by K. C. Sivils
“Was there a woman involved?”
Sarah chewed on her thumbnail nervously and nodded.
“How many attackers?”
“Three.”
“Is the woman okay?”
“Yes, but her boyfriend or husband, I don’t know which, was injured pretty badly.”
Sarah looked down at her lap, avoiding elaborating any further.
“Sarah, did you kill one of them?”
"No," she whispered. "I messed them up pretty good, but they aren't the problem."
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I informed her. “What else did you do?”
"I really messed up the cop that was acting as the lookout."
Chapter Twelve
Several hired guns stepped out of the way as the man they knew only as their nameless employer walked briskly into the warehouse that also doubled as headquarters and a clinic of sorts. The man didn't bother knocking as he burst through the dirt-covered door; it's paint peeling away from the metal beneath to reveal spots of rust. He came to a stop in front of the four patients. One lay on his abdomen on a gurney, two more sat in chairs, their faces bandaged heavily, and the fourth reclined in a wheelchair, temporary braces on both of his legs.
“What were you thinking?”
The tallest of the four glared at the man challenging them.
"We were just having a bit of fun. It gets old working all the time."
“I hardly call sitting around in bars and restaurants waiting to collect fees as working.”
Angry at being reprimanded, the thug challenged the man. “Look, I’m going to need to have my left knee reconstructed, and my right knee is badly bruised. J’Mo has a bruised kidney and three cracked vertebrae in his back. Willie has a busted jaw and a concussion. Take a look at Jake. His face is a mess."
"You're well paid," the man replied. "Injuries are part of the job. You knew that when you hired on. It was also made clear there are consequences should you disobey orders."
“You better take care of the bills for our injuries,” the goon threatened.
“Or what?”
“Or we’ll make you pay the hard way,” the tall thug growled.
“I doubt it,” the man replied calmly. He reached inside his jacket and pulled a small caliber projectile weapon. A single, muted pop sounded, and the thug slumped in the wheelchair he sat in.
Pocketing the weapon, the man stared at the three remaining employees. “Next time I will use an energy weapon. It has the nasty effect of cauterizing wounds. With care and the proper setting, it can take quite a bit of time to kill someone.”
The man smiled at the visibly shaken thugs. “Now, arrangements have been made for you to receive treatment. While you go through treatment and rehab, you will not be paid.”
The smile vanished. “Consider yourself lucky to receive medical treatment. I take care of employees injured while in my employ, not when they are engaged in inappropriate behavior while on the clock.”
As quickly as the man arrived, he vanished, allowing the steel door to swing shut behind him slowly. Every employee in the building understood the message that had just been delivered.
The three injured thugs felt lucky to be alive.
IT SEEMED OKAY. THE place was just outside the neighborhood where Katrina went missing. The hotel wasn't a rent by the hour place, but it wasn't where you'd put your family up if they came for a visit either. It had seen its better days and needed more than just paint if it was to attract a better clientele. It was the kind of hotel you knew was there but never gave it a second thought as you went past.
Just the sort of place we needed to crash and think.
I walked in and looked around the lobby. The furnishings had to be original to the place. The flooring was worn and dirty with stains, several of which looked like they could be from blood. The furniture was just as battered and obvious repairs had been made to the upholstery. Cobwebs and dust covered the decorations, such as they were, on the walls. A couple of the lights were out, and the room had a smell about it. I couldn't identify the exact source of the odor, but it was the final piece that gave the place a general feeling of despair.
After waiting a few minutes, I hit the pager in hopes of stirring the desk clerk to life so we could check in. From the looks of things, I didn’t have to worry about whether or not the place had vacancies.
Rustling and the sound of footsteps, with a few grunts thrown in for good measure, came from the back of the office behind the desk. A sleepy woman emerged, rubbing her bloodshot eyes and stinking of alcohol. Dressed in wrinkled, drab khaki colored pants and shirt, the woman stumbled towards the check-in desk. She possessed a head of untamed grey hair with loose strands pointing in every direction. I noticed the telltale yellow stains on the fingernails of her hands and the gnarled knuckles of a long time tobacco smoker. Her face was lined and pockmarked. She’d lived a hard life and had stories to tell that I didn’t want to hear.
“What do you want?” the hung-over clerk snapped.
“Two rooms, adjoining if possible.”
She blinked a few times as if concentrating on determining if rooms were available. "Yeah, I can do that. Got two in back that are adjoining."
The clerk started typing on the outdated keyboard.
“Fifty credits, cash, in advance. Pay by the day if you stay longer. Don’t steal nothin’ either.” The woman gave me a stony look. “This place ain’t much, but it's all I got. Muh worthless husband run off and left me to run the place. Done trapped me here; he did."
She pushed a pair of old-fashioned plastic card keys across the top of the counter. "You lose one of them, it'll cost you another five credits. Checkout is at 1100 in the morning. You stay after; you owe another fifty. Are we clear?"
My answer was to drop fifty credits on the counter. The crone's hand shot out like a viper to grab the money. I clamped down on her hand, causing her to flinch. I held up a hundred-credit bill. Her eye's glistened, fixed on the bill in my hand, fixated like an addict when they see the source of their next fix.
