Spider Play

by Lee Killough

She saw her feeling reflected in Quist’s face. “I think it’s time for this, then.” He pulled out a wrap strap and jerked Jerrett’s arms behind his back. A practiced flip sent the strap snapping around Jerrett’s wrists, where it adhered to itself. “You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer.”

  Roos arrived, panting. “Shit! I missed the fun. Alpha jacket, Pluto. One of the new no-weight, super-insulated models from Klondike, isn’t it. I wish I were indigent so Social Care would give me coupons for clothes like that. Or did you buy it with digidough from stripping cars?”

  His lip curled. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “You know . . . like that hearse you jacked yesterday.”

  “What hearse?” A violent shiver wracked his body. “You ain’t making any sense. It must be the temperature. You know . . . like lizards and snakes slow down in the cold? You better go someplace warmer so your brains can start working again.”

  Mama beamed at him, smile bright in the darkness of his face. “Why thank you for inviting us in.”

  They marched him down to the door.

  Upstairs, Kreigh glared at them in a livingroom furnished in Orion red, yellow, and blue colors . . . with tip-overs that converted from tables to chairs as needed and a suite of easy chairs and sofa in plush-covered molded foam. Better quality furnishings, Janna judged, than might be expected from the building’s exterior. And better than might be expected living on Social Care. Jerrett had other income or Kriegh a job.

  Kriegh dropped onto the red sofa and sat with arms crossed. “Thanks so much, Pluto. Now I’m gonna have to fumigate.”

  Quist pushed Jerrett down on the couch beside her after depolarizing the wrap strap to free his wrists. “Tell us what you’ve done with the hearse.”

  Jerrett’s lip curled. “Your brain still frostbitten? I don’t know nothin’ about any hearse.”

  “Let us refresh your memory.” Roos pulled her slate spindle from the scabbard pocket of her cargos, pulled out the screen and snapped it rigid. After tapping on the screen, she held it in front of him. “Yesterday morning, Friday, eight-eleven, Twenty-ninth and Topeka, you and one of your boz jacked a hearse belonging to the Nafsinger Funeral Home, license number RSN 405. One called you by name, and see. . . ” She tapped some more. “. . .this. this is how the driver described her assailants. That’s you. You’re lion meat, choomba.”

  “Wasn’t me, puss. I don’t go to south Topeka. And get up that early?” Jerrett snorted. “That’s my bedtime! No way in hell I’d be out in this weather when I can be skin to skin with my star fem heating the sheets. I like my fun in the sun. But if me and my boz did a jack, we’d wear masks and wouldn’t ever call each other by name. And . . . do a hearse? Fuck that. I got whole lot better taste. I’d go top dink . . . like for Leland cats, not down street.”

  “Right,” Mama murmured to Janna.

  “So it wasn’t us . . . and besides, I was here all day, wasn’t I, star? Mostly in bed.”

  “All day.” Kriegh smirked. “Skin to skin, like he says. Heating the sheets.”

  “You weren’t here when we came looking.”

  He shrugged. “Man’s got to take a break . . . step outside and cool off before the bed catches fire. You must’a just missed me.”

  “So you want to explain the witness description?”

  “Someone’s trying a skin to fit me for it.”

  “You’re being framed. Why?” Roos demanded. “Who?”

  Jerrett shrugged. “Anyone. Everyone envies the Orions.”

  “It can’t be the Panzers,” Quist said. “They couldn’t paint their faces enough to hide the steel-plate tattoos.”

  “Not Simbas or Samurais, either,” Janna said. “The jackers weren’t Afam or Asian.”

  “Check the Toros,” Kriegh said. “Wearing paint, the taco squad could almost pass for human.”

  Jerrett smirked. “That’s good, star. I’ll have to remember that. Did you ever think it might be the Corsairs? South Topeka runs through their turf. But you’re the great detectives. It’s your job to track down criminals and find who’s trying to frame innocent citizens.”

  “Innocent.” Quist snorted. “We’ll see how innocent you are. Put on a shirt and let’s go downtown where some people can look at you.”

