Tears of a Clone (Easytown Novels Book 2)

by Brian Parker

  “Of course it is,” he snapped. “I think it’s despicable what they’re doing to those poor clones, but people get murdered all the time. I told you, this is worth trillions of dollars, I’m not going to let some fucking piece of shit mayor ruin this deal because he wants to increase his local power base.”

  “Your true colors are showing.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Detective,” Voodoo sneered. “We both know that I need this to go away quietly, you need your friend’s business to remain affordable and we get to save the lives of clones. What else do you need from me for your investigation?”

  “First off, why does she remember everything except personal details? Can they selectively upload the brain scan?”

  “It’s because her memory’s been wiped,” he replied. “And then there’s Dr. Grubber, the geneticist that your reporter friend interviewed. He stated that Sadie was an exact match for a human. My clones aren’t exactly the same as you or I. We clean out any resemblance of any type of disease or malformity at the cellular level before they’re grown.” He paused once again. “We also keep a close eye on our clones by making them chemically dependent on a compound to stave off rapid cellular deterioration. Within five days of not getting the compound the clone begins to die. They’re dead by the end of a week or two without the injection.”

  “And that is noticeable in a DNA test?”

  “It’s crystal clear if you know what you’re looking for—and Dr. Grubber is the best in the business. I checked into him.”

  “So all this means?”

  “That Sadie is not a clone. She’s Kelsey Bloomfield. Why they swapped her out, I don’t know, but I bet it has something to do with her trying to blackmail me. She probably tried the same thing with the mayor.”

  “It also means that the dead clones I’ve been finding…”

  “Were likely the original people, not clones,” Voodoo finished. “Think about it, tattoo a few numbers on their ear, make sure the coroner or investigator notices the clone serial number and couple that with the state’s harsh penalties against those who choose to assist a clone and we’ve got a coup that was staged by the top people in the government.”

  “And the clones are loyal to the mayor since he has the juice to keep them alive.”

  “Exactly,” he shouted, slapping the table in his excitement. “Of those that I know about, the mayor seems to have set himself up to run the city for a long time. My information is dated, but there are a few state officials and one federal judge on Bloomfield’s list. He’s going to make a play for something bigger.”

  The implications of what he alleged were enormous—and totally unprovable without isolating the potential clone for several days. The only way I would even be able to begin the conversation would be to bring in the double, dead or alive, and compare them to the person living and working in our society. How would the average citizen view that?

  “Why is it that every time I talk to you, I get into deeper shit?” I mumbled.

  “It must be my good reputation with the city leadership,” Voodoo answered with a sly grin.

  I regarded him for a moment before answering, “You coulda fooled me.”

  “Not exactly laying low, are you, Chris?” I asked as I stared out over the wrought iron railing of his hotel balcony across Frenchmen Street toward the French Quarter.

  “What can I say? I enjoy fine hotels, fine dining, and fine women.”

  “I can say that you’ve got a target on your back because of that story you ran on Sadie.”

  “Just like you do, eh?”

  I leaned back and sipped the Brandy Crusta that the hotel’s bar staff made. It was good, but not like the one they served over at the Carousel Bar. I was glad that the reporter had decided to leave his house for a few days, but he was taking a chance by flaunting his newfound fame at the Frenchmen Hotel.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” I replied. “It’s more like a death sentence.”

  “You’re officially on the outs, my friend.” He leaned over to me and whispered, “But I don’t believe them. I’m still in communication with a lot of past informants. Somebody has put a price on you and Sadie both.”

  My arm stopped midway, the drink hovering in the air on its way to my lips. I set it down slowly. “What?”

  “You heard me. You’ve got a price on your head; two hundred and fifty grand. Sadie is closer to a five hundred. They’re not leaving it up to the police to find you.”

  I grunted and then slammed the rest of my drink. “I guess I should be flattered. Most of the time, when gangers put out hits on me, it’s only a couple of G’s. This means I’ve made it to the big time.”

  “You may think it’s funny, Zach, but this is serious stuff.”

  “Ten to one I know who it is that put the hit out on me.”

  “You think Mayor Cantrell is behind this, don’t you?”

  I grimaced and pointed toward the empty glass. “Think we can get another round?”

  “Of course,” Chris replied, tapping a few times on the display set into the table. “You got something you need to get off your chest?”

  “If I tell you this, you’ve got to keep me out of it. I’m still fucking pissed at you for naming me in your original story. I could have continued the investigation without all of this sneaking around if you’d just kept me out of it.”

  “I’m sorry, Zach. I was trying to give you the recognition you deserve; I didn’t know it would backfire like it has.”

  “Yeah, second and third order effects are a bitch,” I grumbled.

  “I should have asked your permission to use you in the story. I rushed to get it out and into the spotlight. As a result, I forgot to run the traps and do a few things—like get your permission to name you in the story.”

  “Your news vid accomplished its goal. I know who Sadie really is.”

  Chris choked on the final sip of his gin and tonic. “Excuse me?”

