Vice

by Teagan Kade

  “What is it?” Hunter asks.

  “He’s here,” I whisper.

  “What about…?” the desk sergeant shouts.

  “Another time!” I shout back.

  Hunter follows me as I snake through desks to the lower level, passing the break room and nodding at the watchman. “You see the Cap?” I ask.

  He sits up, pulling his eyes from his cell. “Yeah, just came through.”

  “Fuck,” I start to run forward into the cells.

  “Grace?” queries Hunter, but I don’t have time to explain.

  I ignore the jeering and catcalls from the prisoners as I head to the cells at the end of the hallway. It’s fucking putrid down here.

  “Detective!” shouts one guy. “Why don’t you come in here, put your pretty lips to work on my big juicy cock?”

  Hunter stops to slam the bars of his cell. “How about I turn those pretty lips of yours black and blue?”

  The prisoner backs off, but I’m still walking, half-running now to make it to the end of the hallway.

  I stop at Maurice’s cell.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Maurice hangs from the light fixture, his tongue falling slack from his mouth, torn mattress covering making up the noose.

  I try to open the cell door, but it’s locked.

  “Guard!” I shout, turning around and hitting the emergency buzzer.

  Hunter comes up beside me and sees Maurice swinging. “The hell?”

  I look around, scanning, until I spot the Captain passing the guard at the other end of the hallway.

  “Captain!” I shout. He turns, sees us, and runs.

  It’s on.

  “Go!” I shout.

  I run with everything I’ve got, Hunter in front of me, but the Captain’s got distance on us. I don’t know how we missed him. He must have slipped into one of the empty cells when we passed.

  The guard stands. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “Cell Twenty-Two. See for yourself.”

  We rush past him up the stairs.

  There’ll be no security footage. You can be damn sure of that.

  “Stop!” I yell, everyone in the precinct standing and craning to see what’s going on.

  The Captain manages to make it outside.

  I slip and almost go down, Hunter reaching back to help me to my feet.

  He’s going to get away, I think.

  Hunter whips through the front doors.

  I follow a few seconds later and get a visual on the Captain turning down the alley next to the precinct.

  I enter the alleyway, Hunter emerging from my three and powering through a burst of steam from a nearby manhole.

  The Captain leaps up onto a fence at the end of the alleyway, but slips and falls onto his ass.

  Too many trans fats for you, I think.

  He gets up and starts climbing, tumbling over the fence into the alley beyond, but Hunter’s already at the fence.

  With a screech, a car backs up past the fence almost taking out the Captain in its haste. A side door pops open and the Captain swings in, the car burning away in a flurry of smoke.

  I smash both hands against the fence. “Fuck!”

  I push off it, my hands in my hair. So close.

  “You get the plate?” I ask Hunter.

  He’s looking down with his hands on his hips. “No, but…” He reaches down and picks up a black cell phone, holding it up. It looks like a burner, has to be the Captain’s. He probably doesn’t even know he dropped it. “These things are just falling out the sky today, aren’t they?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  HUNTER

  I place a coffee down on Grace’s desk, sitting on the edge. “I don’t know what you like, so I simply asked for it ‘strong.’”

  “I like my coffee like I like my sex: Hot and full of cream,” she winks, the small dose of innuendo doing little to stamp down the shock of today’s events.

  Grace called her contact back, but the Captain’s in the wind. We considered pulling in help, but given the level of involvement here we simply don’t know who we can trust—not until we get more information. It’s a shitty situation being up against a brick wall like this.

  Grace takes the coffee and continues scrolling down her computer screen.

  I can smell the coffee mixing with her scent, all of it floating upwards to where I’m sitting. It’s a potent, cock-hardening combination. “We should take this to Internal Affairs,” I suggest.

  Grace laughs. “The Captain’s balls deep with those guys. He’s basically their best friend, does dinner at this swanky steakhouse with them on Tuesdays. No, we don’t have enough of anything right now to make a case, a connection… Not yet.”

