Dead Mann Running (9781101596494) (3 page)

I called to Misty, “Any luck?”

“Left a message.”

She went back to drying her hair, unconcerned.

“Any other way to get ahold of him?”

“What’s your hurry?”

I looked at the window again. The towel had reduced the wind to a whistle. Water meandered on the remaining panes, drawing tiny rivers. “Probably nothing. I’ve just got a feeling that sooner would be better than later. The arm was kinda antsy…”

She stuck her head in the doorway. “The
arm
was
antsy
? Was it fidgeting?”

“It wasn’t like it could do much else. I was just thinking. You like it when I think, right? If the blue crap’s important enough to drag up here, it may be important to someone else, and they may come looking.”

She walked in and stared at the open case. “Drug dealers, huh? What kind of dealers would bother with such a fancy case?”

She had a point. It was leather, insulated, the foam neatly cut to match the shape of the glass. The vials had been given an awful lot of care.

“I don’t know,” I said, but just to contradict myself I started rattling off ideas. “Maybe it’s a concentrate, ready to be cut for street sales. Angel dust can be liquid, and there’s hashish oil. That’s usually brown but it can be clear. Blue? For all I know it’s liquid explosive, heisted from a black market arms dealer.”

She cracked a grin. Not the reaction I expected.

“Explosions are funny now?”

“No, but…an arm stealing from an arms dealer…”

I don’t have to breathe, but I exhaled through my nose to show her I wasn’t amused. “I’m not kidding about getting it out of here. Unless the laws of nature got revised
again
, and nobody told me, at some point that arm had a body. Something split them up.”

I closed the case, clicked the latches, and looked for a place to hide it. One pile of crap looked a lot like another. I could shove it under something and never find it again myself. I picked up a pile of laundry, then thought better of it and tried to kick it under the couch. Chak clothes need so much bleach, they’re usually rags within a month.

“Maybe he’s on Facebook.”

“You
still
joking about the arm?”

“No, Chester. He has an account. I could message him.”

I was half listening. Under the bureau? “Right. Closest computer’s at the Styx.”

Her smile widened. “Not anymore.”

That got my attention. She disappeared a second, reappearing with a small netbook.

“Gift from my man,” she said, flipping it open.

I attempted a whistle, which, thanks to a dry throat, came out like a Bronx cheer. “Forget about you,
I
want to move in with him. He got a storage shed? I don’t take up much space.”

It was refurbished, probably a lower-end model, but a man doesn’t get a woman a netbook unless he wants to stay in touch.

“What’re you going to connect to? It’s not like we have Wi-Fi.”

“I got us cable by splicing into that coax, didn’t I? If anyone nearby has a signal…”

“In the Bones? Forget it. It’s chakz and addicts for half a mile. We’re lucky when the cell phone works.”

“Got one.”

I squinted at the screen. “CB Mobile. What’s that mean?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugged. “It’s password protected.”

I guess Misty’s memory drills were paying off, because I remembered something from my days as a liveblood detective. “Try ‘password’ or ‘admin.’ Those’re usually the defaults. Most people don’t bother changing them.”

She clicked the keys and announced, “We’re in.”

That little trick earned me an admiring wink. “Look at you, Hessius Mann, firing on all cylinders. Feel better than sitting in a chair and moping all day?”

“Not really.” The downside of paying attention was realizing when things weren’t right. Wi-Fi in the Bones made less sense than an arm out on its own.

I thought about taking the case to the cops myself, keeping Misty and her pal Chester out of it, but that wouldn’t have worked. Last we spoke, Chief Detective Tom Booth had promised to spend his off hours figuring out new ways to destroy me. My old boss hated chakz, slept with my wife, and still blamed me for her death. I was three for three.

Ten minutes after Misty sent Chester a message, we heard a car stop outside, another warning that something was wrong. We reached the front window at the same time to gawk at the police car. It was like seeing the Loch Ness Monster in the Vatican. Nothing happens that fast in Fort Hammer, not when you need it, not when you don’t.

I had to ask. “Chester patrolling tonight?”

When they’d met, he was a clerk. Two weeks ago, they’d given him his first beat. Must’ve killed Tom to let someone dating my assistant have a patrol, but since the Registration Act passed and the guard had to be funded, the police had been forced to shift resources.

