Dream of Eden (Erin Bradley Book 1)

by Sean Parsons

  “I have to meet with him, can you arrange that?”

  Keel just sat back and laughed. “Are you kidding me? You want me to organise for you to meet him? Don’t you remember you’re a cop?”

  “I think you know that I’m here to solve a homicide and nothing else, or I would’ve arrested you ten minutes ago. Right?”

  Keel said nothing. He seemed to be mulling this over.

  “So why you don’t you just do me a favour,” Erin said, “and organise a meeting. If Sledgehammer can prove his innocence, and maybe provide some information, I’ll let him go.”

  To that, Keel just laughed again. “Let him go? Do you hear the way you’re speaking? Let him go? This is his space station, motherfucker.”

  He abruptly threw the glass across the room, where it exploded against the wall.

  Erin put his hand to the butt of his gun.

  Keel sat breathing heavily for a minute, his eyes wide and staring. Then he slowly calmed down and sat back.

  “What were you saying again? You want to meet the Boss? Ok. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I have to see him right away,” Erin said, trying to get through to the man before he had another outburst, “Can you do that, please?”

  “Oh sure, I get it. Before you get killed right?”

  He walked to the phone on the wall, chuckling to himself.

  Five minutes later, Keel hung up the phone. He turned to Erin.

  “He’ll see you. You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

  He threw on a jacket, went to the mirror and examined his reflection. He peered into his eyes. Then he drew an eye dropper out of the pocket of the jacket and squirted a few drops into his eyes. He blinked and re-examined his appearance. When he was satisfied he turned impatiently to Erin.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  Erin followed him warily out of the room.

  Keel led him down the dim, red halls. They were all alike, bathed in that interminable red glow, with only the alpha-numerical signs, no distinguishing characteristics. He had no idea how Keel could be finding his way around, so he asked him.

  Keel shrugged. “You live here your whole life, you know your way around. Now shut up, this isn’t a picnic we’re going on.”

  Erin stayed silent after that.

  They walked for at least another twenty minutes. Erin found himself thinking just how big this station really was. A hundred thousand people was no joke. The thought made him stop.

  “Where are all the people?” he asked Keel.

  “What?” Keel said, looking back at him.

  “I haven’t met anyone in here, except a bunch of kids. I thought the population down here was close to a hundred thousand. But there's no one around.”

  “They’re around alright,” Keel said. “They don’t use these hallways; they use the direct-connection passages between rooms. Or they use the air-ducts. No one comes into these halls if they can avoid it. This is where all the lurks hang out.”

  “Lurks?”

  “Yeah, lurks. Murderers, rapists, thieves. No one will touch us of course. They know who I work for and they know you’re a cop, but they’re hanging around all the same. It’s not safe down here for most people, man. The riots that busted the lights gave us weapons, but they also gave a lot of sick people places to hide.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Hey man, what do you want me to tell you, that we like it down here? Of course not. Everyone here would leave for Earth if they could, but Grior has it locked the fuck down. No one leaves this station without his permission. We can get raw material in. You know, for cooking.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Yeah. But no people can get in or out without the director’s say so. Grossman, I guess, is the guy in charge now.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Keel chuckled. “Wait till Sledgehammer talks to you about that. He hates Grossman. He – anyway, you’ll find out.”

  They continued on in silence, the hallway echoing with their footsteps.

  Eventually, they came to a heavy, sealed door at the end of a passage. Three men stood outside it, loitering around. One was black, one Chinese, one Indian. They were all heavyset and rough-looking.

  The black guy said, “Yo, Keel. You high again, man? You know the boss is gonna be pissed.”

  Keel walked past them defiantly. “Hey, whatever man. I’m busy.”

  They made way for him and Erin. They were obviously Sledgehammer’s toughs. Erin eyed them up and down, but couldn’t see any openly carried weapons. They stared right back at him, and he felt like they knew who he was.

  Keel buzzed the door, and a moment later it opened. Erin stepped forward, expecting Keel to go in first, but he just stood there.

  “Coming?” Erin said.

  “No man, you go alone from here.”

  The guards laughed. “He doesn’t want to see the boss right now.”

  “Yeah, he’s feeling a little paranoid, you know?”

  “Shut up,” Keel said angrily, but the guards ignored him. “Just go, cop. Don’t keep him waiting.”

  Erin left them and walked through the door. The last sound he heard before the door snapped shut behind him was Keel swearing and laughing with the guards. Then he was enclosed in the silent hallway beyond.

  An elderly white guy stood there, acting as a doorman. He said nothing, only pointing down the hall. Erin nodded to him and kept walking.

  Several rooms opened off the hall, and as he passed each one he heard low voices. He looked in and saw men and women seated at round tables playing cards, or lying down in bunks reading. Rough-looking firearms and improvised blunt-force weapons sat on the tables or by the beds, within easy reach. They barely noticed Erin going past.

  It looked like a goddamn arsenal to Erin. Sledgehammer had crafted himself a private army. Erin was itching to arrest all of them, but he knew he would never get out alive if he tried it. He kept walking, and came finally to Sledgehammer’s room. The door was open. Erin looked in. It was neat, Spartan; with a small desk, a bookshelf, a bed, a desk lamp with a warm bulb. There were several books scattered here and there.

