Ex-KOP

by Warren Hammond

  I had to stay busy. I snapped myself out of it and used the flyer's comm system to call up my financials. I stared at the numbers, but was unable to comprehend them. Balance statements looked out of focus. Medical bills looked like they were written in a foreign language. I gradually shook off the malaise and regretted it as the numbers began to come through in full high-debt clarity.

  This flyer ride was already showing on my statement, although it showed as a generic medical expense. I'd insisted that the hospital list it that way. Ian would be monitoring my finances by now. It was unbelievable how much it cost. Maggie had tried to talk me into sharing the burden, but I refused. I don't take charity. First, she told me I was an idiot, then when I didn't respond, she came at me with a fresh argument, telling me that I was on her payroll, and I should think of relocating Niki as a business expense that she was responsible for. I told her not to argue. I'd had enough for one day.

  We were skimming the jungle, or at least that was what the pilot said we were doing. When I looked out the window, all I could see was black.

  It wasn't much longer before the flyer began losing altitude.

  Maggie said, “There it is.”

  I followed her gaze to a sprawling set of well-lit, interconnected buildings. I counted at least a dozen unique, brandy-era structures. They consisted of an open-air platform of polished wood raised on stilts with a pitched thatch roof on top. A series of raised walkways ran between the buildings, creating a network of giant jungle huts.

  The flyer set down in a recently burned clearing, blackened vegetation all around. I unplugged the respirator from the flyer's outlet and plugged it into the portable generator I'd bought for the occasion. It was powered by kerosene, of all things. Lagarto was probably the only planet left that used crude oil products. The thing smelled awful, and it made a horrible racket, but the motor only had to kick in once every couple hours, and it only had to run for about ten minutes to charge the battery that could provide hours of power. I wedged the respirator under the gurney and folded Niki's legs to make room for the generator on the gurney's end. It took all three of us, Maggie, Vlad and me, to wheel Niki off the flyer's cargo loader. Then we made bumpy progress across the slashed-and-burned landing site, the still-smoldering foliage discharging puffs of choky black smoke.

  The flyer took off behind us and made for Koba to pick up another high-priced charter. Maggie's aunt greeted us as we wheeled up the ramp. She was a stern-looking woman with a stiff smile. She gave Maggie a formal hug, and then the two Orzo women exchanged some starched niceties. Maggie introduced us all. Vlad and I received cold handshakes; she saved all her overly sugared warmth for Niki, who she talked to with a singsong voice most people reserved for the very young and the very old.

  She ushered us from building to building, the gurney rattling over the horizontal wood slats, finally arriving in a private room with a curtain for a door. I was uneasy about the lack of doors and locks, but Maggie had assured me that the location was so remote there was nothing to worry about. The room was walled on three sides while the fourth was open to the jungle except for a railing. We moved Niki from the gurney to the bed and started puzzling over the best way to get Niki's tubes through the mosquito netting. The nurse I'd contracted thankfully arrived from a nearby jungle clinic soon after and, having a bit more experience on the matter, she was easily able to rig up a workable solution with the aid of some duct tape. With that settled, the nurse went looking for an extra bed. She wanted to sleep in Niki's room. Without any monitoring equipment, she said it was the best way to keep track.

  Maggie went off to visit with her aunt, and then Vlad went searching for some food, which left Niki and me alone for the first time. After a generous dousing of bug spray, I sat next to Niki's bed.

  “It's beautiful here,” she said.

  I nodded and allowed myself to relax enough that I could appreciate the chirps and squawks coming from the jungle outside. For the first time, I noticed the flickering iridescent light bugs fluttering about in delightful randomness. “We'll have to take a tour of the place.”

  “I'd like that.”

  “We should've taken more vacations.”

  “You're r—right. We should have.”

  Sorrow descended upon me like a sopping wet blanket. “I'll have to add that to the list.”

  “What list?” she wanted to know.

  “The list of ways that I've failed you.”

  “Don't say that.”

  “I'm sorry, Niki.”

  “For w—what?”

  “For being a bad husband.”

  “I told … you not to say … that.”

  “It's true. I was always too busy, too caught up in KOP. I thought what I was doing was important.”

  “You were trying … to make a d—difference.”

  “I did more bad than good. You know that. I should've spent more time with you. I should've been one of those collect-a-paycheck cops. If I'd just spent more time with you, you wouldn't have jumped off—”

  “Don't you say … that!” she said with as much force as the respirator would allow. “It's not … your fault.”

  I shook my head, not believing her one bit.

  “It's not,” she repeated. “Don't you g—get it? I would've … done it that night … if it wasn't … for you. You're the o—only reason, I've … made it this … far.”

  I knew what night she was talking about. That night. “But if I had—”

  She cut me off. “I don't … belong here, J—Juno. I never … have. That night, I th—thought that if I could convince … you that somebody else … had killed them, you'd want to p—protect me. And I … thought that if I worked r—really hard at it, if I … really tried, I could … make a normal … life with you. … I tried, Juno … I really tried.”

  I lifted up the netting and wiped away the tear on her cheek as I felt my own eyes beginning to tear up.

