Damage Time

by Colin Harvey

  Wednesday

  Even on only one beer Shah felt groggy the next morning, but managed to reach the office only five minutes later than usual.

  Just after nine-thirty his eyepiece chimed.

  Harper said, "Let's talk about Sunny Kotian."

  "When?"

  "Now."

  "But–" Shah held up his hands. "OK. I'll talk to my union rep."

  "No need. He's already here."

  Shah grabbed his jacket, frustrated at having no time to farm out any of his outstandings, and fuming at the peremptory nature of the summons – including the fact that Harper had already talked to his union rep. Shah felt that he'd been played.

  His mood got no better when he passed Bailey in the corridor. She looked away.

  What was that about? Shah wondered. He lowered his head like a bull about to charge. By the time he had marched the eight blocks to One Police Plaza, he'd psyched himself into an unusually aggressive mood. The truth was that he was scared, and anger seemed a better response than fear. He'd heard bad things about IA from every cop he'd spoken to. His stress levels climbed further when Office Security dragged him off to a side room and gave him a full body search, refusing to tell him why.

  So by the time he was allowed through to meet his rep, Lafferty, Shah was breathing heavily, and a bad headache had settled between his eyes.

  "Easy, easy," Lafferty said. The guy was even older than Shah, and chewed gum incessantly, something Shah hadn't seen for years. Lafferty led him into the interview room, where Harper was talking on his eyepiece. "Got to go," Harper said.

  "Don't rush on my account."

  Harper stared at Shah. "Problem?"

  "Dragging me out of work with no notice, so I have no time to reassign cases. So you're a Big Important Guy and you want to show me who's boss. How does interfering with ongoing work help? And I don't like that you order me direct, rather than through my rep."

  "Ah, that was my fault," Lafferty said. "I've had three different officers to rep this morning and I thought it'd be OK. Sorry."

  "Then let's get on," Shah said, pulling out a chair and dropping onto it. "Ask your questions. I'll answer what I can."

  Harper said, "If Kotian is making accusations, I'm dutybound to investigate them. You see that, don't you?"

  Shah grunted, nodded reluctantly. "I guess."

  "This feud of yours with Sunny…"

  "No feud," Shah said.

  "Oh come on, this persecution's been going on for years. You're supposed to have no memory of anything from before losing your memory, yet the first thing that you do is slip back into the old routine and go after Sunny, like a dog after a rat. You just wouldn't let it go."

  Shah took a deep breath. How to explain that slipping back into work was an easier option than confronting the emptiness of his life?

  "Well?" Harper said.

  "Didn't know if the pause was just you drawing breath before the next barrage of crap. OK, so it's like this: I have no memory of what's gone before. I read the case notes. Kotian and Junior are acquainted with a huge number of people who've disappeared, or their employees are. You can say it's because they know lots of people, but some of those who disappeared only vanished after it looked like they might embarrass the Kotians. As for going after them, I was following the directions of my superior officer. So when you've finished playing defense counsel for the Clan Kotian, you want to get to what this is all about?"

  "I agree," Lafferty interjected. "Let's not spend any longer here than we all have to. You've got Shah's eyepiece; you've had Bailey's and Stickel's."

  "All of them point to Bailey shooting a man in the back when the man was fleeing–"

  "–while firing shots–"

  "–while firing shots," Harper agreed. "But you shouldn't even have been there. You were specifically told to butt out because of your emotional involvement with someone Kotian allegedly threatened. How much was Bailey influenced by you, I wonder?"

  "Why don't you ask her?" So that was why she looked so pissed. "Listen Harper, you got a rep as a good cop. What the hell is this crap about conspiracy theories? You really think we're that desperate? We had the guy already. We didn't need to shoot him–"

  "Exactly!"

  "Except for the fact that people were in danger. No two ways about it. We had a hundredth of a second to make a call, and there looked a good chance of civilians getting killed." Shah banged his palm on the table to each word: "It was a good call."

  Lafferty said, "At least one policeman had been shot. I know you have to play Devil's Advocate, Harper, I know Kotian's lawyers are all over the Department like poison ivy, and their pressure's getting transmitted down the line, but you have nothing but claim and counterclaim." He added. "What do the shop cameras nearby show?"

  Harper's exhalation signaled deep frustration. "Most of the shops didn't even have working cameras."

  "Were any of them working?" Shah said.

  Harper was silent. Instead he shook his head as if trying to clear it.

  "So all you have is 'he said, she said' testimony," Lafferty said. "And the eyepieces."

  "Which are inconclusive," Harper said. "So until I feel that we can make a call one way or another, you're still on desk duty."

  Shah left, shaking his head, wondering whether Harper would ever make a decision – based on what he had seen, it seemed unlikely. Oh joy, Shah thought. An eternity of desk work, my ass slowly spreading across the chair.

  LII

  You call the others in on the intercept once you're sure which way the target's headed.

