In Icarus' Shadow
Page 40
Chapter Twenty-Five
It had been a long, anxiety-ridden day for Officer Frank Baldwin. He had always been the nervous sort; he needed more reassurance than most. The firearm at his side helped, some, but from the first time that he had encountered Tyrone Burgess... well, it didn't quite do it anymore. He remembered that first meeting very well. He had been off-duty at the time, just minding his own business when, out of nowhere, he was pulled into an alley. Burgess had been the only one there, but he had filled that tiny space so completely he had seemed a giant.
Baldwin shuddered involuntarily at the recollection; it had been the start of all his problems. The big man had terrified him so completely he had found himself agreeing to keep him informed of police goings-on before he even knew what he was saying. He was only a low-level enforcer, he had rationalized; what harm would it really do? It wasn't like he knew anything important. But it hadn't been that simple for long. He soon found himself being prompted into volunteering for duty in places Burgess needed a blind eye and giving the big man's thugs a pass when he saw them doing what they did, even smuggling things for him.
It had made him a wreck. His doctor had put him on anti-depressants and other mood-stabilizing medication, but it just wasn't helping. He laughed nervously; he supposed there was no treatment for a guilty conscience. But then, yesterday, when the man in the suit had suddenly shown up talking about the things he had done like it was the morning news... he had panicked. He'd taken the folder the man had and put it into the evidence immediately, without so much as opening it to see what it was.
It was only later that he had realized it was almost definitely something to incriminate Burgess and, since then, he had felt like an insect in a terrarium; it was only a matter of time before something tried to eat him. If it wasn't the Chief finding out about his misconduct, it was going to be Burgess coming down on him; he wasn't sure which of these prospects he found most terrifying. Being branded as a 'bad cop' would be awful, but he knew damned well what the criminal reputation of his other 'boss' suggested.
Off-duty now, he had parked his car and practically broken into a jog through the parking lot belonging to his apartment, a large and grey thing of rough concrete edges that stood as the tallest building for at least a block in any direction. It sat on a crescent-shaped street, specifically Fairlea Crescent, and towered over the regular homes around its base. Skittering around a few of the neighbourhood kids playing hopscotch on the pavement as he went, Baldwin felt his paranoia reaching an all-time high; he didn't feel safe in the open anymore, as absurd as it sounded. Sprinting through the front doors, he fumbled for his keys to get into the building proper and, once he had, bolted into the elevator, almost grateful for the isolation provided by the empty, enclosed space. Stepping out into the door-infested hallway of the tenth floor, he scurried to the far end, his keys already in hand. Unlocking his door, he slipped inside before it was halfway open and almost slammed it shut behind himself. Locking up, he took a deep breath and kicked his shoes off; moving towards his living room, he reached for the lights.
He froze when they did not turn on. Flicking the switch once, twice, three times, he felt his blood growing steadily colder. On the fourth flick, the light did come on; his eyes, having adjusted to the dark, watered reflexively at the sudden illumination. Rubbing fiercely at them, he squinted towards the light source and saw Tyrone Burgess standing in the middle of his living room, calmly screwing the light bulb back into its socket.
"Hello, Officer."
Baldwin winced at the title; the nickname was Burgess' idea of a joke. He felt his heart thundering in his chest as adrenaline surged into his system. His head told him to use that energy, to run, but his feet had frozen to the floor. Abject terror did that to him. "H-hello, Burgess. C-can I h-help you with s-something?"
The giant took two strides, now looming directly over the nervous little man cowering in the doorway. Seizing Baldwin by the front of his shirt, he half-towed, half-dragged the man into the living room portion of his apartment. Seating him firmly on the couch, he placed one giant foot on the officer's; the weight and firmness of his toe, against Baldwin's shin, suggested his shoes were steel-tipped. Beginning to apply his weight, Burgess smiled thinly. "Oh, you can, Officer. You can."
Forcing a smile onto his face, Baldwin ignored the sweat rolling down his neck and the slowly increasing weight on his foot. "J-just say h-how."
Continuing to lean his weight forward, Burgess' smile remained a thin, spiteful thing. Drawing a small device from his inside pocket, he dropped it on the squirming man's lap. "Use that to make a recording of you confessing to screwing with the cops' evidence. And don't whine about it, we both know only a coward like you would be so easy to bully into it."
Baldwin faltered at that, forgetting himself momentarily. "B-but Burgess, I can't-"
He was cut off when the steel-toed man stopped leaning and began crushing; the toe itself scraped its way across his shin, dragging his sock down and leaving a path of raw, almost-bleeding skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, Baldwin picked up the recorder, frantically searching for the button to turn it on. His fumbling fingers found their positions and he gasped up at his tormentor; only then did the pressure on his foot recede.
Turning it on, he took a deep breath. "I, Officer Frank Baldwin, would like to go on record saying... saying..."
Seeing his reluctant helper was wavering, Burgess rolled his eyes and drove his heel down; the crunching of the foot's small bones was nearly drowned out by the wretched shriek Baldwin gave out. Plucking the recorder from the man's grip, Burgess calmly reset it to the beginning and dropped it on the couch beside him. "Again."
