Black-Eyes nodded. “I recall hearing that one of my brothers dispatched a rival in that way, yes. You will excuse me – I am not entirely prepared to meet a man who comes with a badge but instead wishes to help us, and not haul us away.” His smile widened a bit more, showing more teeth. “Or try to, at least.”
Gray pursed his lips a moment, but he nodded. “This case is mine,” he said. “If you know anything, I’m sure it’ll be considered the next time something comes up that can be traced to your…family.” Which may or may not be the case, but it had happened enough with other gangs not to be an overt lie.
“Of course,” said Black-Eyes, who inclined his head faintly. “I understand. And of course, I will be happy to assist Civil Protection in this matter.” The man was the politest monster that Gray had ever seen.
Gray did not want these people involved short of asking a fucking question. Jesus. “I’ll leave my card with you then.” He produced it from the breast pocket of his jacket with the utmost care; one of the fierce-haired young men who stood around him took it from his hand and scowled at it before handing it to his superior.
Black-Eyes merely smiled that horrible smile of his, like a mad, tattooed zombie shark. “But of course,” he said, the very picture of obligation. “And what will you give me in return?”
Gray’s eyes flickered. “I beg your pardon?”
“For our information. What will you give me?” Black-Eyes looked about the ruined park, and his smile radiated with all the warmth of a proud father. “My children will help you if…you do them a favor, perhaps.”
Oh, fuck this. There was no way in hell that Gray was going to do a deal with this guy, not with the situation being what it was. Certainly not with the way he was. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he said, voice bland. “I do have another question, which is related but not in the same way. And when I ask this, I want you to understand that the case involved is closed and there is to be no further investigation into it. The information is just for my use, so that I might tie up loose ends. Am I clear?”
Full lips closed over the jagged teeth as the Duwamish boss looked at Gray with new consideration, as the lion might if a gazelle he hunted suddenly sprouted fangs. “I understand,” he said. “Do go on.”
Gray nodded once. “Well,” he said, “One of the victims was a man named Ronald Anderson. He worked for us, and he was selling information to various organizations on the street. I know for a fact that some of the Sons were his clientele.”
Black-Eyes didn’t betray a single twitch; his face had become as much of a bland mask as Gray’s own. “Is that a fact?”
“It is.” Gray felt his words get traction and he pressed on. “I need to clear something up about him. He was found with a wad of bills in his pocket.”
Now the demonic smile returned. “Everyone deals in cash down here, Detective.”
“The bills were wrapped around sixty grams of RBC-7.” Gray now stared straight into Black-Eyes’ empty sockets, challenging the silver buds that glittered in the depths of their sockets. That’s right, you fucker. Blink. “I just want to know if that was business or not.”
“But I thought that you said his spine was removed, Detective,” said Black-Eyes, whose voice had become stony. “I don’t believe that we do that kind of thing.”
“The bomb isn’t what killed him, that’s true,” said Gray, daring to push further now. “I just need to exclude suspects.”
There was more silence as Black-Eyes stared at him, the studs winking as if in anger – Gray hated that there were no eyes to read to confirm what he could only guess. Finally, however, the scarred creature leaned forward, and he folded his hands beneath his chin. “What makes you think that we would have access to such material? RBC-7 is, as I recall, something of an expensive material.”
“Far less expensive than a nerve job,” Gray said with a jerk of his head toward Jaguar. The poor bastard instantly shrank as his boss’s face turned his way.
“My brothers have been showing off again, I see.” Black-Eyes chuckled, a gravelly thing that did nothing to reduce his menace. “Well, if such a thing happened- and I will never admit to such a thing, you understand – I have heard of such a method discussed in the past. That is, if we were to have had this conversation at all. Which we did not.”
Gray felt his time coming to an end, and he nodded. “Understood,” he said. “And thank you. I appreciate your talking with me.”
Again Black-Eyes inclined his head just a bit, the king of this tiny patch of Hell dismissing his petitioner. “I’m sure that we’ll speak again, Detective,” he said lightly. “Good afternoon.”
