“What if Baraka wanted out?”
“You mean out of the Easton MS crew?”
“Yeah, how does that play? After all,” Mac said, “in my experience, gang members don’t look upon it favorably when one of their own decides to call it quits.”
“You been watching too many vids. Folks around here leave this game for one of two reasons: they dead or they get a better opportunity. And Baraka ain’t around no more.”
Most people rode the tram, as the luxury of personal vehicles was no longer practical. A few, the very rich, had their own transportation, as did police and other emergency services personnel. Ade drove a Mantori Grendel. A classic design with all mechanical parts, not one computer chip on board. They were designed to be EMP proof. Ade’s was a large red behemoth with raised fins in the rear. What looked to be a simple convertible top was another layer of shielding. Ade enjoyed styling and profiling as much as the next man, but was still security conscious. One only had to be trapped on the wrong side of the blue line during the Trying TimesTM once to take precautions quite seriously.
The road wound its way through the outer skirts of the city, through the hillside out of which Waverton had been built. For those who knew Waverton and Old Town, sometimes traveling the outer roads that looped the city was the most direct way to get from Point A to Point B. It also allowed time for the mind to wander and relax.
Sometimes, however, the burgeoning silence needed to be filled.
“Where are we headed?” Mac asked.
“To confirm this story with Chike.”
“Confirm what? That Tin Tin and Duppy were his pet projects? That doesn’t get us any closer to anything.”
“You’re right. I can drop you off.”
“Nah, that’s all right. I’m the curious sort. Besides, I don’t have anything at home waiting for me.”
“Except your grief.”
Even if what Ade said was true, it felt like an invasion of privacy by pointing it out. Mac wanted the room to do his own thing in his own time. The idea of pursuing Kiersten’s murderer gave him something to focus on. A distraction. Gave purpose to his anger and grief and pain. But acknowledging that, even the inadvertent push in by Ade, pressed too closely in on Mac.
“Don’t you have some tragic backstory?”
“No, I’m a well-adjusted motherfucker,” Ade grinned. “Wife. Two kids.”
“And a brother you don’t talk to. Or acknowledge.” Mac popped a Redi-Smoke between his lips then caught Ade’s disapproving glare. “Don’t look at me like that. I am a detective, and it wasn’t much of a secret. What? I don’t get to ask about you or provide obtrusive commentary?”
“Family. That minefield never gets easier. It always hurts.”
“So what do you do to get by?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Mac asked.
“No porn. No booze. No drugs. No Stream. No comfort eating. No throwing myself into destructive relationships. None of the little addictions we use to medicate from the pain of life.”
“Sometimes that pain is real,” Mac said to the tinge of judgment he heard in Ade’s words. “You may start off with painkillers because your shoulder isn’t right from taking a bullet some years back. Then codeine ’cause your knees and back are shot but you want to stay on the job. Then one day you’re studying the shit pile of your life thinking, ‘I pay taxes, I’m a pretty good guy. What’s with the fucked-up turn of events?’ Then you just say ‘Fuck it.’ Whatever it takes to get by.”
“I wasn’t judging.”
“You were, while trying to sound like you aren’t. So what do you do?”
“I let it hurt.”
“That it?”
“I feel the full weight of the pain. Let it remind me that there’s a price to relationships…and that I’m still alive to feel it. I deal with it rather than keep shoving it down.”
“You make it sound easy,” Mac said.
“You know better,” Ade said. “I’m surprised you make it out of bed most mornings.”
“Shit, me too.” Mac placed his Redi-Smoke back in its pack. “So what happened with you and your brother?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You went into the force. He joined the hippy convicts. Something happened.”
“What do you want to hear? That mommy and daddy beat us? That some rogue uncle touched him? Things aren’t always so melodramatic. Sometimes dysfunction is simply…dysfunction.”
“Well, shit. That was anticlimactic.”
“Sorry to disappoint. We’re just private people. We don’t all need to be all searching for…whatever you searching for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mac asked, but Ade only drove.
They pulled off on the exit leading into Easton. The searing lights from the surrounding buildings, the noise of people yelling, music clanging, were all familiar and comforting. Ade parked near Chike’s claimed home. A small, round-faced boy eyed them. Ade offered him ten credits to watch his car. The boy negotiated another five. As Mac and Ade strode up the sidewalk, the front door opened and Chike came out to greet them. Elia shadowed him but kept a discreet distance.
“Evening, officers. What brings you back to us on so fine an evening?” Chike asked.
“We got to talk,” Ade said.
“Why now?”
“You’re in the thick of it, and I can’t protect you much longer.”
“Is that what you been doing? Protecting me? Who the hell asked you to?” Chike stepped close to Ade; drops of spittle flew out of his mouth as he raised his voice.
“That’s my job. It’s what big brothers do.”
“Where was my ‘big brother’ when I needed him?”
“Chike, I…”
“You. Left.”
“I had to,” Ade said with a too-defensive strain in his voice. “I wasn’t going to go into the family business. The law wasn’t for me, not like that. I had to go my own way.”
“You left me with them.”
