EMPIRE: Imperial Police

by Stephanie Osborn

  “Days of the First Empress,” she chuckled. “He loves that show!”

  “I bet!” Compton laughed.

  “He tips really nice, too,” the waitress told them. “Sometimes, if he can tell the breakfast rush was pretty hectic, he even invites me to sit down at his breakfast table and rest. He’ll get an extra cup and pour me some coffee, and we’ll talk until he has to leave on business. He’s amazingly attentive to me; he seems to always be able to tell what kind of day it’s been.” She cocked her head. “It’s odd, though…usually he ends up drinking from his own cup, and I drink from the café cup. No idea why he does that.”

  The foursome steadfastly avoided looking at each other, but Ashton sent one word through the VR private comm channel. “DNA.”

  “What’s that scoundrel been up to lately?” Ames asked then, stirring the cream and sugar into her coffee before taking a sip.

  “Oh, nothing much, the last few days,” Sherry admitted. “He just finished some big gig for one of his top clients, so he’s resting up, and he’s expecting an even bigger one to come along soon.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Weaver observed in VR.

  “No,” Ashton agreed in kind. “Somebody else in the Palace, I’d bet.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against you.”

  “Yeah, we heard,” Ashton noted. “We’re sorta here under a false flag – we’re planning a surprise party for him, to celebrate the gig completion.”

  “Ooo, that’s nice! I’ll be sure and not give it away,” Sherry said with a grin. “…So anyway, when he’s done with breakfast and I leave, he just goes down to some pub where a lot of his business contacts go to find him, and waits for another commission to come his way. It must be so wonderful to be an artist.”

  “I…suppose so,” Ashton agreed…though his tone was rather ambiguous. I guess some people might consider his work ‘art,’ but I’m damn sure not one of ‘em, he thought, carefully hiding disgust.

  “Um, since you’re his friends and all, I was wondering…” Sherry began rather uncertainly, “Is Joey, um, attached? Does he have a girlfriend, or a significant other, or anything?”

  Ashton blinked. Of all the things I might have expected, that sure wasn’t one, he thought in surprise. She’s interested in him. In Joey Bronze, of all people. Poor girl. She couldn’t have picked a worse man to notice.

  “I…I think,” he began, and cast a questioning, almost desperate glance at Cally Ames…who rose to the occasion.

  “Oh, honey,” Ames murmured, taking the little waitress’ hand in a gentle grip and patting it, “if I were you, I wouldn’t go there. He’s just not the type.”

  “Oh,” Sherry said, face falling a bit. “So…he’s a, a confirmed bachelor?”

  “Pretty much,” Ashton averred. “He’s the sort who…tends to not want loose ends, you know?”

  “Um, yeah, I think I get what you mean. Okay. Uh, thanks. Please…please don’t mention that to him.”

  “We won’t,” Ames reassured her.

  Sherry gathered her tray and left their table, mildly crestfallen.

  Ames stared at Ashton. “Nick Ashton,” she told him in VR, “if you don’t give that girl a really big tip when we’re done here, I will flat smack you.”

  “It’s expense account, Cal. I can only do so much. But I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can give her an informant’s fee or something. She did tell us a lot about his mornings, after all.”

  “Hey, Nick, do that, but then let’s also see if the rest of us can’t put together a few credits between us, in addition,” Compton suggested. “We can add to the pot, that way.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Weaver agreed. “I can chip in five or ten, easy.”

  “Me too,” Ames averred.

  “Okay, that should make for a nice little tip, there,” Ashton agreed, looking at the expense account’s options for payment. “Yeah, we can do this. Lemme download the informant’s fee, then you guys push me your contributions, and we’ll give her a really good little tip that ought to make even Bronze’s tips look picayune by comparison.”

  The quartet sat and noshed and sipped their coffee – which was indeed very good, and complemented the freshly-baked pastries wonderfully – and even ordered another pot, while they waited and watched Sherry.

