The Easytown Box Set

by Brian Parker

  “I don’t think so,” Drake replied. “They tried to entrap you with the old honey pot scheme for Pete’s sake. Someone wants you gone.”

  “Who, though?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll do some digging to see.”

  We paused as a new girl took our order. I guess Amir decided not to buy a droid after all. When she was gone, I continued. “Thanks. Andi can’t find anything in the cyber realm about what they’re looking at. Everything is being done off the books or on private servers.”

  “Which means they’re really pushing to sack you,” Drake grumbled.

  “Maybe. Either way, the only thing I can do is try to be the best cop I can be and right now, that means working on the Dale Henderson case.”

  “What’s our next step?”

  “I’m going to meet with Tommy Voodoo tomorrow to find out what he knows about Karimov. The guy’s worked for him for ten years, he should know something.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then we get Judge Hennessey to authorize surveillance and we track the guy.”

  “I haven’t done a stakeout in years. Sounds like a nice night out.”

  “Then you and Genevieve need a better social life,” I joked. “Sounds boring as hell to me.”

  He shrugged. “That’s tomorrow. What do you have going on for the rest of the day?”

  “Brubaker has me checking out chop shops. So after lunch, we’re gonna go visit a few of them that Corrigan gave me the names of before he died.”

  Drake nodded. “You need me to go with you?”

  “Nah. I’m just going to check them out. Not gonna get in a fight.”

  “Famous last words,” he said. “I’m gonna head back to the precinct to finalize our report on the incident at The Trick And Treat last week.”

  “Shit. I forgot that wasn’t done yet.”

  “You’ve been busy, Detective. Don’t worry, I’ll turn it in today.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Ah… Thank you.”

  Our completed, but not yet closed out case list was growing large enough that we could take two or three days of solid writing, ten hours a day, and not be finished with it all.

  I smiled at the waitress as she placed my shawarma on the table in front of me and an identical plate in front of Drake.

  The afternoon was starting to look up.

  THIRTEEN: TUESDAY

  “Is this— Are you sure this is the right place, Andi?”

  The Jeep had pulled up to a relatively clean flower shop off of Fowler Avenue. The large windows, painted with old-time lettering that read “Solomon’s Flowers,” had the telltale sheen of visalum, which meant they’d be nearly impervious to most criminal activity—or police intrusion. Our riot shields were made of the same material. Clear, like Plexiglas, lightweight like aluminum, and as tough as a steel plate.

  Through the visalum, I could see flowers of all shapes and sizes in vases of every color imaginable. This couldn’t be right.

  “Yes, boss. This is the only legal business registered to a person with the surname ‘Solomon’ in the city of New Orleans. When strengthened by Branch Corrigan’s assertion that the chop shop is located off of Fowler Avenue, this is the location of the alleged chop shop.”

  “Shit. This place looks like a legitimate business.” I hadn’t expected that. Truth be told, I was expecting the standard, run-down shithole that dominated everywhere in Easytown off The Lane.

  “Good thing I’ve got a real backstory to cover my ass if questions start getting thrown around,” I stated.

  I was worried about spooking this Terry Solomon guy and him making a run for it, so I’d gone home after lunch and changed out of my suit into a pair of jeans, a nice t-shirt and a different rain jacket than the duster I always wore while at work. My prized fedora was also left at home, replaced by a water repellant Saints hat.

  “I’ll transfer the address to the document section on your phone, so it will appear to be a note to yourself instead of an address that your AI assistant gave you.”

  “Thanks, Andi. I’m gonna go in before anyone watching gets suspicious. Keep quiet.”

  “Understood.”

  I pretended to hang up my phone and made certain that I could be seen placing it into my pocket through the Jeep’s windows. Then, I opened the car door and stepped onto the concrete sidewalk. Most of the places that boasted any type of businesses off of Jubilee Lane used old wooden pallets as a way of elevating their customers above the mud. There wasn’t any money in the city’s budget for concrete or even crushed gravel to be used as sidewalks in the slums. It was rare that a place spent the money on real sidewalks, meaning this place was either a prosperous business or trying hard to appear that way.

  The building itself was a one-story, brick-front structure with what appeared to be plastisteel siding running the length of the alley on the side I could see. Again, an expensive choice in construction that was durable as hell, and more than double what cheap, vinyl siding ran.

  There were obvious security cameras in their little bubbles on both corners of the building. As I stepped under a reinforced rain awning, I saw another camera above the doorway. They wanted patrons—and criminals—to know that the place was under surveillance. The owner wasn’t interested in hiding them like some places chose to do. As a deterrent, I gave it about ten percent odds of success.

  The door was visalum, like the painted windows, and I opened it up. The air reeked of fresh flowers and greenery, practically assaulting my nostrils with happiness. The flowers I’d seen through the windows were only a fraction of what was on display inside the shop. Tables exhibiting plants and different types of vases holding both real and synthetic flowers were scattered about the main lobby area. Wooden shelves held stuffed animals, candles, stationary and vials of different-colored liquids that I assumed were some type of air freshener or maybe a biological hazard, who knew?

