Night Call Page 25

  She took the insult without comment. “Then tell me, who was the person who threatened my entire operation? Cory Belik or Andrew Stern?” She actually seemed interested to hear my explanation. There was a first for everything, I supposed.

  “Belik, Stern, and even Jaeger were played for fools, scapegoats to a Black Hat named Masters who decided to take the operation to the next level. He was planning on fighting you bit by bit, pulling the rug out from under you and building up his smuggling ring until he could dominate and take out the Iron Hands. It didn’t work, but … he had a plan.”

  “A poor plan, seeing as he failed to see what would do him in. Nevertheless, I wasn’t worried. No one will be removing us — not even you, my trusty Iron Hand.”

  Something about her saying that stung. Masters was dead, but his words were very much alive in my head. And the worst thing about them was that he was right. Without a doubt, he was right about everything.

  “The job is done. I expect my payment by next week.”

  “Ah, but one moment.” She stood, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face before she began pacing. “You retrieved a case of gold bars used by Belik for his payments to the FBI contact. I believe I am entitled to that gold as compensation for lost profits.”

  Shit, I thought, one of her cronies must have seen me when I went back to the 5th. Well, she wasn’t getting any of that gold, not on my watch.

  “It’s already in the hands of someone who deserves it.” I saw her hands clench as I finished my thought. “But that warehouse where our raid went down on the western docks — it isn’t guarded by anyone but some stragglers from the 5th. Hundreds, maybe thousands of parts are in there, and though quite a lot was destroyed in the crossfire, what’s left could probably fund your operation for a few months. It would keep you from relying on outside sources too heavily and would mean a hell of a lot of money in your pocket and no one else’s.”

  She seemed to relax, and I soon heard movement inside and outside the apartment. Her cronies didn’t need prompting, it seemed. After the footsteps outside stopped, she spoke again. “I suppose all is in order, then. Fine job, Elias. Your payment will be in your account within the week.”

  “Fantastic.” I pulled out one of the gold bars I had pocketed, throwing it toward her. “Catch.”

  With lightning reflexes, she snatched it from the air effortlessly and put it down beside her on the ground. I did it partly to keep her happy, but also to see her arm. I’d noticed it earlier. The augments she had were quite compact and looked very human, despite having a metallic sheen. She had the money and the means to build a custom arm, which probably meant that it was even more advanced than anything Allen had. Still, she’d need a Tesla Battery to operate it properly, but I didn’t see one lying around.

  “A bonus for your helpful hints early on in the investigation.”

  “Much appreciated, Elias.”

  “We good?”

  “We’re good. All favours paid.” She gave a whistle as the front door was opened by someone from the other side. As I passed by, I glanced over at him and recognized his face. He’d nearly broken my arm a few days back at GE. He still had his security uniform on, with the wireless radio attached to his vest. That explained why I hadn’t ended up in the slammer of some other precinct after getting Jaeger’s information.

  I turned back to her. “It seems you have your hand in everything.”

  “As I’ve told you, we have ears where we cannot see, and eyes where there is nothing to hear.”

  “Fine. One last question. The Red-eye at the speakeasy, the one that got domed when I tried to question it at the warehouse. Who was that? Did it work for you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I couldn’t tell whether she was bluffing or telling the truth — but then again, when could I?

  “Goodnight, Elias. And give my regards to Allen. I feel that he will be invaluable in the future, for both you and me.”

  “It, you mean.”

  Back in my own apartment, I could hear the sounds of shuffling and moving as the Eye’s cronies began to pack up and evacuate the borrowed apartment. I dropped my bloody coat on the floor. The gold bricks in the pockets most likely dented the wooden floor beneath the carpet. This was the first time I’d finished a case without feeling like I needed a drink. I figured it was getting better. At least, I hoped it was. I needed a shower, and maybe some dinner. I could always get someone to bring me something. I was in no mood to leave tonight.

  Then the phone rang.