  “What about Tim? Did he find anything?” I ask.

  She nods slowly, sipping on her coffee, the pink tip of her tongue whisking out over her lower lip. “Oh, he dug deep.”

  “And?”

  “It was a burner alright, but he stringed together the contacts, texts, a couple of cryptic notes, search history… It seems the Captain’s brother, councilman Nathan Johnson, is quite the real-estate mogul.

  I’m trying to piece it together. “Is that surprising? Most men in his position would have investments, wouldn’t they?”

  Grace shakes her head. “They would, but not as suspect as the dives this guy’s got. I’m talking dodgy bars you need a biohazard suit to enter, pawn shops, shitty loan brokers and apartments full of junkies and lowlifes. It’s a portfolio I’m sure is bringing in plenty of dosh, but it’s not one to be proud of, especially not with election season around the corner. Tim says it was hard enough linking it all together in the first place with all the fucking shell companies and what-not, but thank the good lord we have a human supercomputer for a tech specialist, right?”

  “What are you saying? That the Captain’s brother, this Nathan is dirty?”

  “Filthy, I’d say, but you want to know the real kicker?” She pauses for dramatic effect, swiveling to face me with her legs spread and the crotch of her pants begging for my attention. “A one Nathan Johnson also owns a certain extended stay hotel.”

  “The Baxter—You don’t say.”

  “I most certainly do.” She’s smiling, pleased with herself.

  I pick up her jacket and toss it to her. “Let me guess. We’re going to City Hall for a wee chit-chat with the good councilor? Sounds like a good way to wind up on litter patrol for the rest of our lives.”

  She stands, putting on her jacket. “If it means cleaning up the real rubbish in the process, so fucking be it.”

  *

  City Hall is an old, sprawling building in lower Manhattan. In a way it reminds me of Wrightworth’s own city hall—only twenty times bigger.

  We enter, Grace flashing her badge and taking out her piece. I do the same, the both of us watching as they’re passed through the X-ray machine and collected by security.

  Grace walks through the metal detector, looking back to me. “Some guy blasted away a councilman back in ’03. Since then everyone goes through these detectors, no exception.”

  I wait for Security to hand my weapon back, but they remain stony-faced.

  “Sorry, Detective,” says the one closest to me. “You can collect your weapon when you leave.”

  Grace pushes me on, looking up at the domed ceiling. “It might be a pretty building, but the stench of shit is pretty overwhelming behind closed doors.”

  I have to smile as she leads the way.

  A young, blonde secretary stands as we enter the foyer to Nathan’s office.

  Grace flashes her badge.

  “Can I help you, officers?” the woman says.

  “Detectives, actually. We need to see Nathan Johnson.”

  The secretary looks suddenly flustered. “I’m sorry, the councilman is particularly busy this morning.

  “I bet,” Grace laughs.

  The door to our left opens, the good councilor himsel
f leaning out, a putter in his hand.

  “Real busy, it would seem,” says Grace, glancing down at the golf club.

  The secretary clears her throat. “Sir, these… detectives… are here to see you.”

  If this Nathan’s fazed, he doesn’t show it, placing the putter against the wall and opening the mahogany door to his office wide. He flashes a wide smile. “New York’s finest. Welcome. Come through.”

  We enter his expansive office, the secretary closing the door behind us. Nathan sits at his desk. It’s big enough to be a dining table. I can’t help but notice how many photos are on the wall—Nathan shaking hands with celebrities, fishing, at the White House… I thought my father had connections, but this guy is in another universe entirely.

  “I’m sorry,” says Nathan, leaning back with his fingers tented. “I didn’t catch your names.”

  “That’s right.” Grace smiles, taking a seat and placing one leg on top of the other. “Now, what can you tell me about the Baxter?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Shitty hotel, extended stay,” continues Grace, “plenty of shifty clientele…”

  A crocodile smile. “Why would I know anything about somewhere like that?”