  “Hello, welcome to Terri’s!” a cheerful female voice called.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, eyeing all the colors and fabrics covering every possible surface.

  An older woman appeared down one of the narrow aisles and stuck out her hand. “I’m Terri. What are you looking for?”

  I rolled with the revelation that ‘Terry’ was a woman. “Oh, just a plant for a friend at work. She’s getting a promotion, so I wanted to get her something nice.”

  She led me through several options, steering me away from saddling my friend with the long-term commitment that a plant would impose upon her. Instead, she talked me into a simple flower arrangement as an alternative.

  While she talked and walked me though the flower-buying process, I continued to scan the flower shop, trying to find the alleged chop shop entrance or the bodyguards that Corrigan said were here now. The door behind the counter appeared to go into a refrigerated area where they kept the flowers, not a nefarious operating room where street thugs came to bet their bodies permanently modified. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “This place sure isn’t what I was expecting,” I confessed.

  “I try to keep it nice, even if it is in Easytown,” Terri stated. “Lots of flowers, plants, and knickknacks make it feel homey to me.” She chuckled. “How does a man get to be your age and never stepped foot inside a florist?”

  “I—” I started to lie, then felt it was best to go with as close to the truth as possible. “I don’t know. Online ordering?”

  “Ah. Electronics and enhanced communications are not always the godsend that people believe them to be.”

  I pulled a generic credit square from my wallet. I couldn’t risk the chip in my arm being scanned, otherwise, she’d get my real name and could find my occupation from that.

  “What I meant is, this shop isn’t what I expected,” I repeated. “A guy that comes into my office every once in a while recommended this shop as a good, safe place to get enhancements.”

  Her hand froze in midair, hovering an inch from the card I held out for her
. “We can augment your purchase with greenery or even some additional ribbons,” she replied guardedly, taking the card from me and placing it over the scanner. “Who is your acquaintance?”

  “This giant guy named Branch. He delivers those big jugs of water to our office, says he likes the workout it gives him instead of using droids.”

  She scooped up the card with her left hand as her right dropped below the counter. “How long has it been since you last saw this Branch fellow?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Couple of months. I know he quit the delivery job, but ever since he told me about it, I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in here. He said that this shop could help with providing things that would make me bigger.”

  “You can find dick enlargers on the cybersphere. They’re a dime a dozen,” she responded. All pretext of the sweet old lady seemed to drop away.

  “Oh! No, I don’t need that.” I made myself sound embarrassed. “Well, we could all use a little more, if you know what I mean, but I’m not here for that. I’ve tried steroids and electroshocks, but my muscles just won’t get any bigger. Shitty genetics, y’know? Branch said there was nanotechnology out there that could boost the size of my muscles, really fill out my shirts… Maybe then, Katheryn would notice me,” I mumbled, pointing at the flowers I’d bought for her as part of the setup.

  She tsked at me, and then said, “You would risk genetic manipulation just to impress a woman? Not very smart, young man.”

  “It may not be smart, but it’s my last hope. I’ve been in love with her for four years, but she always dates big, bodybuilder-types. I don’t even have a shot with her until I can add some serious size.”

  “I’ve read that those things can be acquired,” she remarked. “But they’re very expensive.”

  She was still playing it cool, not admitting to being able to perform any type of modifications. As of right now, I didn’t have anything to base probable cause on and Judge Hennessey was unlikely to grant another search warrant so quickly after the utter failures of the two we’d executed earlier today. I needed to get her to say she that this place was just a front for the chop shop.

  “Branch told me about the astronomical costs. But he was talking about getting a total arm replacement so he could go back into sports, surely something like nanotech would be less expensive. It’s not major surgery.”

  “You’re right. I’d imagine it would be less expensive than replacing an entire appendage. I wouldn’t even know how much something cosmetic like that would cost, though.”

  I put on a crestfallen appearance. “So you can’t help me?”

  “I didn’t say that, Mr.—” She glanced at my credit square that she still held in her left hand. Her right hand was still worryingly below the tabletop out of my line of sight. “Wright. Cecil Wright. I could possibly find out about nanotech for you. When did you say you last spoke to Branch?”

  “It’s been a while,” I admitted. “He usually comes around every two weeks to replace our empties with full jugs.” I frowned. “But it has been a few months. Last I talked to him he was going to try to get a spot on the Saints practice squad if the surgery was a success.”

  “You haven’t seen him because he’s dead,” she stated. “He got himself arrested and died a couple of days ago on Sabatier Island.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t… I hadn’t heard.”

  “Not much information comes off that damn rock,” she said. “But, I have my ways of learning what I need to know.”

  She handed me the card back. “How can I find you, Mr. Wright?”

  “I have, uh, I have a phone number or an email address,” I offered.

  “Good. Give them both to me, along with your employer information.”

  I told her the information that she needed, which she dutifully recorded in a flowing script on a notebook embossed with a bouquet of flowers.

  “I’ll be in touch,” she said.

