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  “I … I understand, Commissioner.” Allen grabbed the glass and sipped again, letting the liquid churn inside him. He reclined into the chair.

  Robins was the first to break the silence. “What else is on your mind, Allen?”

  “There is something, though I feel it is more difficult to express than my own issues. I’m curious about Roche’s past, specifically his past career as a police officer.”

  “That’s quite a big topic. Anything more specific?”

  “He told me briefly that he’d had more than ten ‘partners’ since he left the Force in 1928. That is quite a few. I suspect you gave him these so-called partners to try to keep him in check, but I was hoping to learn the reason for the large turnover rate and why I seem to have succeeded where others have failed in remaining his partner. He also mentioned someone named James …”

  Robins sighed, cradling his head in his hands for a moment before getting up and closing his office door. He sat back down and dropped his voice to a low whisper. “James was Elias’s partner between ’27 and ’28. They ran nearly every op together, regardless if it was a hit-and-run investigation or a full-blown raid. He was Elias’s second partner, after Sinclair went solo to finish his advanced Rotorbird training. James and Elias ran together for almost two years, until they looked into the botched investigation of a missing business magnate.

  “They found the kidnappers and tried to subdue them, but … well, James was killed in the crossfire. It devastated Elias. Put him out of commission for a while. He did some digging and found out that the kidnappers were working for Murder, Inc., which at the time was run by Morello and Luciano. I’m not sure which one coordinated the kidnapping, but Roche didn’t really care. In his mind, both of them were responsible, and so he took the lead on the investigation, coordinated the raid on Morello’s personal compound in one of SoHo’s speakeasies, and the rest is history.”

  “I can’t imagine the pain he must have gone through, losing a friend like that.”

  “James was one of the only things Elias gave a shit about — more than his own reputation or his life, even. What was done to James before it was killed was far worse than being shot, but Morello finishing it off was the nail in the coffin.”

  “Before it was killed?” Allen looked confused.

  The commissioner didn’t seem keen to explain, but he continued, nonetheless. “James was an Automatic. In 1928, he was Green-eyed, and then weeks later, he — it, I mean — was killed. Elias thought of James, or rather, J4-35, as his best friend. Seeing its mind and soul watered down, turned into a mindless machine before his eyes, just so it could stay in the Force — it destroyed Elias. You probably haven’t seen him around Green-eyes, as he does his best to avoid them. He’s fine with Automatics in general — at least, he tries to be — which might explain why he thought that it was a terribly cruel joke for me to set you up as his partner at first. Maybe he thought I was replacing James, but I wasn’t trying to. Surprisingly, however, it seems you two have done quite well together, all things considered. And maybe you’ve even helped him move past the Morello incident a little. The fact that he hasn’t stranded you on 90th Street is progress in and of itself.”

  “But I thought he’d had Automatic partners before.”

  “I gave him Automatics to tag along. I never said they were official partners, just ride-along buddies. He wasn’t too pleased with me those times. He wouldn’t take my calls for weeks afterward. The important point is that this isn’t a widely talked about subject. Everyone in the 5th knows: you don’t talk about Roche’s past. Not to him. Not behind his back. It’s a no-go. You wouldn’t have known that, but now you do. Just … keep it on the DL, you know?”

  “Yes, thank you, Commissioner. Though it was concerning when he became obsessed about the killer in this case being an Automatic — specifically, a Swinger model that had been Red-eyed.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Robins rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “This is the fifth time this has happened. He’s chasing a ghost, Allen. He imagines James is alive and well somewhere, or maybe that it was salvaged and Red-eyed and used by the Mob. He’s confident almost any Swinger model in the city is his old partner.”

  “He did hesitate to kill one such Red-eye during the raid this evening …” Allen thought back to firing down at the Automatic that would have killed Roche, had Allen not screwed up the courage to jump from the Rotorbird. “Has Roche ever investigated the location where his old partner was killed? At least to see if it was taken?”