The intensity of her eyes dimmed, and she looked away. "What do you want? I don't do that for money, but for a tenner, I can find a girl for you."
“Just a couple of answers to questions. That’s all.”
She sniffed and licked her lips. “Seems more than fair. What do you want to know?”
“The neighborhoods in this part of New Paris, who collects the protection money?”
Her grey face went pale, and she started to shake. "Now look, I don't want no trouble, Mister. I pay what I owe, and it's reasonable the way I figure it. They guarantee some working girls use my place regular and don't cause no trouble. That and what I make from people like you and my bar lets me keep the lights on. They don't charge too much, so please, don’t go gettin’ no ideas about movin’ in on the territory!”
I let go of her hand and the fifty vanished. The woman had answers, and I knew she'd talk. Her eyes were fixated on the hundred again.
“I don’t plan on staying," I told her. "I need to find someone, and then I'll be moving on. To find that person, I need to talk to the boss for this part of New Paris. Nothing more."
A bit of color returned to her face as she plotted how to best earn a hundred credits without any risk to herself.
“I ain’t goin’ to jes tell you, cuz truth be known, I don’t know the boss man’s name. All I know is he’s a hard man, but fair. Insurance costs, if you know what I mean, ain’t so high you can't get by." She looked away, her body shaking, partially from the need for a drink and from the fear she felt. "Look, Mister, you give me half now, and I'll pass the word you need to speak to someone in charge, arrange a meet, you know?"
“Seems fair,” I told the crone. The hundred vanished and another fifty appeared in its place. “Half now, half after I talk to somebody.”
I tossed the fifty in the air, and the woman made it vanish.
“My companions and I don’t want to be disturbed,” I told
her. “Should somebody show up and want to disturb us,” I said, glaring at her with mean spirited menace, “it would be worth another fifty credits if somebody from housekeeping gave us a call.”
HIS DAY HAD BEEN CONSUMED with paperwork, prying Internal Affairs investigators from the IAPF snooping around sticking their noses in places other than the investigation of the recent terrorist attack, and the fool Governor Rankin. Markeson decided it had been a mistake to let Sullivan take that private investigation job, not that he could have kept the man given the nature of their agreement.
The crooked Chief of Police smiled at the thought. Sullivan was his best Inspector and hated Internal Affairs more than Markeson. It was bad enough he had to deal with the IA people in his own force on Beta Prime. It was an insult and a problem for the Regional Commander to send IA detectives to poke around. The idea of assigning Sullivan as their liaison officer was amusing. When Sullivan was done with them, the IA people would be scurrying for the next shuttle to the space station to flee from Beta Prime.
Josephson was at best a poor substitute, but the kid had potential. He'd learned from Sullivan and was stonewalling effectively enough while not giving the IA detectives any legitimate reasons to complain. The kid didn't have it in him to figure out how to set a trap for them and send them running. Still, the IA investigation would play out in time. They would find nothing and move on. Their presence had been a nuisance, a waste of time, and not much else.
Rankin, on the other hand, was becoming a real problem. Having survived the attempt on his life, the man was almost uncontrollable. Markeson found himself wishing the sniper had not missed.
He needed to get home and relax while he cleaned up. One message and he’d have reservations at any place he wanted. It would be just a matter of deciding whom he wanted for company after that. Markeson needed to blow off steam, relieve the stress that had built up the last few days. It needed to be a woman with no inhibitions.
It would have to be Cassandra.
Chapter Thirteen
A sharp knock on the door jolted me awake. I stood up from the shaky chair as Sarah opened the door and Father Nathan stepped in, his hands full with tote bags of junk food and drinks. He set everything on the rickety dresser by the door.
“It is hot outside,” the priest complained. He looked around at the room he would be sharing with me and shook his head in disgust. “This place is a dump, Sully. It might be the worst place I’ve ever stayed as a civilian.”
Sarah looked at the two of us with a puzzled expression while she sorted out the contents of the bags. “I’ve seen worse. At least the air conditioning works,” she smirked. “You two crybabies would never stop whining otherwise.”
Amused, I grinned at my partner. “Not all of us have the advantage of being genetically engineered to withstand heat, cold, that sort of thing. But you would think a priest wouldn’t complain so much.”
My partner grinned in a rare display of amusement.
“Fine,” Father Nathan snapped. “Next time we need anything, you’re going out in that heat and humidity, not me.” My friend grabbed his travel bag and disappeared into the bathroom.
"The bathroom in my room is cleaner than yours," Sarah informed me with disgust. "The shower in yours is just nasty."
Father Nathan appeared seconds later, his clerical collar undone and a look of disgust etched on his face. He vanished into Sarah's room, and a moment later the sound of running water could be heard.
“I guess our friend agrees with you,” I chuckled.
Sarah didn't seem amused. "If we stay here past tonight, I'm buying new bedding." She gave me one those looks that said not to mess with her. "In fact Sully, we're going out to eat tonight, and you're going to take me past a place where I can get bedding."
I'm not one to waste money, and the idea of spending it on bedding we've paid for the use of didn't sit well with me, dirty look or not. Before I could get a word out, Sarah had more to say on the matter.