“What did you want me to do? Wait for you to get through Edu-Link? I thought it would be easier on you that way. I’d take the hit for being the disappointing son…”
“Yeah, that’d be great if I was who they wanted. But I was an afterthought. I was their backup plan. And I couldn’t even do that. You were the one they wanted. You were the one they loved.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? Because it’s too hard to hear out loud?” Chike shoved him. “Dad had it all worked out. Sent you to the special school. You and he went on all those trips. At the table, he was always quizzing you, grooming you. He had…expectations. Of you. Not of me. Never of me.”
“Chike, don’ start re-remembering our childhood now. You had been getting into shit and fucking up as long as I can remember.”
“Because I’ve known for that long. Just ’cause you turned a blind eye to him…”
“I’ve been looking out for you, Chike, whether you believe it or not. And right now, shit is piling up at your doorstep.”
“Here it comes. The latest iteration of ‘Blame Chike.’”
“Save your self-pitying nonsense. You’re out here, bringing folks together. The Carmillon. Easton MS crew. A cynical observer might think you were creating one huge operation. One legit, the other less so. But sometimes working well outside the law allowed you to get certain things done, as well as being an alternate funding source. Baraka was part of your organization. Duppy and Tin Tin were among your disciples. Elia, your lieutenant, was…seen in Kiersten’s apartment. You don’t think things start adding up and pointing to you?”
“Arrest me, then.” Chike threw his arms up, a pantomime of waiting to be cuffed.
“I can’t.”
“Because you have no case.”
“Because you’re still my baby brother. And I know you didn’t do this. You knew Kiersten was Security Force…”
“Because my brother’s a cop, and I learned to smell swine a mile away.”<
br />
“Fuck you.” But Ade’s rejoinder had no sting.
“On the real, we did know that while we were planning our latest foray against the instruments of societal ruin, she ran across some stuff.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t have a chance to look at it. But it had her scared.”
“What was your…foray?”
“I can’t tell you that. Not without a lawyer, ’cause I’d be admitting to some shit.”
“It have to do with the Lifthrasir Group?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re up on them. So you can back off.”
“No can do.”
“I said we got this.”
“Go ahead, then. Do your do and let me know how that works out for you. Meanwhile, we’re moving ahead with our offensive.”
“Offensive? Who are you, General Patton now?”
“People like the Lifthrasir Group live above the law. You can’t reason with them. You can’t touch them.”
“But you can?”
“Sometimes the law has a way of getting in the way of justice,” Chike said.
Mac smiled. When Ade turned to him, he shrugged his shoulders.
“Yeah, well why don’t we let the law take one more bite of the apple? You got a name for me?” Ade asked. “Let me at least see what I can find out. Do my big brother thing.”
Chike smiled. “Charleston Ptacek.”
“Fuck me,” Mac whispered.
Expensive artifacts—backlit on nearly invisible shelves—lined the walls of the office of Lifthrasir Group executive Charleston Ptacek. Forty-five years old. Straight black hair slicked back with old-fashioned hair grease. Round lenses rested high on his nose, frameless, but they allowed images on them like a screen. An expansive desk created a gulf between him and the detectives. An untouched cup of coffee steamed at one side of his desk. He turned the pictures of his family away from their lingering gazes. The windows of his office frosted for privacy.
Still an officious son of a bitch, Mac thought and suppressed the urge to punch him in the face.
“So good to see you again, Mr. Peterson. Timely as ever,” Ptacek said.
“Mr. Ptacek, so sorry for being late. My friend here,” Mac lifted his chin toward Ade, “had to have his morning pancakes and coffee. He’s a beast before breakfast. You know how it goes.”
Ade stepped forward, his imposing frame eliciting no reaction from the executive.
“Do you know when I saw it was you looking to speak to me, I canceled an appointment to fit you in. I haven’t seen you since the civilian review board at your hearing. I just had to see what became of you for myself.”
“I’m surprised that you had the time.”
“Oh, I always have time for old friends.”
Fuck you, you ridiculous, needle-dicked windbag. You wouldn’t know good Security Force members or their work no matter how many of your corrupt buddies they sent up to Sizemore. Mac balled his fists and scooted to the edge of his chair.
“Do you know why we’re here?” Ade touched Mac’s shoulder and continued the questioning.
“I was briefed this morning, yes. Our name came up incidental to an investigation you’re conducting. You screwed up, one of yours died, and now you need a scapegoat. Yes, I know exactly why you’re here. I thought the matter settled.”
“Consider this a follow-up. We’re all about customer service,” Mac said.
“We? Have you been reinstated into Security Force and I didn’t know about it?”
“Former Detective Peterson is here as a special consultant.” Ade remained composed. “There was a report of a break-in a couple of weeks ago. Mr. Ptacek, what is it you do?”
“My department oversees biosythentics, mostly. Literally cloning parts for soldiers. Or Security Force. Get a leg blown off, have a copy of your own leg grafted back on, that sort of thing. The rest is research. Government.”
“Above my pay grade, right?” Mac motioned around at the high-end office furniture and walls.
“And clearance,” Ptacek said. “Tell me again how you plan to tie the Lifthrasir Group to your case?”
