KOP Killer (2 page)

“Truce?” I asked.

He gave me a nod.

I tucked my lase-pistol back in my waistband and passed the other weapon back to the female bodyguard. She thanked me, a sign that our little spat was already forgotten. That was the way things were in the muscle business. There were times to carry a grudge, and there were times to have a short memory.

I gave Deluski the eye, and he holstered his police-issue.

To Chicho, I said, “I’m back in business. I’m taking this alley again.”

After a theatrical sigh he said, “C’mon, Juno, you can’t be serious with this. Captain Mota’s not going to let you steal his territory.”

“It’s not his. He’s the one who stole it from me. I owned this alley for twenty years. The way I see it, Mota’s just been looking after it for a while.”

Chicho rubbed his jaw. “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but you gotta know your time is past. You were one hard-nosed collections man, I’ll give you that, but times have changed. I mean, look at you. What happened to you anyway? You look so thin.”

“I’m on a diet.”

“You need to eat, friend. You don’t look good. You get that wife of yours to cook you up a nice meal.”

My heart lurched at her mention. “Niki died.” I could only mutter the words.

“What?” His face looked a little less rodent, a little more human. “How did she die?”

“She just did,” I non-answered.

“Shit, that’s a tough break.”

I had no words. I just stood there.

“Where’s she buried?”

My voice barely audible, I said, “Out in the jungle.”

“You didn’t put her in a cemetery?”

“What’s it to you?”

He looked offended. “What if I want to send flowers?”

“Why? You didn’t even know her.”

“It’s common respect. Somebody dies, you send flowers. Why’d you bury her in the jungle?”

“That’s what she wanted,” I said, hoping to end this line of conversation.

“She got a marker?”

I gave him an annoyed shake of my head.

“Why not?”

I felt the pressure building. “Who do you think you are, asking me this shit? It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Jesus, you don’t need to get all worked up. I’m just trying to figure out where to send the flowers. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

I didn’t know whether to be ticked or touched. “Just fucking forget the flowers.”

He shrugged acceptance. After an uncomfortable silence, he asked, “So you want to take over protection duty?”

I nodded.

“Tell me how a washed-up cop is going to keep KOP off my ass?”

A cheer went up outside. The sun must’ve just dropped. The Big Sleep had begun, the first seconds of three weeks of darkness now ticking by.

“My word is still good over there,” I lied.

He gave me a skeptical stare.

“Paul Chang and I ran that joint for twenty years. Chang was the greatest chief this planet ever saw, you know that. They’re still loyal to me. Me and Paul’s memory. I tell them to leave you the hell alone, they’ll leave you the hell alone.”

“You still got that kind of pull?”

“Listen, I know how fucked up KOP has gotten since Paul was killed.”

“Chief Chang wasn’t killed. He ate his gun.”

“Paul would never kill himself.” I pointed my shaking finger at my heart. “I was there. I know what happened.”

He shrugged his shoulders and offered an unconvinced, “Whatever you say.”

I wanted to shove the truth down his throat and force him to swallow. But I hadn’t come here to argue about Paul. I’d come to continue my slow climb back to the top of KOP.

“Listen,” I said. “We’re on our second chief since Paul. The mayor and the new brass are clueless. Nobody’s running the show, which means KOP is splintering into a thousand little pieces. Everybody can see it, and that’s exactly what’s got people wishing things could go back to the way they used to be. Cops are turning to me to unify KOP again. I remind them of a better era. Tell him, Deluski.”

“He’s right,” said the young uniform. “Juno’s got standing. Everybody says so.”

Chicho nodded his head, like he was believing the lies. “Okay, so tell me why I should make the switch. You gonna charge less than Mota?”

“Ten percent less.”

I could see the pesos dancing in his eyes. Greedy bastard. Time to hook him deep through the gills. “That’s the rate I’m offering to everybody else,” I said. “But maybe I can arrange a special rate for you.”

“I’m listening.”

I bet you are.
“You get all the other pimps and madams in this alley on board, and I’ll give you a year for free.”

Chicho’s beady eyes churned. “Make it two years, and I won’t limit my influence to just this alley. I got connections with snatch houses all over this city. I can make you fucking rich.”

“See, there’s the reason I came to you first.” I gave him a broad smile. What I’d said was the truth. Chicho was an operator of the highest order. Those dark eyes were always crankin’ on one angle or another.

“I think we can do business,” he said. “But I’ll tell you, saving only ten percent might be a tough sell. These people are taking a risk making a switch like that. I know you think you can handle Mota, but that guy can be vindictive when he wants to be.”

“You don’t have to worry about Mota. When I talk to him, he’ll back out.”

“You have that kind of influence over him?”

“We have a history,” I said without elaborating.

“Okay, I hear you, but I still think it’ll be a tough sell. A lot of these people were glad to see you gone.”