  Robins hesitated and thought. “I have mentioned it to him a few times, but he was always adamant that James wasn’t there any longer. I doubt he even checked …”

  After a while, Allen stood up, leaving his half-full snifter on the desk. “Thank you again for the information, Commissioner. You’ve helped me very much.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  He stood, wobbling a bit from intoxication. But he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, now that he knew more about Roche’s past. He would never understand the detective’s pain, but he could do his best to fill the void Elias had endured for almost five years. He turned to leave, feeling what might be a smile forming on his metallic face. Maybe he could stay on here. Maybe Robins was right.

  As he opened the door, he turned to bid Robins farewell. The commissioner smiled … then his face paled in an instant. Allen turned to see Roche standing in the doorway, his face and clothing covered with blood. He was panting for breath, and in one hand he held a briefcase that looked like it weighed a ton.

  He walked past Allen, nodding at him, then slammed the briefcase onto Robins’s desk. He unlatched the case to reveal it was full of gold bars. Pocketing five of the bars, he piled the rest of them on the desk. Finally, he slammed a bloodstained note onto the table, grabbed Allen’s glass, and chugged the rest of the brandy.

  “You don’t need to pay me. You were bought out. Keep that ten grand you owe me for a rainy day. And keep the gold, too. You’ll need it. Oh, the addresses listed are for three other gold drops. Keep them or send them to me, I don’t give a fuck.”

  Both Allen and Robins looked at Roche with a combination of curiosity and horror. After a long pause, Roche said, “I’m going home for a shower. Be back tomorrow to see how things are. I need sleep, and maybe some bandages.”

  With that, Roche walked out, leaving Allen and Robins staring at the empty doorway, the trail of blood, and the pile of gold bars on the desk.

  “What happened to him?” Allen asked.

  Robins finally spoke. “I don’t … I haven’t seen him like that in a long time. But, as you can see, Allen, that’s why we hire Elias Roche: you get results. You get justice.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE ROOFTOP THAT MASTERS was using as a helipad belonged to an old apartment complex in the Meatpacking District that had recently been condemned. The floorboards inside the building were cracked, there was mould and garbage strewn everywhere, and I was fairly certain that I’d caught the smell of a decomposing body. I stashed the Neural-Interface and the briefcase under the concrete stairs and headed up at a quick pace, determined to reach the top before Masters’s Rotorbird appeared.

  My watch read ten to seven. Sinclair had better be here.

  The door to the roof was ajar, the wind swinging it on its creaky hinges. I pushed it open to reveal the flat surface of the roof. Agent Masters — still dressed in black — stood looking at his watch, watching the Plate in anticipation. I approached, pulling out my Diamondback and pushing the mechanism back to single-action. He must have heard the click of the hammer; he turned around slowly, a gun of his own pointed at me.

  “Detective, you’ve been busy. I saw you coming from a mile away.” Even with his back against the wall, he was acting smug. Lanky fuck, I thought.

  “I wasn’t trying to hide. I’ve got a score to settle with you, Masters.”

  “Oh, do you now? What are you basing your ‘score’ on? After all, what possible evidence could you h
ave? Other than me being a bit tardy for our inspection at your precinct.”

  “You killed those cops at Prince and Greene and others with your shells and your broadcast system. Not only that, but racketeering is still a federal offence, as is the extortion of an Upper City resident. Each of those alone is worth a hefty sentence. You won’t be getting out of prison until you’re a corpse.”

  Masters chuckled, his gun still trained on me. “Who would believe you? Show me tangible proof that I did any of what you said. Sure, I might have covered up a crime scene that was under FBI jurisdiction, but I won’t answer to you for that. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Detective. What was your name again? Ronald? Ross?”

  “It’s Roche, you fuck.”

  He flinched, and I stepped forward, calling his bluff. He didn’t fire, which gave me confidence.

  “Killing two cops —”

  “Two dirty cops. You forgot that part, didn’t you? I’m sure you also forgot that there were three dead cops there. One who, unfortunately, got in the way. Convenient for you to forget about that third one and focus on your contrived faithfulness to the 5th. Then again, maybe that third cop from the 11th wasn’t there undercover. I dare you to point to a single cop in this city who isn’t a fucking rat. So, who bought you, huh? Gould? Maranzano?”