  “Because it’s your hotel,” Grace finishes. If she had a mic, she’d be dropping it.

  Nathan smiles again, but it’s for the cameras—all show. He taps his desk. “My property, you say.”

  “Well, technically the property of Canmire Holdings, but it traces back to you, yes. Took us quite a while to untangle all your,” she air-quotes ‘investments.’”

  The councilman laughs, nodding to himself. “I see.” He flicks the screen on his cell, typing out a message, but it’s too far away to see. “What exactly can I help you with, detective?”

  “We’re investigating a murder, the victim of which was a frequent client of your hotel.”

  He laughs. “If I did own said hotel, and it’s a big ‘if’ given I don’t deal with my portfolio personally, I can’t be responsible for every guest that comes through its doors, especially those of the,” he chooses his words, “nefarious type.”

  I expect Grace to skirt around the evidence a bit, let him do the talking, but she comes right out with it. “I think, Mr. Johnson, you were directly involved with her murder.”

  He scoffs, standing with his hands on his desk. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadly,” she replies.

  He looks to me for support, a fellow male.

  I remain stony. Sorry, buddy.

  “And you,” he says, addressing me. “Do you believe in this madness as well?”

  “There is evidence to suggest your involvement.”

  He sits, calming at the word. “’Evidence,’ you say. Might I be privy as to what this evidence might be?”

  Grace ignores the question. “Maybe you can start by telling us where you were on the sixteenth?”

  “I’d have to check with my secretary.”

  Grace puts her hands behind her head. “By all means.”

  Nathan laughs again, the façade starting to slip, a bead of sweat forming on his hairline. “You do know who I am, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Grace smiles, rocking forward, “but if you think your position here entitles you to a get-out-of-jail card, you’re sorely mistaken. This isn’t fucking Monopoly. This is a young woman’s life we’re talking about here, cut short because she was stabbed in the chest, probably by your brother.”

  “Detective—” Nathan’s tone is firmer now.

  Grace is nodding, working it through. “Your brother with his big ol’ mouth. He blabbed to her, didn’t he? About your investments, the human misery you’re tied up in? Pillow talk, I suppose.”

  “You don’t know what you’re tal—”

  Grace’s hand shoots up to silence him. “You couldn’t have that information out there in the wild, not right now with the election coming up, could you? So you…” She lets the words fall away.

  This is all freeform, pure improvisation, but I’ve got to give it to Grace. It’s plausible—more than plausible. She might be bluffing, but it’s a hell of a play. It’s dangerous, too, but I resolve myself that no matter what happens, I’m going to protect her at all costs.

  You still think she’s the one who needs protecting?

  The office door opens, Captain Johnson and Bobby walking in. “Siddell, Beckett, let’s go.”

  “Speak of the devil,” grins Nathan.

  Grace looks between the Captain and the councilman. “That was quick.” She faces the Captain. “Is it just me, or do you seem a bit out of breath?”

  “Now!” shouts the Captain, flicking a glance towards his brother. “Sorry for the interruption, councilman.”

  I can’t believe the Captain has the balls to show up here, but at least it’s becoming clear who’s pulling the strings in this relationship, and he is still the Captain, regardless of what we know.

  You sure? my head questions. The guy is a prick, but perhaps the Captain really is clueless as to what’s going on here, simply following orders. I have to retain my senses here, my impartiality given Grace’s gun-ho drive and personal feelings towards the parties involved.

  Nathan puts up his hands. “No problem. We were just having a cordial conversation, weren’t we, officers—a fanciful conversation, but cordial nonetheless.”

  Grace narrows her eyes, shaking her finger at him like it the tip of a tactical blade. “Let’s see how cordial you are sucking cocks at Lincoln Correctional.”

  “Siddell!” shouts the Captain, walking forward and taking her by the arm. “Get the fuck out of here or so help me god I’ll lock you up.”

