Tears of a Clone (Easytown Novels Book 2)

by Brian Parker

  I watched Amir slam back another double bourbon and I placed a hand on his wrist as he prepared to stand up to get another drink. “Everything alright, Amir?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Lie. I was pretty good at determining when people weren’t telling the truth and my best friend was lying to me.

  “Amir, I know something’s up. One, you don’t usually drink this much. Two, you’re a bad liar. Three, I noticed Amanda trying to cover for you about why you were drinking. What’s going on?”

  He slid his hands down his face and then wiped them on his pants. “It’s the Pharaoh. We’re not doing so well.”

  “I don’t understand,” I replied truthfully. “Every time I’m in there, the place is packed to the gills. How are you not doing well?”

  “Two months ago, a new investor bought the building. Last month, the building’s lease came up for renewal and he tripled our rent. I can’t afford that.”

  “Damn. So what’s your plan?”

  “Today? Drink. Tomorrow? I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know anything about real estate law, but isn’t there anything you can do? The Pharaoh has been in that building for twenty-plus years.”

  “Twenty-two,” he corrected me. “I spoke to the new owner last week and he’s unwilling to budge on the price.”

  Amir stared vacantly at the wall. “The bastard even said something about you. Isn’t that strange?”

  My stomach dropped.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “The new owner. He said to make sure you knew that he bought the building.”

  A fuzzy memory of Tommy Voodoo and two pretty women dragged its way to the forefront of my brain. He said something about a business deal to keep us together, but I’d ignored him.

  “Is the new owner Thomas Ladeaux?”

  “Yes. How do you know that?”

  “Goddammit! That guy can’t leave me the fuck alone.”

  “You know this man?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “He’s a dirty son of a bitch who owns a bunch of clubs in Easytown and the big shipping company down there at the Dockyards.”

  “What does he want with the Pharaoh?”

  “Who knows? It sounds like he bought it to get leverage over me.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Zachary? I can’t afford to pay that much in rent every month.”

  “Funny enough, I’ve got a meeting scheduled with him tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do, buddy.”

  “Thank you,” Amir nodded and went to the bar for another drink.

  By the time Amanda came to get us, Amir was sloppy drunk—probably like I’d been Friday night. It wasn’t a pretty sight. No wonder Avery doesn’t want to see me anymore. He fell into the side table and his glass tumbled to the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

  “Oh, come on, Amir. This isn’t going to help anything,” she chided.

  “Zach, my best friend for my entire life, he is going to fix this,” Amir stated, placing both hand on my shoulder and leaning in on me until his forehead rested against mine. “Zack knows Thomas Ladeaux. He’ll make this go away. Won’t you, Zach?”

  “I don’t—” I stammered

  “Thank you, Zach!” Amanda cried, throwing her arms around us both.

  My hands came up, unbidden and on their own. I hugged them back. Somehow, I’d figure out a way to get this straightened out; they were counting on me.

  EIGHT: MONDAY

  My Jeep drove between the stacked forty-foot shipping containers that served as the entry point for the Easytown Dockyards. I’m sure it was just a matter of convenience, but the containers seemed to completely surround the waterfront, forming a wall that could be easily defended by the workers.

  I shuddered involuntarily and hoped that the police department never had to come down here in force. Inside the perimeter, more shipping containers lined the road, forcing vehicles to follow the path. The containers were easily moved with the heavy equipment the workers used, so they could alter the path, create dead ends or block off the passage behind you after you passed through. This place would be a SWAT team’s worst nightmare.

  Tractors, cranes and forklifts moved everywhere in a carefully choreographed dance of machinery. Men, women and droids went about their jobs, ensuring goods were either loaded onto barges for transport or unloaded from them for delivery into the city.

  Business was good for the King of Easytown.