  “The Eye of New York sees everything.”

  He spat, his face twisting in disgust. “You … you’re her Iron Hand, huh? I’ve heard stories about you, but I didn’t take them seriously. If they’re true, then you’re a monster, plain and simple.”

  “And you aren’t?” My raised voice spooked him, making him back up a bit. My gun was pointed downward, but my stance was intimidating enough. “You’re a sick fuck who hides behind bodies and shells. You don’t deserve to judge me.”

  “I have every reason to judge you, Roche. You’re a criminal, plain and simple, stringing Robins along, making him think you’re loyal. I’ll be sure to relay this tidbit of information to my superiors as soon as I get back Plateside. Speak of the devil …” He looked up. A black Rotorbird was approaching, and it was definitely an FBI aircraft. Masters’s smug grin brought my blood to a boil. “You can’t touch me, and neither can she. I’m a federal agent. Even looking at me wrong is an offence. But I’ll keep your sentence light if you walk away right now. If you don’t, I promise nothing.”

  “You won’t get very far.”

  “Excuse me?” He cupped a hand around his ear, mocking me. “Say that a bit louder.”

  “You won’t get very far, asshole.”

  The beating of the air alerted us to a second Rotorbird approaching: Sinclair, prompt as always. His Rotorbird, loaded for bear, flew in front of the FBI aircraft. The speaker on the front of the machine blared out his words. “THIS IS A RESTRICTED AIRSPACE! WILL OPEN FIRE IF YOU DON’T PULL AWAY NOW.”

  I knew he wasn’t bluffing.

  The FBI craft circled, testing the waters, but quickly realized it was too dangerous to land. The Black Hats might oversee everything from up top, but they were bound by regulations. Namely, that any crime scene under investigation was under the direct jurisdiction of the nearest Lower City precinct, and only legitimate agents could supersede that. And we knew for a fact that there were no FBI agents who could fly a Rotorbird. Outside hires flew the brass around.

  The pilot spun the bird around and headed back the way it had come. They might be planning to return, but there wouldn’t be anyone to pick up.

  Masters turned to me, finally showing an emotion I was glad to see: nervousness. His gun wasn’t trained on me anymore, giving me a clear opening to fire a bullet of my own. A quick flick of my wrist put a round in his thigh, making him scream in agony and drop to the ground, gasping for breath. He released his hold on the gun and I kicked it away as soon as I got close, my barrel now held parallel to his gaze.

  “You … fucker!”

  “You’re scum, you know that?” I ground my teeth. “You won’t leave here alive. I’m here to maintain justice, no matter what. Those boys were dirty, but they were part of the 5th. And I don’t take kindly to cop killers.”

  “I thought you of all people would understand the concept of the greater good. That’s why you work for Robins, isn’t it? You work both sides, and keep the peace. She worms out the smaller fish for the sharks, and the sharks leave her be. You’re keeping a dangerous balance. The longer she’s around, the more prepared she’ll be to take this city for herself. You’re fuelling a future war.”

  “Better than what you were doing by starting one.”

  “I was ending one!” He was surprisingly well spoken for a man with a bullet in his leg. “She can’t touch me unless she wants the entire Plate on her ass. I needed those smugglers to start fighting against her influence, knocking her down a few pegs, giving her a reason to worry. I was untouchable, and so were my people. If Belik ever bit it, I’d just find another, help them along, do what I could to get them into fighting shape. I’d cut her out of the market, drain her dry, and then we’d find a way to make her bleed. I was doing more to combat the Iron Hands than you ever did as a cop, and especially as a fucking lapdog!” He yelped in pain, clutching his leg.

