by J. N. Chaney
“Any word from the police chief?” Meeks asked me.
“Lessard?” I asked in surprise. “What do you think.”
“I think the fact that you’re becoming a galactic celebrity makes him want to shoot out every holo-proctor that displays your pretty green eyes.”
I actually snorted a little beer up my nose.
“Maybe I’ll send him a poster of you,” Meeks added. “Mind autographing it?”
“Not at all.”
Meeks took another sip of his beer. “I’ve heard he’s put a lockdown on anyone reaching out to you.”
“Oh yeah?”
The fire chief nodded. “But from what I understand, you’re about to get a whole lot of love from male strippers in police uniforms sometime soon.”
“Gods, Bill!” I coughed. “You’re gonna make me drown in beer over here!”
We laughed more as he told me exactly how much property damage, I’d cost the fire department with my sniper fire, as well as the initial estimates coming in from the mayor’s office for damage to the city’s platform. None of it was being tagged to me, however. “You’re a damned superstar!” Meeks explained. “Word on the street is that both the new mayor and the Union have awards for you too.”
“Are you serious?”
“As serious as Lessard’s groin-grooming routine. Anyone goes after you, there’s gonna be riots in the streets, and ain’t no employee in the city gonna stop it.”
We talked for a long time and nursed one too many beers for a hospital room trash bin to hold. It was good catching up with Meeks, and I asked him to please thank his entire firehouse for risking their lives.
“No way,” Meeks said. “They already beat you to that. Told me to thank you for getting those hostages as far as you did. Those people are saying that if it wasn’t for you, they’d all be dead. They’re calling you a hero.”
Damn. Compliments were hard to accept without looking really awkward. The only thing I could think to say was the same thing all the war heroes said when they were interviewed. “I’m not a hero. I was just doing my job.”
Sure, I guess someone could say I saved those peoples’ lives. But I had help—lots of it. It felt weird to think that one of the only people I wanted to speak to wasn’t a person at all. It was Lars. A damn computer program.
No, Reed. Not a computer program, I corrected myself. I could practically hear Lars’s uppity butler voice now, trying to explain the state of his existence or something like that. The fact was, I was indebted to Lars. There was just no way I could have pulled off half of what I’d done without him.
I thought back to how he first patched me up, gave me the weapons, and then walked me through the steps to construct an improvised bomb. He kept the thieves off my back and told me where to go to make sure I stayed on top of theirs. I’d flown through an elevator shaft, dodged bullets, and taken on Oubrick and his last few thugs, all with Lars’s help. Hells, I’d even been able to save Heather and Rachel because of him opening that elevator door at the last second. And it wasn’t just their lives, but every hostage who’d survived the takeover.
But Lars was gone now.
It felt weird being so attached to a comp—no, to an AI. There’d be others, I was sure. But none of them like Lars. I’d make sure Mr. Oragga knew just how much the AI had done for me when I met with him. I felt I owed Lars that much.
Once I was released from the hospital, Mr. Oragga provided a hover vehicle and driver that took me back to my rooftop unit. Everything was peaceful until I encountered the mass of people outside my door. I managed to squeeze my way through, covering my face with my arms and denying all requests for pictures and interviews until later. Much later. It took another two days before the paparazzi finally thinned out, giving me some peace and quiet.
Now that I was home, the place felt empty without Heather and Tiny. Since her injuries were minor compared to mine, Heather had agreed to take Tiny to her parents’ house while I got back on my feet. It was a kind gesture. Gods knew I had a hard enough time taking my own self to the bathroom let alone a feisty Androsian boxer.
On the day that she came to bring Tiny back, I felt almost normal. The door chimed and I commanded it to open, hoping I wouldn’t find any more fans or reporters. Instead, Heather stood in the doorway, one hand holding a leash to Tiny and the other a bag of groceries.
“Boy, am I glad to see you,” I said to Heather.
“Really?” she said, looking more than a little surprised.
“You don’t have a hidden camera somewhere, do you?”
She laughed. “Gotcha. Nope, just me and the pooch.”
“Hey, buddy!” I said, kneeling down to pet Tiny and scratch his sides. If there was one thing I loved about dogs, it’s that no matter how much time passed between seeing each other, they always thought their next encounter with you was the best one.
“How are you feeling?” Heather asked as I welcomed her inside.
“Here, let me take that,” I said, indicating the bag.
“No way,” she replied, pulling it back. “I can put these things away just fine.”
She was being awfully sweet right now. And she was wearing my favorite perfume. And she was wearing the tight top and those skimpy shorts I liked. Damn, woman.
“So?”
I looked up from her butt. “So… what?”
“How are you feeling?” she asked, repeating the question. She reached up to put a few items in the top cupboard where I kept my snacks, stretching out her long legs and flexing her backside.
“Oh, fine, now.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah, why?”
She turned, walking slowly toward me from across the kitchen. “You just single-handedly took on fifteen armed terrorists and saved almost fifty hostages, and all you can say is that you’re fine?” She placed her hands on my chest and went up on her tiptoes. “If you want,” she said, whispering in my ear, “I can be the judge of just how fine you are.” Then she pulled her head back around and kissed me.