  I nodded. “Sadie, or should I say ‘Kelsey Bloomfield,’ runs the day-to-day operations at Biologiqué International, the company that perfected the cloning process.”

  “Wow, man. That’s… That’s crazy. How did her clone get tied up in the torture tourism bit?”

  “I don’t know. To be honest, until I saw it firsthand, I didn’t even believe that it existed. And, come to find out—”

  The hotel room’s door chime interrupted our conversation and a servant droid brought the tray of drinks out to the balcony. The droid was shiny stainless steel; the hotel hadn’t seen the need to pay an extra hundred thousand for the synthetic skin that would have made it look human. Can’t say I blamed them. I was more than a little sick of droids at the moment.

  Once the droid departed, Chris took a huge gulp from his drink and set it carefully on the table. “Before we got interrupted, you were going to tell me something you found out about the story I ran.”

  I could tell that he was questioning why I’d risked coming to see him instead of telling him on the phone. He probably thought that he’d staked his entire reputation on the Sadie story and I was getting ready to tell him it was a fake.

  I sipped my drink, staring at him over the rim, relishing the warmth spreading through my limbs from my stomach.

  “Sadie isn’t a clone. She’s the real deal.”

  I cringed as the reporter’s glass crashed to the balcony floor.

  “But, her clone is running Biologiqué,” I amended.

  “Go on,” he snapped, punching the display angrily to order a replacement drink.

  “She was replaced by her clone. My informant didn’t know she was the original woman either. Once he heard Dr. Grubber’s report that she was genetically exact, he knew. Apparently, the clones they produce are all chemically dependent on a compound that Biologiqué makes. If they don’t get it, they die within a week. Keep’s ’em loyal—and it can be detected in a DNA scan.”

  “A failsafe,” he nodded, finishing his order. “It makes sense. If they’re out
running around, away from the parent company’s influence, this is a way to keep control over them.”

  “You’re taking it a little better than I thought you would,” I said.

  He hunched his shoulders. “To be honest, I’m not surprised that they replaced someone with a clone and then sent them off to be raped and murdered. Probably because on some level, I knew that was a possibility. I mean, it makes sense, right? Why else would they create clones?”

  “So you’re not going to be stunned when I tell you that they’ve replaced the heads of several corporations and local government officials with clones, even a federal judge, and it’s entirely likely that the people who are getting killed in these torture houses are the originals?”

  “Hmm… It’s a great way to get rid of your opponents,” Chris admitted. “Kidnap ’em, clone ’em, and send the clone in to do the work that you want them to do. Sounds like a decent way to ensure your policies are embraced by industry, too.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it,” I replied.

  The droid returned with his new drink and tsked us for breaking a glass, which it promptly cleaned up before leaving.

  “Alright. I can work with this,” Chris announced. “Never let a good crisis go to waste, you know.”

  “Hmpf,” I grunted. “Is that some sort of journalist’s motto or something?”

  “No—well, sort of, I guess. Winston Churchill said it during the Second World War.”

  I tried to remember back to my recent trip to the local World War Two museum, but the name didn’t ring a bell. “Churchill? Like the cigars?”

  He laughed. “One and the same, Zach. They named the size after him because he always had an oversized cigar in his mouth.”

  “Yeah, I know the type,” I replied, thinking of Chief Brubaker. “So you can still use this information, then?”

  “Most definitely. I’ll have to be careful how I present it, and I’ll probably have to talk to your source and get them on camera before the network will run the story. It’ll be difficult without more corroboration than one woman and a fugitive detective.”

  I frowned at the word “fugitive.” How had it gotten to this point?

  “I’ll ask my source,” I responded. “He’s probably not going to discuss anything with you. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.”

  “So we need more proof, then. Sadie is great and we can attempt to find her counterpart at Biologiqué International to get evidence that one of them is a clone…” He paused, thinking through our next steps as he took a sip. “Can you find more clones? When we talked the other day, you said there were about forty of them that your source knew about and you’d found some of them. Can we get the coroner to give an opinion about those bodies? We’d need a clone for comparison. With a larger sample size, we should have some evidence.”

  “I know a clone that we can talk to.”

  SEVENTEEN: FRIDAY

  “Damn,” I croaked, my mouth dry from the cognac in the drinks I’d shared with Chris Young.

  The road was blurry and it was difficult to drive the Jeep. Two days ago, I’d never attempted to drive a car. After drinking, the task was monumentally more difficult. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to operate a vehicle manually after three of the strong drinks.

  I saw a side road and turned onto it.

  The front tire slammed into the curb, jostling me and throwing my head against the window. I pressed the brake to slow down and the Jeep limped a few hundred feet down the side street. The tire was blown, causing the car to lean awkwardly to the right and rumble as it rotated.

  “Mother fucker!” I shouted after I brought the Jeep to a halt. How’d I screw things up so badly? I should have known better than to drive drunk. Now I was really screwed.

  “Andi, how do I change a tire?” I asked.

  She didn’t respond. Oh yeah. I’d forgotten that she was offline.

  I almost used my phone to search online, stopping myself as the light illuminated the interior of the Jeep. If I popped up online, they’d know where I was instantly. It was up to me to figure this out on my own.