  I was back in the Dockyards to meet with Tommy Ladeaux, aka Tommy Voodoo, the self-named King of Easytown. He was as dirty as they come—the department just couldn’t find anything to implicate him. Plenty of underlings had gone down over the years, but nobody would testify against him. In addition to the Marie Leveau Shipping Company, he owned a construction company, and multiple sex clubs, dance clubs and regular bars across Easytown. Now it seemed like the bastard owned the building that the Pharaoh was in; I knew it was another way that Voodoo was using to try to get an edge over me—and it pissed me off.

  He’d tried unsuccessfully to get me in his pocket by providing key information on the Sex Club Killer case and with the details about Paxton Himura, whom I hadn’t known was a droid when I began dating her, thereby violating the NOPD’s Immorality Clause that explicitly forbid physical relationships of any kind with prostitutes—human or robotic. Now it seemed he was trying a different angle to make me obligated to him in some way.

  Wasn’t gonna happen. I wasn’t a dirty cop.

  The Jeep stopped in front of the corporate offices of the Marie Leveau Shipping Company and I took a swig of water from the bottle I’d grabbed before I left. Amir and I had stayed up through the night and into the morning drinking and talking. I’d only gotten an hour of sleep before I had to get up for the meeting that Andi set up to discuss the clones. I was tired and hung over, not a good combination.

  I checked my surroundings carefully before getting out of the vehicle. The Dockyards were a dangerous place for a cop, even if Voodoo did invite me down here. I didn’t see anyone or anything near the car, so I got out and took the steps to the office two at a time.

  Inside the building, I was greeted with a clean and modern waiting area. It was sparsely decorated, choosing functionality over comfort. Clear plastic chairs sat in a circle around a low table adorned with a local New Orleans magazine that did a feature on Ladeaux. His picture took up the entire cover.

  Two familiar receptionists sat at their twin desks. The blonde was a clone and the black haired one was a reformed sex bot. She’d been recycled from a club, given an AI upgrade and put to work here.

  “Hello, Anastasia,” I said to the clone sitting at the desk on the left.

  “Good afternoon, Detective Forrest,” she replied and then continued her data entry.

  “You’re ten minutes earlier than expected,” Betty, the droid, stated.

  “One of my tragic flaws,” I answered. “So your boss is expecting me, then?”

  “I’ve been instructed to rearrange Mr. Ladeaux’s schedule to accommodate you.”

  I felt eyes on me—okay, to be honest, I always felt like someone was watching when I was in the offices of the shipping company, but this was different. I glanced over at Anastasia. She stared down at the paperwork on her desk, but watched me intently through lidded eyes.

  “You got a problem?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she responded. “And so do you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Tommy will talk to you about it.”

  “Bullshit. You’re not a droid; they can’t program you to be quiet. What am I walking into here?” Obviously something was amiss if the clone chose to say something to me. What is it?

  She glanced toward the ceiling. I looked up. A parabolic microphone stuck out from the sound-deadening tiles. They didn’t even bother to hide it.

  “We’re in danger,” she whispered rapidly. “I feel like part of me is dying.”

  “Anastasia, that’s enough,” Betty chide
d, standing rapidly. “Mr. Ladeaux expressly forbids us from engaging Detective Forrest in conversation. You are violating direct orders from Mr. Ladeaux and I must report you.”

  “Go ahead, Betty. I’m worried. Nobody gives a shit about clones.”

  “I’m hurt, Anastasia.” I turned away from the drama unfolding before me to see Voodoo walking into the reception area. Every time I saw him, he reminded of a weasel—if a weasel wore a suit that cost three months’ worth of my salary.

  “I give a shit about you, dear,” he continued. “That’s why we’re talking to the good detective today.”

  “Ladeaux,” I stated matter-of-factly.

  “Detective Forrest, nice to see you again.” He stuck out his hand for me to shake. I ignored it, choosing instead to stare at his beady little eyes.

  He took the hint and dropped his hand.

  “Really? I thought we’d moved past all of this unpleasantness. After all, I helped you unravel the Sex Club Killer case. That earned you quite a bit of local fame, if I recall correctly. Oh, and that state trooper. I bet she was a blast, huh?”

