Roland’s voice turned steel hard. “Right now, you are a suspected criminal in possession of stolen property. If you give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can come up with several more felonies to charge you with.”
“What? First, you did not identify yourselves as enforcement officers when you rudely invaded my home. Second, the lack of identifying insignia on your uniforms means that you’re probably not Lone Star, so therefore you’re a corp security unit, here for some reason I cannot fathom. And last, and certainly not least, I have absolutely no idea what ’stolen merchandise’ you’re referring to.”
“Sure you don’t—wait a minute.” Roland opened up his subvocal channel to his team. “Tell me someone saw a bunch of little leafy plants in those rooms?”
A chorus of negatives answered him. Roland glanced at Lilith. She held up the sniffer, its light strobing like crazy.
Roland’s stomach plummeted between his feet. “Where were you between oh three hundred and oh six hundred hours this morning?”
“Hmm, let’s see—oh yes, I was returning from Edinburgh, and my vacation, in my private jet.” The troll gestured toward the bedroom. “If I am allowed to get my passport, it will confirm what I have just told you.” The troll’s eyes were filled with anger. “Shall we?”
“Morgan, Choi, escort him to the bedroom and verify his story.” After the two sec men flanked the troll and saw him into the bedroom, Roland turned to K-Tog. “K, please tell me you have some kind of idea who the frag we’re dealing with here?”
The troll cast a worried glance toward the bedroom door. “Uh, I think that’s Sasalga Ottod, an up-and-coming Seattle politician. Street word is that he is working to bring the orks and trolls together downtown, create a meta coalition that will actually make some changes around here.” The troll craned his head around Roland, peering at the women on the couch. “Don’t know those two.”
Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before, Roland thought. “Hey, eyes front, officer. So he’s connected?”
“Yeah.”
“Perhaps I might be of some assistance here?” Hiyakawa appeared at Roland’s elbow.
“Anything would be appreciated right now.” Roland had a brief vision of himself patrolling a Snohomish strip mall, but he banished the thought and tuned back in on what the shaman was saying.
“—sure that the pollen trail led here?” the short man asked Lilith.
The scientists nodded. “No doubt.”
Hiyakawa looked around. “Then let’s ask the one being who would know for sure.” He settled on the kitchen, and walked into the area, the lights coming on automatically as he entered. The mage placed his hand on the marble counter, and then brought it up like he had in the alley. As he did so, a small creature dressed in the latest Bodyline fashion—a band-collared white shirt, close-fitting black pants tucked into knee-high leather boots, and ink-black, square eyeglasses perched on his nose—rose from the stone surface to stand in front of them, arms crossed.
“And what do you want? Tracking in dirt and mud all over my clean floor? Bad enough the mess he makes.” The hearth spirit gestured toward the bedroom with a sniff, his accent pure British butler.
Hiyakawa placed his hands together and bowed. “Sumi-masen, good sir, I apologize for disturbing you. In fact, I believe we may be able to help you. Tell me, if you would, were there some plants in here earlier today?”
“Some plants? The place was like a bloody jungle, with flowers here and fronds there! Then hornhead cranks up the thermostat like it was the blooming—pardon the pun— Amazon! All that hot, moist air is not good for the inlaid teakwood accents. I’ll have you know. And the dirt! Fortunately my domain has a good central cleaning system, but it doesn’t activate until tonight—”
Roland broke in. “Wait a minute, you said horns—that troll brought the plants in?”
“No, not him. The other one.” The spirit shook its head sadly. “Terrible dining manners as well. What a glutton. Cookie crumbs all over.”
Two trolls. Roland thought, just as his two men came out of the room, leading a smirking Sasalga, who rubbed his large palms together as he muttered something about making the lot of them street sweepers.
Morgan commed in. “Sir, his alibi checks out—even had a flight plan. ”
“Okay, anyone got any ideas?” Roland’s temples felt like they were about to implode.
