by J. N. Chaney
“None taken.”
I didn’t like these odds. Given ample cover and the fog of war, I might be able to take out Oubrick and his remaining thugs with my weapon. But close-quarters combat against four professionals? Maybe on my best day, but given how much pain I was in, I didn’t see myself surviving long.
“Any chance you can send me some camera feeds, Lars?”
“Of course, sir,” Lars replied. “Please stand by.”
I raised my wrist comm and tried to get my heart rate under control. The device emitted an image of the hangar bay. Now that the floor was reasonably level, Oubrick and his three remaining goons had regrouped and collected their various cases to stand near the middle edge of the main opening. Each man was dressed in a jump rig, and the backpack parachutes were secured on the cases. The only person not in a jump rig was a red-haired woman sitting on the floor, gag in her mouth and hands bound behind her.
“Gods, it’s her,” I whispered.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Lars replied.
“Eh, the truth is, we’d be rescuing whoever they still held hostage, it’s just that…”
“You love this hostage, sir.”
“Shut up, Lars.”
“Understood.”
The way they were set up in the open like that didn’t leave a whole lot of room for strategy. They still waved their guns around as if someone might break in at any second. That was good—at least in that they were scared of me and whoever else I might bring. That was at least something. But if Lars was to be believed, I had to get them to put their weapons down, which seemed an impossible task. Once that was accomplished, then I had to figure out how to take them out one by one.
I clicked off the holo-feed and leaned my back against the wall. My heart was still thumping wildly in my chest. That was when I remembered my flask. I pulled it from my pocket and unscrewed the cap. Then I took two long swigs and let the liquid burn as it went down, eyes closing. I pictured myself on our back porch swing with a little campfire, feet up, cigar slowly burning. Tiny curled up by my feet and Heather…
I screwed the cap back on and returned the flask to my pocket. “Lars,” I said. “Those hand weapons in Mr. Oragga’s office…”
“What about them, sir?”
“They functional?”
“Quite so.”
“Think he’d mind if I borrowed one or two?”
“Considering the circumstances, not at all, sir.”
“Good.” I ran a thumb across my lip and sucked off the last drop of scotch.
“Do you intended to use them?” Lars asked.
“I do. Maybe not well, but well enough.”
“Very good, sir. I will open the doors and prepare the armory for your inspection.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “Also, you remember that little discussion about performance enhancers? The non coitus kind?”
“I do, yes.”
“Those still available?”
“They are.”
“Good, then get ready to probe me.”
“Sir, I hardly think that injections constitute—”
“And one more thing, Lars,” I said, cutting him off.
“Of course.”
“I need you to prepare a little show for Oubrick. I’ll explain as we walk.”
“A show, sir?”
“Yup, one I’m sure will bring down the house.”
Being back in Oragga’s office made me want to sit down in that special chair of his and have Lars work his magic on me. I’d felt so much better after that first session despite my apprehensions. Right now, I ached even worse than before and wanted nothing more than to sit back, get put to sleep, and wake up pain-free. But there’d be time for that later, probably at the end of a few empty bottles. For now, I had a fight to prep for.
The weapons lockers had already risen up from the floor by the time I arrived, doors open and cool blue lights glowing. I resisted the urge to fondle more of Oragga’s automatic weapons and went straight for the last case, which held the hand weapons. I scanned the locker, eyes dazzled by the array of killing tools he’d collected. Tri-bladed short swords, curved long-swords, antique shields that looked like they’d seen more of their share of combat. The list of tools went on and I tried to think what might suit my needs best.
In the end, I removed my shirt, strapped a sheath onto my bare back, and then slid a longsword into it. The sheath held the weapon along my spine, hiding the handle behind my head. I replaced my shirt and then selected a knife, which I ran through the belt loops along the small of my back. With any luck, these two pieces would remain out of sight as long as possible. Lastly, I took up one of the double-headed spears that stood the length of the locker. I didn’t care what people said—size mattered. As did appearances. Getting an enemy to feel like they had the upper hand was as important to winning as gaining the upper hand yourself.
“How much time do we have left?” I asked Lars.
“Three minutes, twenty-six seconds, sir,” he replied. “Additionally, I have prepared the presentation items you asked for,” Lars informed me.
“Good, buddy. Thanks for that. Now let’s hope this little plan of ours works.”
“Yes, let’s do. One final note. Why don’t you use Mr. Oragga’s private entrance into the hangar?”
“Of course he’s got a private entrance,” I mumbled. A door-sized section in one of the massive screens went dark. I moved toward it and stood, waiting for Lars to open it.
“Are you prepared, sir?” he asked.
“Let’s do this.” Suddenly, I felt the urge to say something more. “Hey, Lars?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“It has been my pleasure serving you, sir.”
I took three deep breaths, rolling my shoulders in spite of the pain, and moved my head back and forth. “Let the party begin.”
