Detective Wilcox

by Jaxon Reed

  Usually.

  But Mr. Goodman himself took Wilco aside and told him he was being offered a special assignment. There was an AOJ goon stirring up trouble. If he took her out, things would go well for Wilco. This could be his big break.

  It never occurred to Wilco that he was chosen specifically because of his lower rank in the organization. If he failed, the Meisters could plausibly deny his affiliation. Indeed, while he might spill the fact he was a Meister under intense questioning, he knew very little about them.

  In a word, Wilco was a patsy. He was an unsuspecting expendable. If he succeeded, great. If he failed, the Meisters would have at least attempted their effort and Goodman would look for someone else to fill the contract.

  Wilco pulled the car out into traffic, which was light. In this part of town, most vehicles stuck to the air.

  His plans were simple: find an opportunity and run over the cop. He would leave the scene in the resulting chaos and go back to Mr. Goodman for his promotion.

  Easy peasy.

  The woman crossed the street at the next intersection and headed for a sidewalk café. She stood, waiting for a moment near an outside table.

  Wilco floored the accelerator, sending the car’s power core into overdrive. He darted forward, aiming for the table. He would smash her between the wall.

  At the last conceivable moment his would-be victim vertically jumped and pivoted mid-air. Her boots came down in the windshield, smashing through just as Wilco hit the table, crushing it into the bricks.

  His head rocked back from the impact, stunned.

  Without losing her balance the woman pulled her feet out of the wrecked car and reached in, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him out.

  She brought his bloody face up to hers and shouted, “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

  But Wilco passed out.

  30

  News of the attempt on AD Wilcox’s life streaked around HQ like gossip. So did the question, was it indeed attempted murder or just an accident? Murder seemed a much more juicier proposition to discuss among the rank and file.

  Some pointed out the fact that two previous ADs had died in auto-pedestrian accidents. This would have marked the third, had it been successful.

  Now that people thought about it, another AD had perished in a flying car that crashed under mysterious circumstances. And flying cars do not crash that often, either.

  As a matter of fact, come to think of it, a lot of AOJ Assistant Directors had died young over the years . . . one way or another.

  Up on the tenth floor, no one gossiped. They were more concerned with what actually happened. Applegate watched security footage with Montoya. PLAIR had restricted access and at the moment people on the tenth floor were the only ones able to watch it.

  “How did she do that?” Applegate said. “No one can jump right before a car hits them.”

  His tone wavered between sounding incredulous and insulted.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Montoya said. “I read somewhere stunt doubles could do that back when they used real people to make movies. It’s possible. Maybe they teach it in Marine sergeant school or something.”

  “Nope. No one willingly jumps on top of a car racing toward them. Look at that.”

  He slowed the footage down and said, “She turns in the air and lands perfectly, taking out the driver with her feet. You can’t do that.”

  “I can’t. You can’t either. A former Marine sergeant evidently can.”

  An elevator pod dinged and they both turned to look through Applegate’s open door at the droid walking by.

  Montoya called out to her and said, “Learn anything about the guy who tried to run you over?”

  She came back to the door and stuck her head in the office.

  “Looks like he’s linked to the Burgomeisters. We’re holding him on an outstanding domestic violence warrant. Apparently he beat up his mother before leaving home to go play with the big boys.”

  “Scum,” Applegate said. “But at least we know it wasn’t a contract. The Meisters don’t touch cops.”

  “Supposedly,” the droid said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m going to question him in private later this afternoon. We’ll see.”

  “That’s uh, not regulation,” Applegate said, a tone of disapproval creeping into his voice.

  “We’re going to have a long discussion about these regulations that seem to be hindering all of our casework. But that’ll wait for later. I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on right now.”

  -+-

  Wilcox’s droid double walked into the holding cell by placing her palm on the access panel.

  The door slid back, since for all intents and purposes the droid was identical to the human AD, except for her DNA.

  Fortunately, so far as the droid was concerned, DNA samples were not needed for simple access points like this one.

  Inside, an agent looked up from the holosheet he had been reading and nodded a greeting.

  “I need some time alone with him, please.”

  The agent cleared his throat and said, “Uh, that’s not regulation, ma’am. And his law bot ain’t here yet.”

  “I’m changing the regulation. Please go up and visit Director Fonteneaux about it.”

  When he didn’t move, she bent down to his seat and put her face near his.

  “NOW!”

  He jumped up and made a hasty exit.

  Wilco Williamson sneered at her from the restraining chair on the other side of the table. He had two black eyes from where her feet hit him in the accident. He looked rather ghoulish at the moment.

  The droid walked around the table and stood over him.

  “PLAIR, I request recorders off in this room for 15 minutes.”

  The AI’s voice came down from the ceiling.

  She said, “All recordings are off for one quarter hour, starting now.”

  The droid grabbed Wilco’s shirt and picked him up, the restraining chair coming along with him. She rushed to the wall and slammed the chair into it, knocking Wilco’s head back.

