by Adam Steel
He cocked his head.
‘What’s in it for me?’ Jack followed up.
In private he was calculating that if he played it right, there could be quite a lot in it for him already.
Aya, rooted in her handbag. Nothing. She had spent the last of her cash on the jacket. Out of habit she checked through the pockets. She didn’t see the gleam in Jack’s eyes when her CURE uniform was briefly revealed.
Her hands closed on a small round object. Aarif’s engagement ring. She had pocketed it when she put the jacket on. She didn’t want to advertise herself as being as good mugging target as well as a potential whore. She pulled the ring out and offered it over the desk. She had no feeling other than hatred for it and what it symbolised. Jack’s grubby, nicotine stained, fingers grasped at the sparkling object. The large blue sapphire gleamed back at him. He was so close she could smell his body odour, mingled with cigars. The mixture was so intensely overwhelming it made her feel nauseous.
He sunk back: rocking back and forth lightly in the chair, examining the ring. Satisfied he pocketed it. Aya could see she wasn’t going to get any change.
‘Give me your phone number,’ Jack ordered.
Aya complied and he jotted it down in his notebook.
‘So you work for the CURE?’ he said, changing the subject while scribbling something else in his note book.
Aya shifted uncomfortably.
‘Yes…Well…sort of. I’m only a secretary…’ she said, trying to excuse herself.
She wondered if he might have written any of the graffiti on the landing, specifically the one about the CURE.
‘What station?’ Jack asked as he tried to re-light his fading cigar.
‘Sector Two. Under Station Commander Betts,’ she replied hastily.
‘Alvin Betts?’ Jack shot back.
Aya considered for a moment. Nobody ever used the station commander’s first name. She had to think for a few moments. Her hand went to her face to wipe off a trail of rain that had trickled down her forehead. Her clothes had now soaked right through to her skin and she was feeling chilled.
‘Um yeah. Do you know him?’ she answered.
Jack mumbled something about “hearing his name once or twice,” before stubbing out the remains of his cigar, spilling out even more of the contents of the ashtray.
Jack rose out of his seat.
She could hear him peeling himself off it and it sounded like a fly being removed from sticky tape.
‘Right. I got all I need,’ he said, in a matter of fact voice, and flipped his notebook shut.
Aya started to get out of the chair: confused. She went to shake his hand and thought better of it and withdrew immediately.
‘So…what are you going to do? Contact a lawyer? Or look into his case or…’
Jack cut her off.
‘I’ll do whatever I do lady. You don’t need to worry about it. We’ll get your boyfriend out. Might take a few weeks though. Leave it to me,’ he finished, struggling to his feet and patting the pocket with the ring inside it.
Aya felt sure it had dropped down into the torn lining. She tried to resist Jack shoving her towards the door.
‘Weeks! It can’t take weeks! He’ll be in prison! – and I can’t wait that long, I don’t have long, don’t you see?’ she protested in a fit of panic.
Jack ignored her as he went for his hat and coat. A huge bunch of keys hung from a chain on his trousers belt. He grabbed an old police badge off his desk. She noticed it still held the original eight pointed star badge; not the new mason's design. He must have been a cop back in the old days before the Day of Reckoning. She also noticed just a glimpse of a bulky, metal object under his jacket.
Aya’s face paled, her eyes widened, mouth dropping slightly. She caught her breath and the remains of her composure snapped.
Jack turned on her one final time in dismissal.
‘It’ll take as long as it takes lady. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Now I got urgent business so if you don’t mind…’
Aya almost tripped up as she backed out the door.
‘Don’t you even want a picture of him? I’ve got one!’
She had printed if from the Info-Com earlier.
Jack shook his head.
‘Nope. Don’t need it. Go carry on as normal. I’ll call you.’
Aya gave up the protest and took off down the corridor away from the stubborn Jack. She fled out the building as fast as she could run: already weaving the web of lies she would need to tell Mada.
This was not her world.
This was Jacks world.