  When she and the manager put together a platter of Danishes and brewed a fresh pot of coffee, putting it all on a tray and covering it with a cloche, they realized that Bronze was up, awake, and following true to form. It was nearly noon.

  “Which is a little surprising, I’d think,” Ames pondered to the others, sotto voce. “I’d figure he’d want to be as unpredictable in his schedule as possible, so the cops can’t determine where he’d be.”

  “Except he’s working for the cops, and the cops in question are crookeder than a shipping container full of fish hooks,” Ashton pointed out. “He’s generally not worried about hiding, except from us, and his IPD buddies protect him from us as best they can…which, so far, has been pretty damned good. No, he wants to be available and easily found so they can hire him for more take-downs.”

  “Ohhhh, good point, Nick,” Weaver decided.

  “Yeah,” Ames agreed.

  “And that comment the girl made about another, even bigger, gig coming makes me damn worried,” Compton noted. “You don’t suppose they might actually try to off the Empress, do you?”

  “Oh shit. I sure hope not!” Ames said, horrified. “But there’s other big fish working for her, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not if we can help it. On any of his potential targets. No. Damn. More. All right, let’s get in position,” Ashton determined. “According to Sherry, once she comes back down, he will be headed out. We need to find out where he goes.”

  “Right,” the others agreed.

  Two hours later, an unconcerned Bronze finally left his condominium and strolled down the street. With four in the team, the investigators could “leapfrog” their target for a fair distance. Sometimes Ames walked along with Ashton and sometimes they did so alone, ensuring that everything would look natural and no one would give them a second glance. The foursome followed Bronze as he sauntered through the sunshine on the street level, headed generally west, toward Imperial Park.

  When he reached Imperial Park East Boulevard, Bronze turned left and headed south until he reached Phoenix Avenue, the first east-west street past Imperial Park South Boulevard.

  The Fire Water Bar was halfway down the block on the left.

  Bronze headed into it.

  Deciding not to risk Ashton being recognized, the “Ashton Team” chose to send in Compton and Weaver as drinking buddies – removing ties and jackets before they did so, in order to “dress down.” Ames and Ashton stayed outside, and Ames watched the front while Ashton pulled up the schematics for the block in VR, then nosed around through the alleys and mews to verify that those schematics were correct relative to current structures.

  “That’s good,” he told the others in VR, remaining out of sight in the shadows of a back alley. “There’s only two ways in or out of that bar – the front door, and the kitchen door, which opens onto a kind of cross-alley in the back, for deliveries. I’ve got that one; Cal, you watch the front.”

  “All over it, Nick,” she replied.

  “What’s he doing, guys?” Ashton asked.

  “He sat down at a table in the corner near the end of the bar, Nick,” Compton replied. “Waiter came over and he ordered off the menu, though he didn’t hardly look at it. Looks like lunch. Except it looks like he’s gonna drink a lot of it, if you get me.”

  “Mm. What did he order?”

  “Uh, lemme see what I can see, Alan,” Weaver said. “I got a better angle. Okay, looks like some sort of meatball thing – oh! It’s got a hard-boiled egg inside! He’s dipping pieces in that demonic hot mustard…”

  “Scotch eggs,” Ashton supplied. “Mom used to make ‘em. They’re good.”

  “An
d maybe…blackened fish and chips?”

  “Sounds like the bar’s name is also a theme of the food,” Ames remarked.

  “Yeah, it is. But he’s drinking a high-end whiskey rather than one of their signature spicy cocktails.”

  “Which argues that he intends to keep it up a while,” Ashton speculated. “Too much spicy in alcohol can do a number on you, in more ways than one.”

  “Never mind the afterburn,” Weaver said with a VR snort.

  “Given he got a double, neat, I dunno how long,” Compton observed.

  “I guess we’ll find out how well he holds his liquor,” Ashton said.

  It turned out the answer was pretty damned well…and yet not quite well enough.

  After the second double shot, Bronze was obviously relaxing a lot; he was joking with the waiter and bartender, and generally seemed less attentive than he had when he entered.

  “Which seems stupid,” Weaver noted. “You’d think he’d be keeping a watch out, especially right now.”