“Actually, I do.” This came from Lilith. “Hiyakawa-san, can this spirit find things, like the other one did?”
“Within its domain, yes.”
“Even better. May I speak to him?”
“By all means.” The shaman gestured to the spirit.
The scientist leaned over until her face was a few inches away from the diminutive spirit. “Good day, sir.”
“Well. Someone else with manners.”
Roland stole a glance at Hiyakawa, then realized the implied insult was more likely directed at him.
Lilith took out a small datapad. “If I show you some pictures of plants, can you find any of them that might be in this apartment?”
“Anything to get you all out of here,” the spirit replied. Lilith selected the file that detailed the stolen plants and set up a quick slide show for the spirit.
“Look, I don’t know what drek you’re trying to pull, but I want you all out of here now!” Sasalga raised his voice in a tone of command. “Sec—”
Five small, unwavering red dots appeared on the troll’s chest as every Plantech man in the apartment pointed his weapon at the politician. Over the stock of his HK, Roland addressed the seething meta. “We're gonna need a few more minutes. Sit down. Now.”
The troll’s lips skinned back from his teeth in a fearful grin. “I’m going to find you, sec man. There isn’t anywhere in Seattle that will hide your stink. I’m going to find you, and bury you so deep the worms won’t be able to get to your carcass.”
Roland ignored him, nodding to Lilith instead. “Please continue.”
The spirit blurred out of the kitchen with Hiyakawa, Roland and Lilith right behind. It streaked into the bedroom, heading straight for the walk-in closet and running right through the closed door. Roland held up his hand to the shaman and scientist, and signaled K-Tog to back him up. Stepping to one side of the door, the troll ready in front with both Roomsweepers leveled, Roland nodded and pulled the door open.
Inside, the closet was warmer than the bedroom, due to the several heat lamps shining on the floor, and the various transplanted cuttings that sat there. Roland looked at Lilith, who waved her scanner at them.
“These are some of them. Cuttings. Just pieces. There are some cuttings from other plants that must have been taken from elsewhere.”
Hiyakawa bowed to the spirit. “Domo arigato for your assistance. You are free to go.”
The spirit sank back into the floor, fixing them all with a beady glare. “As are you—and take all of those blasted trolls with you!”
Roland signaled to his men to stand down and enter the bedroom. “Take every cutting down to the van and prep for evac. We’ll be joining you soon.”
K-Tog, his brow furrowed in thought, bolstered one of his Roomsweepers, then snapped his fingers. “Boss, I know what isn’t right about this!”
Roland looked up at his crewman. “Besides everything? What are you talking about?”
The troll leaned down and put his lips to his boss’s ear. “That troll woman—that isn’t Sasalga’s wife.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yeah, I actually shook her hand once at a meta rally. That’s how I know.”
“Oh really?” Roland grinned, and the sinking feeling in his gut floated away as if on a cloud. “K, why don’t you wait outside with Lilith and Hiyakawa-san for a minute? I’ll be right out.”
He walked over to the troll slouched in the massive leather chair, keeping his subgun at port arms, and leaned over to whisper into a pointed ear. “I’m only going to say this once, drekhead, so listen up.” The troll s
tiffened at the insult, his nostrils flaring even wider than before. “When we leave, you are not going to call building security, or Lone Star, or anyone else regarding this little incident. If you do, and they somehow manage to pull their heads out of their hoops and find me, I’ll be spilling my guts about how I recorded Sasalga Ottod in the middle of a little manage a troll with two women, neither of them his wife. Are we clear?”
The troll sucked in a breath, but remained silent as Roland kept going. “That’s right, chummer, I’ve got your big, tanned cojones in the palm of my hand. However, you keep quiet about this, and I’ll do the same. You have my word on it.” The troll didn’t know that Roland would have had an impossible time using any of their evidence in court after what they had done to get it. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.
Roland straightened and waited for the troll to look up at him, eyes burning with fury. Sasalga’s breath whistled as he tried to contain his rage, but he had no options, and they both knew it. Finally, he dropped his head in a single nod.
