-bucks, bookie vig, chop-shop swag, gene-smuggler scratch … My palms were so greased I couldn't have held onto sandpaper.

  Niki and I lived high, spending recklessly to no consequence. There was always more coming in than going out. But when I was forced to resign by the bastards who murdered the chief, the trend lines went from black to red. Not being a cop anymore, I had to start earning my dough or give up the life. I found good work hiding in closets, peering through windows, exposing scandals when I could and creating scandals when there were none to expose. It wasn't glamorous, but the scandal rags paid well. It was a long way down from running KOP, but it kept me in the game. Barely.

  Then came Niki's “accident.” I spent most everything I had on the offworld tech it took to reconstruct her, and I still had a fresh-grown spine to pay for. The money I got from Maggie would get me over the top on the next spine payment, but I still had four more to make. Offworld medical didn't come cheap, and they didn't accept local currency. For every hospital bill, I had to exchange bagfuls of pesos, getting mere handfuls of offworld dollars in return. Still, I knew that if I could pull down another half dozen nice paydays, I'd be able to cover. Last resort, I could sell the house to make the final.

  The docs said Niki's new spine was coming along on schedule. I was commissioning the work on the Orbital—there was no tech like that on Lagarto. I could connect up at any ti
me and look at it in its tank, a glass cylinder filled with brown gel, Niki Mozambe written on the lid. It didn't look like much yet, just the worm in a tequila bottle, but it'd be having a major growth spurt soon.

  I entered Niki's room. The lights were off. A wall of monitors gave the room an electronic radiance. I didn't turn on the lights. I knew Niki liked it dark, no matter what time of day.

  “What happened … to your h—hand?” Niki said between pumps of the respirator.

  I bent over and kissed her on the lips, getting a lukewarm response. “Remember I told you I was going to do a job for Maggie. It got a little ugly, but it's done now. And it paid well. You'll be up and about in no time.”

  “Save your … money.”

  “We're not going to go through this again, are we?”

  The way she was jutting her jaw told me we were. “I don't w—want this,” she said.

  “Yes you do. You're just out of sorts right now, trapped in this room all the time.”

  “It's more th—than that, J—Juno.”

  I took a deep breath. Today, her paused speech annoyed me even more than normal. “I know it's hard, Niki. But it'll be over as soon as we get your new spine in. You'll feel better when you can walk again.”

  “Why don't you f—fucking get it, Juno? You can fix my body … all you want, but I'll still be b—broken.”

  “Stop talking like that,” I said, fidgeting in my seat. “This hospital is just getting to you, that's all.” I stood and flicked the lights on. “What do you expect being in the dark all the time?”

  She rolled her eyes, those same fiery eyes that drew me in so many years ago with their flaming mystery. She stared at me, her eyes burning into me, making me feel small. I wondered just when it was that those eyes turned on me. They used to warm my soul, but now they seared and scalded instead. I looked away from her to get out of the heat, thinking five more minutes, then I could go, my daily duty fulfilled.