“No. At least I don’t think so.”

A uniform got out. He was a little shy of average height, stocky like a longshoreman. His cap was on for the rain, so I couldn’t see a face.

As he headed for our stoop, all around him, things moved. Figures shifted in the nooks and crannies formed
by the wreckage of buildings, the falling rain giving away their presence and shape.

I knew them. Hell, I was one of them. They were chakz, the ones who weren’t as lucky as I was. These were my lesser brothers, who couldn’t even remember to get out of the rain, who, more often than not, didn’t have an arm to raise an umbrella or piece of cardboard. From here it seemed a few had entrails dangling, but it could’ve just been torn clothes, made ragged by endless bleaching.

That’s the thing. Even the worst of them, the ones who could barely speak, knew that a squad car in the Bones was weird. Even Chester had been warned to visit only in an unmarked car.

It was easy for the cop to ignore them, they looked like bare branches swaying in the trees. He did pause to wipe the rain from his face, giving us a glimpse of dark hair and a handsome face with an aquiline nose.

I nudged Misty. “Know him?”

She shook her head, no. “You?”

“No, but in my case that doesn’t mean a whole helluva lot.”

Misty tried to shatter the gloom. “Aw, Chester must have sent him.”

The rain picked up, falling sharp. I looked to the rooftops again. My best guess was that there was nothing there, and may never have been.

Just the same, I stuffed the case under a recliner cushion. The damn chair was so old and beat up, I nearly shredded the cover. On the lighter side, the big lump didn’t make the chair look much different.

Misty watched. “First you can’t wait to get rid of it, now you’re hiding it?”

“It’s an instinct, like a squirrel with nuts. Wouldn’t Chester have called first?”

Her face told me she was worried, at least a little. Good.

Hoping to beat our visitor to the punch, I made for the door and opened it. Soaked, the hand-painted sign that read H
ESSIUS
M
ANN
, I
NVESTIGATIONS
flopped into a puddle. The crazy downpour had stifled the hallway wind, but water ran from the ceiling like a fancy showerhead.

I heard shoes splash below, then try to stamp themselves dry.

A male voice called, “Hello? Hessius Mann?”

The tone was too cheery for a Fort Hammer cop, and there was no trace of an accent. I don’t trust people without accents. They’re hiding something. And he’d asked for me, not Misty. Chester never used my name.

Before I could stop her, Misty answered, “Up here.”

“Great. Stay put.”

Right, all one big happy family. I first saw our new buddy in silhouette. His cap was on, water dripping from the rim. I also noticed his holster was unclipped.

All the little details, on their own, meant nothing, even the holster, given the neighborhood. And when you add things up, you can be wrong.

As he rounded the top step, lightning flashed and we saw each other at once. Like I said, my body can be unpredictable. Right then, my startle reflex decided to work. I jumped nearly a foot.

Our visitor’s face dropped. He reached for his gun. Misty gasped.

An image of myself pushing her out of the way flashed
in my head, but before I could act on it, he stopped himself and gave us a broad grin.

“Thought you were a chak,” he said.

“I am.”

“Yeah, of course, but, you know, I thought you might be feral.”

I gestured at the gun. “Bit of advice? If I were, you
might
stop me with that, but you’d have to empty the clip and hit all the right spots.”

Truth is, one feral isn’t much to worry about, and he looked like he knew it. The salesman grin didn’t waver. His eyes twinkled like it was something he could get them to do at will.

“Got something for me?”

“Depends who you are.”

He turned to Misty like I was the stupid kid and she the adult. Again, not unusual. Lots of cops ignore chakz. “Jack Gambrell. Chester sent me. I was over in Collin Hills when he called.”

Collin Hills was a gated community on the far side of Buell Park, the closest a cop would get to the Bones. That much made sense, at least.

“Badge?” I asked.

Happy Jack kept ignoring me. If he was going out of his way to do Chester a favor, my question might’ve seemed offensive.

Misty asked the next question for me. “Why didn’t Chester call to say you were coming?”

Happy Jack shrugged. “His battery was dying, cut him off in midsentence.”

She laughed. “He’s always forgetting to charge that thing.”

He laughed back. I didn’t.