  “It speaks to two things,” Ashton decided. “One, he thinks he can’t be touched. Two, he knows the staff, and they’re standing guard for him. Watch your backs, guys.”

  “Roger,” both men responded.

  After the third double, however, Bronze was starting to appear mildly inebriated. The fact that he was still noshing – nachos had arrived after the fish and chips – and had taken over three hours to consume all of it, while chatting up the bartender, explained why he was only mildly intoxicated. The fact that he had practically knocked back the second double, then promptly ordered the third, explained why he was intoxicated at all.

  “This could take a while,” Ames decided, when Bronze ordered fried cheese.

  “Why the hell is he not the size of a hippopotamus?” Weaver wondered.

  “This may be the private celebration of a successful hit,” Compton decided. “I bet he works out most days, by the look of him.”

  “But it’s been days since the assassination of Medved,” Ames protested. “Going on a week.”

  “And apparently nobody after him,” Ashton pointed out. “So he figures he’s clean.”

  “Maybe it’s time we paid the tab and got out of here, Nick,” Compton said. “The waiter’s come by again to see if we wanted something else.”

  “All right, pay the tab and head out. Is Bronze sloshed enough that he wouldn’t recognize me in my disguise, do you think?”

  “Does he have reason to recognize you?” Weaver wondered.

  “Not really. We’ve never met. But I was thinking, if the IPD put out word they’re looking for me, he might recognize my ID photo or something. Hell, I might be on his hit list, for all I know, and he just hasn’t gotten around to me yet.”

  “If you sit in a booth on the far side of the room, you’re probably good,” Compton said. “Maybe with Cally in there with you, and you two pretend to make out?”

  “That might work,” Ashton decided. “Cal?”

  “Works for me, Nick. Why can’t we really make – never mind. We need to watch.”

  Weaver and Compton stifled laughs in VR.

  Compton took the kitchen entrance and Weaver watched the bar’s façade while Nick and Cally entered the establishment and seated themselves in a booth as far from Bronze as they could legitimately get, while looking like a couple who wanted some privacy. Nick took the seat facing the front door, and Cally sat facing the bar at the back of the pub, where Bronze sat at the nearby table.

  “What can I get for you two?” another waiter asked the pair, as they perused the menu.

  “I think the lady and I would like to share an order of Scotch eggs,” Nick said, “and I’ll have a shot of Jamesons, on the rocks.”

  “I’d like a Riesling spritzer, please,” Cally decided.

  “Right away. Are you planning on a meal here, or is this on the way to another event?”

  “On the way to another event. We’re early for that event – we have tickets to a show, and dinner after with friends – so we thought we’d blow off some time here,” Nick said with a smile. “Never mind tide us over until after the show. It’s on the way, we’ve heard good things about it, so we stopped in.”

  “Excellent, then. If you need refills, or additional snacks to nibble, do call me, and your food and drinks will be up in just a few minutes.”

  Compton had only been in position in the back alley for about ten minutes when an Imperial Police officer showed up, brandishing a bobby stick.

  “Gonna have to ask you to leave, buddy,” he told Compton, stern and almost truculent, as if he wanted Compton to talk back, so he could get more physical. “Got a report ‘bout you hangin’ out back here from one o’ the apartments across the way. We can’t have people causing problems.”

  “I’m afraid you have a case of mistaken identity, officer,” Compton said, extracting his badge at the same time he pushed his identification through VR. “I’m an investigator with ICPD; we had a rape in this alley about a week ago, and I’m here looking for clues as to the identity and whereabouts of the rapist.”

  “Aha,” the IPD officer said, studying Compton’s bona fides in VR. “You wouldn’t happen to know a guy name of Ashton, would you? Might be in your same department…”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Compton lied smoothly. “I’ve never known anyone with that name. There’s certainly nobody in my division named Ashton. I guess he might be in some other division…” He shrugged, seeming uncaring.