  Please don’t let this be another Night Call. I approached the table and lifted the receiver. “Talk.”

  “Good evening, Detective Roche.”

  Speak of the devil. Hard to mistake that voice and tone, even through these goddamn wires.

  “Allen, yeah. What’s going on?”

  “I was just curious about what to do now, seeing as our case is closed. Should I stay at the precinct and file paperwork?”

  The damn machine was perky, I’d give it that. Didn’t skip a beat. It had pulled a lot of its own weight, and most of mine at times. I couldn’t be ungrateful, not after tonight. “No, get home and get some rest, Allen. Everything we did was off the record. There isn’t any paperwork for us to fill out. I’ll grab you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? For what?”

  “I have some business to attend to around the city, prepping for Night Calls and visiting some old friends. If you’d like to tag along, I think you could help.”

  There was silence for several seconds. “Detective, does this mean we’ll be working together on more cases?”

  “Yeah, Allen. I’ll get you at seven, partner.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  A click followed its last words as the phone line went dead. I dropped the receiver onto the phone base, walked to the bathroom, and began to strip for the shower. Something about saying partner had felt like a weight off my chest. Why? Maybe because of James. Allen couldn’t ever replace James, but neither could dwelling on James bring him back.

  It back.

  But we’d see how the new duo would work out. Allen and me. Partners.

  Yeah, I think I could get used to that.

  For now at least.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE STATION WAS BUZZING. Two weeks after the impromptu FBI inspections had finished, there was a happy, colourful atmosphere around the Lower City. The murder rate was at an all-time low for the 5th. I couldn’t say the same for midtown Manhattan, though; their murder rates might have doubled or tripled to even us out. Sinclair was reclining in his little chair, feet on his desk and a cigarette in his fingers. Allen had its own desk, too. Unlike everyone else, though, it was actually doing work. It probably went through more paperwork in one day than the whole precinct had in the past year. Maybe that was why Robins had recruited it. Who knew? Keeping me in check couldn’t have been the only reason.

  Rain was falling outside, and the heaters on the Plate spooled up enough to keep the winter chill away from the heart of the Upper City, melting the frozen water into a torrential downpour. Sure, it was unusual to see rain in late November, but it beat shovelling snow, or having the Upper City dump it on us.

  “You coming to the next poker night, Roche? Pot is twenty bucks this time, meaning whoever wins has one hell of a good week ahead of them.” Sinclair was enjoying the lull in work, catching up on some rest in his free time.

  “Maybe. Depends how much work I got. For all I know, Allen and I could get a surprise Night Call.”

  “If I remember correctly, Detective Roche, you receive more than one dozen Night Calls per week, though why you answer the select few is beyond my comprehension.”

  To my disdain, Allen was capable of multitasking. Its criticism of me never seemed to end.

  “Not the time, Allen.”

  Did I really get that many? How many times had the phone rung while I was passed out? At least Allen was there now to pick up the phone now and then. I turne
d back to Sinclair and continued.

  “Besides, I shouldn’t be drinking. That bullet wound is still healing. It took out a piece of my leg that I was quite fond of.”

  “I’m surprised you’re even standing, let alone coming into the office. You got some good stuff, eh?”

  “Sure is. No clue what it is, though. Spray-on skin, for all I know.”

  “Actually, Detectives, the Syneal substance is a latticework of polymer fibres that form a synthetic layer of silicon-based platelets and fibrin threads, decreasing healing time tenfold,” Allen said smugly. Maybe it was showing me up, or maybe it was just informing me. I hoped it was the latter.

  “Thanks, Allen.”

  “Anytime, Detective Roche.” Allen turned its head and returned to the paperwork without skipping a beat.

  “Anyway, Paddy, things have been relatively quiet, but it’s like a tsunami. It all comes back eventually.”

  “Don’t worry about it too much. You may be an anxious bastard, but sometimes you shouldn’t question a good thing.” Sinclair laughed.

