Whiskey Romeo

by James Welsh

  Latch thought a moment before offering, “If someone was chasing you, wouldn’t you run also?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And did you get a good look at the person leaving the cliffhanger? Are you sure you saw her? Or were you just seeing things?”

  Haas could have sworn he saw Pinto leaving the vicar’s apartment earlier. But now, as he was being questioned by his superior officer, he wasn’t sure if he had seen Pinto or one of the many shadows that danced in the dim cavern.

  Latch looked down at Mayr and ordered, “Let her go. We’re not going to arrest someone without evidence – not anymore.” As Mayr reluctantly unshackled Pinto and helped her to her feet, Latch continued, her voice tightening, “The next time either of you – or any of our fellow guards for that matter – arrest someone without a shred of proof, I’ll ask that you put the handcuffs on yourself first.”

  Latch put her hand on Pinto’s shoulder and said to the lady with frightened eyes, “Come – let’s take you home. Your father’s probably worried sick about you.”

  As Latch guided Pinto through the silent crowd, Latch called out, “Everyone, back to work! Let’s go!”

  The crowd slowly but surely dispersed, until the only people left were Guards Haas and Mayr, who were still trying to process what had just happened. Finally, Mayr growled, “If Armfelt was still around, we’d already be forcing answers out of that lady.”

  Haas shook his head. “I swear I saw her running from the cliffhanger – I swear it.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  Haas huffed, “Now don’t tell me you don’t believe me!”

  Mayr shrugged. “Well, I’m not the one you have to convince – that’s Latch. Come on, let’s get back to the Sanctions. We have to fill out paperwork for an arrest we couldn’t make.”

  What no one – except for Pinto – knew was that a crime had been committed that day. Pinto had broken into the vicar’s apartment and stolen an antique watch that had been in his family for centuries. When Pinto had been tackled by Mayr, the watch had slipped out of her hands and down into the Dives, splashing into the pool of water far below.

  Mayr was correct – if Armfelt was still alive, he would have condoned torture to get to the truth. And if they had been allowed to break her, they would have gotten more answers than anticipated. They would have not only known about the dropped watch, but also about the shrine of stolen treasures that was at Pinto’s apartment, items that she had been robbing and hoarding since she first arrived at the colony.

  Latch was right from her eulogy at Armfelt’s funeral: she was the keeper of justice, just as Armfelt had been. But she had been careful in her words – she never promised to deliver the dead chief’s brand of justice.

  ***

  Two men stood on the roof of the Sanctions. Their hands strangling the railing, they looked out over the droning colony beneath them, like the angels of death looking over the herd of man. Although smoking was against colonial law, the two lawmen were chewing on lit cigarettes – they were so quiet, they could almost hear the crackle of the tiny embers.

  Finally, one of the men plucked the cigarette out of his mouth like a dandelion and said abruptly, “You know what’s wrong, Larsen?”

  “Where would I begin with a question like that?”

  Guard Roux laughed. “I’m talking about our dear commander. You know what happened during the morning shift?”

  Larsen shrugged. “I don’t know. It takes a while for me to hear a rumor.”

  “Well, I ran into Chief Latch in the hallway, and I couldn’t resist asking the question. You know the question I’m talking about. It’s the one that’s been on everyone’s lips these past few weeks: where are we in the Armfelt investigation? Was it a bizarre accident, or was it murder? And if someone murdered the chief, how did they do it? And why would they do it? And so, I asked her, and you know what her answer was?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m guessing it’s an answer I’m not going to like.”

  “She said our investigation can wait. She said that! She thinks there’s too much else going on for us to focus our efforts on one case. And she said that if someone was responsible for Armfelt’s death, that they have nowhere to go. To her, since we live on a pebble of a planet, the answers can’t hide and so there’s no rush. But you know, there comes a point where her not doing anything is her doing something.”

  Guard Larsen raised an eyebrow. “Now, what could you possibly mean by that?”

  “She’s been tying our hands together so much lately, it makes you wonder: is someone stopping a murder investigation any different from someone committing a murder? I don’t think so.”

  “Do you actually mean to say that Latch is tied up in this whole mess?”

  Roux threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know – I’m just looking for an answer and any one would do.”

  “Even if the answer is you getting yourself thrown in jail?” Larsen asked. “Because that’s the answer you’ll get for asking a question like that.”

  “Well, you’re not going to tell on me, are you Larsen?”

  “No, no I won’t. But remember: we’re living in a cave, and caves echo.”

  Roux said nothing for a long moment. Finally, after taking a long drag of his cigarette, Roux offered, “You know, just because Latch doesn’t want to investigate this doesn’t mean we can’t.”

  “You want to start an investigation of your own into Armfelt’s death?”

  “I mean just that,” Roux nodded. “We’re going to need some help on this, though. We need more hands to pick up this slack, and we know there’s a lot of slack with this. Koller and Mayr are downstairs. Between the four of us, we’ll find our answers in no time.”

  Larsen asked, “So, I’m getting dragged into this too?”

  “Well, I’ve never hunted before, but I know there’s two creatures involved: the hunter and the hunted. Which one are you, Larsen?”