For all the bad memories that we had—and did we have some bad ones—we still had plenty of good. This kiss reminded me of all those, of all the history. And as the kiss wore on, it also reminded me of how bitter the marriage had become. Hells, we were already divorced and that didn’t happen overnight. No divorce ever did.
“Heather,” I said, pulling away from the long kiss.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like the taste of my—”
“Come on, you know I do.”
“Then what’s wrong?” she said, putting her fists on her hips and cocking an eyebrow at me. “You’re not still mad about that message I sent you, are you?”
“You filed for divorce, Heather.”
“I can pay to have it rescinded, you know that.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s more than that. You and I both know we hadn’t been working out for a long time.”
Heather lowered her eyes and took a deep breath.
“And we also know that you’re just riding the wave right now.”
“What wave?” she asked, acting offended.
“The wave of all the holo-cams and publicity,” I replied.
“Pshhh, none of that matters.” She waved her hand at me, but I wasn’t buying it. So I waited and let her statement hang there in the air. “Okay, so it matters a little. But isn’t this just the sort of thing to jumpstart our relationship again? I mean—” she came back in and ran her hands down my chest— “you did save me and all.”
I caught her right hand just before it went to the place of no return. “I did save you,” I affirmed, “and I’ll never regret that. Your life is valuable to me. But I do regret how we’ve lived over the last few years. And that… I can’t forget.”
“So what are you saying?”
“You made the right decision to file.”
Her eyes grew colder. “But I don’t want that anymore. I want you. I want us.”
“No you don’t,” I said. “You w
ant what you imagine we could be, not what we really are.”
“That’s not true! Flint, I want—”
“You want someone who will be emotionally available to you, which is something I was never able to do, for whatever reasons, and that’s also what you need moving forward. That wasn’t me before, and it won’t be me in the future.”
“But you’re doing so good right now! Where has this man been our whole marriage?”
“You’re right,” I said, nodding. “I haven’t been present, not the way you needed me to.”
“So why not give it one more try?”
“Because…” I let the word linger for a moment as I gathered all the reasons way in my mind. If I made a list of grievances, it would drag this conversation on for days. I didn’t want that. Hells, I could barely handle where it was headed now. Instead, I gave the simplest, most direct, most honest answer I could think of. “Because I don’t want to. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t want to either or you would have never gone through with the divorce.”
Her eyes flared, at first in anger, and then relaxed to some level of sad acceptance. I saw tears well up as she raised her chin. “If that’s what you want, then I respect that.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And I respect your wishes too. That’s the whole reason I pressed Accept on the filing.”
Standing there in her cute outfit, she looked so small. I took her by the shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. I held her there as she cried, letting all the emotions of the last week rise to the surface. Hells, this was probably the most genuine moment we’d had together in years. It felt good. But it was also time to let go.
“Thank you for saving my life,” Heather said at last, her words muffled in my shirt.
“It was the one I cared most about saving,” I replied.
She let out a small yelp as her emotions got the best of her again. She shook in my arms, her cries giving way to deep sobs. If I hadn’t been such a dick in our marriage already, I would have pulled away by now. But I knew she needed this. Hells, some part of me needed this too. And I knew that this might be the last time we ever shared a moment like this. She’d go on and live her life, find somebody new, and settle down in the way she wanted. She was gorgeous and would have plenty of prospects. As for me? I’d find my way forward, like I always did.
After several minutes, Heather pushed away from me and went to the kitchen to wipe her face. I let her have some space before she finally returned.
“You gonna be okay?” I asked. “I mean… you went through a lot.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Getting kidnapped on the way to the docks was…” I saw her shudder. “It’s not something I ever want to repeat. Think I’ll start packing a small pistol in my purse like you’ve always told me I should.”
“Bout time,” I said.
She smiled. “I’m gonna stay with Mom and Dad until I get things sorted out.”
“And you said you met someone?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, but nothing serious. It was more just to say—”
I waved her off. “You don’t need to explain yourself,” I replied. “You’ll find someone great, I know you will.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But he’ll never be—”
“Watch it now,” I said, putting my fingers over her lips.
“Right.” She looked down. “I’ve already started meeting with a therapist too, to deal with the nightmares and all.”
“And that’s the part of the job they never really train you for.”
“Your days on the force?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yup.”
“I’m sorry for that, Flint.”
“Me too,” I replied. “But you get used to it, and eventually, with a lot of time, the memories do fade. But some days are harder than others.”
She nodded, but I knew she didn’t yet know what I was talking about.
“Hey, one more thing,” she said. “About when you got fired.”
“Here we go…”
“No, no.” It was her turn to place a finger over my lips. “Listen. I never told you… but I need to say it now.”
“Heather, please—”
“I might not get another chance, okay? I just want you to know… that you did the right thing.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say. I just stared at her, eyes unblinking. Sure, it was an admission two years too late, but it was an admission nonetheless.
