by Leo Champion
“Boss, we’ve got those three NYPD detectives also,” Karstein said. “We checked out their badges, they’re legit.”
“Legit my ass,” Hammer growled. “They tried to burn one of my veterans alive for the crime of selling ink on paper. Deal with them appropriately.”
“Gasoline and matches?” Karstein asked.
“No, be merciful. Clean shots to the back of the skull and into the organics bins. They’re not supposed to operate north of Canal, so – we never saw them.”
* * *
Diana Angela was still rubbing her wrists as she followed Boss Hammer into a large office on the third floor, acutely aware of Karstein and a pair of guards behind her. As she’d left the cells underneath the Eyrie she’d heard three curt gunshots.
“I’ll take it from here,” said Hammer with a ‘down’ gesture toward Karstein as DA entered the office. Hammer took his place behind a desk empty except for a laptop; Ali Benzi closed the doors and the precinct boss gestured for her to sit down on one of the guest chairs.
Uneasily, she did. She’d wanted to meet this man, hoped to meet this man – just not under these circumstances. At a twitch of his finger over the radio, she was well aware, Karstein and those shotgunners would come charging into the room.
She was face to face with the crazy airborne. That was what mattered. It wasn’t how she’d expected to meet him, but… things didn’t always happen as planned. At least she was alive.
“So it was your crossbow,” he said slowly. “You obviously don’t work for City Hall. Kalashov?”
She shook her head.
“The arkie authorities?”
“No. You could say that I’m independently motivated.”
“So why the hell were you pointing a crossbow at me? And what kept you from firing?”
Curiosity. Justified curiosity.
“The Commune,” she said slowly, “was a miserable disaster. The best people tried to make the hell on the streets better, and only made it worse.”
“Wait. You were there during the Commune?” he asked, leaning forwards.
Slowly she nodded. Tens of thousands of people had been involved with the Commune; it was no great confession to admit.
Hammer picked up his radio and keyed it.
“Ali, cancel my plans for the rest of the day and” – he looked up at Diana Angela – “you hungry? Get some food in here too, please.”
“You’re interested in the Commune,” she observed.
“Yes. As you said, Spartacus attempted to change things. And failed. I want to know about his mistakes. I want to know why and how he made them because I, too, intend to change things.” Heartbeat. His eyes, those intense brown eyes, did not leave her face. “And I do not intend to fail.”
I, too, she thought, don’t intend to make the same mistakes.
Spartacus had been reasonable early on in the relationship; she’d fallen in love with Alex Thomson for a reason. The tyranny had only surfaced later.
She would not make the mistake of falling in love, this time, and she would not allow another tyrant to get as far as Spartacus had. She might make different mistakes, but she would not repeat that one.
“Boss Hammer,” she said after a long moment, “I think there may be some common ground we can work together on.”
And you, Hammer, have a conscience now.
Whether you want one or not.
* * *
“Detective First Tomlinson and his team aren’t back yet,” Detective Second Blake reported to Inspector Jamie Ibson of the NYPD. “It’s been an hour and there’s no trace of them.”
“Has West Bowery said anything?”
“No, sir. We sent a man to take a look – the café’s closed, but there’s no burn marks on the ground and the sedition vendor’s moved his cart to the front of their headquarters building.”
Ibson steepled his fingers.
“So Boss Hammer’s disappeared five detectives. Chief Kagan is not going to be pleased about that, Blake. The Chief and the Mayor are not going to be pleased at all…”
###