  Jerrett frowned. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Sure,” Janna said, “though I don’t know why. We aren’t arresting you. Aren’t you just being a good citizen and proving your innocence by assisting us with our inquiries?”

  His mouth twisted. “Yeah of course, puss . . . but I still want my lawyer.”

  * * *

  For all Jerrett’s talk about “his” lawyer, a public defender met them in the Crimes Against Persons squad room. Livy Preston . . . new enough to still have that savior-of-the-wrongfully-accused gleam in her eyes. Amber-complected, dark copper hair twisted in elaborate braids, and filling out the tunic of a blue and lilac striped pant suit that probably debited her account a month’s salary so she could look like a lawyer someone paid for.

  After conferring with Jerrett in one of the interview rooms — where he remained to prevent Beta Nafsinger from seeing him when she arrived — she crowded in behind Quist at the computer peninsula of his desk . . . peering over his shoulder while he and a tech up in Cyber chose images of males in winter clothing for the show-up, and added Orion stars to the faces of those lacking them. During Preston’s conference with Jerrett, the four of them decided to include two other Orions in the eight individuals shown to Beta Nafsinger, Snake and AK . . . a pair most likely to abet Jerrett.

  Preston frowned. “You’re making my client look like a thug.”

  “We’re making everyone look like the victim described the jackers.”

  His mild tone surprised Janna, but watching through the transparent crime board rising between Roos’ and his desks, she realized irritation had to be difficult with those generous breasts almost cradling his head.

  “It’s a waste of time.” Mama stacked three insulated paper cups on the narrow leg of Roos’ desk and with a flick of his wrist, arced them over the neighboring desk into the recycle basket by CAPP’s coffee cart. “Nafsinger won’t be able to put the nod on Jerrett.”

  Roos frowned. “You mean you believe his deni— Don’t touch those!” she snapped as Mama began rearranging teddy bear figurines on the end of the desk . . . ceramic, plastic, clear glass, a blue wire sculpture clearly done with a 3D pen, and one crocheted. Each with a miniature SCPD badge on its chest.

  Mama pulled back. “The crime, location, and time don’t fit Jerrett.”

  She snorted. “Oh, come on. Do you see anyone jacking the hearse to slag the Orions? What could be the point? Someone who wants to take over leadership from Jerrett? I think we’d have seen some suspicion of that in him. Besides, an auto theft conviction is just a holiday for him. Hutch is practically his second home. And you know damn well he’d go on running the Orions from prison.”

  “Valid points.”

  Roos smiled . . . no doubt thinking she had convinced him.

  Janna doubted that. Once Mama heard his drummer, nothing stopped him marching to its beat but a dead end or shock grenade. To which she normally reacted by letting him go, waiting to pick up the pieces when he crashed and burned.

  Except he did not always crash. That might be the case today. Roos had valid points, but so did Mama. It brought an itch of disquiet. Because if Jerrett were not involved in the jacking, who could gain by framing the Orions for it, and what could they gain?

  Questions that might mean nothing if Nafsinger ID’d Jerret.

  And here she came through the squad room door, accompanied by her father. Surprising Janna. Yes, the conservative grey and silver lily-patterned fabric of the body suit visible under her open jacket fitted their business, but it clothed a strapping twenty-something fem who looked like she should be on a farm tossing hay bales instead of hauling corpses around.

  Cornflower blue eyes widened f
or a moment, eyeing Mama. Then, as she shrugged out of her jacket, working the sleeve off over the guide cuff issued downstairs to make sure she found her way up here without straying, she grinned at Quist and Roos. “So you caught the sons of bitches. Good work. Where are they?”

  Janna liked her. Mama, Quist, and other detectives around the Crimes Against Persons squad room eyed her appreciatively.

  “Beta, please. Your language.” But a crinkle of Samuel Nafsinger’s eyes and twitch at the corner of his mouth belied his protest. The inner laughter vanished as he turned to Roos. “Have you found Mr. Chenoweth? Leonard Fontana called me again before we left to come here.”

  Roos gave both Nafsingers a bland smile. “We’re still looking.”

