Up the stairs and standing at the door, she paused. What are you doing here, Ronnie? This is another one of your bad ideas. Better to turn around and head back before—
The door opened, and Abraham Clarke stuck his head out, eyes sharp under his bushy brows. "Getting cold feet? Might as well come in, Captain Banks. Not like I get visitors very often."
"You know who I am?"
"Wouldn't be worth my old badge if I didn't. You're the feisty one on the news all the time. Giving your Commissioner all sorts of headaches, I'd imagine. Well, no need to carry on a conversation in this heat. Best come in and have an iced tea with an old man."
She followed him inside the comfortable interior, inhaling the scent of wood oil and cigars. The house had a stately appearance that matched its owner: art deco wallpaper, antique but well-kept furniture of wood and leather, potted ferns, carefully hung paintings of landscapes and portraits. They entered a comfortable office where he gestured to a well-padded armchair. He sat opposite as an auto-tray rolled over with lemonade and tea choices.
He studied her with a keen gaze, gray mustache nearly hiding his wry smile. "I suppose you must have run into this fellow calling himself Vigil."
She looked up, surprised. "How did you know?"
"Because your face is like a mirror. I've seen that expression before on my own face."
"What expression?"
"Conflicted. You're torn between your badge and your gut. I know—been there. Vigil breaks the law and should be considered a criminal, no different from the bangers working for the syndicates. But he's not like them. He fights them, turns them in. He works in the same trenches you do."
She wavered between tea and lemonade before choosing the latter, sipping from a condensation-beaded glass. It was perfect—not too sour, not too sweet. "It's not just that. We wouldn't even be having this conversation if he hadn't intervened. I was good as dead during the riots last year. Got tangled with a hit squad sanctioned by Haven Core, targeting the participants of the Denizen execution. One of them operated mech armor, and I got in the way. Vigil fought him off and put me in some Accelerated Healing Process Pod in his … lair, I guess. Like I said, I was nearly dead by then. When I regained consciousness, I was in a hospital."
"So, he saved your life."
"Yeah. But just the other night, I saw him. For the first time, really. It was when the Mino nightclub exploded. You might have heard about it."
"I still keep up. Do you think he did it?"
She shook her head. "There was someone else. A new player in the whole Vigilant thing. Religious symbols, glowing swords. It's getting a bit too much, honestly."
He nodded. "The copycats weren't so … tactical back in my day."
"You worked with him. The first Vigil."
"Eventually. After chasing him for a bit. Fighting a few times."
Her eyebrows raised. "You fought Vigil?"
A self-deprecating smile crossed his face. "They were pretty one-sided fights. Mostly consisting of me being disarmed while he tried to talk reason."
"Ugh. I know how that feels."
"But eventually, we came to an accord. It was rather simple after I let go of my pride. In the end, it came down to an ages-old principle that just made sense."
She leaned forward. "What principle?"
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The criminal elements in the city are like the ancient monster Hydra: cut one head off, and two more grow in its place. I'm sure you can attest that nothing much has changed. So, when facing such multifarious odds, what does it matter that one man assists from outside the law?"
"Only it's become more than one man. Vigil is a symbol. He inspires other people to try to do what he does. And that's becoming a problem."
"People fighting back against the system that oppresses them is a problem?"
"It is when people are dying. That's what's happening out there, Commissioner."
"Call me Abe, please. Those days are far behind me now. When you become a private citizen, it changes your perspective. You realize that things aren't as cut and dry as when you wore a badge and patrolled the streets. You start to see nuances you never noticed before."
"Nuances that allow you to justify taking the law into your own hands?'
He chuckled. "You sound just like me back in the day."
She sipped her lemonade. "You didn't answer the question."
"What is the law, Captain? Some ironclad set of rules created to put people in their place? Or a core set of values meant to liberate and uplift its citizens? There was once a time when communities existed. And in a stable community, people worked together to resolve issues and eliminate problems. There was no stigma against turning over a proven criminal because he was a threat to everyone. At the same time, there was no need for some militarized band of law enforcement to patrol and harass honest citizens. The community took care of its own."
Ronnie leaned back in her seat. "We both know the utopian concept doesn't exist anymore, Abe. The criminals in the city won't just go away when they have their tentacles wrapped around everything."
"At this time and in this city, that's true. But my point is, when a member of the community steps up, why ostracize him? The problem isn't Vigil; it's the city. Fix the city's problems, and Vigil goes away. And it starts from the top, Captain. Don't miss the forest for the trees."
She tapped a fingernail against the side of the glass, frowning. "Vigil told me something like that."
"Not surprising."
"He said something about powerful people profiting from the syndicates."
"You can't make an omelet without greasing up the skillet."
"What does that even mean?"
His expression turned grave. "You know what it means. You've gone there—the dark places in the city, asked questions no one wants to answer. And every time you think you're getting somewhere, the door gets slammed in your face. You hit a roadblock. Your partner gets hit by a truck and turned into a vegetable."
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You know about that?"
