by Tripp Ellis
Delilah looked at the weapon like it was a snake ready to strike. “Not really.”
“It's pretty simple. Point and shoot.” Max demonstrated how to release the magazine, chamber a round, and activate the safety. "It holds 17 rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. If you need more than that, you're in trouble. It's loaded and ready to go. Don't ever point it at anything you don't intend to kill."
Delilah took the weapon delicately. She looked surprised by its weight. She was definitely afraid of it. “So, this is all ready to go?" she ask for clarification.
Max nodded. "Just flick off the safety, aim, and squeeze the trigger."
Delilah practiced aiming the pistol at a vase of flowers in the corner of the room. Then she set the weapon down on the coffee table. “I'm not really a gun person.”
“Just hang onto it for now,” Max said. “Think of it as an insurance policy. Stay inside. Don't make any unnecessary trips. Order in if you need something."
“I can’t live like that forever.”
“You won't have to. I'm going to get in touch with Detective Lockwood and see if he can provide you with some 24-hour security.”
Delilah nodded.
Max left and made her way back to Precinct 2111. After a 45 minute wait, Detective Lockwood finally agreed to speak with her. His tight face and narrow eyes surveyed Max with disdain as she relayed Delilah’s situation.
“How is that my problem?" Lockwood grumbled.
“Aren’t you here to protect and serve?”
“It's not my job to provide a citizen with 24-hour protection because their husband had a drug problem.”
“It's nice to know the SIPD is full of compassion,” Max said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lockwood sighed. "It's not that I lack empathy. We just don't have the resources."
Max's frustration was evident. "What you know about Raz Zelco?”
“He’s a two bit pusher. He likes to think he's a bigger player than he is.”
“But he’s still a player, and he’s still dangerous,” Max said. “There's a good chance he's responsible for Philip Harmon's death. He's the one you should be looking into."
Max was getting on Lockwood’s nerves. He didn’t like anyone telling him how he should do his job, least of all someone connected to his prime suspect. But her theory wasn't without merit.
Max could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes. “Winston had no motive to kill Harmon.”
“Yeah, well sometimes my toaster burns the toast. It doesn't have a motive either.”
Max sneered at him. “You know as well as I do that Zelco makes more sense.”
A trace of acknowledgment washed over Lockwood’s face. “The DA likes your robot for the crime. As far as he's concerned, it's open and shut. Clean, simple, and there's an eyewitness.”
“The eyewitness is either lying, or mistaken.”
“The DA's not going to like me very much if I go poking holes in his case.”
“So, that's how justice works around here?” Max said with contempt.
Lockwood leaned in and spoke in a low, hushed tone. "I like my job. It pays well. It's got good benefits. And occasionally, I get to shoot someone. If I go rocking the boat, I may not get my next promotion. I may even get fired. I’ve got a wife and two kids. They're not going to be very happy with me if I don't have a job. Do you know how expensive girls are? College. Two weddings. Designer clothes. I’ve got a lot of bills ahead of me.”
Max's cheeks burned. “So, you’re just going to sit back and let an innocent person take the rap?”
“We’re talking about a robot here.”
“He thinks and feels just like we do. Who are you to judge the value of his existence?” Max didn't see herself as all that different from Winston. They had both been designed in a lab somewhere.
Lockwood was beginning to realize that Max was going to become a real pain in his ass. It was easier to just throw her a bone and get her off his back. “Equinox. It's a bar on 73rd Street and Norfolk. If somebody was looking for Raz Zelco, that might be a good place to start."
Max’s eyes widened with surprise at Lockwood's cooperation. The tense muscles in her jaw relaxed. “Thank you.”
“Let me know what you find out.” It was a subtle offer of assistance.
Maybe he wasn’t such a douche-canoe after all, she thought?Max was willing to take whatever help she could get. "I will."
12
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked. He was a big burly guy with a long curly reddish beard.
“Bulvacci Special Reserve,” Max said, hopeful.
“We’ve got Davian Black Label. That’s it.” He shot her look like she was foolish for asking for anything else.
“That will have to do then." Max was beginning to think the Universe was conspiring against her. Was it impossible to find Bulvacci in one of the largest cities in the galaxy? She watched the burly guy pull the bottle from the well and pour a stream of the amber liquid into a shot glass.
“That'll be 25 credits,” he said as he slid the shot glass across the bar.
Max placed her thumb on the pay-pad.
“Do you want to start a tab?”
“I'm not going to have just one."
“Nobody ever does.” He started to move to the next client when Max asked him a question.
“Do you know where I can find Raz?”
It would be a stretch to classify the bartender as friendly. But the question erased any trace of a pleasant attitude. His eyes narrowed and his face tightened. "Who's asking?"
“An old friend.”
The bartender looked her up and down. He didn't get a good vibe. “I don't know anybody by that name." He pushed away from the bar and strolled to the opposite side.
Max could tell he knew damn good and well how to find Raz Zelco. She kicked herself for being too direct. She had skipped the foreplay, and she knew better.
Max slugged the shot of whiskey down. It burned her throat and sat in her belly like a glowing hot coal. It had to be the worst whiskey this side of Vega Minor.
