Lunatic City

by T. Allen Diaz

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. Should we put that in Lenny’s epitaph?”

  Dana could curse with the best. When she was done, she said, “You don’t play very fucking fair. You know that, Frank?”

  I did. I also knew that I couldn’t afford to play by the rules. Neither could Lenny.

  “All right, goddamn you,” she said. “What are you asking me?”

  I gave her the rundown of my evening.

  “Midnight at Pennington Station?” She said.

  “Yeah.”

  She broke the connection.

  *******

  I went home and drew a breath of Suzanne’s body spray for the first time in three days. I flipped the light switch and plopped onto the couch. It was comfortable, and I decided to sit there before heading off to bed.

  That’s where I awoke when my pReC tripped. It was Janet Foxx.

  “I need you down here today.”

  “What time?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  I looked at the clock. It was five-thirty. I’d slept less than three hours. “Ok. I’ll leave now.”

  I did take the time to shower and change. Things were happening pretty fast. This might be my last chance to take one for a while.

  It was getting towards seven before I reached Janet Foxx’s office. It wasn’t in Piper’s tower offices. In fact, it seemed to be all hers. It was what we called an add-on. The Street often built single or group occupancies out from the hi-rise monoliths rising towards the sky. It gave the place an earth-like ambiance and gave sections of downtown a little personality.

  Foxx’s officer resembled something called a brownstone on earth. It stood three stories and was one of a dozen similar occupancies that dominated the block. A wide stone set of stairs climbed to a dark wood door with gold knobs. Shrubbery lined the front of the front of her building and a pair of thin trees flanked the stairs, creating a wispy-thin canopy. A small bronze sign hung from a post in front of the tree to the right: J. Foxx, Esq.

  I had to knock pretty loud to be heard. She met me with a scowl. I got the impression that she didn’t smile much. “No secretaries to do your light work?”

  “We call them assistants, and no, it’s too early.” She moved to the back.

  The smell of coffee, real coffee, filled the office. My body went into cravings. “Ok if I get a pot to drink?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You mean a cup?”

  “Take a good look at me. Does it look like one cup will do?”

  She laughed aloud. “Fair enough. My office is in there,” she said. “I think you’ll need it, anyway.”

  I grinned and moved past leather furniture and over plush carpeting. It was a nice place, as expensive in décor as Piper’s but with more taste. It was chic and classy rather than gaudy and ostentatious. The decorations were expensive and complemented each other but were less cluttered than Piper’s place. It was a good example of less-is-more.

  I stepped across her threshold and into her office. My eyes fell on the man leaning back on her desk, and my smile died.

  “Morning, Mr. Parker!”

  I looked at the man with dead eyes. “Simon.”

  “I bet you thought you were real hot shit, walking into The Olympian like that. Huh?”

  “What do you want?”

  Simon smiled. He was dressed in a sleek black suit. His shirt was starched and his tie black. “It’s been almost two weeks. My boss is getting antsy. We’re starting to think you’re sandbagging us.”

  “Us?” I said. “He taking you under his wing these days? I don’t remember things being so warm between you two.”

  His nose wrinkled in a snarl, and he took a step in my direction.

  “There’ll be no bloodshed in this office, Mr. Frost,” said Foxx. “This rug is rare on Earth. It’s the only one of its kind here on the Moon. I don’t care who your boss is. You mess it up, getting sued will be the least of your problems.”

  He glared at her.

  She held his gaze and handed me a huge mug of coffee without taking her eyes off of his. I wondered which of them would be making the bigger mistake. I decided it was Simon.

  He must’ve decided that, too, because he put a crooked smile on his face and said, “I need an update from your client. That’s all.”

  Foxx looked at me, her face severe. “Parker, let’s have it. There anything to report?”

  I shook my head. “I’m pursuing every lead. I don’t exactly have an army to canvass the city, you know.”

  “I can help with that,” said Simon.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “You’re not my partner.”

  I didn’t like the way he smiled at me. “Whatever. I’ll tell Mr. Katsaros that you have nothing to report. He should like that.”

  Simon stood and walked towards the door. He paused to lean into my space.

  I didn’t move.

  He smiled again and left the room.

  Foxx closed the door and looked at me. “I don’t believe I like that man.”

  Me, either.

  *******

  Foxx held me for a short meeting. Suzanne and Maddy were safe in a topside apartment, courtesy of Angelo Katsaros. I didn’t care for that. I also didn’t care for the thought that Simon Frost was in overall charge of their security, but the alternative was worse.

  Foxx had moved for and gotten a continuance. I wouldn’t have to be in family court again for another couple of weeks. I wanted to see Maddy and asked Foxx about that, but it was going nowhere. I understood and let it go.

  She had a report from Pete Wendell, too. It was scribed onto an e-file she popped into my pReC. I could read it later, at my leisure. I stood to leave and she said, “Mr. Parker?”

  I looked back at her.

  “Your wife sent you a communication through the lines, if you will.”

  My heart began a sprint. “Oh?”