Jack stuffed his note pad and stubby pencil into one pocket and reached for his hat. He was deep in thought. The cogs of his grubby mind turned over and over again. He checked his large, clumsy gun to make sure it was loaded, and stuffed it back into his belt. Time to head for the thinking grounds, he thought wryly. He fumbled with the bunch of keys and locked the door.
Jack stumbled down the dingy stairs and out into the darkening night. He hurried down the street. His heart was racing and he could feel the cold air penetrating and hurting as it tried to reach tarred depths of his lungs. It made him cough: a hacking cough. He could see the distant light of The Water Rat, at the corner of the street. Shadowy figures hung around the entrance and he could hear the blues music escaping each time the door opened to let another Docky in.
Jack stumbled into the bar of The Water Rat, wheezing and coughing.
It was full of smoke which masked the smells of the guests perfectly. He took a deep breath in and felt better. A faint odour of urine permeated from the direction of the gents. The bar was dark and warm, and the punters wore familiar faces. The crappy old Juke Box was playing a moody, slow song. It eased him. He needed to think – get it clear.
The barman cocked him a long stare as he polished a thick glass. Jack’s glass.
The bar’s hustle dipped as the door swung shut. Punters glanced up with booze laden eyes, observing the new patron. Jack could feel a dozen pairs of eyes giving him the once over. Jack fitted in. The tension eased and the punters relaxed back into the saggy chairs, resuming their hushed tones. The barman’s eyes followed Jack as he moved into the bar: never leaving him for a moment as he worked the glass in his hands.
Jack squeezed into a space at the bar. The punters either side shuffled sideways a few inches making room for the dishevelled character that was joining them in the line up to the race: a Grand-National drinking marathon.
Jack met the man’s gaze and gave him a familiar nod.
‘Usual…Bourbon…Jack?’ he said, clinking ice into the glass.
‘Make it a triple,’ Jack ordered.
‘New case, Jack?’ the barman queried, shoving the glass up under the optic and emptying its contents over the ice.
Jack leaned into the bar, took a wad of dirty bank notes out of his pocket, and slammed a few notes on the counter.
‘Just keep 'em coming,’ Jack said, taking the full glass and guzzling down a mouthful.
The hit from the bourbon was good, the real stuff. He felt the burn all the way down his throat to nestle comfortably in his stomach. ‘Real’ bourbon, or any strong alcohol in its real sense, had long been replaced or rather ‘refined’ in Utopia. Jack was musing about how the scientists had refined alcohol into a ‘new-and-better’ form. He resented them. ‘New-and-Better’ had not done him any favours since the reformation had begun. Far from it. ‘New-and-better’ had made his life ‘worse-and-worse.’
Jack worked his way through the bourbon and continued to muse about his past. Jack had survived through the Day of Reckoning the same way he had survived his life before then. He’d hid under his hat: gone underground with the rats: paid off the right people and kept a very low profile. He’d been a cop before the Day of Reckoning and as a cop he’d known who would rise to take advantage of the chaos caused by the disaster. He’d paid them well to keep his arse safe and secure. He’d dug into the ruins of the docks and waited, whi
le the warlords and gangs destroyed each other; only to be destroyed themselves by the waves of newly recalled soldiers that were charged with restoring order in the devastated city.
When the masons took charge and the rebuilding of the city began, Jack slinked back out from the darkness to carve out a comfortable niche in the developing systems. He’d been assigned to work in the ‘New-and-Better’ Sector Seven CURE station. With his experience he was able to cut right in near the top.
For almost twenty years he had worked the area as the city was rebuilt and slowly transformed into Coney City. With the transformation came more and more changes and Jack liked them less and less as the years wore on. Jack found that the best way to contain the criminal element was to work alongside it. His job had become infinitely easier with a few snitches in his back pocket. He soon discovered that the best way to control the streets was to be in league with the people that already did. That was how he first met Red-Man. Jomo Marseilles (or Red-Man, as he was known) had made his big break to power with the ex-military drug Apexir.