And that was it. Audience over. These things ended quickly, and without violence, if they were going to happen at all – and Gray found himself succumbing, however slightly, to the influence of his hindbrain. “Well, then,” he said, inclining his head very slightly. “Good evening.” And then, not looking anywhere but straight ahead, Gray got back to the car as quickly as possible without looking like he was doing it.
Jesus fucking Christ, the kind of people this town spawned! The world could be a scary place for someone who didn’t have a credit rating. Come to that it could be just as scary for those who actually did – but they usually made choices that put them there. With these people, even in the Verge, they were basically living in the wild.
And yet, it was nothing like the Old City. He’d never go in there, not for a hundred Amber Shields, or at the very least not unless he was escorted by a full team of Special Tactics troopers. Out there was nothing but the wasteland; out there people like James Black-Eyes weren’t curiosities but the lords of the realm. The kind of people out there….the homicidal and the mad, the desperate beyond the boundaries of humanity – they’d fuck you, eat you, and skin you, and the order in which it would happen would be entirely random.
Sometimes they’d charge the cordon and the Pacifiers would turn the guns on them, big rotary flechette guns shredding the ferals as they came, their numbers never too many to overwhelm but often enough that you could hear them getting shot to pieces from anywhere in that part of the Verge. Carter had told him once that it was almost like they moved with coordination, like a single organism extending violent limbs to probe the boundaries of civilization. Gray did not sleep well that night, and as he got into the Vectra and let it drive back toward home he wondered if he would this time around.
Two consecutive days, two consecutive crazies. Were they suspects? Well, Donner was creepy as fuck, and Gray sensed that he had the same kind of bizarro bell-jar mentality that might make him a meticulous killer. The sculptures in his gallery didn’t help, that’s for sure. Gray could imagine him having a little private studio where he’d view live models for that work, and shook his head. Maybe. Maybe. But did he have a connection to Anderson?
And then there was Black-Eyes. Christ! Gray had no trouble imagining that horrible man flaying both of them and eating the corpses, and that was what made him problematic – as polite as he was, unless Gray had totally misjudged him the Duwamish boss was a savage killer in action. The kind of clean, bloodless surgery that had taken the spines of Anderson and Askew just didn’t seem right. At the very least he knew that the Sons had been the ones who had planned on killing off Anderson with the cash bomb, or at least he was as sure about that as he was ever going to get. He thought of the speed and precision with which Jaguar – or Alexander, or Marco – had moved. More than enough to do impromptu surgery, even with a cattle saw. But was it one of Black-Eyes’s boys, or some other Sons, that did the deed? Anderson’s case might be closed with prejudice, but now there was at least a place to start from. He’d have to keep probing if he wanted to find a common thread between the dead men.
He sagged in his seat, feeling exhaustion setting in. Dealing with these monsters really took a toll on a man. He checked the clock, saw that it was about two-thirty in the afternoon. He was happy that he’d run into them in the daylight; he couldn’t imagine what kind o
f nasty it would have been to see Black-Eyes in the dark, or perhaps that might have been a mercy. Gray had the car dial Angie’s number; he figured she was home and up, if only just. The Autumn Heights didn’t open until eight.
It rang three times on the other end until it was picked up, and Angie’s sleepy voice filled the car like a warm bath. “You better be glad it’s you calling,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed. “I was just thinking that it had better be an emergency to get me up at this hour.”
Gray couldn’t help but smile. “And here I thought that you’d be up already,” he said, feeling the stress of the park scene draining away. “I hope it’s not unwelcome, at least.”
She laughed, and Gray shuddered. God, she sounded amazing after all of that. Like warm wax dripped over his shoulders. “Not unwelcome, no,” she said. “But I hope you won’t be mad if I stay in bed and don’t turn on the camera.”