  Grace goes to say something else, but I warn her off it with a look. “Another time,” I whisper as she passes, keeping her eyes fixed on the councilman. “Another time,” she repeats, “soon,” watching him all the while.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GRACE

  Once we’re outside, the Captain swings around in front us looking like a kettle that’s been on the boil for far too long. “What in God’s ever-loving fuck do you two think you’re doing?”

  “We’ve got you,” I tell him. “You going to deny it, or you going to start talking?”

  The way the Captain’s lips crease is particularly disturbing. “You’ve got shit, Siddell. What exactly do you think I’m involved in?”

  I’m practically standing on his toes. “So you weren’t the perp huffing and puffing over the fence then? It wasn’t your burner we recovered, the one I’ve got tucked away safe and sound where you’ll never fucking find it?”

  That gets him.

  The tell is immediate, but he glosses over it quickly with a laugh. “Enough.”

  But I know the evidence we found on the burner isn’t conclusive—no concrete way to tie it directly to the Captain. As predicted, cameras down in the cages were switched off before he entered. It’s nothing out of the ordinary given the way he liked to beat on perps down there.

  I try to appeal to what I hope are his better senses. “Captain,” I begin, “undo this,” but his hand goes up an inch from my face.

  “Whatever bullshit conspiracy theory you think you’ve got going on here, it’s way off course. This case was cut and dry. A retard could have closed it, but you two? I’ll make sure you’re mopping floors until your fingers bleed. There won’t be an agency in the entire country that will take you two dipshits on.”

  Hunter’s quiet. I can see him trying to work out what to do, which angle to take.

  I only know one.

  I step right up to the Captain, shoving him, my temper getting the better of me. “If you think you and your brother are going to slip out of this noose, you’re wrong.”

  He shoves back, Hunter stiffening beside me, but I hold him at bay.

  “That’s right,” the Captain laughs, “put your bitch back on her leash.”

  The Captain puts his hand out. “Radios, now.”

  Fuck.

/>   I consider running, quickly trying to call this in, but Bobby’s standing there enjoying the show. He’s probably in on it. Who the hell knows how deep and insidious this really is.

  I nod to Hunter. There’s no choice. We unclip them, hand them over, and, with it, our one lifeline.

  “You can hand your badges in when we get to the station,” says the Captain, “when we make this nice and official-like,” He clicks his fingers. “Bobby.”

  Bobby steps forward smirking. “Yes, sir.”

  “Go with these two, will you? I’d rather work these two over at the station with an audience, know what I mean?”

  Bobby smiles. “Yes, sir.”

  He points at Hunter. “You. Follow me.”

  “Bobby?” I plead. “Tell me you’re not part of this.”

  “Quiet,” he barks.

  I eye Hunter as we walk to the cruiser, but he’s not giving much away. A tiny sliver of doubt begins to worm its way into my head. Yes, the Captain is a hot head. Is it plausible we saw someone else in the alleyway, that he doesn’t actually know what his brother is into?

  Think it through.

  If he isn’t involved we have truly fucked ourselves. It will be the end of our careers.

  But then I remind myself just how much evidence is stacking against the Captain here, the questions left unanswered, and his brother’s reaction? That guy’s guilty as Al Capone.

  Bobby slides into the back of the Cruiser, Hunter into the driver’s seat, taking a left to follow the Captain’s car.

  I look into the rearview as we drive, seething but somehow managing to put a cover on it for now, for Rachel’s sake. “You’re not actually buying all this bullshit, are you, Bobby? Or did he make you do it? Make you clean up his mess?”

  Bobby grins. “I’m not buying anything. Far as I can see you guys are the ones shopping around for an ass-kicking. Coming to his fucking brother’s place of business? Do you know the level of power that guy has? He controls fucking everyone in this city. They’re all in his pocket—judges, cops…” He crosses himself, kissing the crucifix hanging against his shirt. “Jesus H.”

  I don’t know how much Bobby knows, if he’s even involved at all. I thought we were friends, buddies even, but ever since Hunter’s arrived he’s been giving me the cold shoulder.