  I leaned against Allen’s desk, folding my arms and trying to relax, if even for a moment. I deserved some relaxation after this past case. It might do me some good.

  “It’s almost Christmas,” Sinclair mentioned. “Just over a month left. You got anything planned? Any resolutions for the big three-four?”

  “Same as every year. Maybe get a nice imported bottle of Scotch and drink it in front of my window. Maybe get out of the city for the first time in two years. Or splurge and trick out the Talbot. She’s been making some concerning noises.”

  Then the tsunami hit with a crash as the doors of the precinct were thrown open.

  Three figures entered, their features obscured by heavy coats and rain hats. They brushed past us, the wind from outside swinging the doors open again, rain soaking the floor near the entrance. Robins must have felt some strange vibe, because although it was impossible to hear the front doors from his office, he appeared in the main area before any one of us could blink. I could have sworn I saw his face turn white.

  “What did you do, Jeffrey Robins?” asked the figure in the lead. The voice was feminine, but gravelly.

  “W-what?” Robins looked surprised, to the say the least.

  “You know damn well what! I have no clue what this little conglomerate of idiots has been doing recently, but as soon as your business starts branching into the Upper City, it becomes my business.”

  She removed her coat and hat, and finally I got a good look at who we were dealing with. The grey streaks in her dark-brown hair reflected the light from the dim overhead bulbs. She could’ve been in her early fifties, or maybe she was older, and all the fieldwork kept her going instead of sitting and rotting like most other desk jockeys.

  Yup … we were in for one hell of a time, with her here.

  “Well, first of all, what did I supposedly do?” Robins said, trying to reclaim dominance in the argument without success.

  “Well, Jeffrey, I received a report that Agent Ewalt had returned to the Bureau with the team of agents, but his superior, Agent Masters, was missing. We prepared a formal reprimand for our senior agent’s negligence, but then, a Rotorbird pilot mentioned that he’d been instructed to pick up Agent Masters at a specified location two weeks before. However, upon arriving, the area was locked down by a police Rotorbird securing a crime scene.”

  Sinclair’s face went white, and he sucked harder on his cigarette.

  She continued: “So, we went down there to check out the area and see if there was indeed a crime scene. But no such crime scene existed, nor had one existed within the last six months. We even questioned some civilians, who confirmed that there hadn’t been a police presence in that area on that specific day. We questioned the pilot, and found out the exact location where he was supposed to meet Masters. Lo and behold, in the very building Agent Masters was supposed to be picked up from, we found this.”

  One of the Black Hats accompanying her in passed her a folder; she in turn handed it to Robins.

  I knew right away that there were pictures in it, and soon got a confirmation when Robins went green. For a split second, his eyes darted to me, then they spun around so the Black Hats wouldn’t get any ideas about who he suspected.

  I knew what he was probably thinking: What the actual fuck did you do, Roche?

  “Not used to seeing blood, Jeffrey?”

  “N-no.” He stood erect, trying to avoid her eyes. “Christ, who would do this?”

  “I thought you might know.”

  “Of course I don’t. I would never condone something like this!”

  “Perhaps I was wrong. Old habits, you know.” She grabbed the folder and handed it back to her associate. “The body was about two weeks old when we found it, which puts time of death at about the same time those inspections were being conducted and Masters supposedly went AWOL. We’re still trying to figure out which police Rotorbird was the one that prevented the other pilot from landing, so I wanted to come down here and inspect yours personally. I hope that’s all right with you, Jeffrey.”

  “Yeah, okay, of course. Jesus.”

  I’d never seen Robins so shocked before. He’d seen his buddies die in the Great War, and he barely blinked when talking about his own service. He’d seen cop killings, perps torn apart by machine gun fire, and Suppression Rifle shots. That meant that what I’d done was worse than all that, which was hard to believe.

  Had I gone too far this time?

  She looked Robins up and down for several moments. An uneasy silence followed as he regained his composure, only to be crushed by her gaze.