  With a glare in his eyes, Larsen said, “I guess I’m coming with you then.”

  “Great,” Roux said, tossing his cigarette to the stone floor and dousing it with his shoe. “Let’s go.”

  Larsen put out his cigarette too and followed Roux to the stairwell. As they walked, Larsen asked, “So, where would we start? Last I heard, there wasn’t even a list of suspects.”

  Roux smiled. “When you don’t have a suspect, you make one up. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Whatever helps the colony sleep at night, I guess.”

  ***

  “How is it possible?” Martinique demanded.

  Guard Haas fell apart under the harvest of Martinique’s glare. “I have no idea, sir.”

  “Well, of course. What good would you be if you had an idea?”

  Fortunately for Haas, the elevator came to a halt before he could respond. The door slid open and Martinique marched out, with Haas following just behind. The elevator had exhaled them into the lowest level of the Sanctions: the prison.

  As they walked down the long and dim hallway, they dragged their shadows behind them like chains. The guards walked past the rows of thick doors, each one a sewn mouth into a jail cell. From where they were in the hallway, it was impossible to tell if there was a prisoner in a cell or not. The prison was designed with this in mind, to disconnect the prisoners from reality with little exiles, such as completely soundproofing their cell walls.

  Just before the edge of the hallway, there was a door to the left. Above the door, there was a sign indicating that it was the sick bay for the prison. A long time ago, it was used for just that. Martinique waved his hand over the door handle, unlocking it with his embedded chip, and he stepped inside with Haas.

  In the sick bay, there was already a crowd of guards, suffocating a room never meant to hold that many people. Someone else would have wondered, with all of the guards standing in that little room, just who was left to patrol the colony. But there’s always something more important. In fact, they were so distract
ed at the moment, that they didn’t even notice that one of their superior officers had just entered the sick bay.

  Rather, they stared at the man tied down to the clinic’s sole bed. The man wore wings of wires and tubes that stretched from the bed to an army of machines that surrounded him. The man was in the grandfather years of his life, paler than the moon, with thick knots of earthy hair. The deep wrinkles in his face were rippling as the man was in a hug of pain. His eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping through a nightmare. A sudden demon rattled him from the inside, and the man trembled in his restraints, gritting his teeth in a skeleton’s grin.

  The guards jumped as Martinique snapped, “Someone explain to me just how he’s doing it? How’s he resisting the insulin therapy?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Guard Larsen said, helpless. “We’ve only done this once before – just yesterday. But they died in a few minutes then. He’s been holding out for hours.”

  “Then you’re doing it wrong!” Martinique blustered.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not,” Guard Koller said bluntly. He was still learning how to speak to his superiors. “Like Larsen said, this isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”

  Before Martinique had the chance to break Koller’s nose for talking back, Larsen called out, “He’s coming to!”

  The guards turned to look back at the bed. It was true – the man had shaken off the bed sheets of his convulsions. The machines – which had been chirping like a tree of birds the guards had never seen – were slowing down as well. Suddenly, the old man’s eyes cracked open, and he breathed as if it was the first breath he had ever taken. Then, looking at the cold stares that loomed over him, Spyros Innocent said, “Surrounded by men in uniform – why, I must be dreaming.”

  “Don’t you remember, Spyros?” Roux asked. “We were asking you questions about Armfelt’s disappearance when you said you were tired and had trouble seeing. The next thing we knew, you collapsed. The doctor said that you were suffering from low blood sugar, the lowest levels he’s ever seen. It’s a miracle you survived.” Roux said all of this, even himself not entirely convinced by the lie that he had just woven.

  Innocent snorted. “That’s an interesting interpretation. I seem to remember it differently. I remember someone sticking a needle in my neck before I hit the ground…”

  “You’re confused,” Roux interrupted. “Hypoglycemia can do that.”

  “Don’t!” Innocent snarled. He calmed down, although his tongue was still a knife. “Don’t step on my memories. That’s the only thing I have left in the world – and you wouldn’t rob a poor man, would you?”

  Finally, the pretense had dropped like a vase, as both Innocent and the guards knew the truth. The guards had indeed injected him with a formula that tricked his body into believing that any one substance was a foreign invasion that needed to be repelled. It was the newest thing from the charter scientists back home, and they were excited about it. The guards had been asked to test a variation of the chemical that caused one’s body to become allergic to glucose. Without glucose and its energy, Innocent’s body had immediately malfunctioned and he had slipped into a coma like clothes. The guards had expected the formula to destroy Innocent and make his death look natural in the same swing of the scythe. They didn’t think – not for a moment – that Innocent would actually survive. And yet there he was, not only alive but very much so.

  Roux said, “Well, since you’re now alive and well, I say we get back to our questions.”

  “Of course,” Innocent said, rattling his restraints. “I don’t have anywhere to go anyways.”

  “What were you doing the night Chief Armfelt died? Why do we have reports that you were walking near his home that night? Don’t tell me you already forgot your restraining order. You know you were not supposed to be near him, not after what happened before,” Roux said.

