“Okay,” I said. “We start now. I have a hoverlimo waiting. Let’s go pay our respects to the men and women who are convinced you got their loved ones killed.” I could see the toughness in Chief’s Hub’s face soften. “What’s wrong? Not so eager to do your unwelcome police protection?”
“My son is right. I should let Monkey Baker have you. If I didn’t care more about this city than I hate you, I would.”
“Good, because I hate you too, pompous bastard. Maybe, I’ll get to see some real cops shoot you again.”
“Maybe, I’ll get lucky and get to see some gang skell punk shoot you. I hear you have quite the problem with strange people shooting at you.”
“Yeah, they don’t like my hat. Maybe, they’ll try to shoot me and hit you instead.”
It would have gone on forever, but a smiling PJ said, “Can you two continue your conversation outside? I have a business to run.”
We left, and later I learned there was another “high-level” client she wanted me to call, but had forgotten to mention the messages were on my desk. It didn’t matter. The calls or meetings wouldn’t have made a bit of difference for what came next.
On reflection, my combat-drop strategy was majorly flawed. It worked for Flash to drop me off, but what about leaving the building? Out into the rain, we went—me, Chief Hub, and his seven sons. We could hide all we wanted with our hooded dark slickers, but there were many ways to identify a person if they really wanted to. All we heard was…
“Hey, Cruz!”
I recognized the voice. I looked up and saw the Hippo waving and smiling without his animal mask, but with the black airbrushed eye sockets. He walked to me, and I walked to him. It may have been centuries old, but I saw the Godfather when I was a kid with my Pops. I reached him and flicked my wrist.
Pop!
Before he went down, I saw the flash of anger on his face as he realized he wouldn’t be able to assassinate me so easily. The cyborg yelled, fell back and crashed to the ground; a burning hole in his chest. Then we saw them. These Hippos, all with their masks on, came out from the shadows with guns blazing.
Civilians scattered as the gang members took positions at one end of the street, and we took cover where we could—close to the tower walls and low. Thank goodness for the rain and the steam from the vents. Hub took his position in front of me and returned fire, like a maniac; I heard two Hippos cry out. His sons followed his lead, but two of his sons ran off. Based on what I was seeing, this was not a coward family and no cop in this city, even a scumbag like Hub, would run away like a scaredy-cat against criminals, no matter how out-gunned. I hoped they had a hovercar somewhere with laser machine guns in the trunk.
I looked up again, and this time, I saw it. People were jumping out of a hovercar onto the buildings. The Hippos had the firepower to hold us, but not overpower us. They were buying time.
“They’re stalling for time,” I yelled at Hub.
“So are we,” he answered back and continued firing.
There are times you see things you’ve never seen before, and it takes days to process it. The sky traffic above us just stopped and hovercars began descended to the ground. We heard doors opening and saw them. In all my years, I had never seen an entire sky-lane of traffic stop and drop like that. The gunfire from the hovercars almost cut us to pieces right there. It was a miracle we weren’t killed outright, and that none of the bullets, laser beams, or laser rounds hit us. We scrambled back as fast as we could into what shadows there were.
Hovercar after hovercar landed, and out came the animal gangs— Jackals, Pigs, Lions, Unicorns, Snakes, Toads, Lizards, and others I couldn’t make out. One hovercar zipped to a stop, right above us, with the door already open and a Monkey at a side mounted machine gun. I didn’t hesitate and shot him right in the head. He fell over and crashed ten feet to the ground. Another Monkey pushed two others out of the way and jumped onto the machine gun turret. He was dressed differently than the others—they were all in chocolate brown suits; he was in a bright, white-silver one and tie. Was this Monkey Baker, the head of the Animal Farm Crime Syndicate?
I shot at him too, but hit only the turret. An explosion of gunfire erupted from behind me. I physically jumped, startled, and looked back. Chief Hub had a compact machine-gun in his hands. At least, the scumbag was prepared. I looked back to see, who I suspected was Monkey Baker strafed by bullets, jump back into the hovercar, another Monkey fell out to crash to the ground, and then, the vehicle blasted off and away.