  My pReC pinged to let me know I’d received another file from Janet Foxx, Esquire. “You know what it’s about?”

  “I was told that it was personal.”

  It was beating faster. “Thank you, Miss Foxx.”

  “Janet.” She held out her hand.

  I took it. “Janet. Call me Frank.”

  She smiled. It was a shame she didn’t do it more often. “I’ll do that, Frank.”

  I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I headed to Fernando’s for toast, faux eggs and coffee. It made me miss the stuff Foxx had fed me, but I would need to capitalize on every source of caffeine I could get for the next thirty-six hours or so.

  I sat in one of the booths and accessed the message that Suzanne had sent me. Her face filled my vision. I could see that she’d been crying. My stomach lurched with fear because I knew it was gonna be bad.

  “Frank,” she said, “I wanted you to know that Maddy and I are safe and sound here in The Upper City.” She paused and looked at me for what felt like an hour. “I really appreciate all you’re doing to keep us safe. Shelly says you aren’t pressing for custody. She says you’re paying for our apartment.”

  There was another long pause.

  “It means a lot to both of us. I’m not supposed to say anything about where we are, but Maddy loves it here. She sends her love, but I didn’t want to send anything, right now. I don’t think that’ll always be the case, but for now… ok?

  “She does love you. Please stay safe.”

  And, she was gone. The sun rose on my soul and I knew I must’ve been smiling like a fool sitting in that booth. All wasn’t lost, after all.

  I looked out at the crowd and enjoyed the moment. Twenty minutes must’ve gone by before I thought to access Wendell’s report. It was a doozy!

  He had obtained official records of the Tsaris’ investigation. It was incomplete and much of it was redacted, but the
re was some interesting reading. The investigation was centered on the leaks that kept sinking our cases with The Lunatics. Almost a dozen confidential informants had been killed by The Lunatics since 2248. Bugs were mysteriously discovered or avoided, surveillance thwarted and two sworn, undercover Tycho City police officers had been ambushed and hospitalized.

  The report stopped short of blaming the intelligence gaffs on the Thirty-third Precinct, but it was clear that someone was thinking along those lines. It’s not clear what put Rick and I in their crosshairs, but they’d been looking at us from the days of Ramirez’s notorious Lunatic crackdown.

  Andrew Tsaris wasn’t just a member of IAB, he was in charge of an investigation into TCPD institutional corruption. The unofficial word was that he had been given something very close to autonomy and was on a personal head-hunt for the mayor. Tsaris had been in everyone’s business, checking time logs and call records. Rodson had been investigated. So had Ken Schoaler. Dana Cooper had been, too. He’d been taking a hard look at the Thirty-third Precinct.

  I’d heard some of this in the police department rumor mill. Cops could out-gossip any group of old women twice their size. It was often as reliable, but there were times it had an uncanny accuracy.

  Some allege that he had a judicial writ giving him expanded search and seizure powers to streamline the investigation. That didn’t seem like something that would pass any legal litmus test, but word was that the mayor’s office had an axe to grind with the TCPD and sacking the department was a good way to pay some campaign debts. There was chatter of ‘privatization’. It had become Ramirez’s favorite battle cry. He just needed some real proof of pervasive corruption in the TCPD.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. This didn’t tell me anything specific, but it did tell me one thing: this was no scalpel, it was a meat cleaver. Tsaris was looking in every corner and every back room. He was turning the TCPD upside down. He was looking to close our doors forever, turn our jobs over to bought-and-paid-for mercenaries with badges.

  That explained the full-court press and his hard-on for me: he was trying to link us to a broader conspiracy. He was trying to make the whole TCPD corrupt. His marching orders were to burn our department down with controversy and corruption, so the mayor’s private cops could rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

  That still didn’t explain everything. Even had Rick been dirty, his killer would likely have been a co-conspirator. So, why the hell not turn over every stone in the name of finding him? How did letting this killer go serve the TCPD or the mayor’s political agenda? I rubbed my head.

  I hated it when the things you learned just raised more questions. I needed more to go on, and more time. But I didn’t have either. I had to get to the Thirty-third Precinct.

  *******

  Dana let me in a side door. A hidden camera looked on, but it was rendered blind by budget cuts. The same budget cuts left a lot of empty cubicles so it was easy enough to find one with something resembling privacy.

  She pulled an interactive holo-screen. Familiar views stood in crisp silence. “Ok,” she said. “Your boy was in the shitter on the Pennington train platform, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,” she said. “I’m sure you remember that those cameras are TAPD authority, right?”

  “Yeah, I remember, Dana.”

  I could hear her smiling. “Don’t be so sensitive, Parker. I’m risking my ass to help you. The least you could be is gracious.”

  I thought about her being under investigation and felt guilty. I’d felt so personally persecuted. I hadn’t noticed the impact it was having on other people, especially Dana. She was really taking a chance helping me. I was putting her in a terrible spot. If only there was another way. “I’m sorry, Dana. I really appreciate this.”