  Sitting at the desk, his head bent over a printed report he was perusing, was Sledgehammer. Erin knocked and he looked up.

  “Ah, here he is. Come in.”

  Erin entered and took a seat. Sledgehammer turned on his chair and Erin got a good look at him for the first time. He was middle-aged, but strong looking. He had close-cropped grey hair and a heavy jaw. He looked like a boxer. His steely blue eyes were fixed on Erin.

  “Here he is,” he said again, looking at Erin with a half-smile. “The first thing I want to say to you is I don’t know who this Latino guy is working for. He isn’t one of my guys. I heard he took a shot at you?”

  “And hit me,” Erin said.

  “No shit?” Sledgehammer’s eyebrows lifted. “And you’re still walking around? You must be a tough guy.”

  Erin shrugged. “I got lucky.”

  “Yeah, sure. All the tough guys say that. You met Keel?”

  Erin nodded. “Yes.”

  “I have to apologise for him. He’s an idiot, but I need him. He knows everybody down here, knows the place like the back of his hand. It bothers him more than he’ll let on that he doesn’t know who this guy is. But there you go, a hundred thousand people, you can’t know ‘em all.”

  “Who would want to kill a cop? Surely that would only cause trouble.”

  Sledgehammer shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. That hasn’t exactly stopped people in the past, right? People have their reasons. Me, I think he’s working for someone. Someone who wants you out of the picture. You’ve stuck your nose in too deep, my friend.”

  He wagged a finger at Erin, admonishingly.

  “As for the other matter,” his said, his face turning grave, “I love my stupid brother, and I loved his wife. I don’t know what sick bastard did this, but it wasn’t me, or any of my guys.”

  “You heard then?”<
br />
  “Of course I heard. Everybody knows down here. Anything happens in the upper levels, we find out down here, directly.”

  “Then, do you know anything at all about it?”

  Sledgehammer shook his head. “No. But I have theories. Before I get into it I want to chat with you for a while. It’s not every day you get a chance to talk to a cop about what’s really going on. I’d like to share with you my worldview. In the interests of expedience you can call me John, by the way.”

  “Why do they call you Sledgehammer?” Erin said.

  He shrugged. “Goes back to my boxing days.”

  He clenched a fist. It was big, heavy, scarred.

  “Might have something to do with these,” he said. “But I also don’t go easy on people who double-cross me. I come down on ‘em like a hammer, you understand?”

  Erin nodded.

  “So it’s a nickname. Whatever. As long as people follow my orders, I don’t really give a shit.”

  “What exactly are you trying to do?” Erin said. He looked around the room, took in the papers and books. He thought of the men in the hallway. “Is it just the drug money?”

  “No, it’s not really about that at all. That’s a means to an end.”

  John scratched his scarred fists, reflectively.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t like it one bit. Dope-heads like Keel are nothing but trouble. But a man only has what’s available to him to work with. It’s like chess – I have a board around here someplace – you have to make do with what material you have. My goal is a lot bigger than all of that. And if in the meantime I can control the trade, keep it away from kids, keep the would-be wasted cash from going down the drain, then why not do it? It’s like the way pot was legalised to get the tax money. It might not be pretty, but it’s inevitable.”

  “So what is your goal?”

  John scratched his chin. “That’s a big question. But I’ll simplify it, since you’re a busy man. We are in the middle of a class war. It’s been going on for hundreds of years. Everybody knows it. But on this station,” and here he pointed downwards to the steel flooring, indicating the station directly, “it’s even worse than on Earth. You know about the riots, the cameras; all that garbage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well that was me; that was the start. These people have been suffering. It wasn’t even really my brother’s fault; he’s just a wheel in the machine. But the situation is far worse than he’s willing to admit. These people don’t get sunlight, they don’t get enough food, they only get medical attention when they’re born and when they die. What kind of life is that?”

  He fixed a furious glare on Erin, his brow furrowed, his eyes mean and staring.

  “Someone had to do something. I was down here most of the time, anyway; fighting and doing some other things. I took it on myself, and I used whatever means necessary. And I will continue to do that, until we’ve won.”

  “That’s all well and good, John,” Erin said, leaning forward in his chair, “but what exactly are you planning to do? And remember, I’m a cop.”

  John smiled. “I like you, buddy. You’re a straight talker. But guess what: you being a cop? That doesn’t mean squat up here.”

  He pointed a rough thumb at his chest.

  “Up here, I’m the fucking king. You cross me, I’ll kill you myself. I don’t even need these goons to do it for me. Understand? You think the Earth police will come looking for you? Even if they did, they’d never find you; and they’d never prove anything. No cameras, remember? No records.”

  Erin was all too aware that he had waved the administration’s liability when he had come down to the sublevels.

  He held up his hands, placating. “Ok. I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to arrest a murderer. I just don’t want anything fouling up my investigation while the guy is still at large.”