Whimpering quietly, Baldwin wiped the tears and snot from his face with his sleeve; taking a deep breath, he began anew. "I, Officer Frank Baldwin, would like to go on record saying that I tampered with police evidence taken from the motel room of Tyrone Burgess. Please forgive me."
Burgess rolled his eyes at that last part, knowing very well that it had been aimed more at him than those who would be listening to the tape. But it was good enough. Taking the recorder from the man, he played it back to make sure it sounded good. Satisfied, he tucked it back into his pocket. "Thank you, Officer. This makes my night."
The man nodded rapidly, clenching his teeth as Burgess took his weight off of his shattered foot. Chuckling darkly, the giant indicated the broken foot with a slight gesture. "You should really have that looked at."
Moving to the door, he unlocked it and stepped outside; struck by an idea, he turned back and flicked the lights off before turning and striding towards the elevator. Having to find his phone in the dark, with his foot broken, would finish Baldwin's lesson more than adequately. Taking his cellphone out, he watched it expectantly as he stepped out of the apartment building; sure enough, it began to ring.
Smirking, he flipped it open. "Burgess."
A silky-smooth voice replied, one that was both smugly approving and somehow just the tiniest bit condescending at the same time. "Ah, Tyrone. How are you, my good man?"
Burgess felt himself roll his eyes, an effect his employer often had on him; he was always glad the man couldn't see him do it. "Just fine, boss. Got a recording here that's going to ruin the police chief's whole week."
The man on the other end laughed. "Good, good! I trust the little insect that went against you has been suitably punished?"
"He won't be walking without crutches for a while. I'm pretty sure I'm back to being his most-feared person, too."
This seemed to amuse his superior to no end. "You see, Tyrone, this is why I send you to attend to my business; you've really quite the knack for skullduggery."
Tyrone wondered at the use of the word 'skullduggery', but left it alone. "I'll take that as a compliment, Sir."
His boss' tone vouched for him; it was always easy to tell when he was pleased. Like seeing yellow feathers on a cat's face when your canary was missing. "Oh, it is. Now then; your recording will get this
whole incarceration business over and done with, yes?"
"It should. Baldwin's recording says he tampered with the evidence; there's no way the cops are going to want that out in public. Even if they did, they would have to go to great lengths to prove which parts of their evidence weren't tampered with, even if they could convince a judge to let them. Either way, the folder Black had the little roach slip in for him was the only real evidence against me or Icarus Development."
"Black? That's the mercenary fellow you had mentioned, yes?"
Tyrone nodded at nobody. "Yeah, that's him. He was in my files yesterday; got into the I.D.I. building by tricking the cameras into seeing me, then got back out by masquerading as my assistant. Don't ask me how, I'm still working on it, but it's like nothing I've ever seen before."
His boss was genuinely interested, now. "Intriguing... Well, keep up the good work. Which reminds me; I hear tell that you and Miss Fitch have gotten rather cozy with one another. I trust your loyalties remain as they always have, despite this? You know I'll be asking you to move on soon enough; Icarus Development Incorporated is taking off nicely, I won't need you there to keep an eye on things for very much longer."
Tyrone blinked at the man's knowledge of his personal life, but didn't hesitate. He knew better. "Of course, Sir. When you give the word, I'll move along. I always have."
It was the correct answer. "I'm pleased to hear it. I have to say, you're an asset to my business; the number of deals alone that have been smoothed out and closed neatly due to your involvement makes you well worth your pay."
"Like they say, Sir; if you're good at something, never do it for free."
His boss chuckled quietly. "Well, you certainly don't. I trust Miss Fitch is unaware that what she pays you is merely a bonus crowning the amount I do?"
Tyrone nodded to nobody once again. “Of course. Like I said, I'm good at what I do."
"Very good. And let me know if you find out any more about this mercenary; no one has ever baffled you quite so soundly before. Best we nip this particular problem in the bud."
Flexing his fingers, the big man pictured throttling the neck of the scrawny fellow in question. "I know that he's in the area; I'll sniff him out with enough time."
His boss laughed, though it rang more with the sound of a patient dismissal than with any actual amusement. "Oh, Tyrone, you know how antsy I get when our opponent actually stands a sporting chance; I'll call some people and have some assistance sent down your way. Strictly under the radar, naturally."
He fidgeted slightly; he knew what his boss meant by 'assistance'. "You don't have to bother, Sir. The problem isn't worth the money."
"Nonsense," came the scoffing reply. "If I don't give our associates some business once in a while they may get rusty; and then what good are they to me?"
Tyrone sighed; he wasn't looking forward to this, but he knew better than to argue. "I see your point. I'll fill them in when they arrive, then."
Seemingly satisfied, the voice wrapped things up with a final, quietly veiled order. "Excellent. I'll expect your call to update me on the situation as soon as you learn anything."
"I'll do that, Sir."
Climbing into his 'car', a custom model re-sized for his frame, Tyrone put his phone on the passenger's seat. He may have been good at what he did, but he didn't always enjoy it. His boss had made him wealthy, sure, but he was suddenly aware of how few vacations he had taken. He had just never really felt like he could use a break; before now, that was. Frowning, he put his vehicle into gear and headed for home. Maybe he would feel better in the morning.