“Thanks, Reina.” Without missing a note, Sentry shot a smile in her general direction. “Even if there are no such things as angels, this song is still one of my favorites.”
“Mine, too. And the way you play it makes me think there must be angels somewhere, Sentry.” With a smile she had no doubt he could feel, Reina pushed through the revolving door and into the tavern known simply as Beowulf’s.
Beowulf’s was a favorite of both visitors and natives of The Dugout. With faux-mahogany paneling and exposed beams overhead, a long brass-railed bar, marbleized tiles and vibrant Boston ferns placed in such a way that one forgot they were underground, it was the epitome of a tasteful gentlemen’s club. Sentry’s sweet music floated in through the open toile-accented windows, competing with the midday hubbub of hungry customers from every possible walk of life. Fresh-air vents at the entrance overhead ruffled Reina’s hair before she moved deeper into the tavern, her gaze locked on the man behind the bar.
Beowulf was a living legend in The Dugout. Once a gung-ho Army Ranger, he’d become the government’s lab rat when his entire unit died in the first pandemic while he had clearly been immune. The ensuing tests the scientists had put him through had been downright Nazi-like in their cold, analytical amorality. In the hope of building the perfect super-soldier who could be felled by neither disease nor conventional weaponry, they’d spliced his genes with something canine in nature. The result had been horrific, leaving Beowulf with the nightmarish appearance of a werewolf forever trapped in painful mid-shift. He’d escaped his lab cage, and with his plight highlighted in the media to the point where he became an overnight international poster-boy for human rights, the military had no choice but to let him go on his merry way.
No matter what he looked like on the outside, Reina had always sensed an odd kinship with the lumbering, no-longer-human Beowulf long before she’d become an outsider in her own world. Once her decision to reject modification had made her a pariah, the first thing Beowulf had done was drag her into his inner sanctuary to offer his services of guru, sparring partner and all-around go-to guy when it came to getting answers fast. If Beowulf couldn’t get his claws on it, it couldn’t be had.
“If it isn’t my favorite queen of detectives.” As well-mannered and urbane as a country gentleman, Beowulf’s massive, multi-digit hands, covered in sable-colored hair and tipped with dagger-sharp black claws, reached for a glass. “I didn’t know you were coming in today, Reina. I thought you’d be assigned to crowd-control for the anniversary of Conrad’s death.”
A flicker of sadness crossed Reina’s face as she accepted her favored drink—a Shirley Temple. “I think I would have preferred that. Delbert Conrad was a great man and my personal hero. Instead I get a weird Grinch-in-reverse case, and Edison Wicke as a new partner.”
“Whoa. Now that’s news.” There was very little white to be shown around Beowulf’s wolf-like golden irises, but his eyes widened enough for her to see it. “You, the last pure human on the Chicago PD, matched up with the police commissioner’s cyberized lapdog? Talk about a crazy-ass pairing. Must be a big case.”
“That’s just it. It isn’t.” With a frown Reina brought out her inside-out glove. “Is Jimmi the Geek in? I need some analysis confirmation before I make my next move, and since I’m still not sure what the hell is going on with this partner fiasco I don’t want to go through any official channels just yet.”
Beowulf grimaced. With his partially-muzzled face, it was a spectacular sight. “It’s a bad day for geeks everywhere. Jimmi’s in-house, but I can’t promise she’ll be of any use today. She loved Delbert.”
“Didn’t we all. Nevertheless, I need to put this case to bed before Edison realizes I’ve made a move.” She slid off her stool. “Forgive me for pressing the issue, but may I please go back?”
“As always, your courtesy opens doors that remain closed for everyone else.” With a fanged smile, Beowulf beckoned her behind the counter. “I’ll take you.”