Roland smiled at the two women, who hadn’t uttered a peep. “Ladies.” And with that, he walked out of the apartment, accompanied by the sound of something large and heavy being hurled across the room to shatter against the wall behind him.
17
3:59:39 p.m.
On the ragged border between Snohomish and Redmond, Jhones pushed open the doors of a small bodega that remained in operation by the grace of the local Lone Star precinct and walked in, each footstep weighted with worry. With a nod to the proprietor, he headed for the ancient, small vidbooth in the back and closed the door. After scanning it for trace programs and cyberbugs, he blanked the screen, took a deep breath and dialed the number Hollander gave him.
Advertisements started scrolling, extolling the upcoming weekend of football games on a direct feed trid. Even as Jhones waited to talk to the person who might destroy his life, he scanned the messages, calculating the bets he could put down on each match through another bookie he knew.
There was a faint click as a connection was made. As a matter of course, Jhones tried to trace the call, but the originating numbers came up empty. Pretty high-tech stuff to fool Lone Star gear.
“Yes?” the voice was neutral, neither male nor female. The dwarf recorded the call anyway, hoping to get some kind of clue as to who his blackmailer was.
Jhones wasn’t in the mood to play around. “Hollander gave me this number.”
“Ah, yes, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sergeant Redrock. ”
“Yeah, well, the feeling is anything but mutual.”
The voice made a tsk-tsk sound. “Now, now, that isn’t very polite.”
Jhones gritted his teeth, feeling acid squirt in his stomach as his rage swelled. “Look, I don’t have time to waste here. You’ve got something that needs to be done, and you also have something I need taken care of. Let’s get down to business.”
“My, my. You’re so direct. 1 like that. Perhaps I could look into making this arrangement more—permanent. ”
“That’s never gonna happen. Listen, pisher, you got five seconds to start talking, otherwise I hang up and walk away.”
“The street wouldn’t like that at all, but very well. The task is simple. In sixty minutes, you are to go to the following address”—the voice rattled off a street that Jhones recognized as part of the north downtown neighborhood of Ballard—“and arrest a group of four shadowrunners. You will be able to charge them with murder. ”,
“How do you know all this?”
The question went unanswered.
“There is another part to this little caper, however, Sergeant. These criminals should be in possession of quite a few plants. You must recover the plants, and keep them from entering evidence. There is a chance the plants won’t be with the runners, but I’m sure you can get them to admit just where they are stashed. When you have these plants safely stored—a warehouse or something similar should be acceptable—you will call this number again, and I will have them collected. Once the flora is in my possession, your debt will be discharged, simple as that.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
The chutzpah these ganefs have, getting me to do their dirty work, he thought, leaning his head against the grimy wall of the booth.
“Are you still there? Remember that this deal is nonnegotiable. ”
With a sinking feeling, Jhones realized he was trapped. “No drek. All right, I’m in. I’ll call you when I have the plants.”
“Excellent. I look forward to hearing from you very soon. ”
“Yeah.” He cut the connection and walked out as if in a daze. The dwarf took the light rail for a while, letting the people and city flow around him while he rode the main circuit, trying to figure out what he was going to do.
On the surface, the task the Johnson had requested of him sounded perfect—too perfect. Jhones knew there wouldn’t be a problem detouring the plants out of evidence—the officer in charge of that department owed him several favors. And as it was likely the plants would need to be kept alive, someone would have to drive them to a Lone Star-owned greenhouse for safekeeping. Jhones would just make sure he was the one doing the driving, and switch the plants out on the way. With Simon along for backup that evening, the bust would go down perfectly, Jhones would square his debt and life could continue as usual.
Except for Roland, Jhones thought.