  Through trial and error, skinned-up knuckles and a lot of sweat, I figured out how to jack up the Jeep and get the tire off. Luckily, there were instructions inside the compartment where the tools were kept that helped me figure it out. By the time I was finished, the alcohol had worn off and I felt safe enough to drive.

  “You’d do better to tighten those lug nuts a little bit more,” a synthesized male voice said from behind me.

  I whirled around, falling into the side of the Jeep and rocking it on the jack. My pistol was in my hand as I pushed myself off the car.

  “What are you doing here, Paladin?”

  “Observing. What were you thinking, driving after four liquor drinks?”

  “Three,” I countered. I think.

  “I watched you and the reporter drinking on the balcony from the rooftop across the street. It was four. Pretty stupid for the two of you to be out in the open where a sniper could snap off two quick shots and be done with you both.”

  I slid the pistol back into its holster under my armpit. “I didn’t know you’d taken such an interest in my personal life.”

  “I haven’t,” he replied. “You’ve been singled out by the police as a cop killer and a rogue. Seems like you’re my kind of guy.”

  “I’m not a cop killer,” I retorted, turning my back on the dangerous vigilante. I picked up the tire iron and wrenched the lug nuts tighter. Two of them rotated another complete turn.

  When I was finished, the Paladin said, “I know you’re not a cop killer. Just like I’m not a bad person. We both want justice and are willing to make the hard choices and do things that people aren’t comfortable with to achieve it.”

  “We’re nothing alike.” I inserted the tire iron into the jack and began turning it to lower the Jeep back onto all four wheels.

  “More than you know,” he chuckled. “We have a problem in this city. A major problem.”

  “I know,” I grunted, picking up the ruined tire and fitting it on the mount on the back of the Jeep.

  “I didn’t know all of the details until I listened in on your conversation with Young. The regular police force won’t be able to do anything about this, and you know it. It’ll be up to you and me to find a way to get to the mayor.”

  “So not only were you watching me, but you were spying on me as well? And you want me to work with you, are you kidding?”

  “I had to know the truth in case you get arrested or killed. This way, there are two of us searching for clues.”

  “I’m not going to get killed. I’m going to find the rest of those missing people and bring them to the public. I’ll expose the mayor and clear my name.”

  “All noble gestures, Detective Forrest, but without me, your chances of success plummet. You don’t have the police drone support this time like you did at the warehouse. They’ll be hunting you instead. Your partner is officially on the lookout for you as well. You’re all alone in this.”

  Dammit. He had a point.

  “I know how to get around the drones, the security cameras, the beat cops, and the crowds of people,” the Paladin continued. “I want to take out those sickos and free the clones—or whatever we find.”

  “How do you get around the cameras?” If I could figure that part out, I could bust him once I was back on the force.

  “I’ll let you know once we have a target. Has Ladeaux contacted you yet?”

  Son of a bitch! What else did this guy know?

  “Why would he contact me?” I asked.

  “Because he’s your informant,” the Paladin replied. “You may be fooling most everyone else, not me. You spend enough time in the shadows, listening and observing, you see things. Hear things. Word on the street is that Ladeaux’s been spending a lot of time with a cop and people don’t like that—especially not the mayor, who has a lot invested with the King of Easytown.

  “You’
re not the only one with a target on your back right now, Detective.”

  “The guy may be sleazy, but he isn’t involved,” I lied. I needed to feel like I was in control in some aspect. If it had to be information, then so be it.

  “Hmm… I’ll have to think on it,” he challenged. “So has your informant told you where we need to look next?”

  “No. They said they’d poke around and try to find the next site.”

  “Alright. I’ll keep an ear to the ground and see what I can dig up. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  He spun on his heel and began walking toward the wood line. What the hell is he going into the park for? I wondered if he left his vehicle at the parking lot there.

  Then I remembered what the pickpocket told me about the ganger’s creations when I busted him. Damn, I thought, was that yesterday?

  “Wait! What do you know about the cyborgs that are hunting you?”

  He turned slowly. “I’ve heard rumblings about a new kind of creature haunting the alleys of Easytown. I didn’t know that they were coming after me, though.”

  I relayed to him what the kid had told me about the mechanical monstrosities allegedly arrayed against him. I also told him about the disc ammunition we pulled from the synthaine house. “I guess I’m just warning you to be careful out there.”

  “Oh, now you want me to be careful?” he asked. I could hear the amusement in his voice, even through the voice synthesizer. “Two weeks ago, you threatened me with kicking my teeth in. Something about shitting enamel if I remember right.”

  I chuckled slightly. It had been a good one-liner and the video replay got me lots of laughs from the guys down at the precinct. “Of course I want you to be careful. When this is all over, I’m going to arrest you and send you out to Sabatier.”

  He gave me a two-finger salute, his fingers touching where I imagined his eyebrow to be and jogged toward the park. I watched him until he disappeared into the trees before making my way around the Jeep to the driver’s seat.

  “What a weird son of a bitch.”