  “Are you keeping tabs on me, Ladeaux?”

  “No, of course not, Forrest. It’s hard not to notice things like that when pictures of the two of you end up on every internet tabloid site. Not very discreet, friend.”

  “I ain’t your friend, Ladeaux—regardless of how hard you try to make it that way.” Talking about my failed relationship wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I changed the topic and turned back to Anastasia. “You said the clones are in danger. What do you mean?”

  She stared past me to where Voodoo stood. Her eyes spoke volumes that her mouth didn’t. Voodoo was involved in something, but didn’t want me to know about it; something that was harmful to clones.

  I glanced at Tommy Voodoo and then back at the clone. “Let me try a different approach. I’d like to ask you a few questions about—”

  “That’s quite enough, Detective,” Voodoo said. “My clone is done talking to you.”

  “I’m not done talking to her.”

  “Please, don’t make this difficult. The laws regarding clones are few and far between, so the federal government has passed stopgaps stating that the same rules that apply to droids are enforceable for clones. I’m within my legal rights to refuse you access to discussing anything with my property without a warrant.”

  “Your property? I thought you were different when it came to clones, Ladeaux.”

  “I am. However, I know my rights and if I want the discussion to end, I can do so at any time.”

  “Are you afraid she’s gonna say something to incriminate you? Is that why you don’t want me to talk to her?”

  “No, I—”

  “Do you know anything about three tortured, mutilated—and very dead clones that were dropped off in a dumpster on Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t give me that shit, Ladeaux. Wait, what?” Sometimes it took a moment for my mind to catch up to my mouth. I was shocked that he admitted knowing anything about the case—or whatever this little side investigation ended up being.

  “Yes, I know about them. That’s why I wanted to speak with you today.”

  “Alright. What do you know about it?”

  “Let’s go to my office,” Voodoo suggested. “If certain associates of mine saw me speaking to you about this, the consequences could be severe.”

  I laughed at his statement. “Are you worried that your street reputation will take a hit?”

  “No. More like I’m worried that I’ll become a target. There’s a lot of money involved in this game, Forrest. More money than I’m worth; far more than you could ever hope to see in your lifetime. The people making that money don’t want it to stop coming in.”

  I thought about it for a moment. How appropriate that he was afraid for his life because of the type of people he chose to associate with. I didn’t have any sympathy for him, but I wanted to get the answers as best I could so I agreed to go back to his office.

  He led the way woodenly, nodding his chin only slightly when he passed anyone in the hallway leading to his office. We turned suddenly, going a different way than we’d gone the last time I was here a few months ago. Voodoo stopped in front of a seemingly random panel in the wall and pushed on the upper corner.

  I heard a soft click and then the side he’d pushed on came away from the panel next to it. He pried it open and indicated that I should go through first. I stepped into a small corridor that ran behind the walls of the Marie Leveau Shipping Company. I felt Voodoo step in behind me, so I moved forward a few feet and turned to watch him close the panel. Complete and total darkness enveloped the passageway.

  Movement in the dark told me that he was doing something. I didn’t trust the man as far as I could throw him, so I drew my service piece and stepped across the corridor to the other side. A moment later, a small, bright light illuminated the space as Voodoo held a lighting orb.

  “You can put that away,” he whispered. “I’m not going to try anything.”

  I relaxed slightly now that I could see, but chose not to let him know that. “I’ll keep it in easy reach,” I assured him.

  “Come on. It’s this way. We’ll be there in a minute.”

  We followed the passageway straight for what felt like a hundred feet, then took a right when the passageway came to a T-intersection. Another hundred feet and Voodoo stopped in front of a locked door. He pressed his hand onto a flat scanning panel and then a retinal scanner assessed the retinal blood vessel patterns in his eye. It was a lot of security for a simple meeting.

  Voodoo wasn’t worried; he was terrified.