"Like I said—I keep up. You're too good a cop, or your career would have taken a detour to some dead-end cubicle already. But you're alienated because you don't know who to trust. Because your instincts tell you that something stinks. But it's when you've been boxed in that you need to think outside the box, Captain."
"Vigil. You think I should give him a shot."
"I think you should leave him alone. Let him do his work, and you do yours."
Her gaze drifted to the window, where a view of carefully pruned rosebushes was visible. "Did you know who the first Vigil was, Abe?"
His eyes grew distant. "I did. That was the only part of our relationship that I regretted."
She glanced at him in surprise. "Why?"
"Because it complicated things. Vigil should be looked at as a tool, something that can be put to good use when properly used. But you don't become friends with a tool because they chip, rust, wear down, and eventually break. So I'm warning you: don't try to find out who he is. Because you'll succeed, and after that, there's no turning back. It's a complication you don't need, Captain."
She slowly nodded. "Thanks for the advice, Abe. I'm not sure if I can work with Vigil or not, but I appreciate the perspective. Feels good to get it off my chest."
"Anytime. And in the future, my door is always open should you want to talk about anything. Not just Vigil or cop stuff. Life stuff. I always like to chat with a fellow officer, especially one with your reputation."
She smiled. "I thought you were a private citizen now."
"You know how it is. Once you carry that badge—"
"—you always carry it. I know."
Ⓥ
Slick headed over to Saigon Corner for a quick bite. He was low on v-notes and had nearly spent the nest egg he had stashed. Laying low and staying out of trouble had its benefits, but a steady income wasn't one of them. So he figured he'd have to pick up scab work pretty soon. It didn't
pay anything, but it would keep him busy. Away from the CKs, who had a mark on his head because of his screw-up that got six soldiers in body bags and eight others jailed, including Headhunter. Word was out that Headhunter wanted Slick nailed to a wall as an example. More than enough incentive to keep a low profile.
His pocket buzzed.
Frowning, he looked down. What the hell…? It took a moment to remember what he kept with him at all times despite the natural instinct to toss it into the river. But the fear made him keep it. Fear of what Vigil would do if he ever found him.
With trembling fingers, he took the datcom out of his pocket and put it in his ear.
A flat, robotic voice immediately spoke. "There's an abandoned meat shop across the street. Five stories up. You'll see my sign."
Sweat dripped down Slick's face from more than the intense heat. The world spun around him, towering old buildings, thick traffic, crowds that streamed around him when he stalled, feeling as if he was about to pass out. It was in the middle of the day. As far as he knew, Vigil didn't appear in daylight. Or did he?
"Your sign…?"
Then he saw it. A red letter V emblazoned on the window of an abandoned storefront across the street, the paint dripping down the dirty surface like fresh blood.
"Pull yourself together, Slick. You're attracting attention."
He shakily crossed the street, cursing himself for a fool. You should just run for it. See if you can escape in the crowd. But he knew it was impossible. Vigil would find him. He'd hurt him…
The security door was left ajar, allowing him entry to the corridor and stairwell, where he ascended, dripping sweat. The meat shop door was open as well, wafting the rank scent of rot that saturated the drywall and floorboards even though it looked abandoned for a long time. He walked into the darkness, quickly stepping to the square of light beaming from the window. Gloomy silhouettes surrounded him—shrouded countertops and cabinets, meat hooks dangling from the ceiling.
"Slick."
He nearly peed his pants at the sound of the robotic voice. Vigil appeared from thin air, pushing his cape back across his shoulders, visor pulsing with red light. Stepping closer, he towered over Slick like a phantom knight.
"Amnesia. Who's behind it?"
Slick stammered his reply. "I—I don't know. CKs are just distributors. Not big enough to control the market."
Vigil's hand shot forward, seized Slick by the collar, and hoisted him off his feet. His helmet leaned forward, pulsing crimson light with every grated word. "You know something."
Slick cringed. "Cerberus. That's all I know, I swear!"
"Cerberus. Tell me more."
"All I know is the name. I'm just a grunt. Or I was, anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"The CKs don't trust me no more. Screwed up too much. Want my head after we got busted."
"Make them trust you."
"How I do that?"
"Think of something. Worm your way in. You know the drill. Find out something about Cerberus, and I'll move on to the next rat. But you find me something, or things will get a lot less comfortable for you next time." His fist hummed ominously, glowing with charged energy.
"Okay, okay! I get what you want. Need a few days."
"You have until the day after tomorrow. Meet me here at the same time with something useful. Don't make me find you."
Slick fell to the dusty floor when Vigil suddenly released him. Scrambling on all fours, he scurried to the door, where he paused for a frantic look behind. Nothing was visible except grainy motes of dust floating in the light from the window.
Vigil had vanished.
Ⓥ
Chief Moore's office was like the man himself: organized and simple, no extravagances. He sat behind a metal and glass desk, glancing over the mission notes on a holographic display.
"Congrats, Captain Banks," he said. "That was some great intel on the Krazy Eights. Thanks to you, five more of their underground sex dens have been raided and shut down."