22
“Let’s just move, babe,” Heather said for at least the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours. “Somewhere far away. We could sell our unit, and I’m sure my parents would help us out. I hear they’re offering tax incentives and credits to anyone willing to move onto Gladius Station.”
“The pioneer colony?”
“Yeah, they say they’re only a few years away from finishing terraforming. Just think of it! We could have a totally new life. New place, new jobs, new friends—”
“Friends who have no idea about your husband’s professional failures, is that right?”
Heather blinked a few times. “It’s not like that,” she protested. But we both knew that was exactly what it was like.
In the hours since the raid, news about the officers who’d lost their lives had spread like wildfire. Worse still, however, were the unfounded claims that I’d gunned down a kid in cold blood. I knew if I could just get an audience with the commissioner, he’d believe me. But right now, all the evidence, as well as the “eyewitnesses” were stacked against me.
Heather sat across from me on the couch, curled up with a blanket and a box of tissues. This was the longest she’d gone without crying since I told her about Devin. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said.
“Ashamed of?” I winced. “I’m not ashamed of anything.”
“Right. You went up against the biggest drug cartel in the city.”
“And took them down,” I added.
“Exactly. Of course, some men had to die.”
“Wait. Hold on a sec.”
“And that kid… it was self-defense.”
“I already told you, Heather! I didn’t kill that kid.”
“Well, you’ve got to tell them that, babe!”
“I already told you, the only person it’s safe to talk to is Commissioner Graves.”
“Then call him up.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is when your face is plastered on every holo-screen in the city.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. Since news of the raid had hit th
e streets, my face was quite literally everywhere. I was also subject of every opinion thinkable. Some claimed I was a hero, responsible for singlehandedly kicking the enemy off Ti Bier Prime once and for all. To them, I was tantamount to a deity, and needed to run for chief and commissioner at the same time. Some had even predicted that I’d be the next mayor.
The other half, however, said I was evil incarnate, and needed to be put down like a rabid animal. I’d violated my oaths as an officer of the law, brought shame on the entire institution, and put the safety of the entire city on the line. The really fanatical said that if I wasn’t executed or banished, the gods would send lightning to strike Sellion City, crashing to the ground.
“Hells,” Heather said, pulling aside the curtains behind our heads, “if you want an audience with the commissioner, just tell the news cameras on our front lawn and I’m sure they’ll help arrange it.”
“You know I’m not doing that,” I said, pulling the curtains shut.
“Then you’ve got to do something, Flint! Dammit, Devin is… he’s… He’s not coming home, Flint! And I can’t even get through to Lisa.”
“I’m aware,” I said flatly, not helping the situation.
Heather threw a pillow at me and burst into tears. I’d run out of things to say to her… run out of ways to try and comfort her. There was just no way this situation was going to get better until the authorities spoke. With any luck, I’d be able to speak with the commissioner before the press conference and square some things away.
“Listen babe, my ride is gonna be here in two minutes and my security detail will be here any second.”
“I didn’t sign up for this, Flint,” she said from behind a pillow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
There was a chime from the front door. “Chief Detective Flint? It’s Officers Lambrusco, Finney, and Hedgepath, here to escort you to the vehicle.”
I ignored it and repeated my previous question to Heather.
“It means I never wanted any of this,” Heather replied. “The attention, the controversy, the pain…”
“And you think I did?”
“Well, you tell me! You’re the one who signed up to be a cop,” she said.
“And you’re the one who said you’d stick with me through thick and thin!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe this is a little too much for any one person to be expected to bear.”
“I’m sure Lisa will take pity on you, then.”
“Flint Reed!” Heather leaped off the couch and lunged at me. She beat my chest, screaming at me. I took the blows but kept her arms from hitting my face—I was, after all, less than an hour away from standing beside Chief Lessard as he addressed the city on live television. And this was exactly the kind of loving support I needed from my spouse right now.
“Chief Detective Reed, are you all right?” asked Officer Lambrusco from behind the door.
“Peachy!” I said. “Be right there.”
“Okay, because it sounds like—”
“Mind your own business, Lambrusco.”
“Yes, sir.”
Heather’s rant finally fizzled out. She must have been exhausted. Hells, I was exhausted. But I also hadn’t slept since the raid. Too much happening. Too many faces of the dead.
“Just leave,” she finally said, retreating to the couch.
“We’re gonna get through this,” I said. “One way or another.”
“No, you’re going to get through this.”
“Heather, please be reasonable…”
“I’m not talking to you until after the press conference. Just go be a cop, and when you’re ready to be a husband again, I’ll be here.”
I sighed. I thought maybe I’d get a little more sympathy from her. More support at what was one of the most pivotal moments of my adult life. Then again, my family had always let me down, so why break with tradition now? For some reason, my eyes wandered over to the bottle of scotch on top of the fridge. It had been a while since I’d had a finger of it. Maybe that was how I’d finish off the night. That bottle had been sitting up there for far too long. I recalled that my father never let them sit for very long, so why should I?