  “She’d find a way. She always does …”

  “No excuses, Roche! You say you’re here for justice. Fine! I killed those two assholes because they would have ruined everything! If the Bureau ever found out, I’d be finished, and if the crime lords found out, there would be a turf war. I was keeping things under wraps. Only gangsters got killed by the shells I stole and programmed. No one will miss them. And yet you, the one who keeps the balance, can’t even choose a side. You do the Eye’s dirty work, and yet you try to put criminals down? Do you really think keeping her in power saves lives? Or is that just what you tell yourself?”

  I lowered my gun. He was right. If anything, he and I were the same. We both were looking to accomplish the same thing. He was just far more productive than I was.

  “You’re living a lie, telling yourself whatever it takes to make you feel like the hero in all this,” he went on. “How many people does she kill every day? How many cops are put in the line of fire because of raids against the Iron Hands or whomever they point out to you? If I’d had another few months, I would have had the financial backing to ruin her, or at least to threaten her and save this city from the crime wave we’ve been in the midst of since ’29. My ends justify my means, but for you it’s the other way around. You’re delusional, Roche. You think every problem can be beaten to death and buried.”

  I couldn’t think straight. I just stared at him. Sinclair was gone by now, leaving us alone on the darkening rooftop. Looking to the west, I could see the sun finally disappearing. The cold wrapped around me like a glove as the twinkling reds and greens above us shone down. He may have been a dirty bastard, but his plan for the city was far better than mine. What was my role in all this? Was I even a man anymore, or just some story to scare children and Brunos with a conscience?

  The hammer on my gun was forward, requiring another pull. My thumb went to it automatically, lining up another .38 round with the barrel.

  “Killing me will be the beginning of the end. You kill me … you die. Your friends, your benefactors, this entire city will go up in flames. Do you want that to happen?”

  “Better to sift through the ashes than search a broken house,” I said, speaking for the first time since he’d begun his tirade.

  And then he started laughing. Laughing at me. “The famous Iron Hand, speechless at his own hypocrisy. Just keep living the lie, then. Thinking must be too much for you.” He looked into my eyes. “At least James isn’t around to see this.”

  My brain seemed to snap with those words. Things turned black, and my body went on automatic. I dropped my gun, jumped on top of him, grabbed his chin, and pulled his head up. “You’re going to see why they call me the Iron Hand.”

  Masters was still laughing. He may have won the battle, but he had lost the war. He didn’t care, th
ough. He’d done the damage he needed to.

  I was just getting warmed up to do my own.

  “Welcome to Manhattan, asshole.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THE EYE NEVER USED THE SAME apartments for meetings; she was always shifting and moving around the city. She even used other people’s apartments while they weren’t home, fixing the places up so well afterward that they looked almost too clean to the returning residents.

  After dropping off the case of money and gifting Rudi’s Neural-Interface to Jaeger, I went home. I knew all too well that she would want to see me after what had transpired. Just before I turned the tumblers of my door lock, I heard the knocking behind me. It came from behind the door of my neighbour’s apartment. Two knocks, twice.

  I sighed, pulled my key back out, then turned and grabbed the handle of my neighbour’s door. The dark apartment was lit by a small light that faced me from behind a chair. The Eye was sitting there, her hands folded, elbows propped up on the arms of the chair, and one leg resting on the other. Once again, I could see her silhouette, but not her face.

  The place looked empty besides her, but I knew there were others lurking in the other rooms, maybe even in the hallway, waiting for me to slip up. She pointed to a folding chair leaning against the wall. I unfolded it and sat down. The blood and filth on my clothes was beginning to stink up the place.

  “Really, Elias? Now I have to clean that up, too, along with every other piece of refuse this woman hoards in here.” Her voice was far less stern that it had been the last time I’d seen her. She almost seemed relieved.

  “I was on my way home to change. But, knowing how impatient you can be, I decided to humour you.”

  “Well, I thank you for your respect, as well as your word. I doubt it was easy to solve this case, given the limitations you were under, but I’m impressed, as always.”

  “The only limitation I had was not to kill the wrong man. Honestly, you shouldn’t be too impressed that I decided to use more brain power than your cronies usually do.”