  “You look like you’ve been under a lot of stress. You look older than usual …”

  Robins didn’t respond. Was he subdued by her, or by what he’d seen in those pictures?

  She was turning to leave when she caught sight of me. I doubted it was a pleasant surprise. Her eyes narrowed, and she walked over. I hadn’t believed there was anyone out there scarier than the Eye, but it seemed I was wrong. “Sergeant Roche, I thought you left the Force back in ’28. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “A lot of surprises have been happening recently. What’s one more?”

  “This is one too many. And maybe not so much a surprise as an ill-timed coincidence.” She looked me over.

  My legs were trembling, and I felt my heart racing. She had a soul-crushing presence, a stare that could burn through steel. She grabbed my vest with her left hand and peeled it back to reveal the silver handle of my revolver. “A Diamondback. I’d ask you for a permit, but we both know it’s illegal, don’t we, Mister Roche?”

  “To be completely accurate, it is illegal, but in the hands of a registered police officer,” Allen said, coming over to join us. “The guidelines state that an officer may carry and use any handheld firearm as long as its calibre does not exceed a .45-inch diameter.” Had it been monitoring the situation the entire time? Whatever it was doing, it had better tread carefully.

  The woman raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Well, well, well,” she said, “a Blue-eye in the 5th. Well done, robot. But I’m afraid that guideline was removed from the police handbook in 1929, after he left. I don’t suppose that the handbook also covers officers in possession of powerful war relics?”

  Allen remained quiet, looking at me as if asking for assistance. I shook my head. It turned back to her and said confidently, “No, ma’am, though I can vouch for Detective Roche’s efficacy and restraint. I believe your argument is based upon surface concepts alone, not evidence and circumstantial observation.”

  “Detective Roche, is it?” She turned to me, cocking an eyebrow. “High praise for one lower than a gun for hire. And you.” She turned back to Allen. “Do not counter-argue me, machine. You’ve got some balls.”

  “I believe I am allowed to make a valid point to refute your claims and support my partner against your accusations —”

  “Allen!” I barked.

  It
stopped talking.

  Her eyes had narrowed upon Allen’s referring to me as its “partner.” Maybe I could still surprise people.

  She turned back to the commissioner. “Where is your bird, Jeffrey?”

  “It’s out. Patrolling,” he stammered.

  “Uh-huh. We’ll be back later, then. Have a good evening, gentlemen. If anything else comes up, do inform me. I’ll be in touch. You can be sure of that.”

  Allen and I walked over to the door to watch as she and her cronies hopped into a Bugatti Type 41 Royale and roared off. How she’d gotten her hands on that kind of vehicle was beyond me.

  The general hubbub of the station began to return to normal, but the three of us — Robins, Sinclair, and I — just stood there silently, staring at Allen. I doubted it had any idea to whom it had been speaking

  Sinclair was the only one of us who’d kept his lips sealed from the moment she’d entered the station. If only the rest of us had followed his lead.

  Suddenly Robins let out a sort of growl, and before I knew it, he had me up against the wall, his hand grasping my collar. “Jesus H. Fuck, Roche! You did that to the perp? No, not just a perp, an agent! He looked like a cracked egg! How did you think this would go down? Did you not think that she might show up?”

  “Well …” I fumbled for words and looked around, feeling caught in a corner yet again. “I had to set an example, right? No mercy for cop killers, no matter who they are.”

  “But an agent? This time it really does matter who you killed, and how. Fuck, Roche, I knew you were reckless, but this …”

  “At least you didn’t know about it, which made it that much more convincing when you denied any involvement.”

  “Do you feel nothing about this?” he shouted. “Not just for putting us in danger, but for this kind of violence? Nothing?”

  It was the first time in a long time that I wasn’t able to answer a question. On the one hand, sure, I had gone overboard by splitting him open with a pipe. These days, the smell of blood made my stomach churn more than it had used to. But on the other hand: no cop killer could go unpunished, period.