EMPIRE: Imperial Police

by Stephanie Osborn

  “I’m Imp City P.D.,” the redhead pointed out.

  “He’s not,” Becker said, shrugging a shoulder at the brunet. “He’s Impie. I recognize him from the Imperial Police Headquarters, couple years back. And I’m on good terms with those guys.”

  “Not any more. I’m with Imp City now,” the dark-haired cop replied, cold as ice. He pointed to the Imperial City Police Department patch on his shoulder. “So I’m not one of ‘those guys.’”

  “Oh,” Beckham said lamely. His heart sank.

  Much to the arrest team’s relief, Beckham didn’t try to fight; he came with them quietly. In short order the same two beat cops who had carted away an unconscious Kaplan were departing with Beckham in the same transport.

  “Heh. The male of the species is less dangerous than the female, it appears,” Armbrand joked.

  “Thank God,” Ashton said, sincere in his gratitude. “I wasn’t keen on taking that big guy down. He stays in shape, and it shows.”

  “But you could’ve,” Ames averred. “I’ve sparred with you, Nick. You’re good.”

  “Yeah, I could’ve. But it wouldn’t have been fun.” Ashton shrugged. “I prefer using my brain to take ‘em down…or out.”

  “Now what?” Rassmussen wondered.

  “Lemme double-check the tail,” Ashton said, his expression temporarily going blank as he contacted the remaining two members of the team, who were undercover and tailing Josip Bronsky, a.k.a. Joey Bronze. Moments later, he resumed an active demeanor. “Change of venue,” he decreed. “Just like we figured, we’re headed six blocks over to the Fire Water Bar, as fast as we can get there. Pack it up, people, and let’s move out, five minutes ago.”

  Rich Weyand was back in plenty of time for the last apprehension, and Ashton sent him a call in VR to let him know of the change of venue. As he walked up to the others, Ashton turned to him.

  “So how’s Johnny?”

  “ER doc said he’d be okay,” Weyand said. “He had some nasty cuts, and the ER doc brought in a cosmetic surgeon to do the stitches; said it wouldn’t scar that way. Then they pumped him fulla anti-everything, bumped up the nanites, and sent him home with some prescription painkillers; by the time the adrenaline from the fight wore off, and it bein’ his face, he was kinda hurting. We notified Detective Gorski and Colonel Peterson, an’ both of ‘em made sure he was okay, then told him to go home and crash. I walked him to the people-mover and saw him onto it, then came on back. The people-mover station is in the arcade level of his apartment building, so all he has to do is get off the car, get on the elevator, ride to his floor, and unlock his door.”

  “That sounds good,” Ashton said. “Sorry he’s out of the tag, but he’ll be okay, and that’s the important part, right now. Okay, boys an’ girls, let’s get set up for this last one. Rich, you wanna help me take down Bronze?”

  “Oh HELL yes!” Weyand responded.

  With the Team in place outside, Ashton entered the bar and nosed about. When the hostess approached him, he looked up.

  “May I help you, Officer?”

  “Nah, I’m looking for somebody,” Ashton replied.

  “Someone in the pub? Are you meeting someone?”

  “You might say that,” Ashton replied, voice dry as dust. “I’d like to speak with the bartender, please.”

  “Right this way.”

  “Josip Bronsky? Who the hell is that?” the bartender asked, when Ashton inquired about the hit man.

  “You might know him as Joey Bronze, or J.B.,” Ashton noted.

  “Uh, nope, never heard of him,” the bartender averred. His gaze shot across the room.

  “Perhaps you’ve seen him,” Ashton said, calm and undeterred. He showed the other man a copy of Bronze’s mug shot, printed from the ICPD’s wanted files…then watched as the bartender’s eyes flickered. Uh-huh, he thought. Bingo. That should do the trick.

  “N-nope, never seen the guy,” the bartender doubled down, then shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t come in here, but let’s face it, man – I stay damn busy, back here.” He patted the bar.

  “I’m sure you do,” a bland Ashton said placidly. “Should you see him, however, please contact the ICPD at once. This man is extremely dangerous.”