  “All this time.” She wheezed. “I've been trying … to be normal, but … it's too hard. I'm … so tired, Juno. I … can't do it anym—more. I can't.”

  “Don't ask me to do this, Niki. I can't.”

  “I know you … can't. You still want … to protect me,” she said with a sad smile.

  nineteen

  DECEMBER 2, 2788

  “THIS is getting ridiculous.”

  “I agree.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Twenty hours.”

  Twenty hours holed up in an opium house and no Raj Gupta. Maggie and I wanted to have another brace session with the punk, see if we could learn a little about his movie career, like who funded the pictures and whom they were sold to. Find our snuff film buyer, and we likely find our barge murderer. Problem was the punk hadn't shown his pretty-boy face, and I was getting damn sick of this dump. “He must be in hiding,” I said.

  “What do you want to do?”

  I had jungle on my mind. I wanted to fly back out to see Niki. I wanted to pick her up and carry her into the jungle with me. I wanted her to breathe normal so we could leave the respirator behind. I wanted to find a nice pile of leaves, maybe some soft moss under a tree and lay down with her, maybe sleeping, maybe not, the two of us just lying there until the jungle took us with its creeping vines and its sprawling root systems. That was what I wanted to do.

  “What do you think, Juno?” Maggie was getting antsy. She was feeling the pressure of the clock. Adela's time was running out.

  “Let's get the hell out of here,” I said.

  Maggie and I snuck out the back, careful not to step on any upturned nails poking out of the gnarled scrap wood that used to be the back porch.

  “What now?” asked Maggie.

  “Beats me.”

  “I can't keep calling in sick like this.”

  “Today's only the third day, isn't it?”

  “Today's the second. Yesterday was already scheduled as a day off. But still …”

  Since the three-hour boat ride back to Koba, we'd been
striking out. We wanted to get the porn scheme fleshed out … so to speak. We tried tracking down Yuri Kiper, but according to his neighbors, the cameraman hadn't been home. We tried calling his work, but the people at Lagarto Libre said he was on vacation, and no, they didn't know where he'd gone. Ian was playing defense, and playing it well.

  Maggie and I shuffled down the street, with no particular destination in mind, just walking to be walking. I was already sweating. I looked up and caught a rare view of blue sky. I was glad to see it, knowing full well that when the rains quit, it would be hot like this all the time, and it wouldn't take more than a couple sweat-soaked days for me to start wishing it was still raining.

  Maggie said, “What do we know about Liz?”

  We know how she sucks cock. We know what she looks like with a dick up her snatch. We know what she looks like with her throat cut. “Not much. I don't even know her real last name.”

  “Well, she's the only other person that we know who was involved in those movies.”

  “Yeah.” I didn't want to talk to Liz. I didn't want to see her after watching those vids. Partly because she scared me, partly because she disgusted me, but mostly because she turned me on, and that was what scared and disgusted me more than anything else.

  The clouds were back. It had only been a few hours, but the stars were all long gone. It felt good to be sitting outside and, at the same time, fully dry. I rubbed my good hand over my chest and didn't feel any chafing, unlike my legs, which stung where my thighs rubbed together from spending too much time in the rain. I'd have to put some salve down there—you leave a sore spot like that untreated long enough, and you were begging for the rot.

  Maggie and I were sitting on the rooftop across the street from Liz's. There was a constant parade of people going in and out of the seafood place under her apartment. We kept an eye on her window, wishing we could see more than we could. The curtains were open and the lights were on, but all we could see was the living room, which was empty. We knew she was home. We saw her go in with Ian an hour ago, the lights coming on a few minutes after.

  A door slammed nearby, and Maggie and I both jumped. We both felt edgy being this close to KOP station. The fear of running into one of Ian's cop friends around here had us looking over our shoulders like a couple of paranoids.

  “There he is,” said Maggie.

  I looked at the window where a naked Ian was now standing, gazing down at the street with a drink in his hand. He had a classic 'roid-head physique—maxipecs up high and minipackage down low.

  He turned around and gave us a view of his high-toned ass before stepping away and coming back a minute later, still naked but sans the drink. Liz appeared on his elbow in a lively red number that left no doubt that she was very much alive despite the lifeless state she was in the last time I'd seen her.

  They talked for a few minutes, about what we couldn't tell. Then they exchanged a long, deep kiss that left Ian popping wood—or should I say twig? Ian left Liz standing by the window and came back shortly after with clothes on. Again they kissed, but this time it was just a peck that I figured for a good-bye kiss. They disappeared from the window. A couple minutes later, Ian exited the restaurant and strutted down the block.

  “You sure about this, Juno?”

  “Yeah. Call if you see Ian come back.” I started walking away and then turned back. “I gave you the number, right?” We'd already made our new phones exchange numbers. I remembered syncing them up, yet I was driven to ask out of some nervous compulsion.

  “Yeah. I got it.”

  “Good.”