Apexir had been created years ago for use by the armed forces. There were rumours that the Coney Twins had developed the formula. At the time it was hailed as a wonder drug. It was designed to counter the effect of combat stress on military personnel to allow them to enter war zones and perform without any of the effects of shell shock or guilt afterwards. It was a resounding success in the short term until the devastating side effects of continuous use became apparent. It later transpired that, not only was Apexir addictive after prolonged exposure, it had terrible withdrawal symptoms. Those unfortunate to have been exposed, then later deprived, exhibited madness and suicidal tendencies. It caused havoc in the battalions. Legislation to ban the drug was already well under way when the Reckoning struck. It would take another six long years for the drug to finally get banned. Those years the drug had been vital to keep the morally devastated soldiers functioning. As the troubles were brought under control it was quickly banned. The medical disaster brought about by the Coney Twins was quickly forgotten when the genius of their ‘new-and-better’ F2-Genie Project, became apparent.
There would be none left to deny that the Coney Twins were indeed scientists without peer and dedicated in every way to improving the lot of the people of Utopia. Those that did squealed at the walls of the Blair Ridge as the withdrawal from Apexir drove them insane.
The drug did have its merits, especially to people like Red-Man. The drug’s hit was unrivalled and in a matter of months, it was firmly established as the ultimate recreational drug. Considering it had only ever been issued to military personnel, the illegal smuggling and distribution of the little red pills (affectionately known as bleeders) became the most lucrative business overnight. Red-Man got his name from dealing in the little red pills. At the time of the ban, Red-Man had already established smuggling operations of the drug for recreational purposes and he had manufacturing methods of his own in place. He had been able to ‘squeeze out’ or destroy his rivals, who were still making lesser kicks. Soon, he had the monopoly on the substance out of his base in Sector Seven.
Red-Man’s younger brother, Marko Marseilles, ran the prostitution and gambling side of the business: until he got busted. Marko was an Apexir addict: prone to fits of psychosis. Red-Man’s right hand man was an eccentric bio-chemist called Louis. He was an ex-ISIAH scientist with a serious grudge against Utopian philosophies.
Jack had been aware of Red-Man’s operations soon after busting several of his subordinates. Red-Man offered to strike a deal with Jack.
“leave us alone and we’ll give you protection and leads on rival bad guys.”
Jack made detective on the back of those arrests. He was more than willing to co-operate back then. His shaky alliance with Red-Man made him powerful, respected and easily kept him in bourbon, women and cash. Although it was always an uneasy truce, it worked, until recently that was.
Jack had been greasing the wheels of justice for Red-Man keeping his men, and their customers, out of prison and ‘disappearing’ the evidence when they did get busted. Jack had it figured out. That’s how Max would have learned of him and why he’d instructed the girl to call him when he’d be arrested. What Max didn’t know was that Jack was no longer in a position to do anything about busts on the Marseilles gang.
The problem, Jack thought, was that the ‘new-and-better’ CURE Prison system was just too fucking efficient.
As more and more of its systems were put in place, it became harder and harder to silence witnesses and clean up after the Marseilles gang. Evidence was becoming harder to lose and excuses, lies and outright bribes were getting trickier to pull off. In short, Jack was struggling to keep them out of the fire. He’d been playing a dangerous game (juggling his superiors, reports to Fin-Sen, and the psychotic members of Red-Man’s gang) while standing on an increasingly precarious platform.
It had all fallen apart six months ago.
Jack had been caught in a bad situation trying to dispose of three bodies. They had suffered a bad reaction to one of psycho Louis’ more adventurous cocktails. Their eyes had been bright red: stuck out on stalks. There was a witness. Jack had been ordered to silence her. He hadn’t exactly followed that one through. He had the girl relocated to Eden City with a gentle persuasion to ‘forget what she had seen’.
She didn’t.
A man named Commander Alvin Betts had the evidence on him. He’d been sniffing around Jack for almost a year. The man knew he was dirty. He could smell it on him. Jack had ducked and dived, hid under his hat, and yet Commander Betts finally had the goods on him from the girl. Commander Betts had made it his personal mission in life to get rid of Jack. Jack had been given a choice. Commander Betts didn’t want the allegations of corruption tarnishing his force.