“And,” she added, “Devin would have been proud. I know Lisa was before she… she…”
“Hey,” I said, removing her finger from my lips. Tears streamed down Heather’s face yet again, and I’d be lying if I said one didn’t well up in my eye too. “I get it. More than you know. Thanks.”
“That monster Oubrick had it wrong, you know,” Heather added, sniffing.
“Oh?”
“I know you didn’t kill his son.”
I caught my breath. “You do?”
“You never told me who did it, but I know it wasn’t you. You were too good a cop to make a mistake like that. If I had to make a bet, I’d say it was Lessard. But even if you had, you were just doing your job that night. So was Devin and the rest of your officers. You protect people, Flint. That’s what you do. It’s what you were born to do. And you do it better than anyone else I know. If you shot someone, it’s because you had a good reason, and don’t you ever second guess yourself.”
If she’d rendered me speechless before, this took it to a whole new level. I knew tears were slipping down my rough cheeks, but I didn’t care. Damn if this lady didn’t know how to mess me up. But for once, it was in all the right ways.
I pulled Heather close again, knowing it was the end. “Thank you for hanging with me as long as you did,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
For the second time, Heather walked back to the kitchen to blot her eyes and blow her nose. When she finally composed herself, I walked her to the front door. She knelt down to give Tiny a kiss on top of the head and then stood back up.
“I guess this is goodbye, then,” she said.
“Guess so.”
“I’ll be seeing you.” We held each other’s eyes for a split second and then both laughed a little.
“Probably not,” I said.
“Yeah,” she replied, her chuckle fading away. “Oh!” She reached into her shorts and pulled something from her pocket. “I almost forgot. Here.”
“Tiny’s collar communicator?”
“Yeah, you might want it.”
“Didn’t work so great for me before,” I said, thinking of my failed attempt to get Mrs. Vickers to warn the authorities about Oubrick’s double-cross.
“Eh, you’ll figure something out,” she said, folding my fingers over the device and giving my cheek one final kiss. “You always do.”
27
I’d called Mr. Oragga’s assistant back using the encrypted passkey she’d provided. I didn’t actually get to speak with her directly. Instead, I left a video message:
“Hey, this is Flint, calling to let Mr. Oragga know that I’ll be by tomorrow. Seven o’clock in the evening, if that’s okay. So, yeah. That’s it, then. Bye.”
I guessed that was how a message was supposed to go where you set your own time for the meeting someone rich wanted with you. How should I know?
The night passed with dreams of killing Oubrick and his men, just as each night had since the takeover. Only now, in my dreams, I was losing hostages. More each night. For whatever reason, my brain was trying to re-write the facts of the story and doing a better job every damn day.
I got up, let Tiny out, and took a hot shower. The coffee was ready when I returned to the kitchen and I savored the smell. When I went outside to bring Tiny back inside, Mrs. Vickers was watering her orchids.
“Hey there, sexy,” Mrs. Vickers said, winking at me.
“Look who’s talking, Veronica.” I winked back.
&nb
sp; Mrs. Vickers placed her hand to her chest at the sound of her first compliment from me, feigning a heart attack. Or… was she? Damn, the old bag of bones was so old, I was surprised they hadn’t put her in a home yet.
“You okay?” I asked, growing concerned.
“Why don’t you come over and find out, Flint. Think I might need a little mouth-to-mouth reciprocation.”
“That’s… not what it’s…” But Mrs. Vickers was making a kissy face with her lips and raised eyebrows. “…Yeah, that’s what it’s called. I’m fine, Mrs. Vickers.”
“You most certainly are, you sultry, studly stack of steak.”
“Mrs. Vickers, please…” I was lost for words.
“What’s the matter, Flint? Afraid you can’t handle all of this?” She motioned down her hips with her watering can.
“No, I’m afraid I’m just going to make all the other women jealous when I tell them I’m spoken for.”
“Wooooooweee!” she exclaimed, slapping her side with a frail hand. “I knew I still got it in me.”
I laughed and walked closer to the half wall. “Mrs. Vickers, I wanted to thank you—”
“Oh, think nothing of it, gorgeous.”
“No, but really. I wanted to thank you for taking me seriously that night with Tiny. I know I probably put you through a lot, and that couldn’t have been easy on you.”
“Are you kidding?” the old woman replied. “That was the most excitement I’ve had since Bud and Earl showed up at my place on the same night.”
I blinked at her. “Right. So anyway…”
“I’m just sorry I couldn’t have gotten through to your fire chief sooner.”
“That’s fine, Mrs. Vickers. You did what you could, and in the end, it all worked out.”
“Say,” she said, leaning a little closer and speaking beside the back of her hand. “I still think you should get Tiny looked at.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“He sounded like you for the rest of the night.”
Mr. Oragga’s personal chauffeur arrived outside my building sixty seconds before the holo-message said he would. I supposed elitists didn’t become wealthy by being lazy. The driver opened my door and even offered an expensive-looking bottle of water. I declined but thought better of it after a few minutes of traversing through the city. Since most of my commutes were via hover train—careening through the inner workings of the platform—I rarely enjoyed such picturesque scenes of the city. Even more rare was the chance to see how the top one percent lives.