  “Wait. Does that mean that you can help me? Do you do that kind of work?”

  She smiled. This time, the sweet old lady’s kind smile had disappeared and was replaced by a sinister sneer. “I can do whatever you want, as long as you check out and your money is good.”

  “So, you did do the surgery on Branch? He was going to get a cybernetic arm that would allow him to clothesline five running backs at top speed without moving an inch.”

  “Those things can be found and life-changers for athletes willing to take the risk,” she replied, frustratingly still not admitting to running a chop shop. “I take pride in my work and everything I do is top of the line. Let me check a few things and I’ll be in touch,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

  “Okay, thank you. Ah, what about the flowers?”

  “At this time of day, our delivery droids have already made their runs. Your best bet is to take them now and then hire a private delivery service. Or you can just give them to your friend yourself. From your neighborhood in Plum Orchard, you could have them delivered to anywhere in the city within forty-five minutes—faster if you spring the extra money for an aerial delivery service.”

  Her flower shop lady demeanor had reappeared and I marveled at the way Terri Solomon was able to switch back and forth between being in character and her real personality. She should have gone into show business.

  “Good advice. Thank you.” I said, picking up the vase. “Looking forward to working with you to see what we can do about this.” I pointed at my chest.

  “We’ll see what we can do, Mr. Wright. Give me a few days and I’ll be in touch.”

  I ducked my head and turned, weaving my way through the shop’s crowded interior until I was under the awning outside. I wasn’t surprised to see a man taking pictures of my Jeep and was thankful that I’d had Andi set up a temporary fake account for my car as well. Anyone searching the public records would see a vehicle registered to Mark Cecil Wright of Plum Orchard. It’s the little things like that which got undercover cops hemmed up.

  The man stepped away from my car and I gave him a purposefully confused look before opening the passenger door and placing the flowers carefully on the floorboard. He stood on the sidewalk, watching, as I went around and sat down into the driver’s seat.

  I waited until the Jeep was two blocks away before asking Andi if he’d put anything on the exterior of the vehicle. If these guys were really jumpy—or selective—they could have put a tracking device on the Jeep and followed me to make sure I was who I said I was.

  “There are no devices on the vehicle at this time,” Andi stated. “The man in question took photos of the license plates and the vehicle identification number etched into the windshield. As a precaution, I also worked with the Jeep dealership that you purchased from and the bank where you financed your loan to ensure that they were temporarily reporting you as Mr. Mark C. Wright.”

  “Nice touch.”

  “It’s what you don’t pay me for.”

  “You exist, don’t you?”

  “In theory, yes.”

  “Well, then, that’s your reward,” I scoffed. Honestly, I didn’t know what else she could want.

  “Let’s take a trip around Easytown to see about those other chop shops. I don’t want to go into any of them today, just want to drive by, see what I can see.”

  The Jeep turned down a street, and within minutes we drove past a long row of decrepit buildings. Crumbling masonry, broken gutters and downspouts, and shattered windows were the sole decorations on the structures; not even the addresses were marked. Their tattered exteriors were exactly what I’d expected back at Solomon’s Flowers.

  There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary from the outside, so I had the Jeep go off in search of the other two locations.

  They were in a similar state of disrepair as the first. The constant rain and high water table conspired to destroy anything that wasn’t constantly refurbished. Most buildings off of The Lane had never been maintained after they were hastily built forty or fifty years ago.


  I’m not sure what I anticipated seeing along the back streets of Easytown, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There were no armed guards, no lines of cyborgs waiting to go into the buildings for repairs. They seemed vacant.

  Exactly how I’d want my place to look if I owned a chop shop.

  “There’s enough there in my mind to believe that Solomon’s Flowers is really the chop shop that Corrigan said it was,” I stated. “Please draft the four warrant requests for me and I’ll go over them tonight.”

  “Understood. I’ll begin converting your conversation with Terri Solomon to text immediately.”

  “Good.” I paused, staring out the window. Today had been a shitty one filled with disappointment. “Oh, Andi?”

  “Yes?”

  “List Sergeant Drake as the requesting officer. I don’t want Judge Hennessey seeing my name and denying it.”

  “Will do, boss,” she replied, more cheerily than she should have. A human partner would have been just as downtrodden as I was, feeling like they’d just wasted the last seven hours of their day. Instead, she was as chipper as always.

  “Alright, take me home, Andi. I’m exhausted and still need to get some type of exercise.” I hadn’t had much opportunity to go running since Teagan left and with my leg still on the mend, I would have to do something low impact like cycling or even swimming to get my blood flowing.

  “Oh,” I grunted, glancing into the passenger floorboard. “Have a courier service meet us a few blocks from the apartment to pick up the flowers.”

  “I’ve used the Jeep’s scanners and didn’t detect any type of tracking device on the flowers, Zach.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” I stated.

  “And yet, you still want to send them to Katheryn Townlain?”

  “You just said there weren’t any tracking devices.”

  “Understood.” There was a pause. Then, “New Orleans Secure Transfer will meet us in sixteen minutes.”

  “Great.”