  When the diner providing the cover for the off-track betting shop called, you listened silently to them interrogating Forry. You'd know those smartass voices anywhere. They've drilled their way into your dreams…

  For a horrible few minutes as you weaved the T-Bird through the clumps of shoppers, workers and gawpers that it seems to suck off the sidewalk and into the road, you didn't think that you'd get to the shop in time. Sliding the car to a halt a block away, you ran for it. Raison will park it up. That's what you have a driver for.

  Forry's such a windbag he kept them talking long enough, so you just rounded the corner before they vanished at the far end of the block. Your lungs were burning, but that didn't matter; you took a deep, fiery breath and set after them. "Keep 'em in sight!" you'd gasped. Paulie, longer-legged, younger and faster than you, ran ahead.

  Luckily, the targets are so deep in conversation that they're just ambling, so you've already caught them and Paulie up by now. You could detonate a bomb beside them and they wouldn't notice it. It's harder keeping out of the nearest camera's line of sight without drawing attention from those on the far side pointing your way. Very few of them work anyway, but it would be better when the police operatives go through the data that you leave no clear view for facial recognition software to match, and do nothing to attract their enhancement gizmos.

  Your eyepiece was stolen to order a few days before. You call up a map on it showing that there's only one alleyway they can go down when they cross the next intersection. This near Joan of Arc Park and its lowlifes, crowds have already thinned out. "Move in," you say.

  For a moment you fear the opportunity's missed as Marietetski dashes across the street, catching Mike and Wilkowski out of position, and is quickly followed by Shah.

  "We'll take 'em from behind," you tell the others, and Mike gives you thumbs-up to acknowledge, which is risky, but he's disposable.

  Just as Wilkowski's cosh descends, Shah stiffens and whirls, but too late, and the blow sends him sprawling, and as he lands your boot thuds into his ribs, drawing a satisfying "ugh!" from him. It jerks his head around, scraping his eyepiece away. You stomp on it, grinding it to pieces. Then you grab the old man's ankles and drag him backwards into an alleyway. Marietetski shouts, "Officer down! Track our eyepieces, we need help at eighty-sixth and–" Mike thumps him into silence.

  Shah wriggles and kicks out, his foot connecting with Paulie who grun
ts, "Bastard!" As Shah clambers to his feet you slam a fist into his ribs, driving the wind from his lungs.

  You bang your clasped fists into his shoulder blades, forcing him to his knees, and gripping his hair, yank his head back. Paulie pushes his wrists together behind his back and handcuffs him as you swab analgesic on his temple. He tries to jerk his head away, but you keep a tight grip on his hair.

  You say, "Leave him functional. I want him to be a walking, talking reminder of what happens to people who ask awkward questions."

  You enjoy seeing Shah's eyes widen in recognition.

  LIII

  For the rest of the day Shah worked in near silence. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't being treated like a pariah – a cop under investigation was nothing unusual, as Bailey and Stickel could testify – but it certainly felt like it.

  Only when he glimpsed his reflection in a shop window did he understand why the others might have stayed quiet. The set-jawed stranger who glared back at him looked capable of ripping his colleague's heads from their shoulders and chewing on them.

  As Shah approached the subway he consciously made an effort to relax, breathing out, rotating his head. Then he saw nearby commuters giving him sideways looks and stopped. The old New York where street crazies were tolerated was long gone, and he had no desire to explain himself to a transit cop.

  The ride out to Marble Hill on the One was as bleak and depressing as before, a symbolic descent from a Manhattan still recognizable as the old Big Apple – albeit fly-blown fruit – to the skeletal burnt-out remains of the suburbs, a concrete indictment of their dreams of oil-mortgaged utopia.

  The journey seemed to pass faster than before and Shah stood outside Perveza's slum before he'd had time to properly marshal his thoughts. This time the door was shut, so he pounded on it until a weary voice that could have been male or female called from inside, "Who's there?"

  "My name's Shah, I'm looking for my daughter, Perveza."

  An emaciated woman who looked nearer fifty than twentyfive opened the door

  "Hello Perveza," Shah said.

  She didn't answer but turned inside, leaving the door open, Taking it as an invitation Shah followed her in, into the kitchen where some sort of cooked meat lay on a plate, beside a solitary grilled tomato, halved. It was such a pitiful attempt at a meal that for a moment Shah wanted to hug her. It passed when Perveza said, "Whaddya want? Come tell me what a disappointment I am?"

  Shah thought, at least she's remembering to eat. "No, I came to see how you were."

  "How am I?" Perveza said. "Well, I know who you are, so I guess I must be outta stash. Gonna give me a little cash for some stash, flash?" She giggled, but her eyes teared up.

  "I'd sooner take you out, feed you up, and buy you some new clothes."

  Perveza flushed. "What use are they?"

  "Finish your dinner, before it goes cold."

  "It is cold," Perveza said. "Gus cooked it for me sometime. Someone gave it him. Said it was pork," she added defiantly.

  Shah said more to himself than her, "Probably a feral pig they caught."