One often played Cowboys and Indians as a kid with sonic toy guns or colored paint shooters. Everyone always wanted to be the Cowboys to defeat the Indians. This wasn’t that. This was the Battle of Little Big Horn, and I was General Custer, and that meant, I was about to get killed badly with all my men. The barrage of lighted gunfire from these deranged animal masked gang members was overwhelming. We were encircled by neon signs and neon bullets coming at us every which way. There were just too many of them.
“This is the police! Drop your weapons!”
The voice rumbled through the air and seemed to come from the heavens above as if spoken by God. Silver-and-black police “PEACE” officers descended from the sky via their silent jetpacks, like black rain, blitzing them with more intense gunfire than seemed possible.
These gang members had really stepped in it. To us, it seemed like world war with 5,000 of them firing at us seven guys, but now, 500,000 jetpacked police—thousands of points of light—descended from the black sky, firing at them! It was a bloodbath. I was certain that every gang gunman was hit dozens of times by police gunfire, and they were still taking bullets and laser rounds. Bodies collapsed to the ground; their hovercars shot apart and exploding. This wasn’t world war; it was the End of the World for the Animal Farm Crime Syndicate. Hub’s two sons had brought the Cavalry to the rescue all right, with not a moment to spare. I had never ever, ever, ever seen so many cops in the sky—no one had.
Whoever Monkey Baker was, he was done. His Animal Farm Syndicate was done. The Metro Police would track down every last one, until every last one was dead or in jail. Monkey Baker would not have time to think about me ever again, let alone come after me. A smile crept onto my face as I watched the silver-and-black event before my eyes. A few police incursions like this in key points of the city, and Metropolis would be crime-free…well, for a week, at least.
“How did you learn to shoot so well,” one of Hub’s sons asked me, almost annoyed by the fact.
“Video games,” I answered.
Securing the scene was elevated to an insane new level. The entire street was locked down, and that meant, twenty miles, in either direction, on the ground with a human net of hovering police in the air. I couldn’t even comprehend how the coroner’s department would clear a body count of this magnitude. Exe said there was a time that criminals were killing 10,000 people a weekend. Such numbers were beyond my ability to grasp. That was too many innocent faces. Hopefully, the cosmic scales had been balanced today.
The standard procedure was done and officers walked to me. The sight of what amounted to a ground armada of silver-and-black peace officers approaching me…I couldn’t swallow hard enough, but at least, I knew they were on my side. Chief Hub and sons must have been soiling themselves and I noticed how they got closer and closer to me as the crowd approached.
“You!” It was Wilford G. Jr. He pulled off his half-visor helmet. “We’re glad you have a death wish, because that wish will be granted.”
“Why do you think we’re here?” Hub yelled back. “You jokers weren’t providing proper protection.”
“Protection? We saved your asses,” an officer yelled back.
“If you all hadn’t abandoned the city, this would never have happened!”
“Abandoned? Says the man who let his own officers get gunned down,” a female officer yelled.
“I had nothing to do with it!”
The officers had engulfed us, and
every one of them had their long guns in hand. I could see the sweat pouring down the side of Hub’s face. A hovervan descended slowly, and I could see Wilford G. Jr. and the others gesture for the officers to clear a space. The vehicle landed a couple of feet from me, and the door opened. Inside were families—adults and kids from toddlers to teenagers.
“Mr. Cruz,” one of the women said. “We’ve been trying to get you to come to us, but it seems with your busy life, it’s better and easier to come to you. My husband was one of the officers killed at the Sweet Street Shootout.”
She and the other spouses introduced themselves.
“Why is the murderer here?” one of the women in the hovervan yelled, looking at Wilford G. Jr.