  “Uh, okay. If you’re lookin’ for him, though, I expect he’s long since left the planet.”

  “What’s the problem here, Officer?” another man said as he walked up.

  “Officer Benton with ICPD, sir,” Ashton said smoothly, turning to the new man. “Just asking a few questions. And you are?”

  “Brandon Travers. I’m the manager here.”

  “Of course. Have you seen this man in the pub?” Ashton asked, holding up the mug shot once more. “You might know him as Josip Bronsky, Joey Bronze, or simply J.B.”

  Travers threw a swift, almost unnoticeable glance at the bartender, then at the clock on the wall, before he looked back at the photo. Ashton noticed that Travers relaxed slightly when he saw the clock. Good. We’re timing this just right, he thought.

  “No, sir, Officer. I don’t recognize the man. I doubt he’s a frequenter of this establishment, if you’re looking for him.”

  “You might be surprised.” A slight, cold smile crossed Ashton’s face, and the two other men hid winces. “Should you see him, please contact me at once.” He handed small business cards to the two men in lieu of contacting them through VR; he didn’t want these two to have anything on him that they could pass on to others, and the contact information was for Colonel Peterson, at her insistence. The two men nodded, and he headed for the exit.

  As soon as he exited the pub, Ashton tagged the others in VR via voice.

  “They knew him, they just wouldn’t admit to it. So we probably want to hit a sting operation in the bar later, separate from picking up Bronze; somebody ping Stefan, so he can pass that information on to Major Dunham.”

  “Done, Nick,” Rassmussen replied. “He says he’s on it, and not to worry about it. He’s gonna take care of it himself. Maybe with Dunham’s help, later.”

  “Good. Now, Bronze picked this bar because it’s relatively high-end, has good food, and it only has two entrances – the front entrance and the kitchen entrance. I scoped that out thoroughly the other day. He chose it because of that very thing – he figured it would be to his advantage, as it would be easy to keep track of the comings and goings. Plus, whichever door the police enter, he exits the other way. But we’re not going back in; I got his buddies at the bar thoroughly spooked. The bartender and the manager are likely to warn him off, so we’ll let ‘em. But we’ll have people at both entrances.”

  “Which one do you think he’ll take, Nick?” Ames asked him.

  “Bronze is cocky; he’s gotten away with this for a long time. I expect the bartender and the manager to want to hustle him out the kitchen entrance, so you guys back there, stay alert.”

  “But he’s really going to…?” Jones pressed.

  “Come out the front, like everything is perfectly normal,” Ashton said. “He thinks he can bluff his way through all this, or that he’s so good, we’ll miss him, or don’t have enough evidence to book him, let alone hold him. He thinks Gorecki or one of his goons will come bail him out. He doesn’t understand – yet – that it isn’t us he has to worry about.” Ashton glanced about. “Now let’s get in position, and out of sight.”

  “All over it, boss-man.”

  Joey Bronze was looking forward to lunch. It was a late lunch, but he preferred being a night owl, then sleeping in, and getting out and about later in the day, unless a hit was in the works. The Fire Water Bar had great pub food, and it was late enough that he could get a few brews with lunch and nobody would think twice.

  So, confident in his cover and with his mind on the menu and what he felt like eating, he didn’t notice the unusual number of people around the pub that day. He would regret that later.

  Bronze entered the Fire Water Bar about three in the afternoon and headed straight for
the bar.

  “Hey, Dirk.”

  “Hey, Joey, you been a bad boy?” Dirk the bartender asked, waving Brandon Travers over.

  “No more ‘n usual. Why do you ask, Dirk? I got a guilty look on my face?”

  “PD’s been asking around after ya.”

  “Which PD?”

  “Imp City!” Travers said, walking up. “They were in here maybe thirty, forty-five minutes ago.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Yeah, I told ‘em I thought you left the planet. Ain’t seen you around.”

  “Ah,” Bronze said, unperturbed. “Long gone by now, then. Any word from the Cool Breeze Pub?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Travers said.