  “Mr. Fontana is of course anxious. He takes his responsibility for all his employees, living and dead, very seriously. We also take our responsibility for Mr. Chenoweth’s remains seriously.”

  “Of course you do. We understand.”

  “But the jons you’ve got will tell you where he and the hearse are . . . right?” Beta said.

  Roos took a breath. “We don’t know if these individuals are involved or not. That’s why we need you to look at them.”

  Beta frowned a moment, then nodded. “So let’s see them. According to the vids they’re in another room where I can see them but they can’t see me?”

  “They definitely can’t see you.” Roos glanced toward Quist. “Are we ready?”

  He nodded. “All set.”

  “Then follow me.” She led the way toward the unit’s Scene Review Chamber, with everyone else, following . . . including Preston. “We’re going to a walk-in holo tank we’ve set up with eight individuals for you to see. The individuals who stole your hearse may or may not be among them. Don’t feel compelled to identify someone. They’re all holos, so you may approach and study them close up. Take your time.”

  “And it’s all right if you don’t recognize anyone,” Preston said.

  “You don’t talk, Counselor,” Quist muttered to her.

  Roos slid open the tank’s door and waved Beta through.

  Beta stopped short in the doorway. “They’re holos?”

  With enough height to see over the fem’s shoulder, Janna understood the hesitation. The eight figures on the far side of the tank looked menacing in their bulky jackets and winter caps.

  “Just holos.”

  Beta took a breath, then marched across the tank and reached tentatively toward one figure. Snake, Janna saw. When her hand passed through him, Beta let her breath out. “Ace.”

  The rest of them filed in and lined up on both sides of the doorway.

  To aid verisimilitude, the walls had been programmed as a snowy Topeka Avenue, but with the image motionless to avoid being distracting.

  Beta walked slowly down the line of figures, peering closely at each, and even walking through a few to view others from the side and rear.

  Preston said, “There should be blowing sn— Ow!”

  “Did I step on your foot?” Roos murmured. “Sorry.”

  After several minutes, Beta turned around and shrugged. “I don’t know. They all look alike.”

  Her father smiled. “That’s the point, I think . . . so no one can say the suspects were made obvious. Just relax and take your time. There are bound to be differences between them. Remember your trick of reading a deck of cards by minute differences on the backs?”

  Beta sent him a grateful smile.

  Watching the affection between father and daughter, Janna felt a sudden sharp pang of homesickness for her own father. She ought to call him tonight. It might make the apartment bearable.

  Beta turned back to the group and moved along them again. But after several minutes she turned around, forehead furrowed. “Well . . . the one who pulled me out isn’t here.”

  “You’re sure?” Quist said.

  “Yes. He had total cheekbones and killer blue eyes. None of these jons do.”

  Did any of the Orions other than those represented here have “killer blue eyes”? Janna made a mental note to check Data for descriptions.

  “How about the second jacker?” Quist asked.

  Beta frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. There was something . . . different about him I can’t remember, and nothing here helps me remember.”

  Preston smiled.

  Mama said. “Try this. Close your eyes and picture him. When you have him clearly in mind, look at the holos again.”

  She closed her eyes. After a few moments of deep breathing, she opened them again and walked back down to the holos. Then turned, expression triumphant. “Got it. The point coming down from the second jacker’s left eye kind of . . . twisted.”

  Roos blinked. “Twisted?”

  Beta nodded. “Like . . . like . . .” Her face screwed up in thought . . . then smoothed into a satisfied grin. “Like when you put on a clingskin decal and it doesn’t lie straight?”

  Nafsinger beamed at his daughter. “That’s my girl.”

  The rest of them stared at each other. A star decal? No Orion wore a decal.

  Mama lifted his brows in I-told-you-so. Preston smirked.

  “None of these jons have a star like that. And there’s something else I remember now,” Beta said. “These jons look neater.”

  Quist scowled. “Neater?”

  “The clothes of the jons yesterday looked older. The one who pulled me out had the snap gone from the strap that closes the two halves of the collar and a patch on his left elbow, and the jacket of the second jon had grease spots.”