  She looked over her shoulder and nodded.

  Her face was back on the screen when she said, “Here’s your boy, taking the corner. He’s pretty fast! I don’t remember you being that fast, Parker.”

  That’s about the time I came down and did my barrel roll across the pavement.

  “Not that graceful, either.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said. “Live it up.”

  The rest was pretty simple: I ran as fast as I could. He ran faster.

  “Ok,” she said. “Here’s where your boy pulls a little disappearing act.”

  The camera was labeled 4300 Waxhaw Street. It looked south and recorded Henson making the corner at Market Street. He bounced left into a building lobby. I came around too many seconds later. I scanned the front of that very building.

  “Stop,” she said, and split the view between two cameras. This one was labeled 3900 Essex and looked north. The one on the top showed me looking left at the front of the building. The one on the bottom showed him just stepping out of my view, headed south back towards Market.

  Apprehension touched my soul. If he got back on the train, I’d wasted our time, but Dana was enjoying this, too much. She was too proud of herself. This was going somewhere. “He didn’t go back to the train station?”

  She shook her head. “It would have been the safest thing to do, but it’s unlikely he had any way of knowing that.”

  I nodded and watched him bound first down Market Street and then south again by the Pennington Station and then under the tracks. He was following a southern course along the east side of the train tracks. He zigged and zagged here and there, but he seemed comfortable that he’d lost me.

  I thought of how casual he’d walked to the train station. He wasn’t being so casual now. He wasn’t likely to be so casual again. He took a left on Drane Street and strode into a building marked 110 West Drane Street.

  “I’ve monitored the camera activity around the building. He hadn’t left there as of your arrival here.”

  “But, there’s no way to get into their private security system without a writ. What can you tell me about the building?”

  “It’s owned by P & P Management Group, and it’s pretty low rent. As close as you can get to a slum in The Upper City. Perfect place for a low-income reporter to put up a source needing shelter.”

  I nodded. “Pretty obvious, too.”

  “Yeah, but there are a couple score of these buildings in The Upper City. You know that. Where else would the tourist that can almost afford a trip to the Moon stay?”

  I nodded. “What they lose in rent, they save on amenities.”

  “True story. This place might not even have any working cameras.”

  “Well,” I said. “There’s certainly advantages to that.”

  “I thought you’d see it that way.”

  I crouched until I was eye-level with Dana. I whispered her name.

  She looked at me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Tsaris investigated you?”

  She diverted her eyes.

  “Had I known, I’d have tried to leave you out of this.”

  She glared. “Would you, Parker? Maybe we could put that on Lenny’s epitaph.”

  I frowned. “I know. I’ve played dirty and you’ve helped me. I appreciate it.”

  She sighed and nodded. “I know you’re doing your best. Same as me.”

  I managed a weak smile and stood. “Thanks again, Dana. I hope I can help you out some day.”

  She didn’t reply.

  I left her and walked out to the squad room. I was just making the exit when Schoaler entered. He took half a step back. “The fuck are you doing here, Parker?”

  “Had paperwork to file. You know, fighting for my job, and all.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  The squad room had taken an interest in us.

  “This is no place for a crooked cop,” he said.

  I should’ve kept my big mouth shut, but sometimes I just had to be me. “I hear this is a good place for crooked cops. I hear Tsaris turne
d this whole goddamned precinct upside down, starting with you.”

  His face twisted with rage, and he took half a step towards me.

  “Schoaler! Parker! What the hell are you two doing?”

  Rodson stood in the doorway to his office. His starched button-up was white. His shield was clipped to his belt.

  “Sorry, Cap,” I said. “Just came by for a little paperwork. I won’t bother you anymore. You have a good day.”

  He looked like he believed me as much as Schoaler did, but he didn’t push the issue. I glanced around the squad room. Everyone was looking at me.

  Dana even stood from the cubicle where we’d hidden from prying eyes. Her face was pure contempt. I couldn’t blame her. I really needed to learn when to shut the fuck up.

  I turned and left.

  I wasn’t even out of the building when my pReC flashed. It was a message from Dana: I don’t need help like that, Parker!!!!!

  CHAPTER XV

  The Upper City had always been a temple to decadence. But, it had always had a proud, unrepentant quality to it. It was flashy and over-the-top. That was the point: “Come to the Moon and leave your Terrestrial inhibitions at home. We live by different rules here.”

  West Drane Street was seedy but in a way that made you think it had something to hide. It was clean enough, but there was no flash, no polish. It’s what the rest of The Upper City might have looked like before the makeover that turned it into the gaudy monstrosity it was now.

  I walked in to number 110 and assessed the lobby. It had a muted quality to it that screamed poor, or, at the very least, not rich. There was little difference in a town that made its living comping twenty-five-hundred bill rooms just to get patrons to gamble or whore away ten thousand.

  There was a leasing office on the street level. It was comfortable. There was no marble, no ornate furniture, but the carpeting was plush and the all-glass wall made it feel downright classy to a bottom-dweller like me.