The tavern itself looked like any other cozy neighborhood pub, with a front dining room, bar area and a bustling, steam-filled kitchen glimpsed through the service doors. But through Beowulf’s official office was where the paranoid Army Ranger in him had dug in. Past several storage rooms that held everything from purified water to dried pinto beans and enough MREs to choke a platoon for a year, there was also a complete dojo where she and Beowulf worked on her reflexes to deal with even a genetically enhanced opponent such as himself, and a computer room that reminded Reina of NORAD. No one was ever going to catch Beowulf napping, especially the scientists whom she knew he still secretly feared. In these catacombs, Beowulf had built a fortress.
“Jimmi. Are you up to eating anything yet?” Watching big, bulky Beowulf turn into a fussy mother hen over the teenage girl huddled at a computer console was almost laughable. But when Reina saw the girl’s swollen eyes and tear-stained face, the last thing she wanted to do was laugh.
Jimmi the Geek was destined to be an exotic beauty. With ebony corkscrew curls, café au lait skin and pale green eyes, she was a hodge-podge of races that created perfection, especially in the brains department. There wasn’t a hacker in the world, both officially licensed and loose-cannon renegade, who didn’t whisper Jimmi’s name in tones of awe and wonder. But at the moment she wasn’t the grade-A hacker who ruled the web. She was a broken-hearted kid who looked like she needed a teddy bear and a hug.
Sniffing, Jimmi shook her head, then spotted Reina in the doorway. “Oh...how’s it, Reina? I knew you wouldn’t be able to let this day go by without dropping in for a visit.”
“Jimmi girl.” The tinge of grief that had been lurking in the corners of her heart surged forward, and she rounded the console as Jimmi hopped out of her chair to meet Reina’s embrace. “‘The more I delve into the intricacies of artificial life, the more I appreciate the miracle of true life, as nature intended it to be. We must tread carefully in this new world, where we humans are so determined to rid ourselves of the one thing that makes us both unique and great—our humanity.’” Reina found herself sniffing as well as quoting one of her favorite passages from Delbert Conrad’s autobiography. “He was such a visionary. Just as he launched his droid technology into the world, he realized what a mistake it was to fashion them after humans. He was absolutely right in thinking humans would try to make themselves into androids.”
“The line between the two does seem to be blurring. I’d consider getting neurolink implants myself, if I didn’t know there were people like me just waiting to hack into them.”
“Why do you think I refuse to get them? If I did, you’d just hack me within an hour and make me dance the Funky Chicken.”
“You know it.” With a watery laugh Jimmi sat back down at the computer console and ran an eye over the multitude of thin screens. “If they ever do force bod-mods on you, I promise I’ll make you a firewall no one will be able to penetrate, Reina. Not even me.”
“Thanks for the offer, but that won’t happen, Jimmi. Forcing bod-mods is illegal.”
Beowulf growled. “Right, and people in power never do anything illegal. I’m living proof of that.”
That made Reina’s blood chill, but she shook her head. “Your immune system made you invaluable, Beowulf. Unique. All I am is one cop among many who’s being made to know her place. And speaking of which,” she added, turning back to the girl. “I’m on kind of a weird case right now, Jimmi. Are you up to analyzing a strange piece of evidence for me?”
Jimmi, a certified junkie when it came to research, perked up. “Maybe. What is it?”
“A mussel shell, by the look of it. I found it tangled in a pine tree’s root ball, and I need to know what species this mussel was and how old it is, as well as anything you can tell me about the soil itself.”
“Wow, a mussel shell...in a tree?” Puzzled, Jimmi took the inside-out glove and peered inside. “I
think I can have all the answers you need by tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect, thank you. And for what it’s worth, I think I might already know the answers to these questions, but I need confirmation before I head to the next—”
“Hold up.” Beowulf had come to his feet and he was growling again. His gaze was riveted to one of the screens showing the front of the tavern. With deliberate motions, Sentry was collecting the money from his case and folding up shop for the day. “He’s not off-duty until he hears his digicell go off at one.”