  The door unlocked and we entered what appeared to be an office space. It looked almost exactly like the one we’d met in before.

  “Did we just take a secret passage to get to your office?”

  He sat down at the desk and smirked. “Yes—and no. This is my real office. The one we met in last October is a duplicate. A clone, if you will.”

  “So all that sports memorabilia in the other office?”

  “Fake.”

  “This?” I asked as I gestured around the room at the signed pictures of him with players, footballs signed by entire teams, jerseys encased in picture frames and all sorts of other pieces. I’d say all of it looked like it belonged in a museum or at least a sports bar, but the dedication to Mr. Ladeaux made them worthless in my eyes.

  “These are the real ones. Everything in here was gifted to me by the players or their team. It’s absolutely priceless in my opinion.”

  “Okay, so we snuck through your building and we’re skulking in a private office. Why?” I asked.

  “My other office is being watched.”

  “So won’t they know we didn’t go there?”

  “Betty has already hacked the security system so the video shows you leaving after your little altercation with Anastasia.”

  “What? How?”

  “Video is easy to manipulate, Forrest. You should remember that.”

  The last time I’d dealt with Voodoo, he’d shared erased video footage from the sex clubs and droids that he owned. The hacker had made his changes imperceptible to the police techs, the only way we knew anything was different about it was because of the criminal sitting across from me.

  “Anastasia is right,” Voodoo continued. “She’s stupid to say something publicly, but the clones are in danger.”

  “Like the ones in the dumpster?”

  “Yes. Have you ever heard of torture tourism?”

  I thought about it for a moment before answering. “No, I haven’t heard that term before. It sounds like that virtual reality game that swept through Easytown ten or twelve years ago. People got their rocks off by torturing and killing others in VR.”

  “It’s similar to that, in a way,” he affirmed. “VR torture made people a lot of money. The levels of depravity in the human soul are truly amazing. But I’m sure you know this all too well, Detective.”
<
br />   Unfortunately, I did.

  “So, what is torture tourism and how does it relate to my case?”

  Voodoo smiled, reminding me that even though he’d helped me in the past and it seemed like he was willing to help me now, he was still a snake.

  “It’s a mix of extreme gambling and murder. Clones are brought in and things are done to them—we don’t need to go into the details, I’m sure the bodies you discovered had plenty of evidence as to what they are subjected to. Players make bets on mundane things like which one will scream first and it goes up from there, including what it will take to kill the clone. There’s really no limit to what they could bet on.”

  “How do you know so much about it, Ladeaux?”

  “Because I sold the clones to the club before I knew what they were going to do with them. Those three you found originated from the company that I own sixty percent of.”

  “Who’d you sell them to?”

  “A broker named Joseph Kleer. I’ve been told, after the fact of course, that he runs the torture tourism ring. We’ve looked for him, but I can’t find him. He’s become a ghost. The best I can tell, he’s set up torture houses across the city and the gamblers are told where they will go at the last minute to keep the location a secret.”

  Fuck me. It seems like Voodoo has done all the background research… Again.

  “Alright, so they’re gambling illegally. That I can arrest them for.”

  Voodoo seemed surprised, for once. “That would be a way to put a stop to this. I hadn’t thought about that aspect. I wanted to brainstorm with you about how to charge them with murder.”

  “Can’t be done,” I muttered. “Clones aren’t protected under the law. Like you mentioned earlier, they’re property. They can be disposed of at any time by the owner. I couldn’t even get an autopsy done by the coroner. Once he found out those three were clones, he stopped working on them.”

  “That’s bullshit—pardon the expression. Biologiqué International has perfected the cloning process. They are exact duplicates of their counterparts, down to the minute they were cloned. With our memory implant technology, they even retain the memories, mannerisms, and personalities. If lawmakers would talk to a clone or spend time with them, they would know that they’re just as human as the next person. Maybe more so since all the genetic deformities and undesirable traits are removed before the body is grown.”