  Innocent looked at him, baffled. “We’re already living on a pebble – are you telling me there’s places I can’t even go here? You’ve banned me from so many places, a jail cell’s a bigger world than what I have now.”

  “That’s what you think,” Martinique said, “but we can make your world even smaller. One of the cracks in the pit wall out there is just large enough to fit your body.”

  “If you really think I murdered your precious god of a man, you better hope there’s enough cracks in the wall to bury yourselves in.”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Innocent?” Martinique asked, interested, stepping closer.

  Innocent shook his head. “It’s only a threat if I do it. No, no – you’re going to save me the trouble. I’ve been around long enough. I’ve seen people so bent on revenge they break. You kill me, and things aren’t going to end – they’re just going to start.”

  “Oh, I’m confident we can end things right now,” Martinique said, pulling a gun from his pocket and aiming it at Innocent’s forehead. The other guards were shocked – they were so used to more slippery means of death, they couldn’t remember the last time they had fired a gun.

  Innocent, though, was not scared in the slightest. Instead, he asked, “How are you going to explain this one away? Are you going to tell the colony that my blood sugar caused my head to explode?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to them,” Martinique sneered. “If they ever realize you disappeared, they’ll just think you committed suicide.”

  Innocent laughed bitterly. “That’s a comfort. But at least I won’t be afraid. I haven’t been afraid in so long, I think I’ve forgotten how. You think I killed Armfelt? I didn’t even hate him – I only ever wanted to talk to him. But here you are, ready to empty a clip into me. You talk like I’m a murderer in your mind, but you’re doing to do it because you hate me. And you only hate what you’re afraid of. So go ahead – kill me and become terrified.”

  “I’ve had enough of your last words…”

  Martinique suddenly found himself pinned against the wall. His hand went numb, and the gun clattered to the floor with thunder. As a shocked Martinique regained his senses, he realized that he was being held by Latch. The chief, who usually smiled light bulbs, was looking darkly at the other guards in the room. They stared back in silence, not sure how to react.

  “You all are going to go – right now,” Latch ordered. As the guards filed out of the room, Latch added, “Officer Haas, you’re going to stay behind. You’re going to take a syringe of the knight’s tour from the cabinet. You’re going to feed it to our friend here…”

  Innocent said, “I’m not going to let you wipe my memory – not that easily.”

  Latch looked down at Innocent. “You don’t have any say in this.” She nodded to Haas. “Do it.”

  Haas walked over to the cabinet and took out a bottle of clear fluid, the knight’s tour. He pushed the little bottle into the nanoneedle brush, his nervous hands almost dropping the device. Then, over Innocent’s protests, Haas grazed the syringe over his arm. As the brush’s thin teeth – so small, their bite had no pain – injected the knight’s tour into Innocent’s bloodstream, the transformation happened in just a few seconds. The shot was designed to scramble the neural pathways in the part of the brain responsible for facial recognition. It was this distortion that inspired its name, which was the strategy behind a knight hopscotching to every square on the chessboard. And even before the injection had a chance to take root, Haas was already brushing another shot against Innocent’s arm. The second shot was a sedative, so strong that Innocent tripped into sleep immediately. When he would awake – and it wouldn’t be for hours – he would have only vaguely remembered a strange nightmare, where he had been restrained in his bed while faceless men stood above him and questioned him.

  As Haas delivered the injections, Latch had her own questions for Martinique. She spun him around and pushed his back against the wall, her arm a vice against his chest. She growled, “I thought I said before that the Armfelt case would move at my pace. What part of that didn’t you understand?” />
  Martinique looked her straight in the eye. “If we moved at your pace, we would never move.”

  “What proof do you have that this man was responsible? Besides the fact that he was seen in that part of the colony the night Armfelt died?”

  “I had all of the proof I needed.”

  “And what if you shot him, and you found out later he wasn’t responsible? You would have killed Armfelt all over again. However you remember Armfelt, I remember him differently. He would have taken this man to trial first, because he would have wanted answers. And you can’t question a dead man.”

  Latch released Martinique and stepped back, with a sneer written into every page of the book of her eyes. She pointed to the door. “Go home and get some rest, Inspector. When you’re ready for justice and not revenge, then we’ll talk. This is why we’re waiting to investigate. Now, go.”

  Rubbing the feeling back into his chest, Martinique scowled but did as told. He left the room, making sure to slam the door behind him, because he couldn’t hurt his superior.

  Latch turned and looked at Haas, who was silent and shaking from the war he had just seen. Latch said with steel, “What are you waiting for, Officer Haas? Get Mr. Innocent out of here.”

  ***

  In the days that followed, they whispered conspiracy.

  The guards had been frustrated by Latch long enough. Latch humiliating them during Innocent’s interrogation was the last straw, and now there was nothing left of the harvest of chances. Since they could not investigate Armfelt’s death and find an outlet for their anger, they trained their sights on Latch instead. But they could not plant a gun into the soil of her forehead and pull the hangman’s noose that was the trigger. Latch was their superior officer, and they had to respect her. Armfelt had taught them too well.