Even Simon would realize that this had to be tied into the Plantech heist that morning. It stank of it. It was at
that point that Jhones realized why this person who had bought his marker needed a cop. Something had gone wrong with the original shadowrun—the perps had wanted more money, the exec’s black ops budget had gotten cut and he couldn’t pay—whatever, and now the hirer wanted the runners out of the way. The ganef who held his marker had to make sure the law would be there to bust the runners—or kill them, more than likely, he thought—and recover the plant cargo intact. The runners wouldn’t be able to tell Lone Star who had hired them, and would be left twisting in the breeze, and the exec or whoever had set them up could sleep easy that evening—assuming the plants were recovered intact.
Which leaves Roland and his corp out in the cold.
The thought made Jhones’ gut clench again as he realized the double-bladed decision he faced. Some choice—betray my chaver so I can keep dancing with the devil. This tsuris I do not need. And yet he already felt that undeniable gambling need growing stronger deep inside. Jhones had tried to log in to a few virtual betting sites that morning, but the whispers had already spread about the deal Hollander had cut, and no action would be available to him until they got word that he had done the job. As he scanned the sites,
Jhones hadn’t been too surprised to find that a small pool had formed among the bookies he knew—all betting on an anonymous person in a hypothetical situation, of course, but it was obvious who they meant—over whether he would actually do the deed or not. The current odds stood at 5 to 3 that he would square his tab.
These zhlubs know me too well. But Roland asked for my help, too. Still ... if I don’t do this, everyone on the street will know I welshed—I’ll never be able to place a bet in this town—or anywhere—again. It will be over—forever.
The. rail car zipped around another corner as it started its circuit again, an apt analogy for how Jhones felt at the moment—running around in circles. Oy vey, what choice do I have? I’ve got to look out for number one right now. If IA got wind that a corp exec had leverage over me, I would be lucky to be busted back to foot patrol. No, they would boot me in a Seattle. Second. That cannot happen. I ll just have to find some way to make it up to Roland, that’s all. The way he talked, it didn’t sound too terrible for Plantech, just that the deal with Shiawase would sour. They’ll survive. They’ve been around a long time. I’m sure it’ll all he fine.
His mind clear, but with his gut still roiling at the choice he had just made, Jhones waited for the
stop closest to the precinct and got off, scanning the street for the nearest Nukit Burger. A bite to eat, that’s what I need. Then I’ll collect Simon and head to Ballard, get this whole thing over with. The rookie wouldn’t be a problem; Jhones would just have him take care of any suspects they captured. If they had the plants stashed someplace else, he’d cull one from I he group and go collect the plants. From there it would be smooth sailing, and he would be free of this drek he had found himself in once and for all.
As he walked, Jhones did his best to ignore the small, incessantly gnawing guilt that had started in his gut over what he was about to do to his best friend. A man’s got to look out for number one; that’s the rule on the street, always has been, always will be.
For the twelfth time in half as many minutes, Simon wished he had gotten the cyberears mod first, instead of the eyes. Granted, the visual suite implanted in him was unbelievable, but right now he’d give it all up if he’d been able to record the conversation between Jhones and Roland at the diner that morning.
One thing’s for sure; I do not have a second career ahead of me as a lip-reader, he thought as he stopped the data file and massaged his temples. He had been trying to make out what Roland said to Jhones, but the sec man watched the table or looked down at the dwarf. Simon had only gotten snatches of words, none of which made any sense. Even filtering them through a language program that analyzed the known data and extrapolated possible sentences hadn’t gleaned anything.
Unless someone can make any kind of sense out of “Theme wipe dam is mail, with yeast twelves, nark atoll.” Simon leaned back in his chair, yawning and stretching as his vertebrae popped from being hunched over for the past hour. A loud burst of chatter caught his attention near the door, and he glimpsed what looked like a trio of dwarf street hustlers being herded right into booking. Must be sweeps week already. The holding pens were already filled to capacity, but when the brass had to look good for the quarterly reviews, woe be to the street people caught just about anywhere for anything. That’s the risk you take running outside the law.
Shadowrun 45 - Aftershock Page 14