  “Okay, I’ll head over there instead, then. Thanks for the heads up, Dirk.” He set a ten-credit coin on the bar.

  “No problem, Joey,” the bartender said, pocketing the coin.

  “Come on, I’ll take you out the kitchen entrance,” Travers said, turning and waving Bronze to follow.

  “Relax, Bran,” Bronze said. “This ain’t my first time around the block. Just lay low, don’t say anything, and this will blow over like it always does. They don’t have anything on me except suspicions.”

  And Bronze left the way he had come.

  Bronze got to the corner and was about to head for the elevators to the arcade level, when he found himself between two uniformed Imperial City Police officers. He berated himself for his inattentiveness, but kept his cool. Chances were, he thought. he could slide out of this one like usual, if he played his cards right.

  “Josip Bronsky?” the dark-haired one said.

  “Yes, Officer?”

  “Come with us, please.”

  “Am I under arrest, Officer?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bronsky. Come with us, please.”

  “Of course, Officer.”

  Joey Bronze was the quietest of the lot, but it turned out that he wasn’t the threat that day. Nor were any of the assassin team they took into custody.

  Marc Olestri, one of Stash Gorecki’s goons that had, with two others, tried to apprehend Ashton during the ICPD headquarters bomb threat – except Olestri was intelligent enough to be a certified shuttle pilot, unlike most of the rest – happened to be coming out of the Fire Water Bar just as Ashton and Weyand took Bronze into custody nearby.

  Wait a damn minute, he thought. Ain’t that – that’s Bronze. Oh hell, that’s bad. But that’s – SHIT! That’s that bastard Stash has been hunting for, Nick Ashton! The real Ashton! I need to talk to the boss about this one!

  Ducking his head, Olestri got as far away as he could as fast as he could, attempting to get out of reach of the VR suppression field, then called Stash.

  “Yeah, Stash, I’m sure. It was Ashton. He was in a fake ICPD uniform and everything. It ain’t like they’re that much different from the IPD uniforms, ya know. So he was fairly easy to recognize this time.”

  “Yeah, I know, Marc. I’m not surprised. We’ve known he was out there, he’s just proven a damn bugbear to get hold of. He’s a smart one, and he’s got help. What was he doing?”

  “Hold onto your hat. Taking Joey Bronze into custody.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Lotta that. Whole lotta that. Whatcha gonna do?”

  “Two things. First, tell Stanier and Kershaw. Second, put out the word to keep an eye out for Ashton around all the ICPD precincts, ‘cause if he’s not working for ‘em, he’s gotta be working on contract with ‘em. And we’ll set up a hefty three-figure credit reward for locating ‘im, an equally hefty four-figure credit reward for takin’ ‘im out. Third, we gotta figure out where they’re holding Bronze and see if we can spring ‘im.”

  “Hey, count me in. I’m gonna go back and see if I can watch where they head off to.”

  “Good man. Don’t forget rehearsals tonight.”

  “I won’t.”

  “George, we need some apps pushed to the guys,” Gorecki told Imperial Police Chief George Stanier within five minutes of the contact from Olestri.

  “What sort of apps, and why?” Stanier replied.

  “Look, this Ashton kid – either he’s trained to become a master of disguise, or he’s got a master of disguise workin’ with – or for – him.”

  “Wait. So we still don’t know where he’s working?”

  “Nah. We figure he’s either put out a shingle of his own, or he’s workin’ with Imp City. Right now, my boys are leaning pretty heavy toward him workin’ on his own, but he may be contracted with Imp City. All our efforts to find him on their records, or in their people, seem to fall through. And even though we ginned up that murder warrant on ‘im, nobody seems to wanna turn him in.”

  “I see. Go on.”

  “Well, he’s got some damn good disguises. If he’s in disguise, you basically gotta have slept with him to recognize him.”

  “Watch saying that around Kershaw. That’s how his niece got close to Ashton. And Kershaw dotes on her.”

  “Damn. I didn’t know she slept with him.”

  “Way I understood it, yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ll watch what I say around him. But Ashton is just…damn, George. It’s next to impossible to spot him. Unless he wants you to spot him, I guess.”