  “Who do you work for? Tell me!”

  She slammed the chair again and again, bonking his head each time.

  Then she eased her face within inches of his and adjusted her eyes so they glowed bright red as she snarled.

  In a much deeper and far more menacing voice she said, “You will tell me. And you will make a sworn statement. Or I will rip open your chest and eat your heart out while you are still alive. I will make you watch me eat it. Do you understand me?”

  Wilco stared into those glowing red eyes and shook in fear.

  “Y-y-yes, ma’am.”

  -+-

  If elevator chimes could signal anger, this one did. It seemed to go off with a harsher Ding! than usual when Applegate walked out.

  “Molly! Ask Director Fonteneaux if she can come out for a face to face.”

  Molly’s eyes flickered as she relayed the request electronically.

  Hearing the hubbub, Montoya stepped out of her office while Applegate pounded on Wilcox’s door.

  The droid came out at the same time as Fonteneaux. She glared at Applegate for a moment as the other two women gathered round.

  The droid said, “What?”

  “Our perp just gave a sworn confession that he is a hitman for the Meisters. He also confessed he had been sent to go after you.”

  The droid raised an eyebrow and said, “Good.”

  “We can’t use this! His testimony came under duress.”

  “When?”

  “When you pounded his head against the wall while questioning him.”

  “Where’s the evidence for that?”

  “He has a mild concussion!”

  “That’s probably from the car wreck, from when he tried to run me over.”

  “It happened in the interrogation room!”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “That’s because you sent the agent away and ordered PLAIR to cut the cameras!”<
br />
  “There is no conceivable way any attorney can cast shade on that confession, Applegate. I think we’re good here. Proceed with the investigation based on the perp’s testimony. Offer him whatever he needs to learn more about the Burgomeisters in additional questioning. Is there anything else?”

  Applegate’s face turned several shades of red darker.

  “I do NOT approve of these unorthodox methods!”

  “Well, I don’t approve of being stifled by stupid regulations that get in the way of results. Now, if you have any other complaints, please discuss them with our boss, Director Fonteneaux. Good day.”

  With that, the droid returned to her office, the door swishing shut behind her.

  Applegate and Montoya stared at the closed door for a moment.

  He turned to Jodi and said, “Director Fonteneaux—”

  She cut him off with a raised hand.

  “I need results, Jake. Follow up on the Burgomeister leads. Keep after the Black Goggle Gang and everything else on our plates.”

  “Respectfully, ma’am, this is not the way we do things at AOJ.”

  “We have an election coming up, and all of Diego seems to be going nuts right now. Let’s get things done, and worry about the fallout later.”

  Fonteneaux looked both Applegate and Montoya in the eye.

  She said, “Are we clear?”

  Both of them muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fonteneaux returned to her office, the door shutting behind her.

  Applegate and Montoya walked back to their side of the lobby.

  Before parting, Montoya whispered, “She’ll be gone after the election. Severs is going to lose and Dermot Kruger is going to win.”

  Applegate snorted and said, “Don’t count on it. Severs is still up in the polls even after that nightclub shooting.”

  Montoya raised her eyebrows and said, “You never know. Something else might happen.”

  31

  Edge tossed back a beer while watching a holo, a documentary imported from the League.

  He liked League entertainment, when he could find it. That used to be difficult. Now that the war was over some media moguls in the Republic had inked a deal with Sergio Productions, the largest producer of entertainment in the League. Now most of Sergio’s backlist was available in the Republic.

  He sat watching a holo on the mountain dogs of Morvana. Ordinarily this would not be a title he would have chosen, but it had the Sergio name on it so he went ahead and selected it from the menu.

  Besides, it sounded kind of interesting.

  Much to his surprise the mountain dogs were . . . cute. More than cute, they were adorable. They spent a lot of time walking around on two legs, like people. Their puppies were downright lovable. He wanted one, badly.

  But of course, the documentary informed him that importation of Morvana’s mountain dogs is strictly prohibited.

  Evidently scientists decided the animals were not ecologically friendly to other planets. Something about an ideal mixture of gases in Morvana’s atmosphere, too, prevented them from thriving elsewhere.

  He did not catch all of it, but he understood that he could never own a mountain dog without moving to Morvana.

  The big man found himself entranced, and hours ticked by while he fully immersed himself in the canines’ culture.

  Even Stormy with her exceptionally attractive figure and face could not distract him when she walked into the lounge area.

  “You . . .” she started.

  He shushed her.

  “The mama is about to have her litter.”

  She watched as the holo showed a Morvana dog giving birth.

  The female howled in pain, then gave a long and low growl.

  She was on her back, hind legs spread out like a human’s. A puppy’s head appeared after her water broke . . .

  “Ew. Oh my gosh! Turn that off.”

  Stormy made a motion in the air and the holo winked out.

  Evan turned to glare at her.

  “You don’t understand! That was a problem birth. There were complications! I have to find out if the mother made it or not.”