  “Well,” Sledgehammer said, sitting back, “I can’t guarantee anything. I have plans, my friend. Big plans. We’re taking this station, tonight.”

  Erin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “I have a thousand guys, with weapons. We’re storming the upper levels tonight. I’m going to take over this station and free these people.”

  Erin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Jesus, what the hell are you talking about?”

  John shrugged. “This is what it’s come to. And it’s happening, so I’d forget about radioing down to Earth for help, if I were you. That’ll only end in heartbreak.”

  Erin sat silent for a minute, digesting this. The situation was escalating rapidly out of his control. He stared at Sledgehammer, a thug with a moral streak, and didn’t know what to do. He would lose Susan’s killer, and thousands of lives would be at jeopardy.

  John noticed his ashen expression. “Look, like I said: I loved Susan. She was a wonderful woman. I want you to get the guy more than anyone.”

  He checked his watch.

  “It’s just after 6am. Catch the guy by 6pm, and get out of here. If you haven’t got him by then, forget about it. The wheels are in motion and they can’t be stopped.”

  “6pm? Twelve hours?”

  John nodded. “That’s right. Think you can do it?”

  “I don’t know. I have nothing to go on now.”

  “You have more than you think. Susan’s killer isn’t down here on the sublevels. I can guarantee you that.”

  He pointed to the ceiling.

  “One of the people up there did it, and I can tell you who I think it was. Grossman, or Rickard.”

  Erin returned to the present from his bleak thoughts. “Why them?”

  “Think about it: they’re the ones with access to the tapes. What bullshit story did they feed you, anyway? That we’d hacked in, remotely? Do you see any fucking computers around here, pal?”

  He laughed, but he didn’t sound amused.

  “Yeah, right. It was one of those guys, but I don’t know why. They have their slimy reasons. Grossman’s been out for numero uno since he came here. So you have that, and you have the Latino guy. But my guess is you won’t need to find him: he’ll come looking for you.”

  He stood up, and Erin took the hint and stood up as well. Sledgehammer extended one of his big hands and gave a crushing handshake. While he did that he slapped Erin on the shoulder, encouragingly.

  “You can do it, kid. But do it fast, understand? Things are going to look a little different around here come nightfall.”

  Sledgehammer gave Erin an armed escort back to the service elevators. Keel took him there, saying nothing. He didn’t meet Erin’s eyes when the doors closed on him.

  As he rode up the elevator shaft, Erin thought over the case. He had no leads, nothing to go on. He had only Sledgehammer’s word that none of his men were responsible for the murder – and yet somehow, he believed him.

  But that left him with nothing; only the vague assertion that the upper management had something to do with it. And Erin couldn’t exactly use the speculation of a drug lord to make an arrest.

  The incongruity of the tapes was indisputable, though. John Grior – Sledgehammer – was right: not only did his men presumably lack expertise, they also didn’t have any visible equipment. They could have concealed it; but somehow, Erin doubted it.

  Rickard’s belligerent manner also came back to Erin’s mind, and he decided he owed the security head another visit.

  But first, he wanted to see someone else.

  10.

  Erin stared at his watch. It was now 7am. He was tired, his shoulder ached from the gunshot wound, he hadn’t slept or eaten in hours – and even then, he had only enjoyed a few hours of unconsciousness in hospital. He knew he should get some rest and continue the investigation with a clear head.

  But he also knew that the clock was ticking, and time was running out. He had under twelve hours to find the killer.

  The door hissed open, and cold mist rolled across Erin’s feet. He stepped onto the sterile steel floor, fea
tureless except for the sluices where the floor met the wall. Erin knew the sluices were for blood and other material.

  On one wall was a rack of small doors that looked like safes. They were numbered. Erin counted them and thought there were less than he would have expected.

  But then, he knew the policy on Eden was to burn the dead as soon as possible.

  There, on a table in the centre of the room, was Susan Grior’s body. Erin had come here to see her, pay his last respects and refocus on the case. He needed to see and remember why he was doing this. Otherwise, he might give up altogether.

  He approached the table and looked down at her. She was as beautiful here as she was in the tapes – but in her death she looked pitiful. He touched her hand and it was cold. Looking down into her eyes – closed, with the organs removed – he found himself unexpectedly overcome with rage.

  He was enraged at the man who did this. He was enraged at the senseless act of violence and murder. He had seen too many innocent victims of cheap emotions – usually women. He was enraged with Sledgehammer, for his role in the whole mess. He was enraged with Grossman, for interfering. He was enraged with his captain, John, for sending him to Eden in the first place.

  Erin realised that he was crying, and clutching Susan’s hand. He gently let her go, and blinked his eyes a few times. He was clearly fatigued. He had to pull himself together, and do his job.

  Behind him the door hissed open again. Erin turned and saw Doctor Cho standing in the doorway.

  “Detective,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I was just coming to have Susan’s body taken down to the furnaces. The autopsy is over and we have all the information on her death that we need. Are you finished examining her body?”

  Erin nodded. “Yes. I just needed to see her once, in person.”

  “Fair enough. I must say, I’m glad to see you. I feared this time the sublevels would get you once and for all.”