“You looking for Raz?” a breathy voice whispered. It belonged to a young blonde girl with pigtails and dark eye shadow. She was in her early 20s and wore a tight tank top and short-shorts that accentuated her sumptuous curves. She had a naughty innocence about her—but nobody in this bar was innocent.
“You know where I can find him?”
“I know where you can find a lot of things,” she said in a deliciously devious voice. “There's only two kinds of people that come in here looking for Raz.”
“And what are those two kinds?"
“Cops and clients. You don't much look like a cop.” She surveyed Max. “You don't look like a junkie either.”
“Can you connect me with him or not?”
Pigtails smiled. “What's in it for me?"
Max dug into her pocket and handed her 50 credits.
Pigtails smiled again. “I’ll make a phone call. Wait here.” She disappeared into the crowd, heading toward the back of the bar.
Max gave it a 50-50 whether she would ever see the girl again. She decided to order another shot of whiskey while she waited. She guzzled the shot down. It was like drinking kerosene, but seemed slightly less harsh than the first one.
Pigtails returned a few moments later. "Follow me."
She led Max through the bar and down the back hallway past the restrooms. She pushed into the storeroom and they weaved through stacks of boxes, then slipped through a door into the back alley.
Six thugs were waiting for her. None of them seemed friendly. Their faces were creased with scowls. Max had been setup.
“Sorry, Sugar,” pigtails said with a wink. She disappeared back into the bar.
Max glared at her.
The door slammed shut and Max was alone in the alleyway with the goons. They were all thick, beefy muscle heads. Physiques carved from stone. Fists like bricks. They looked like hardened street brawlers and had t
he scars to prove it.
Max forced a smile. She was wishing she hadn’t given Delilah her pistol. The goons started to close in around her, looking like ravenous animals. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you guys are way outnumbered."
There were chuckles and looks of amusement.
“She's funny," one of the thugs said. “It's too bad she won't be able to form complex sentences after this."
13
The biggest thug lunged for Max, hurling a crushing fist toward her pristine face.
Max ducked as the fist whooshed overhead. She sidestepped and punched the big ogre in the kidney. His back melted around her fist, and the ogre grimaced in pain. Max stomped on his knee, bending it sideways, snapping his medial collateral ligament. A loud pop echoed off the walls of the alleyway. The big dumb ogre crumpled to the ground. He wasn't ever going to walk without a limp.
Another thug sprinted in her direction. She planted her heel into his groin. He doubled over, wincing in pain. Max smashed an uppercut that caught his lips and nose, snapping his head back. Blood spewed from his nostrils as he tumbled backward.
Max jammed her elbow into a goon’s face that attacked her from behind—it stopped him dead in his tracks. She finished him off with a punch to the throat. He clutched his neck, gasping for breath as he fell to the ground.
Three were incapacitated. The remaining three exchanged a wary glance among themselves, contemplating their next move.
"Like I said. You’re way outnumbered." Max grinned.
The three remaining goons were undeterred. One of them pulled out a switchblade knife from his back pocket. The blade flipped open and glimmered in the sunlight.
“I’d put that away before you hurt yourself," Max said.
The goon swiped at her.
Max hopped back, avoiding the razor-sharp blade.
The goon sliced the air again and again, narrowly missing Max’s delicate flesh each time.
He stabbed the knife toward Max's abdomen. She grabbed his wrist, pushing the blade aside. At the same time she kicked him in the balls. He doubled over. She moved with blinding speed and precision. She bent his wrist around and stripped the knife from his grasp. Max jammed an elbow to the back of his neck and sent him crashing to the concrete. She planted a swift kick in his rib cage for good measure.
There were two thugs left. The moans and groans of the other four filled the alley.
Max brandished the knife. “Still think this is going to turn out well for either of you?”
The two exchanged a nervous glance, then turned tail and ran.
Max smirked as she surveyed her handiwork. She strolled through the carnage and knelt down beside the big ogre. He was writhing in agony on the ground, clutching his knee. Max grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Before the creep could blink, the razor-sharp blade was against his skin. Even with light pressure, the knife had sliced the surface of the epidermis. A small trickle of blood flowed down the goon’s neck.
“Tell me where I can find Raz Zelco,” Max growled.
"I don't know what you’re talking about.”
Max pressed the knife harder against the man’s skin. More blood flowed.
“Don’t play games with me.”
“Look lady, I don't know what you're talking about."
Max pushed the blade deeper into his flesh. It was getting precariously close to his carotid artery. More than a trickle of blood was going to run down his neck if that was severed. “I'm going to stop asking nicely."
The ogre said nothing.
“You're trying my patience.”
The ogre was either incredibly loyal, or more afraid of his boss than he was of dying at Max's hands. He wasn't about to break his code of silence. If he wouldn't talk, maybe his three buddies would? But Max didn't have the chance to find out.
“Drop the knife!” an officer shouted.
Max's eyes flicked to the cop standing with his weapon drawn at the end of the alley.
“Do it! Now!”