He’d suggested Jack quietly retire and basically.
“Fuck off down some drain, and don’t ever come out.”
So he had. He’d spent the last six months avoiding Red-Man’s goons, making petty cash as a private eye. Most of the time had been spent running down Johns that hadn’t paid their hookers. Jack had lost all his access to CURE and its systems. He lost his snitches, he’d lost his bribes, but worst of all, he’d lost all control over keeping the cops off Red-Man and his gang.
Red-Man knew it, of course. Marko’s arrest would be all the proof needed that Jack was useless. Jack also knew too much, far too much, and they’d be after him with a vengeance. They wouldn’t risk him squealing to Commander Betts (or anyone else) to get himself out of the shit.
Jack sank another bourbon – relishing the heat.
His mind wandered. He arranged his plan in his mind. He’d be leaving tonight. He couldn’t stay in Sector Seven right now. Red-Man would be after him and he didn’t take prisoners. Not male ones anyway. Jack had a bolt-hole in Eden City in the north of Utopia. He ran there when the shit got really heavy and this turd weighed a ton.
Red-Man wouldn’t know where he’d gone, but he’d have to be very careful when he returned. He’d wait for Red-Man’s anger to cool, and then…he’d use the girl. She was perfect: naive, desperate. He thought about how desperate she’d become in a couple of weeks. He smirked. Max had no chance of a legal release from a CURE Prison. Jack was in a unique position to realise that. He’d tried it before. The legal system was ruthlessly efficient. The girl worked directly under that arsehole Betts. That was even better, he thought.
He’d fix Betts.
He’d square it with Red-Man.
Jack would be back.
Jack fingered his glass – staring at the dark brown liquid. His thoughts were turbulent through the murkiness of the alcohol. They were tossed around like small boats on a choppy sea: black waters beneath; churning them over and over. He struggled to bring those boats in to the shore.
He had to get his plan right. No…perfect. His life depended on it.
Chapter 11: The Way of Chi
Jon Li’s Penthouse: Sector 1
Four Wee
ks later: Tuesday 3rd July
Ellie was kneeling on the polished wooden floor, unpacking a small box of personal mementoes and wondering if it was too soon to be moving in with her new lover. She was naked underneath a white silk nightgown, which was tied loosely at the waist.
He was in the other room. His special room.
She had stayed over several nights at his place in the last month. The frequency of her stopover's had increased in the last week, until finally, she had decided that tonight she would stay for good. Today was ‘moving in day’ and the start of her new life with him.
It had only been a month since she had met Jon Li on the tour of Genie and from that day on it had been a roller coaster ride of emotions.
She recalled the end of the tour and its horrific conclusion. The assassination attempt on Mason Henson and the murder of her personal bodyguard, by the strange imposter, was firmly etched on her mind. Ellie shuddered when she visualised the ghostly expression on the face of Kristoff’s impersonator after he’d slit his own throat. After that it had become a blur. Security teams had separated the tour group and locked the facility down. She dimly recalled being marched along Genies’ corridors, with alarms blaring behind her, before being rapidly escorted into the back of a waiting convoy of TALOS vehicles.
She had ridden with two soldiers, whilst Victor and Jon Li had been taken in separate trucks. The journey (which she had estimated must have taken around an hour and a half) had been lonely and terrifying. She had not seen where they had been taken because the windows on the trucks had been blacked out and there had been no familiar sounds coming from outside. She could not have known if they were outside in the heat of the sun because the vehicle had been air conditioned.
The soldiers that had sat with her had worn stone-faced expressions for the whole of the journey. Despite her repeated pleas, they had not divulged the location to which they had taken her and the others. At one point in the journey, the transporter had swerved wildly. The whole vehicle had rocked and she had thought that it had seemed to be running over piles of rubble. It had bounced up and down for a few minutes before swerving again. The soldiers had looked at each other and clasped their weapons harder. They had seemed to be waiting for something to happen, but the journey had passed without incident.