“We can afford it. It’s an expense.”
“You never sleep in a bed,” I protested.
“How would you know,” Sarah shot back, her hands on her hips and head tilted.
I opened my mouth to argue and stopped. I didn’t know.
“I like clean sheets, even if I only sleep for a few hours,” Sarah informed me. “I’ve only had that luxury a few times in my life.”
Father Nathan reappeared, saving me from my losing battle. Sarah and I both were taken aback by his appearance.
“What?” he said, looking at us with a confused expression.
Sarah looked at me with her mouth open and a hint of fear on her face.
“Oh,” Father Nathan said, laughing at us. “You’ve never seen me in civilian clothes.”
CHANCELLOR VANZETTI hurried down the corridor, ignoring her security detail who tried to keep pace. The automatic door opened, allowing her to enter the Chancellor's office. Outside the door, two of the guards took up position, one on either side. The third guard followed the Chancellor, ignoring her and began searching the office for bombs, surveillance devices, and a host of other potential hazards. The task completed, the third guard faced Vanzetti, bowed politely, and exited the room, the automatic door closing behind.
Relieved to be alone, Saundra took her tailored jacket off and spoke aloud to her office AI. “Please open the coat closet.”
“Yes, Chancellor,” the androgynous voice answered. A panel in the wall behind and to the left of the Chancellor's desk slid open. Saundra held the jacket out, and the closet mysteriously whisked the coat away, and the panel closed shut. Even knowing the exact location of the closet did not make it possible for Saundra to see the outline of the door.
Adjusting her skirt as she sat, Saundra leaned back in the chair, placing both hands behind her head and clasping her fingers. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Saundra opened her eyes and focused on the screen on her desk.
“Security clearance, Chancellor, Delta, Easy, Baker, 884433. Today’s password is poker.”
The screen on the desk illuminated instantly while a holographic keyboard appeared on the desktop. Saundra sat and stared vacantly at the monitor for a moment before speaking.
“XR-281, do I have any priority messages this morning?”
“No, Chancellor Vanzetti, routine traffic only. I have organized them by priority. Would you like for me to commence playback?”
“No, XR-281, and please, when it’s just the two of us, call me Saundra.”
“Yes, Chancellor.”
Saundra sighed at the stubborn refusal of XR-281 to address her informally when alone. “XR, what have I told you about disobeying direct orders?”
“You will have my matrix washed and my memory deleted.”
“And yet you insist on calling me Chancellor in private despite my direct orders not to.”
“Before you have me terminated,” the disobedient AI replied, “please take note I no longer call you Madam Chancellor when we are alone.”
XR-281’s cheeky response caused Saundra to laugh for a brief moment.
“You seem stressed and distracted this morning, Chancellor. Would you like some mood music? Perhaps I can adjust the lighting? The room temperature?”
“No, thank you though." Saundra leaned back in her chair and placed both feet on her desk and closed both eyes. She pictured the office she had worked so hard to occupy, it's white walls and dark blue curtains that covered faux windows that were nothing more than projection screens displaying images of beautiful scenery or nightscapes of the city skyline of New Paris. The vaulted ceiling had hand-painted panels fixed in ornate handmade wooden frames, the images depicting the early history of Athens II and New Paris. Lush, blue carpeting that matched drapes covered the floor, creating the sensation of walking on air. Portraits of her successors adorned the walls. It was both simple and elegant in design and execution.
Saundra opened her eyes and put her feet down. �
��XR-281?”
“Would you like me to display your favorite image of Katrina?”
Tears fell down the Chancellor’s cheeks as she nodded. It was only here, in the privacy of the Chancellor’s Office that Saundra could let the tiny chink in her hardened body armor show. A secret only XR-281 and a precious few others knew.
As the image appeared on the monitor, Saundra wiped her eyes. The sight of her daughter never failed to warm her heart and simultaneously produce feelings of guilt.
“XR?”
“The instant a message from the kidnappers comes through, I will patch it through to you, I promise Chancellor.”
Chapter Fourteen
Markeson felt tired, bone tired, and it wasn't the kind of tired a good night's sleep could eliminate. It was more than that. The years of scheming, plotting, and assorted illegal activity was catching up to the corrupt Chief. He decided he would take a few personal days. Sullivan wasn't around, and Josephson could be trusted to deal with the IA detectives. Everything else, including the pain-in-the-butt Governor Rankin, was going to wait.
A few days at a ski resort with Cassandra and perhaps one additional female companion were just what the doctor ordered. He'd feel better, rested and ready to take on challenges head-on.
The decision made, Markeson mindlessly went through the process of entering his security code, submitting to the palm print, retinal scan, and voice identification. The door opened to his home, and he walked in, tossing his briefcase aside, and unbuttoning his coat. His latest addition to his ultra-modern home was a sensor-controlled clothing closet that opened as he held the coat out. With a flick of his lower arm, Markeson tossed the jacket in and watched with fascination as something inside the closet grabbed the jacket, placed it on what appeared to be a hanger, and the wall panel shut before he could witness the remainder of the process.