Max frowned. She tossed the weapon aside. It clattered across the concrete, sliding toward a nearby dumpster.
“Put your hands in the air!”
Max's raised her hands.
The officer advanced with caution. “Face down, on the ground! Now!”
Max knelt down and ate the pavement. It was blistering from the noonday heat. It smelled like garbage and piss.
The officer grabbed her wrist and wrenched it behind her back. He slapped the hard cuffs against her wrists, then yanked her to her feet. He began reciting her rights.
14
Max found herself in the familiar interrogation room of Precinct 2111. Detective Lockwood wore latex gloves and held an opaque evidence bag in his hand. It had some weight to it. But Max couldn't tell what was inside.
"I got jumped by six guys in an alley,” Max said. “Can't a girl defend herself?"
“It seems you can defend yourself pretty well.” Lockwood sighed. “Unfortunately, nobody's pressing charges."
“Then I'm free to go?"
Detective Lockwood reached into the evidence bag and tossed her .45 on the table. It was empty, and the magazine had been removed.
“Does that look familiar?"
Max was surprised to see the weapon, but tried not to show it. She shrugged. "I want to speak with my attorney.”
"I don't care what you want."
“And I thought we were just starting to get along?” She looked at him with pouty eyes.
“That’s a murder weapon. And it belongs to you. It matches the serial of the weapon you had in your possession yesterday when we first brought you in here."
Max arched a curious eyebrow at him. “Who's dead?”
"About 30 minutes ago, Delilah Harmon walked into an Italian restaurant on 57th Street and killed Raz Zelco.”
Max's eyes widened.
“He’s face down in a plate of lasagna. I can't say I'm unhappy about that. Unfortunately, Delilah’s first shot missed. The bullet killed Meredith Harper at the next table. She was celebrating her 50th wedding anniversary with her husband.”
Max deflated.
“Of course, Zelco’s bodyguards took Delilah out. She was hit with so many plasma projectiles, she was practically cut in two.”
Max’s face tightened.
“You want to tell me how she got your gun?”
“She needed protection.”
“Yeah, from herself.”
Max grimaced.
“I can't arrest you for loaning someone a handgun. It's not against the law. But as far as I'm concerned, two people are dead because of you.”
That hit like a punch to the gut. "I had no idea she was going to do something like that,” Max muttered to herself.
"You're seriously becoming a pain in my ass. But I also think you may be onto something."
Max's eyes perked up.
"The guys that attacked you… I decided to run a check on them. As far as I can tell, they don't have any connection to Raz Zelco.”
Max's face twisted up perplexed. “Then who do they work for?"
Lockwood shrugged. "It seems that someone doesn't like you snooping around."
"I've been followed around for the last day. A black sedan. I ran the plates, but they came up stolen."
Lockwood arched an eyebrow at her. "How did you run the plates?"
"I have my ways," Max said coyly.
"I'm going to be honest with you. There's no incentive to bring a dead drug dealer to justice, if you get my drift. The only way your robot doesn't end up in the trash is if you can connect the dots."
Max got the impression that Lockwood was willing to help, which was a welcomed surprise.
“The officer that arrested you tried to take statements from the men you beat up. But they refused to comment. The officer’s body cam captured their images and facial recognition identified them. They’ve all got rap sheets as long as the Kotarni sector. Mostly small time stuff. Theft, assaul
t, fraud. They work as freelance muscle for various criminal organizations. Seems they pick up a little merc work here and there. Find out who hired them and you might get a step closer to cracking this thing."
"Can't you bring them in for questioning?"
“On what grounds?”
"They assaulted me."
"Prove it. It's going to be their word against yours."
Max frowned.
Lockwood pulled out his mobile and tabbed through a few screens. He pulled up an image of Justin Fletcher. It was the big ogre who had assaulted Max in the alleyway. Lockwood turned the device so that Max could see the display. It listed his date of birth, criminal history, and current address. "I didn't show that to you,” he said in a sly voice.
Max nodded.
“Stake him out. See where he leads.” Lockwood said. “And try not to kill anybody.”
Max feigned offense. "I haven't killed anybody.” Then she added. “Here. Yet.”
Lockwood rolled his eyes. “If you make me regret helping you, I swear to God—“
“I know, I know. You’ll put me underneath the jail.”
“No. I'll just shoot you.” He smiled at her.
Max lifted up her cuffed hands. "You gonna take these things off. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like a little kink every now and then.” Her sultry eyes sparkled.
Lockwood used his key fob to deactivate the remote handcuffs.
Max pulled off the handcuffs and set them on the table. She rubbed her wrists, trying to smooth out the deep grooves the restraints had caused. She batted her eyelashes and asked in a breathy, innocent voice. “Can I have my pistol back?"
“Sorry. That’s evidence."
Max grumbled, her innocence lost. “That's an antique. Do you know how hard those things are to come by?”
"Move out of the Stone Age. Get a plasma pistol.” Lockwood regretted saying it the moment the words slipped from his mouth. "On second thought, it's probably best if you don't have a weapon.”
“Please. I only hurt people that deserve it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. There’s a lot of people who deserve it in this town.”