  Stormy stared at him wordlessly for a moment.

  Then she said, “New orders. You are to go out as Severs and stir up trouble again.”

  “I don’t feel like shooting up another place. I’m still hurting from where that stupid sailor tackled me. And you won’t let me have any nanobots.”

  “We need to conserve our medical supplies, and you were not badly injured. Go find something to do while wearing his face. Take one of the sports cars, but be careful.”

  She turned to leave but he just sat there holding his beer bottle.

  At the door she said, “Go! Find something embarrassing for him to do, you don’t have to kill people.”

  “Fine!” he said, draining the last of his bottle.

  When she walked out the door, he went to the kitchen and grabbed another beer. He took a long swallow, then refilled it with whiskey from the liquor cabinet.

  When he finished that, he made another one just like it.

  Then another.

  -+-

  The Industrial District hummed with nightlife as tourists, sailors, college students, and other denizens of the night freely mixed on the streets and sidewalks in front of pulsing nightclubs and thriving sex centers.

  Youth-magnet hotspots replaced former factories and storefronts. The night hours thrived in this part of the city.

  Admiral Frederick Severs, or at least someone who resembled him, stumbled out of a parking garage on Mathers Street and into a young couple from out of town.

  “Oops! ’Scuse me. Hey, baby. Nice rack!”

  The woman screamed as Severs reached out and squeezed her chest. Her husband glared at him, pulling her away, and they hurried down the street.

  Severs chuckled, drunkenly watching them go.

  He turned and started dancing in the opposite direction, flowing with pedestrian traffic and drawing stares.

  “Is that . . . Admiral Severs?” someone asked.

  He smiled at her with half-closed eyes.

  “Hey, baby. Look me up. Let’s go out sometime. Alrighhhht.”

  As he danced, people stopped and stared. It seemed like an odd celebrity sighting to many.

  He waved at everybody and kept going.

  Half a block later, a prostitute standing at a corner waved back. He ambled over to ogle at her ample breasts showing through a sheer negligee.

  “How much are you tonight, darlin’?”

  “A hundred credits for half an hour. Standard rate, Admiral.”

  “Izzat right? No discount for a war hero? I’ll make it worth your while, sugarcakes.”

  “Sorry, Admiral. Same rate applies to everyone. Union rules.”

  “Alright, baby. Alright.”

  He pulled out a hundred credit token and handed it to her.

  She pocketed it somewhere, although where she had room for stowing things like tokens was a mystery to him in his drunken state.

  She smiled and said, “I’m all yours for half an hour.”

  “Lezzgo. I want to pick up a couple more.”

  She hooked her arm in his elbow and walked beside him as he stumble-danced down the street.

  They came to another hooker at the next corner, this one in high heels, a thong bikini and little else.

  “Oh, my! It’s Admiral Severs!”

  “Come on, darlin’. Here’s a hundred credits. Join my partay!”

  She latched onto his other arm and together the trio paraded down the street. He tripped once and almost fell, but the two prostitutes kept him standing.

  By the next block, several pedestrians had activated their implants’ ocular recording mode.

  He leaned into the face of a college student who got up close for a better look.

  “Vote for me, and gitcha some! I am!”

  The student stepped back as the full force of alcohol-laden breath hit him.

&
nbsp; Severs/Edge strutted around with the ladies of the night for another quarter hour, recorded by hundreds of people in the process.

  OPD finally heard about a Severs lookalike stumbling down Mathers, prostitutes in tow. Dispatch sent a couple of uniformed officers to investigate.

  Before they could get there, though, Edge made his way back to the parking garage. He said goodnight to the hookers, giving them one more token apiece, and disappeared inside.

  The ladies looked at one another and shrugged before returning to their corners.

  “Easiest money I’ll make tonight,” one of them said.

  32

  A small fleet of vehicles landed in the enormous front yard of a huge mansion in Old Town, a wealthy enclave in Octavia.

  Twenty agents climbed out, including the three ADs. Or really, two ADs and one droid pretending to be the third.

  Every outdoor security camera zoomed in on the force of agents descending on the door.

  The door itself was intricately carved and stood about twice the height of a traditional one.

  Wilcox’s double looked at the camera above it. She flashed her holo badge, making it appear near her face.

  “AOJ. We’d like to speak with Mr. Griff Goodman, please.”

  A woman’s voice came back through the camera’s speaker circuit.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Goodman is not in.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I’m sorry, I do not.”

  “Do you know when he will come back?”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  “May we come inside?”

  “Not without a warrant, no.”

  Applegate, who watched all this with his arms crossed, said, “Well, that does it, Wilcox. We’ve already tried to get a warrant, and the judge won’t grant it. He says we don’t have enough reason to go in.”

  The droid glared at him.

  She said, “PLAIR, do we have legal right to entry if someone is in distress?”

  PLAIR’s voice drifted out of her implant and into the other nearby agents’ implants as well.