  “Huh. Well, maybe he’s free-lancin’ then. Might even be set up as a private dick or somethin’. If you see him, give us a call, okay? He’s not what he’s cracked up to be, and we got a warrant out on ‘im.”

  “Sure thing,” Compton lied once more.

  “Okay, yell if you need help with anything. Good luck finding the rapist.”

  “Will do.”

  And the Imperial Police officer headed back out to the street.

  “Nick, you busy?” Compton asked on the VR.

  Ashton looked up from where he and Ames shared a whole Scotch egg – a savory dish consisting of an entire hard-boiled egg wrapped in bulk sausage, lightly breaded with crumbs, then fried until the sausage was cooked – and verified that there was nothing of interest going on in the pub. Bronze was still drinking, the bartender was prepping for the after-work happy hour, and the waiters were bussing and cleaning tables. A couple of other tables had guests, so Ames and Ashton didn’t stand out, but the bar was fairly quiet.

  “No, Alan, I’m just eating and keeping an eye out. But nothing’s happening. Whatcha need?”

  “We handed over – excuse the pun – in the nick of time. I just had an IPD officer show up with arrest on his mind – and probably a beating, judging by the way he handled his baton – and I think he was really looking for you. He asked about you by name. Wanted to know if I knew you, or if you were in our Investigations division.”

  “Oh. And?”

  “I lied through my teeth, of course.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “No problem. What are friends for?”

  “Heh.”

  “But you should know – the guy said they had an arrest warrant out on you. They’re trying to smear you, apparently.”

  “So what else is new? Arrest is the least of my worries with that bunch.”

  “I’ll bet. They don’t seem to know who you’re working for, though. He asked if you were in our division, and when I said no, that I hadn’t seen you in the department at all, he speculated that you might be ‘free-lancing,’ as he put it. Private investigation or the like, I suppose.”

  “Huh. Okay. Well, keep an eye out, and make sure you report that to Colonel Peterson.”

  “I’ll do that in a couple minutes, here.”

  “Good. Thanks again.”

  “It’s cool, Nick.”

  Bronze stayed in the Fire Water Bar, getting and staying drunk, until well after dinner. This meant that the four Imp City investigators had to play tag a bi
t, and even leave him unwatched for a while – at least, from inside the bar.

  And after Compton’s encounter, they all watched Ashton a little closer.

  But finally Bronze settled his tab in VR, then had the bar host call a taxi. Fortunately, Weaver was at a table close enough to hear the conversation, and waited a full minute, then called for a plainclothes transport in VR, himself. He paid his own tab, such as it was, and left the bar before Bronze.

  “Pretty sure he’s headed home,” he notified the others in VR. “Unmarked transport on the way.”

  “We could just follow him,” Ames said.

  “Not when he’s in a taxi.”

  “Good call, Hugo,” Ashton praised the younger man.

  The unmarked transport arrived first, as Weaver intended, and by ones and twos, they climbed inside. The windows were tinted so the number of passengers – and their identities – could not be seen, but that was not unusual for the vehicles of more important citizens of this part of the city.

  “What do you guys need?” the uniformed driver asked.

  “See the guy getting in the taxi over there?” Ashton pointed at the decidedly inebriated Bronze practically pouring himself into the taxi with the help of the bar manager. “Follow ‘em, but don’t look like you’re following ‘em.”

  “All over that one,” the driver said with a grin. He pulled out, into the street.

  In the end, Bronze was indeed headed home. The taxi dropped him off at the posh high-rise condo building, and the unmarked car eased to the curb a little distance away. Bronze stumbled out of the cab and into the lobby entrance, and vanished.

  The five Imp City officers sat and watched, as the lights on a certain floor came on, a few at a time, and moving in a wave across the floor.

  Fifteen minutes later, the last light on that floor went dark.

  “And Joey Bronze just crashed hard,” Ashton decreed. “I wouldn’t want his head in the morning.”

  “Now what?” the driver asked.

  “It’s been a long day,” Ashton said. “If you could take us back to Headquarters, it’d be great; we all need to go home and crash, too. Tomorrow starts early again.”