We stood there until he got tired of waiting and pushed his way in. “This about some kind of vials in a briefcase?”

His head turned like a lighthouse beam. He scanned the walls, the floor, the desk, first one way, then the other. “We’ve been seeing liquid PCP. Maybe someone swiped a delivery.”

“That’s usually brown, or yellow. This stuff’s blue,” I said.

His gaze settled on me. My knee twitched, like it wanted to run and it didn’t care whether I came along or not.

“You used to be a cop, didn’t you? So what’d you do, hide it? Good thinking. Chester said you were a smart one.”

I half expected him to put a sugar cube in my mouth and pat my head.

He was also digging himself in deeper, talking like he’d heard about me in passing. Among the Fort Hammer blue, I was as famous as Charles Manson, one of their own executed for murder. And when they tried to convict me of blowing up an abandoned hospital not so long ago, my ashen face was plastered across the papers. Was this guy even local?

“So where’d you put it? Or am I supposed to stand here all night trying to guess?”

On the other hand, if I was wrong, and made a stupid move against a real cop, I’d be hauled off to the camps. Well…I’d been wondering how ol’ Jonesey was doing.

I stepped forward. “Sorry, pal, a little slow in the attic. It’s right over here.”

Soon as I was close enough to him, I faked a stumble and grabbed his gun. It was bigger and heavier than I expected, not standard issue, more like a magnum on steroids.

Misty screamed. “Hess, are you crazy?!”

Jack’s hands were up, but he was still smiling. That alone made me want to shoot him.

“You don’t want to do that.”

“Who are you? Last I heard it was illegal to impersonate a cop, let alone steal a squad car.”

“Hess, please, please, give him back the gun. Jack, it’s okay. He’s a little off today,” Misty said, moving between us.

She looked terrified, not of me, but for me. If I wasn’t so busy keeping the gun leveled at Jack, I’d have been touched by her concern.

“Get out of the way! He’s no cop.”

“Whoa! Easy, there, fellow,” Jack said, like he was talking to a horse again. “You got it all wrong. I’m exactly who I said I was.”

Sometimes it’s as hard for me to hold on to a conviction as it is a thought. I was actually wondering if I was wrong about him when he opened his mouth again.

“Give me the case and we can forget all about this.”

I tightened my grip. “You’re saying you won’t tell anyone I grabbed your gun? No charges against me?”

“That’s right.”

“That sound like a Fort Hammer cop to you, Misty? Dropping charges against a chak? It’s illegal for me to even hold a weapon.”

“He could be lying, Hess.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

She rubbed her forehead like a migraine was coming on. “No, he could be lying about not pressing charges.”

“Oh.”

Jack went into a song and dance. “Hey, hey, hey. I only came by to do my buddy a favor. Can we all calm down a little?”

When he started to lower his arms, I pointed the barrel at his face. “Chester your buddy? Tell me, smiley, how do I know him?”

He glanced at Misty. “You really should put this thing on a leash.”

She massaged her temples. “I’ve thought about it. Hess, if the nice police officer gets the answer right, will you please, please, please give him back the gun?”

“Sure.” But this time
I
was lying. “So…how do I know Chester? We meet in grade school, fight together in the war, get teamed for a patrol, what?”

I didn’t think it could, but Jack’s grin actually went wider. “He’s your…brother?”

You could hear the “wrong answer” buzzer go off. Misty, finally getting with the program, backed away, giving me a clear shot. “You son of a bitch. Where’s Chester?”

“Fine, you caught me. But you still want to give me that case.”

“Is Chester all right? Did you hurt him?”

“Hurt him? I never even met the guy. The case?”

“Hess, you can’t just give it to him.”

I thought about it. “Why not?”

“Hess!”

“If Chester
is
okay, it might not be a bad idea. The only way Jack would know to come here would be if he’d been monitoring your phone or the netbook. Maybe it was his
Internet connection we tapped into. Add a stolen cop car, and you’ve got a pretty complicated operation. Whatever this is about, it’s bigger than me, and I don’t even like it all that much when things are smaller.” I gestured at Happy Jack with the barrel. “If I give you the case, how do I know no one will start thinking of Misty and me as loose ends that need tying? Got a supervisor I can talk to?”