Jimmi glanced at the time display on the screen before her eyes widened. “If Sentry stopped playing, that means...”
“An outsider is here.” Beowulf’s growl kicked up to rocket-booster level. “And not just any tourist rube. Someone’s set Sentry’s alarm off.”
Reina scanned the screens as well, only to have her heart perform a dagger-straight swan dive into the center of her stomach.
Edison Wicke was pushing his way through Beowulf’s revolving door.
* * *
For law-abiding citizens who had nothing to hide, The Dugout was a hole in both the literal and figurative sense. It was where the shriek-freaks scored their junk and pimped themselves out to get their next hit. It was where the illegal-weapons trade was as wildly rampant as STDs in an unregulated whorehouse, and the human organ black market had a never-ending supply from those willing to sell off bits of themselves for some cash to flash. Every week The Dugout won Chicagoland’s infamous Murder Derby, reporting the highest murder numbers of all the districts. The worst of the worst invariably wound up hiding and dying in the rat hole that was The Dugout, and he wouldn’t think of darkening its proverbial doorstep if it weren’t for one thing.
What the hell are you doing in this pit that God forgot, Reina?
With instincts firing at full blast and every sensor assessing threat levels on his internal readout, Edison paused after pushing through the revolving door to sift through the pub’s surroundings. Not exactly the shifty dive he’d expected, but then there were so many of those to be found in The Dugout. He did a quick but thorough sweep of the place, the face-recognition app working overtime as it fed a constant stream of ident information through his head. Several people pushed past him on their way out to leave the pub virtually empty, and the mass exodus had him checking his internal clock. Almost one. Apparently even ground-dwellers like these edge-of-society people had lunch hours to worry about.
“You sure know how to clear a place out. Or maybe your smartass rep precedes you and they all wanted to bug out before you had a chance to open that noise hole you call a mouth.”
Edison whipped around, shocked his sensitive audio sensors hadn’t picked up Reina’s footfalls no more than twenty feet away as she emerged from a door behind the bar. His shock went nuclear when what could only be described as a hair-covered monstrosity loomed up behind her. Without a thought he had his pulse gun in hand, his movements blurring at the edges.
“Reina, get down!”
Her liquid black eyes widened at his lightning-fast maneuver, only to jump when the thing behind her also pulled a gun in a move so fast that not even he could fully see it.
“What...are you both malfunctioning? What the hell!” Far from terrified that she was being shadowed by a fanged monster, she looked first at him, then at the thing behind her. A storm of rage kicked up behind the eyes that cut back to him. “Put your weapon away, now.”
“Reina, get out of the line—”
“I’m staying right in the line of fire until one of you asshats snaps the hell out of it.” She stomped her foot, and at any other time he would have laughed at the gesture. “So go ahead—feel free to accidentally shoot me like the idiots you are. Maybe the shock will jar you out of the pissing contest you’ve gotten yourselves into.”
Damn it, why the hell did she have to excel at being impossible? Didn’t she see he was trying to save her? Where was the gratitude?
But he couldn’t just stand there with her in the line of fire. No way. “All right.” Uncoiling from his shooter’s stance with every muscle screaming an adrenaline-high protest, Edison held up both hands, the pulse gun hanging off his index finger from the trigger guard. “Gun’s away, all right? Walk over to me, Reina.”
“No thank you.” With a snotty flip of her hair, she grabbed a pinkish-colored drink off the bar and headed for a cozy booth in the back, but not before shooting the monster a look of profound irritation. “Put. That. Away.”
“He drew first.”
Holy shit, that thing can talk?
“And he’s standing down first. Now it’s your turn.”
When he still hesitated, she turned back to fully face him as if she had every intention of bitch-slapping the brute to his knees. In a move that was just as fast as any meched-out warrior, he slid the gun back into its hiding place by the door, growling all the while. The genuine fear the behemoth displayed in the face of Reina’s magnificent rage was evident, and it was enough to make Edison do some fast rethinking. Quickly he did a GPS check of their location—Beowulf’s—and the name triggered a memory that he followed up with a hasty online search...