“Probably nothing,” Ade said with a faux deflated whisper. Without taking his eyes from the man, he laid a datasheet on the table in front of Ptacek, opened it, and pointed to several lines on the screen. “Did you ever find out who was behind your burglary?”
“No.” Ptacek bridged his fingers in front of his face.
“Great news, Mr. Ptacek, I might have a lead in that case,” Mac said. “I suspect a woman broke in, under the guise of possibly vandalizing the place, and snooped around where she shouldn’t. Maybe took notes, a few photos, information on things she shouldn’t have. Important, secret shit that corporations would hire a team to find and retrieve,” Mac interjected. “Information they might have failed to destroy.”
“Interesting theory, Detective,” Ptacek said. “Though I suspect you don’t have a shred of evidence to back up your theories.”
“We have the notes. They paint a disturbing picture.”
“I doubt you understood what you were looking at, and if you did, then you are thinking entirely too small. I’ve got just as good an imagination for making up stories. What if aliens fell from the sky one night and said, ‘Hey, want us to show you something neat?’ Our friendly visitors give us the technology to tap into a near-endless energy source. Completely hypothetical, of course.
Mac scratched at his face to cover his bemusement as he chewed over Ptacek’s words. “Okay. You’re saying aliens gave you a near-endless source of energy?”
“Gentlemen, humanity stands on a beach studying a sea we don’t understand, much like the loincloth-wearing aborigines swinging through trees—or whatever it is they do—trying to fathom our cars. The world is on the precipice of ridding itself of poverty, oil dependence, hunger.”
“What do they get out of it?”
“Perhaps someplace to expand to.”
“Like drilling rights or what?”
“They might not be so different than us. Look like us. With a few modifications, grow acclimated to our ways.”
“The eruptions?” Ade asked.
“Naturally, a more familiar landscape, not to mention the shift in the composition of the atmosphere. Easily chalked up to pollution,” Ptacek continued. “Of course, as with any new venture, there are risks. Containment can be an issue. Ruptures could occur.”
“The blue lights in the sky? Like a ruptured energy spill?”
“Do you need me to connect every dot? Should there be a breech, cleanup can become an issue. We can learn much even in how the messes are treated.”
“So let me get this straight…” Mac started.
“There’s nothing to get straight. I haven’t told you anything. Only a fanciful story.”
“And if someone else stumbled across this story?”
“Errant stories, like energy sources, need to be gotten in front of. Contained.”
“And the people in charge of this…containment?”
“Government money. Paid for by senators, representatives, executives, presidents…the kind of folks that guarantee that this investigation stops now. I would wager to guess that all of your notes, evidence, and logs are being seized right now.”
“Is Deputy Chief Hollander on your payroll?”
“All of the LG Security Force is on my payroll.”
“What about…Harley Wilson?”
“Who?”
“Why tell us anything?”
“You need to understand the precarious nature of your situation. If there is even idle speculation around the water cooler that your worlds will cease to exist. Long before any of my people see the inside of an interrogation room.” Charleston Ptacek buttoned his jacket as he got up, then extended his arm toward the door. The windows cleared for everyone to watch their dismissal. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I believe you know enough to close the book on your investigation. And you ma
y want to watch the news feed. Good day.”
Mac followed Ade out the door, mildly confused, but their mouths shut. When they stepped outside of Ptacek’s office, a security detail met them to escort them out. The Lifthrasir Group’s building jutted against the downtown skyline, tall and proud, indifferent to its neighboring buildings. The two detectives waited in its shadow.
Finally, Mac broke the silence. “Let’s see what the chief has to say.”
Every news media outlet from the National Investigator down to the Brazz Report gossip feed ran stories related to the Lifthrasir Group’s release of new technology. A renewable, cheap energy source, medical advancements, a slew of drugs—the implication being that the Lifthrasir Group was about to change the way of life on the planet. The head of the Lifthrasir Group addressed world leaders, promising that some of the technology would be available completely free simply to better all of humanity. In the background of some of the photo ops Mac spied Charleston Ptacek, all but taunting him. The story for media and public consumption drowned out all concern for anything else being worked on. Ade and Mac stormed into Hollander’s office.
“Whose payroll are you on? Are you running this investigation as the chief of detectives or as a cleaner for the Lifthrasir Group?”
“You talked to Ptacek?” Hollander pushed away from his desk.
“It’s what you wanted us to do, right? You leave us a bread crumb, we follow it home.”
“It’s done. Over. You needed to know why and what the stakes were. I figured I owed you that much.”
“You don’t owe us shit. You owe Kiersten. She’s one of us. And she goes unavenged.”
“I know. And I’m sorry about that. I really am. She got too close, and for them it became a…teachable moment. Charleston Ptacek brazenly showing me just how untouchable they are. That anyone, be they a detective or a civilian, could be…” Hollander’s voice cracked with shame, averting his eyes from Mac’s.
Mac’s face reddened. The worst part about grief was the sense of impotence. Unable to protect the ones he loved. Unable to be there for them when they needed him. And his opportunity to finally do something again left him powerless to do anything.
“I need to get out of here. I can’t be in the same room as this excuse for Security Force anymore.”
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