"You mean rape dens? Let's call it for what it is, Chief. I knew they had those simulations in Elysia, but I guess the sickos got tired and wanted to try a more personal approach. Sexual assault through a mental link? Even for syndicate thugs, that's pretty damn low."
He shook his head. "I know. And you know what the worst part is? The so-called ethical debate their lawyers have raised, questioning whether or not what happened to those women should be called rape or not. They're claiming that since the women were never physically assaulted, the charges should be lowered to sexual harassment or some equivalent."
Ronnie rubbed her temples. "Try telling that to women who are going to need therapy to deal with how badly they were violated."
"Yeah, I know. It's a raw deal no matter how you look at it. But at least we're making a difference."
Her gaze drifted to the window, where the sky was a waxen yellow color, the air practically poisoned from the lack of any type of moisture or wind. The air rippled from the heat, blurring the skyline and the view of Haven Core, a half-circle of glimmering forcefield that protected the mysterious city that covered most of Manhaven.
"Are we?"
"Come on, Banks. You did some good work out there. You should be happy."
She didn't tell him that the only reason they made the busts was because of the info that Vigil handed over to her. He had been right—the information paid off. Syndicate bases were raided, arrests were made, women were freed from captivity. Like Chief Moore said—it was a good thing."
So why do I feel like I'm just chasing my tail?
"We need to keep pushing, Chief. While things are off-balance, people get sloppy. Might get lucky and nab something major."
"You have a precinct at your disposal. What are you thinking?"
"One of the perps at the Moneta bust gave up a name: Cerberus."
Moore frowned in thought. "Some kind of watchdog op?"
"No, it's the group behind the new Amnesia drug. All we know is that it's a joint operation between multiple syndicates."
"And that's where you want to concentrate your efforts."
"Yes, sir."
"Sounds good. Keep me updated on your progress." He looked her over with a critical eye. "Got something else on your mind?"
She hesitated. "It's nothing, Chief."
"You're not looking stressed out for nothing, Banks. And when did you ever start holding back?"
"Since I started thinking too much, I guess."
"A dangerous pastime."
"I know. It's just … do you ever think about how all this can go on undetected? We've got surveillance like we're the HSSC, but the syndicates still make moves like we're blind and crippled. We're too slow, always a step behind or minute too late."
"You just made a string of busts, Captain. And you know how it is with surveillance—it only works until it doesn't. It's a ping pong tournament between our IT and their hackers. A neverending loop."
She brushed an unruly strand of curly hair from her brow, steeling her face for her next words. "It just feels like there are forces at play working hard to keep everything at a status quo."
He looked up from the screen, eyes narrowing. "That's a pretty loaded statement, Captain."
She met his gaze evenly. "I know it is, Chief."
Leaning back, he interlocked his fingers and rested his hands on the desktop. "So, what exactly are you saying?"
"I'm asking if we're clean, sir. Is our op righteous?"
He looked directly into her eyes, expression never changing. "We're clean. The op is righteous."
"You're sure about that?"
"Have I ever given you a reason to believe otherwise?"
"No."
"Then believe me now. I know corruption has infiltrated the RCE to some extent. It's impossible to believe otherwise. The syndicates have deep pockets, and there will always be cops susceptible to financial or quid pro quo favors, not to mention the rotten apples—crooked from the start. You try to weed
them out when you can, but it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You have to accept the blemishes, the imperfections. Otherwise, you find yourself alienated and alone."
She blinked. "Like me."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"I'm just saying that it's natural to be suspicious when you're operating in a bubble, Ronnie. You have Isaac and your razor-sharp mission focus, and that seems to work for you. And believe me when I say that there's no other officer I depend on more than you. Maybe I lean on you a little too much."
"I don't think that—"
He raised a hand. "I know. It's not like I'm going to stop, not with the results you get. Just … be careful with your suspicions, Banks. Not everyone can do what you can, but it's not for lack of trying. You have a lot of good people working alongside you. And if there's dirt above your rank, you alert me, and I'll deal with it. But only with ironclad proof, Captain. A lot of careers have ended because of accusations and infighting, and I won't have it without solid justification. Understood?"
She nodded. "Understood, Chief."
"Okay. Look—get some rest. You look like you're running on reserve power. Take a day off, go visit your friend at the Youth Haven or something. Relax."
Her cheeks flushed. "You know about Jett?"
"That's your fault for using your RCE aerodyne when you're off-duty. Transit record shows up on the reports. He's the one that visited when you were recuperating, right? Seems like a decent guy. Doing well for himself, putting in good work with the kids at the YH."
"Yeah, he's a good guy."
"And…?"
She smirked. "And it's none of your business, Chief."
He laughed. "Okay, Captain. I know when it's time to butt out. But do yourself a favor, will you?"
"What's that?"
"Don't deny yourself joy because you expect to be unhappy. Okay? Sometimes you gotta let go of your reservations and take a chance on something. For better or for worse."
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 11