“Well, I can only promise one of those,” he said with a grin. He tried to imagine her in bed. Did she sleep naked? In lace? Silk? He wondered if he could buy her something under the table, have it sent over anonymously. He wanted to know that she was wearing something from him when she was sleeping, when she was dreaming, when she was…
“I’ll chance it,” she was saying now, and he shook the thought loose. “So to what do I owe the honor?”
“Just driving around,” Gray said, laying his hand on the wheel as if he were, in fact, doing so.
“Working?”
“Yeah.” He had a flash of red-painted faces and cleared his throat.
“You all right?”
Gray took a breath. “Yeah,” he said, “Just been down in the Verge, that’s all. Seeing that Jimmy Black-Eyes you mentioned.”
“Oh yeah?” Her tone shifted from lazy into one of bright interest. “Was he Italian?”
“Not exactly,” Gray said. “Duwamish Sons. Your man was dealing with some really nasty creatures down there, honey.”
She blew out a long breath of exasperation. “I told you, Dan, he wasn’t my man. I think he wasn’t really anyone’s but his own, you know?”
She sounded annoyed now, and he winced. “I’m sorry, Angie. It was just a bad scene down there. That guy Black-Eyes, let’s just say you should be glad he’s not coming to your door.”
“Oh, that sounds intriguing.” Girls were so strange sometimes. “Any reason why?”
“He’d eat you alive.” He let his voice dip, let her know he wasn’t being figurative.
She was quiet for a moment. “I see,” she finally said. “Well. I knew you wouldn’t let him get anywhere near me, Dan. I knew you’d keep me safe.”
Gray closed his eyes and sighed. He would, or at least he’d try. The idea of James Black-eyes and his crew of merry murderers smashing down her door conjured a cocktail of rage and fear inside of him. His brain conjured images of her fleeing in screaming terror, them catching up to her, the hissing ceramic wedge of the saw…
“Yeah,” he said, and opened his eyes. The light banished the traitorous images away. “I’ll protect you, honey. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Now it was her turn to be quiet. It was as if she were in the car with him. “I won’t,” she said, her voice…warm, soft. Like he imagined she would be in bed with him. He could almost smell her. “Come by tonight, all right? I want to see you.”
“I will.” You’re damned straight he would. On fire, and straight off the edge off the world. “I better get off here.”
It was that last bit that brought a bright and silvery laugh from her. “Not until tonight, I hope,” she purred, and then he heard her make a wet kissing sound. “I’ll see you later, then.” The line hung up on her end, and he was alone with the sound of the road and the hum of the hydrogen engine.
Life could be really good for a cop. Really good. He grinned like an idiot as the car continued along its course.
Chapter Ten
He was halfway back to Central, just beyond the inner edge of the Verge, when the car’s console chimed an incoming call. “Answer,” Gray told it, hoping that it might be Angie; instead, he got the faceless drone of the dispatch system.
“Car Number Six Four Six Mary Seven,” it intoned, and Gray found himself clenching at the mention of his car code. He had an idea of what was coming next. “Proceed to 627 Queen Anne Street, Atomah Boutique. Body found on premises, possible Alpha Nine Zero. Proceed immediately to location, officers are on scene. Be advised, media presence has been reported.”
Motherfucker. “Confirmed, dispatch. I’m on my way.” The call terminated, leaving Gray there to fume in silence. Alpha nine zero meant a murder attached to an existing case – the only one he had. Another goddamned spine murder. In the middle of the New City. Right on Queen fucking Anne, and with the press around! Frustration boiled through him, stinging the back of his neck with its heat. He knew that the press would be getting involved at some point, considering how hard he’d been deflecting them – but now he was going to have to show up with a camera in his face. Well, he thought as he directed the car to adjust its course to the new address, at least I’m gonna look damned good on network feed.
They were such small mercies, but at least they carried him on.