  Grease spots? Janna watched Mama and the CAPP detectives go poker-faced and felt her expression copy them. The second jacker was supposedly Jerrett. Yes, he might have worn a different jacket than he had on today, but never one with grease spots. Not if he wanted to keep the respect of his and other gangs. He had to look the alpha, someone capable of taking what he wanted. And he certainly wore tattoos, not decals.

  Preston said, “Since neither of the jackers are here, Detectives . . . I think we’re done.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t identify anyone,” Beta said.

  Nafsinger patted her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. They told you those might not be here. So we’ll leave and let them get back to finding Mr. Chenoweth.”

  And start asking who might profit from masquerading as Orions.

  Back in the squad room, pulling on her jacket, Beta said, “I wonder why they picked me. Maybe they thought it was a limo and were inside before they realized their mistake?”

  Mistook it for a limo? Janna doubted it with all that length behind the rear doors betraying its function. Still . . . if they needed a vehicle to pass only briefly as a limo, maybe that explained the choice. And someone taking it for a purpose like robbery, perhaps, might well disguise themselves to send law enforcement hunting the wrong quarry.

  “There’s another possibility to consider,” Mama said. “Could it be a strike at you? Can either of you think of anyone with a grudge against members of your family personally or professionally?”

  Beta snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Her father shook his head. “Not ridiculous, but unlikely. We work hard to insure client satisfaction. When we fall short, our clientele are the kind of people who complain to the Better Business Bureau, or sue.”

  “What about competitors?” Quist asked.

  Beta started to laugh . . . then bit her lip when her father sent her a reproachful glance. “A funeral home war? Rivals stealing each other’s equipment, sabotaging arrangements? Come now, Detective. Besides, I can’t imagine any of my competitors masquerading as a street gang. I’m sorry we couldn’t help, but, please, let us know the moment you locate Mr. Chenoweth, won’t you?”

  With the Nafsingers gone, Preston said, “Since my client is innocent, we’ll be leaving, too.”

  “Only for booking,” Janna said. “For the assault charge.”

  Preston sniffed. “That’s ridiculous. It was se
lf-defense. He saw someone pointing a weapon at him and naturally reacted to defend himself.”

  “I identified myself as police. You can review the recording.”

  “He was frightened and didn’t hear you.”

  “Let him tell it to the judge.”

  Jerrett smirked when Preston informed him of the show-up results. “See . . . I told you I didn’t do it. You’re lucky we don’t sue your asses off for false arrest and mental anguish. You know how hard those chairs in there are? Then maybe you’ll learn not to harass innocent citizens.”

  “You’re under arrest for assault,” Quist said.

  Jerrett shrugged, the grin never wavering. “What’s another couple a hours wasted. At least it’s warm here, and my hot tamale will have a nice dinner and hot sheets waiting for me at home.”

  * * *

  With Jerrett booked, Janna came back to find the others staring at the crime board . . . Roos from her side, Mama and Quist from Quist’s. Joining Roos, Janna saw they had transferred frames of the hijack vid to the board as thumbnails along the bottom and pulled several up the board to enlarge.

  Quist used his index fingers on diagonal corners to further enlarge one of the jackers at the hearse door. IT magic made sure that no matter which partner added the image, the image appeared the same on both sides of the board.

  Eyeing it, Mama shook his head. “That doesn’t help. I doubt even Cyber can give us a better image.”

  Quist huffed. “We need something. Without Jerrett, we’re back at square one.”

  “Less than square one, and Applegate isn’t happy about it,” Roos said. “These rags can be anyone, and anywhere in the city.”

  Mama shook his head again. “I think we should still concentrate on Oakland. They took the hearse there.”

  “As part of pretending to be Orions,” Roos said.

  “I think they’re from Oakland. They knew E-World has no lot surveillance, and they know Jerrett leads the Orions.”

  Quist pursed his lips. “So we’re looking for someone wanting to slag the Orions. Though, why? In terms of being a gang, the Orions are hardly more than a social club.”