  I took the elevator down to the main floor of the office building and crossed the lobby, stopping at the glass door to look out at the street. From my vantage, I scanned pedestrian faces, looking for cops and not seeing any. I swung the door wide and hustled across the street and into the restaurant. I ignored the maître d' and followed the same path across the restaurant floor that Ian had followed when we'd watched from the camera in his hair. I stepped into the kitchen and passed through, catching little notice from the kitchen staff. They must've been good and used to men heading upstairs.

  I climbed the creaky steps and knocked on the door. Liz pulled the door open, and I thought I caught a twinkle in her eye upon recognizing me. “Come in,” she said.

  “Sorry to barge in on you,” I mumbled.

  “Who's barging in? I invited you, remember?”

  I followed her into the living room. I went to the window where I'd be visible to Maggie, just in case. …

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Brandy.”

  Liz stepped over to a freestanding liquor cabinet with a roll top and poured enough fingers to make a hand. She filled another glass for herself and came over to me. I took my glass, keenly aware of the brush she gave my hand in the exchange.

  I hurried a long sip, feeling the need to dampen my jingling nerves.

  “What brings you here, officer?”

  “I'm not a cop.”

  “Indulge me.”

  “What is it with you and cops?”

  She tasted her brandy instead of answering. I was glad to be catching a close-up of her red dress—slinky, silky, and oh so skimpy.

  I took another deep swig. “How's your boyfriend?”

  “Which one?”

  “There's more than one?”

  “Ian doesn't own me, officer.”

  “And he's okay with that?”

  A playful smile flickered across her face. “You want me to call and ask him?”

  “No. I think you're well aware of the fact that I don't want him knowing I'm here.”

  “He's very frustrated with you, you know. He doesn't like being suckered.”

  “It serves him right.”

  “For what?”

  “For being an asshole.”

  She grinned despite herself. “He can be a real asshole, can't he?”

  “I don't understand why you stay with him.”

  “He's a good man. Deep down he is.” She added the “deep down” part when she realized how ridiculous her first statement sounded.

  “No, he's not,” I said. “He's a sadistic bastard.”

  “That's not true.”

  “Does he hurt you?”

  “No. Never. He loves me. You don't know him like I do. Don't shake your head like that,” she said a tad miffed. “I know he has a good heart.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “He used to be so sweet. He was always so gentle.”

  “That was before he turned into a pit bull. You see the soft side of him anymore?”

  “Sometimes,” she said shakily. I caught a flash of the real her again: an innocent, vulnerable little girl, confused about the ways of the world. And then it was gone. It had lasted for barely a second. She changed the subject. “How about you tell me about your enforcer days?”

  “Actually, I'd prefer to learn a little more about you first.”

  “Like what?” She dipped her finger in her brandy and put it in her mouth, pulling it out seductively slow. I was amazed at how fast she could shift her moods.

  “Let's start with your name,” I said.

  “My name's Liz.”

  “Liz Lagarto?” I studied her reaction and found it impossible to read.

  “You've seen my movies?”

  I nodded.

  “My name is Liz.”

  “But that's just a stage name.”

  “It's my name.”

  “Why won't you just tell me your real name?”

  “Why won't you tell me about your enforcer days?”

  “Because I'm ashamed,” I said with a sudden honesty that surprised me.

  “Well, maybe I'm ashamed of my real name.”

  “Fair enough,” I managed. “How about you tell me about your movies?”

  “Which ones did you see?”

  “Can't you just answer a question without asking another one?”

  “Why? Does that bother
you?”

  She was trying to get under my skin, and that impish look on her face said she knew she was succeeding. I could feel my face flushing in frustration. “Cut the shit, Liz, and tell me about your movies.”

  “Ah, now there's the Juno Mozambe I've been hearing so much about. Is that how you used to talk when you were trying to get a confession out of some perp?”

  This was suddenly going all wrong.

  She laughed and shimmied up to me. “I'm sorry I upset you, Juno, really I am. I just wanted to see the angry side of you, that's all. Please don't be cross.”

  She was pressed up against me, her breasts pressed into my chest and her hair tickling my nose with a scent of jasmine. I was feeling hot, the kind of hot that makes you so uncomfortable that you want to step out of your skin. I stepped away from her, away from the window and out of Maggie's view.

  “What was your favorite scene?” she asked as she vamped my way.

  “I didn't have one,” I said as my mind flashed through a salacious slide show.

  “I don't believe you. Tell me what your favorite scene was, and we can watch it together.”

  “I have to go,” I stammered. “I shouldn't have come.”

  “Please don't go,” she said as she laughed. “I'll tell you about the movies. Really. I'll be good. C'mon, Juno, I was just teasing you, okay? I'll be good. I promise.”

  “Start talking.”

  “At least sit down for a minute. Jesus, you look like you're about to blow.”

  I took a seat on the sofa, and she sat across from me. I tried to get my scattering emotions under control, very wary of the fact that Maggie couldn't see me—I was swimming without a lifeline. “Talk. Start with Yuri Kiper.”

  “Yuri's the director. I know he doesn't look like much, but he's a genius. A true artist.”

  “He makes porn,” I rebutted, making it clear with my tone of voice that porn and art didn't mix.

  “He's an artist, Juno, probably the most talented filmmaker in the system.”