Calling Atomah a ’boutique’ was sort of a misnomer – what it was, in fact, was a rapid-recovery medical center focusing on exotic forms of cosmetic surgery. The boutique aspect of it came from the fact that you could get more than just your standard work done here; you could also get the really bizarre, artistic shit that was so in fashion these days. One could come out looking like a beauty queen, or like an overinflated, plastic exaggeration of the same – you know, just for kicks. ‘Normal’ beauty was so commonplace now that it had lost its meaning for the fashionable set; people like James Black-Eyes would be considered chic until he tore your throat out. Frankly, Gray hated places like Atomah, and he did not look forward to setting foot inside it as he parked the Vectra across the street next to a pair of patrol cars.
Atomah took up the first four floors of a Neo-Deco Revival structure couched between mall blocks. The McKellan Office Tower was a monstrosity of fluted steel and chrome ribbons on a flat concrete facade, stretching up eighty stories like a big middle finger from the past beside its elegant modern fellows. Gray could almost hear Atlas shrugging from the lobby. There were no windows in the first ten floors, just the name of the boutique spelled out in tall, stark sans-serif capitals over the building’s doors. What an edifice of blank consumerism it was! If Gray wasn’t going to deal with another murder he might have appreciated the architecture, but today he saw things differently. Today, it was merely the scrubbed face of an abattoir.
It being a weekend, the building had been nearly empty; a group of Pacifiers were talking with a small knot of people in business wear off to the side. A holographic cordon had been set up around the front of the building, and a pair of Pacifiers hung by the door, far less armored up than their cousins down in the Verge. They wore just light vests over their uniforms, with submachine guns slung politely across their backs. Up here in the middle of the New City, it really wasn’t necessary to walk around tank-style; this was civilization. Or it normally was, anyway.
Gray got out of the Vectra and got the field investigation kit out of the back of the car, squinting at the area as he closed the trunk and approached the cordon. He looked for the media presence that the dispatch mentioned, but he couldn’t see anything obvious; no reporters standing around with camera crew, no big purple NewsNetNow van waiting to discharge a media team. Was it possible that they could have already taken off without talking to him? God, he hoped so. Media relations was never his forte; that was Carter’s strength.
The two Pacifiers at the door saw him coming and waved him over. As he came closer, he saw that one of them was the usual squarish guy, but the other was a fairly solid woman. The helmets obscured basically everything at a distance, but up close he saw a pale, pointed chin and a smiling mouth beneath the smoky visor.
&n
bsp; “Hey, Detective,” said the woman in a bright and friendly voice; warm and welcoming, it was definitely a nice change from the usual clipped Pacifier asshole. He’d forgotten that they usually saved the ones with personality to work with the uptown crowd. “Kate Murdock, Pacification. This is Tony Bradstreet.”
“Hey there,” chimed her partner, who gave him a little salute off the brow of his helm.
Gray nodded to the two of them. “Officers,” he said, “Thanks. I guess you knew I was coming?”
“Checked the caseboard,” said Bradstreet. “Saw your face. Pretty hard to miss – you clean up much nicer than the usual badge.”
“I’ll say,” Murdock said with a chuckle. “Anyway. We were the first ones on the scene, here. Thorne and Jiang over there are taking statements from people upstairs but nobody was in a position to see anything.”
“The scene’s secure?”
“Absolutely.” Murdock jerked a thumb behind her. “We’ve got hard seals on the door to the boutique, and we’ve got buzzer drones watching the lobby.”
Gray was pleased about that. “Glad to see you folks are on it,” he said. You got a much better class of operation up here, that’s for sure. “I heard there was media around. Where’d they go?”
“There was a NewsNetNow van around,” said Murdock, “But we ran ‘em off. Politely, of course – I imagine you’ll get word from them later.”
“I didn’t know that you could do that,” said Gray, his brows arched. “They’re usually pretty damned tenacious.”
The two Pacifiers looked at one another, somewhat guilty. “Well,” said Bradstreet, “We kind of told ‘em that you’d call them after the scene. You know, so that they wouldn’t get in the way of things. Exclusive.”
“Preservation of the scene and of company reputation,” Murdock said, stiffening a bit in preparation for what the angry protest she obviously expected to come. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
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