  "You're not angry?"

  "Why should I be? It's your life, if you want to eat pork."

  Perveza began to cry, but Shah felt nothing except a mild irritation that her attempt at manipulation was so blatant.

  "At least when you were angry, it showed you cared!" Perveza yelled.

  "Can I ask you something?" Shah said. He'd sensed the subject was off-limits with Leslyn. He'd raised it once, and she'd said, "Don't ask," so finally that he hadn't dared.

  Perveza smiled slyly. "Will you pay me?"

  "Maybe."

  "Then maybe I'll answer."

  Shah handed her two nearly worthless thousand dollar bills. "You're younger than Rex…"

  "So?" She stuffed the money down her blouse.

  "Why do I have a memory of your mother having our first born? Calling her Perveza?"

  Perveza stared at him. Her face seemed to slowly crumple inwards. "You bastard! For years I had to listen to that shit! If it wasn't your little fucking shrine in your wardrobe, it was Rex telling me you never wanted me. You only had me to replace her when she died! I hate you, you bastard! Get out get out GET OUT!"

  Shah was almost home before he stopped shaking. Even with limited memories he'd felt anger, but never been on the receiving end of anything so raw and full of pain.

  Should he have told Perveza that he'd lost his memory? He wasn't sure it would have made any difference. Most people who knew him from before noticed the difference when they met him, but Perveza was completely absorbed in her addiction.

  Shah saw a sign saying 'Cathedral Parkway.' On an impulse he jumped out of the subway car and climbed the steps. He was shocked to note that he was a little out of breath. Age creeping up on you, old man.

  Directly opposite the station were the offices of Bannerman, Douglas and Shah. He got lucky – as he was crossing the street, Rex emerged from the glass doors. He stopped when he saw Shah. "This is a surprise." His tone gave no hint whether the surprise was a pleasant one.

  "I wondered…" Shah stopped.

  Clearly fearing an ulterior motive, Rex held up a hand. "Dad, I've heard about what happened with Sunny Kotian. I've dealt with the Kotian family in the past, so I can't answer questions about them."

  "No, that's not it," Shah said. "I've been piecing memories together, from years ago."

  "Oh, good." Rex ostentatiously checked his watch.

  "I wondered why you told Perveza that we only had her to replace her dead sister."

  Rex's face went blank. "I think it's a little late for questions like that, don't you?" He marched away.

  "Not if we're playing into damage time!" Shah shouted at Rex's retreating back.

  Shah was halfway home when he rounded a corner and nearly walked into someone talking to his eyepiece. "Got to go!" The man snapped. He beamed. "Pervez, old man! How are you?"

  Shah needed a moment. "Erokij Tosada?"

  "Exactly!" Tosada thrust out a hand. "I heard about your unfortunate mishap. This place is one big village, down to the gossip. How are you adjusting?"

  "Slowly, I'm afraid," Shah said with a rueful smile. "Well, this is a surprise." It seemed the sort of small-talk that he ought to make in the circumstances.

  Tosada took it literally, though. "Not really. It's still relatively well-populated but Manhattan's much more geographically discrete than thirty years ago." Snapping out of his reverie, he grimaced. "Sorry; lecturing's my default conversational-mode nowadays."

  Shah made an "it doesn't matter" gesture.

  Tosada said, "I'm missing our chats, you know – do you have time for coffee? Come on, say yes! There's a deli here!"

  Inside the deli, Shah's head spun as he tried to keep up with Tosada's conversational shifts, from politics to baseball to his web appearances. Tosada seemed to have strong opinions on everything. When they touched on Tosada's research, Shah said "It seems to me that immortality's fundamentally unnatural."

  "Nonsense," Tosada said. "Luddites have said that about every scientific development from powered flight to genetic engineering! Define natural, for that matter?"

  "Surely mankind's finite lifespan is an integral part of its humanity," Shah insisted.

  "You could say the same about the appendix. Does taking death away make us less human than taking away our appendix?"

  "Yes," Shah insisted. "If we're immortal, we perceive the world differently, just as I perceive it differently from before the attack. Everything is new to me you see, even when I have downloaded memories."

  Tosada nodded. "I see your point but–"

  "Why are you so vehement about immortality?" Shah said.

  "Check my profile," Tosada said. "See how old I am?"

  Shah used his eyepiece. "Sixty-five."

  "And my father was how old when he died?"

  Shah checked. "Sixty-seven."

  "My grandfather?"

  "Sixty-four. So?
"

  "I'm living on borrowed time. In damage time, to use your hockey language."

  "Nonsense!"

  "It's true," Tosada insisted. "Both were researchers, neither cracked the mystery." He turned suddenly gloomy. "Sometimes I think that we're all doomed to echo our fathers' lives."

  Shah started to object, then thought of his own father. Was that why I joined the force?

  Then he thought of how different everyone said he was now, and Rex, and wondered. "Maybe," he agreed. "But at other times we seem to live trying to avoid being our fathers."