“I am not a murderer,” Chief Hub answered back. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Is your Mayor master going to have those Up-Top spaceships try to take over the planet?” asked another widow. “We’re going to blast them from the sky.”
“I have nothing to do with the Mayor or them, either,” Hub answered.
“Tell me, Mr. Cruz,” asked one of the widowers, holding his little son’s hand, “Are you going to identify everyone involved in this plot? Are you going to tell us the masterminds behind the death of my boy’s mother? The mastermind behind the death of all our loved ones?”
“I am,” I answered.
“Is he one of them?” he asked, pointing directly at Chief Hub.
If I were evil, I could have lied, and Hub and Sons would never have left that street alive. But I was a good guy, so I couldn’t, but it was interesting to feel what true temptation to the dark side felt like. Hub, undoubtedly, was holding his breath. One word from me truly could end his life.
“No, not him,” I said. “He’s just a scumbag, who wanted to play politics. There’s another who’s the mastermind. Or the co-mastermind. The criminal animal gang leader, Red, was one. This person is the other half. And their time is coming to an end soon. However, before I concentrate on finishing the job, I must ask: Can you all secure the city first? People are hiding in their homes and businesses. They can’t walk the streets in safety. People can’t send their kids to school. I know you haven’t had a chance to do any tours, but Metropolis is a ghost town. The criminal punks think they run the city, now, and not you. Can you take care of that? I’ll take care of my end. Can that happen?” I looked at the widower, holding his son’s hand. “This city doesn’t need any more widows, widowers, or orphans.”
The families in the hovervan and the officers looked at each other.
Wilford G. Jr. spoke up, “We can do that, but not him!” He pointed at Hub.
“I’m no fan of the Chief. He and the Mayor tried to destroy my life, but he saved my life. I don’t know if his motives were pure. Probably not, but if he wasn’t backing me, I’d be dead, period.”
“Let’s do what the man says and restore order to the city,” Hub said. “If you want to get me, then all you have to do is organize a recall or demand the Mayor replace me or replace the Mayor, but not this.”
“This was the only way to break through the cover-up,” one of the widows said.
“I don’t disagree, but my way would have accomplished the same thing,” Hub said.
“Yeah, if we wanted to wait for the next twenty years,” another officer said
“It would have taken time, but it would have happened,” Hub said back.
“But then, the people responsible are never the ones who pay for misdeeds,” Wilford G. Jr. said.
“You want my job?” Hub asked him directly. “We can switch jobs, right now. Say the word.”
Wilford’s expression said it all. He was not interested, nor was anyone else.
“Being a revolutionary is easy,” Hub said. “Running a department of 500,000 men and women in a 50 million supercity is a far different thing. My humble suggestion is we send 90% of the forces to do what the man says and take the remaining 10% with me back to City Hall and get those Up-Top spaceships off our planet! That should be acceptable to everyone, because if there’s a possibility of any real violence, City Hall is where that will be. Maybe, you’ll get what you want after all, and I’ll get shot for real there.”
The two sides stared at each other. I had to get the ball rolling.
“Can someone escort me to my hoverlimo?” I asked. “It’s not what it sounds like. It’s donated. A guy, like me, with a red Ford Pony can’t exactly drive around incognito. Let’s bring this whole matter to an end and get the bad guy.”
It worked. Cops volunteered. I knew the tension wouldn’t go away soon, if ever, but at least, the city could get its streets back.
Chapter 61
Police Watch
AS I SAT IN THE HOVERLIMO, with Flash at the wheel and two police cruisers following as escorts, I reflected how this whole mess unfolded. Run-Time gave me a simple gig, and it snowballed into this. Since I planned to make this my new permanent career, I hoped this was a once in a lifetime event. I don’t think my nerves could handle any repeats.
“Oh, Mr. Cruz?”
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Run-Time is sending his security to meet you at the Watch Division.”
“The cops are protecting me now.”
“You can never have too much security.”
I nodded. “After today, never a truer statement was spoken.”