“Chief Detective? We need to insist that you come with us,” said Lambrusco.
“I’ll see you later, Heather,” I said. But she only stared off in the distance.
The press gathered below the overcast steps of the capitol building like a flock of Mardovii sea birds, flapping and snapping with their lights and cameras to the point of complete irritation. I stood among several other officers from the Sunset Street Raid—now a proper noun in the city’s vernacular—awaiting the higher-ups to arrive.
I’d been told that the senior staff, including the Chief of Police and the Police Commissioner, were going to walk out with us. Strength in numbers and a unified front—all those kinds of things. Instead, I had been given orders to go up without them and stand with what the press were now calling the “survivors of the slaughter.”
This felt a whole lot more like a public execution than it did an information update. Reporters fired questions at me from below the stage like stones hurled at criminals awaiting the hangman’s noose.
“Can you explain why the department incurred such heavy losses?”
“Can you confirm allegations that Detective Devin Brown ignored warnings from his commanding officers and prematurely opened fire, placing his officers’ lives at risk?”
“Is it true that you fired on an unarmed civilian and tried to blame it on the Chief of Police?”
I stood at parade rest, eyes forward, face hardened. Each question tried its best to sting me, but I hardened my soul against them, choosing instead to let my superiors handle this pack of wolves. I had my doubts about the chief, but I knew the commissioner would exonerate me if it came to blows.
When at last the senior staff arrived, I noticed that the police commissioner was not among them. Instead, Lessard led the line of nobles down from the capitol building’s main entrance and to the stage. If the reporters were unruly before, their level of intensity rose to pandemonium.
For Lessard’s part, he almost seemed to enjoy it, reveling in the limelight. He waited a good minute, acting as though he wanted the reporters to settle down, when in reality, I was sure that he was savoring the noise resonating throughout the city—as this was, in fact, being broadcast live. One officer even told me he thought it was being streamed over the entire Gal-net.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lessard said, repeating himself no fewer than three times. “Please, please. If I could have your attention.” He waved his hands like he was running for public office or something. When at last the crowd quieted down, probably realizing this could go on indefinitely and no one would be any closer to the fact, Lessard began again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, and distinguished viewers watching at home, my name is Lawrence Lessard, Sellion City’s Chief of Police.” He waited, letting his title hang in the air for a moment. Did he expect applause? Seriously, the man sickened me.
“As you know, earlier this morning at one twenty-five am local time, a joint task force pulled from among three precincts, led by our very own Chief Detective Flint Reed, raided the warehouse of the notorious Glimmer gang on Sunset Street.” He paused again, looking across the sea of faces and cameras below.
“The raid was organized under my care, along with Commissioner Graves’s careful supervision, utilizing the very best of taxpayer-funded technologies. Each and every member of the six strike teams was handpicked for their courage, distinguished service record, and skills in conducting what was a highly technical and highly dangerous raid. They represent the very best that our fine city’s police department has to offer.
“First and foremost, I would like to congratulate the men and women of the Sellion City Police Department for conducting a successful raid. As such, I am pleased to report that under my watch, I and those who work under me, have taken into custod
y more than seventy-eight percent of the cartel’s Sellion City-based operatives, and seized more than nineteen thousand kilos of the drug named after the infamous gang, glimmer.”
The press went wild at this news, as they should. The raid was a success. The casualties incurred, however, was another topic entirely. And given how tactfully Lessard was spinning the highlights of the raid in his favor, I shuddered to think what he was going to do with the lowlights.
“Chief Lessard! What about the remaining cartel member not in custody?” The question came from a woman at the front of the stage whose timing—along with Lessard’s uncanny attention on her—reeked of a setup.
“The question was,” Lessard said, “what about the remaining cartel member not in custody? I’m happy to answer that, of course. The raid on the warehouse was incredibly harrowing. Having led the assault, I can tell you firsthand that every one of the officers under my direction risked life and limb to face those barricaded inside. The perpetrators put up one hells of a fight, let me tell you. So those who would not come willingly were killed during resistance to the law.
“I want to assure everyone,” Lessard continued, raising his hands as the crowd buzzed. “I want to assure everyone that almost all of the officers involved were professional in the face of unimaginable danger.”
My chest tightened on the words “almost all.” Here it comes, I thought.
“Each officer upheld the standards and procedures that govern our distinguished law enforcement tradition,” Lessard said. “Lethal force was not taken until all attempts to subdue and arrest the enemy were explored to their ends.”
“But what about allegations that Detective Devin Brown willfully disobeyed orders?” asked the same female reporter as before.
Gods, was this really happening? I looked around, hoping the commissioner or even the mayor would come up, but neither was anywhere to be seen.
“Please, please!” Lessard said, trying to get the crowd to be quiet, but his attempts looked half-hearted at best. “Everyone! Please settle down. I would like the opportunity to answer this very important question, which is, did Detective Brown willfully disobey orders and fire prematurely on members of the cartel without just cause?