  “Huh. So he’s an undercover artist, has one working for him, or is training to become one.”

  “That’s my take, yeah.”

  “What I don’t understand is, why would he have one working for him?”

  “Best I can tell, he’s got his own little gang,” Stash noted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not trying to set himself up, or already done it. Like I said, that’s what my people think.”

  “Hm. There’s an interesting take. He’s set up as a private investigator, eh? With an actual team of enforcers? Maybe we can sway him into working with us, instead of against us.”

  “Maybe. I dunno. But he’s gettin’ cocky, I think. He actually showed up as himself, in uniform, to take Bronze into custody, I guess for the ICPD.”

  “His mistake, then. Imp City Police won’t be able to hold Bronze – they never can; they’re not good enough to get anything on him – and then we’ll send Bronze after Ashton. I’m not so keen on the notion of bringing him to our side that I’m willing to risk it if he won’t. Or if he changes his mind later. He’s always got the attempted theft of the Empress’ Sigil in his head, after all.”

  “Makes sense to me, boss.”

  “So what do you want?”

  “We need some sorta, like, pattern recognition,” Gorecki brainstormed. “Something that we can put to work on a face in VR that’ll look through all the makeup and beards and wigs and hairpieces and shit and identify the real face under it.”

  “Hm,” Chief Stanier said, intrigued. “That should be doable. Let me check; we might already have something like that in house. If not, it shouldn’t take long to gin one up. Give me ten minutes to check, and I’ll ping you with whatever we’ve got, to hand out to your people.”

  “Sounds good, boss.”

  “Meantime, make sure whoever you’ve got on Bronze’s arrest gets over there to put a wrench in the works.”

  “Already goin’ down.”

  “Good.”

  But by the time Marc Olestri got back to the scene of the arrest, they were all gone.

  Despite their best efforts, the Imperial Police Headquarters never did figure out what happened to Joey Bronze.

  Which a certain former accomplice on Wollaston would have thought singularly appropriate, had she been alive.

  Interrogations

  Gorski came to Ashton’s desk as Ashton worked on the after-action report.

  “Nick, son, have you ever seen an Imperial interrogation?”

  Ashton glanced up.

  “No; why?”

  “We’ve been invited to witness the interrogations of the perps you and your team picked up so handily. That way, the ICPD can close the murder case on our books. More than likely, those interrog
ations will be followed by executions, and we’ve been invited to witness those, too. I thought you might like to see the conclusion of the investigation.”

  “Sure,” Ashton said with a nod. “That sounds good.”

  “Some of it isn’t likely to be pretty. Can you handle that?”

  “I guess I need to get used to it, don’t you think, Stefan?”

  “Probably, yes. I just want you to be prepared.”

  “Okay. What’s the schedule?”

  “I think it’s going to be one in-depth interrogation each day for the next three. Starting this afternoon, in about an hour, hour and a half. If you want to go, we should probably get started.”

  Ashton stood and reached for his jacket, hanging on the back of his desk chair.

  “Let’s go, then,” he declared.

  The pair arrived at the Imperial Park West Palace entrance. The receptionist recognized Detective Gorski, but asked for Ashton’s name and his relationship to Gorski, who explained the loose partnership/protégé aspect. The receptionist nodded, then placed a call.

  “Your point of contact will arrive shortly, Detective, Captain Investigator,” the receptionist said. “If you would please have a seat in our waiting area, he’ll be right out.”

  The pair sat down and waited.

  It was only about ten minutes before a tall blond man in the Imperial Guard uniform and wearing the Sintar Cross, entered the reception area and came straight to them.

  “Hello, Detective Gorski!” he said, shaking that worthy’s hand. “I take it you’re here to witness the interrogations?”

  “We are,” Gorski said. “Major, I have someone you should meet. This is my protégé, Captain Investigator Dominick Xavier Ashton. Nick, this is Major Robert Allen Dunham IV.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, Captain Ashton,” Dunham said, as the two men shook hands. “I’ve heard a good bit about you from your mentor, here.”