We arrived at Police Watch Division, and there was Run-Time’s VP, The Mick, waiting. He had a compact machine gun in hand and behind him were no less than a dozen armed men. I exited the elevator capsule, and he spoke into his cupped left hand. He lowered his hand as he approached me, and the two police officers with me.
“I’m leading Mr. Run-Time’s additional private security for Mr. Cruz. Everyone calls me The Mick,” he said to the officers.
“Officer Break and my partner, Officer Caps.”
“If I may suggest a security strategy,” The Mick said. “I will maintain a close detail on Mr. Cruz. My men can take positions in the hall and secure the restrooms on the floor. You can maintain security of the main elevators.”
Officer Break nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Mr. Cruz,” The Mick said and gestured me to follow.
I didn’t like this and couldn’t wait for life to return to normal. Bodyguards were supposed to be an as-needed thing, not a permanent part of life. Politicians, rock stars, and gazillionaires could keep the life. I wanted no part of it.
We arrived.
Exe may have been worried, but she was one of those people with an outgoing demeanor that radiated congeniality. She walked me through the underground watch room of the division. I was being given a tour of a place most people had never and would never see, which seemed strange. The civilian Police Watch Commission was comprised of only civilians to protect civilians, but the civilian population had no oversight over them.
Weeks ago, when I was doing my own informal survey of the Police Watch Commission, I called a random sampling of criminal defense lawyers from the Yellow Pages. I made up a cover-story that I was a victim who wanted to sue the police. They all laughed at me. One lawyer put it succinctly, “Body-cams on police monitored by the civilian Police Watch Commission made the City legally bulletproof.” Police brutality criminal cases were nearly impossible to prove, even before the body-cam regime. The main reason wasn’t police protecting their own or political cover-ups, but because civilian juries wanted police to beat up criminals. But that left the domain of civil cases, which was where trial attorneys lived and, for ages, became filthy rich, suing the police. But, that was a long time ago.
There was the main executive committee of the Police Watch Commission, who maintained their watching duties, but there were tens of thousands of watchers on duty at any given time, manning the body-cam feed from police in the field. Police could not engage in any contact with the public or suspect without an active body-cam interface. It wasn’t police procedure; it was law, mandated by the Police Union contract.
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br /> Everyone in the City knew someone on the Police Watch Commission, even if they didn’t realize the fact. All 500,000 active police in the city were not on the streets at the same time (except for the unfortunate animal gang skells who tried to assassinate me earlier), but even being off-duty, on vacation, or in the station doing work, nearly 100,000 were in the field. And that is, actually, how many police watchers were here at the Division, plugged in.
Exe pointed to an old picture on the wall, just before she introduced me to her colleagues. It was over thirty years old and showed a younger and more slender Exe. Everyone in the photos was there in the room, as she introduced me. There was Cisco, who as a twenty-something pseudo radical, looked rather cool with his ponytail, but as a sixty-something, with practically all his natural hair receding to the point of invisibility, his ponytail looked rather silly—like a seventy-year old with a twenty-year old buxom girlfriend. Let’s be age appropriate shall we? There was Mr. Link and Ms. Mosaic. Exe had an afro in her youth, but she let that go a long time past. Ms. Mosaic still had hers, tall, fluffy, and who knows how much time she spent having it dyed black; her eyebrows were natural gray. Mr. Link wore these old zoot suits that I remember wannabe gangsters used to wear, hanging out on the street. They looked synthetic and cheap on them, and looked the same on this old guy, too. Every member of the executive board was a social radical in their youth, but here, they were in their sixties and seventies, still trying to maintain the fiction, except for Exe. It was real back then, when they started, but it was all show now. They were all so booshy with their mansion-sized apartments, multiple hovercars, when they weren’t being chauffeured around by hoverlimo, all their kids well-placed in society, their grandchildren attending the best universities. I didn’t like fake people, which was one reason I liked Exe. She didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t anymore.
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