Ah, hell.
“Sorry for the misunderstanding.” Edison re-holstered his weapon, realizing the only way out of this epic fail was to own it like a man. “No excuses. You startled the shit out of me.”
Beowulf stared at him as though he doubted the hearing of his pointy ears before he too held up his now-empty hands. “I get that a lot. And it helps that your first instinct was to protect Reina.” He tilted his head in cautious courtesy. “Welcome, Detective Wicke.”
“Thanks.” He cast a leery glance at Reina, who stomped back to the booth without even looking his way.
Great.
“You suck as a partner,” he offered as he sat across from her. If he was going to get blasted for his draw-first-and-think-later stupidity, he might as well get it all done in one fell swoop. “Did you know partners are supposed to work together? Imagine my irritation when I had to use the official police personnel locator in your dat-tat to track your ass down.”
“We’re not partners.” She couldn’t seem to get her jaw unclenched enough to speak clearly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.” He didn’t bother to glance Beowulf’s way, knowing full well the tavern owner was listening in on every word. Since Reina seemed perfectly content to take stubborn root where she sat, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “Your position in the department is tenuous enough without being caught in a less-than-savory part of town.”
“My position in the department is none of your concern. And I have legitimate police business to conduct here.”
“Yeah? Are you referring to whatever it was you collected in your glove, or are you here for another reason?”
Her momentary look of shock was downright satisfying. “You saw that?”
“I’m a detective too, genius. Of course I saw it. I just didn’t expect you to remove anything from the scene, or break the chain of evidentiary custody like some brain-dead noob.”
She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t exactly a hardcore murder investigation, where we have to make sure our case sticks.”
“Still, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t follow procedure and tag evidence—whatever it is—and send it through the proper channels.”
“There were plenty of others. I just took one.”
“One what?”
“You really don’t know, do you?” With a sad sigh, she shook her head. “What a shame, you used to be so observant before you meched out. But hey, you’ve got super fast search engines that tell you about Austrian pines and urban needle rot, so I guess it all balances out.”
He didn’t bother to stifle a curse. “I didn’t lose a damn thing when I rec
eived my bod-mods, and I sure as hell don’t think I’m so perfect that I don’t need a little tweaking to enhance what I’ve already got. Unlike you.”
Her swift intake of breath held a world of fury. “I don’t think I’m perfect.”
“Maybe not perfect, but you do think you’re better than everyone else. And the hell of it is, when you’re surrounded by the likes of Manu Obie I can’t even blame you for it,” he added with a rough sigh, shards of frustration with both her and himself churning away in his chest. This was not what he wanted to talk about. “Bottom-lining it, the higher-ups are going to keep punishing you until you go by their rules. And if they catch you in some stupid move, like removing evidence from a crime scene or spending your off-hours in The Dugout, they might decide you’re not worth the trouble and finally cut you loose.”
“No great loss.”
“It would be to the people you’ve dedicated your life to protecting,” he shot back, genuinely chilled by the lack of care in her tone. “Or have you forgotten about them while you’ve been waging your own personal protest against the commissioner’s determination to build a better police force?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Her chin snapped up, a sure sign of battle if ever there was one. “My parents were two of the finest investigators their department had ever seen, and you know why? They relied on their own wetware and instincts to hunt down those who needed to be put in cages, and nothing else. My father taught me that technology can be a great thing as long as it’s used wisely, but once you rely on it to do your thinking for you, it becomes a crutch. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten a damn thing.”
At last, there was the hint he’d been searching for—the reason why she was so stubborn about remaining fully organic. It was his tough luck that her deep sense of loyalty to her father’s memory made her infinitely more desirable. “What would your parents think of you now, since most of your energy is focused on flipping the bird to the system instead of doing the job?”
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