“You’ll have to be persuasive.”

“I can try, but you could make it a lot easier, couldn’t you?”

I let that hang in the air for a moment. “Fine. I’ll charge twelve percent less than Mota.” I knew he was scamming me. He’d sell them at ten and pocket the difference.

“Now you’re talkin’.” The pesos in his eyes were spinning. He held up a finger. “But wait … how do I convince them that you’re pulling the strings over at KOP? These people are a suspicious bunch. Don’t get me wrong now, I trust you just fine, but these people aren’t always easy to please.”

“You tell them to watch out their windows tonight. I’ll be out there with a crew of detectives and unis guarding this alley. That’ll be proof enough.”

“Why do we need you guarding the alley?” His face darkened with realization. “Don’t fucking tell me.”

I nodded. “Riots.”

two

T
HE
alley was silent except for the buzz of hungry flies and the rustle of geckos scavenging through the garbage. The crumbled asphalt, littered with brandy empties and crushed lizard masks, reeked of spilled shine and vomit. The party was over. The whores had closed their legs and then their doors. The band had exhausted its playlist and moved on. And the offworld youth, they’d taken their debauchery elsewhere.

Alone with only two of my crew members, I paced the alley crosswise, back and forth, my hands in my pockets, my jaw clenched, my shirt ruffling in the jungle breeze.

My new crew numbered five, which meant three of my boys were late. Deluski was here, of course, and Wu had just arrived, but the others were dragging their feet, a sure sign of insubordination. They’d be here soon, I told myself. They had no choice. I owned those assholes. Yet they took every opportunity they could to make me sweat. I checked the time. Only ten more minutes before the lights went out.

The Lagarto Power Authority was shutting the power down regularly now. They simply couldn’t keep up with our increasing energy demands—so they claimed. Everybody knew the real reason. A hundred years of deteriorating equipment and outright mismanagement had finally taken its toll. Our energy capacity was on the decline, just like everything else on this planet, especially the standard of living. Electricity rationing was just the latest punch in the face for a planet that had already taken a full ten count.

For two weeks now, the city had suffered through rolling power outages. And when the lights went out, so did the riffraff: criminals and opium heads; unemployed and undereducated; anarchists and militants; disaffected youth and the hopelessly impoverished. Night after night, they’d mobbed the streets with unbridled anger. Their vicious, uncontrolled rage would spread like wildfire and they’d leave nothing but tornado-like paths of destruction in their wake.

Because of the riots, the power authority stopped broadcasting the times and locations of the blackouts to the public, and instead notified only the police. The theory was that the bad elements from all over the city wouldn’t know where and when to gather. So far, the practice hadn’t proven to be very effective. Apparently, every neighborhood had plenty of homegrown bad elements to get shit going without needing imports.

I checked the time again. Seven more minutes.

“The others will be here,” said Paolo Wu, his downturned brows tugging at the scar under his hairline. “Froelich said he’d bring at least ten unis with him. We’ll keep this alley secure.”

I gave the hommy dick a nasty stare. “He should’ve been here an hour ago. If you humps can’t be reliable then I have no use for you.”

“Don’t get your sack in a twist. They’ll be here.”

I paced like a caged tiger, my temper on a slow simmer, my energy positively toxic. On my next pass, I made sure to veer into Wu’s space, forcing him to get out of my way. The little brush-back was a not-so-subtle reminder of who was the alpha.

If those assholes didn’t show soon, the whole deal could fall through. I’d told Chicho there’d be a crew of cops out here. A
crew
. Two cops and a past-his-prime enforcer didn’t qualify. I needed a show of fucking force to bluff the pimps and madams into believing I was pulling the strings at KOP.

Kripsen and Lumbela finally entered the alley. That made four out of five. The recent arrivals were in full riot gear—helmets, full-length body shields, shocksticks, and cans of fireline hanging on their belts.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I demanded.

Freddie Lumbela looked down at the ground. “We couldn’t get away.”

“Bullshit.”

“They just deployed us,” he said defensively. “Until ten minutes ago, we were trapped on a fuzzwagon with the rest of the unis who got called in on crowd control. We snuck away the first chance we got.”

“Anybody see you leave?”

“I don’t know.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“An honest one.”

I shook my head and started pacing again. These stiffs were fucking worthless. And where was Froelich with my force of ten?

Kripsen chimed in. “What do you expect, Juno? We’re on duty. We can’t just walk away whenever we want. At some point, people are gonna notice.”

“Will any riot police be coming this way?”

“I doubt it. Our orders were to guard the banks around the corner. This block’s expendable.”

“There been any changes in the schedule?”

“Nope. Blackout in five minutes.”

I made eye contact with Wu. “Where the hell is Froelich?”

“I don’t know, but he’ll be here.”

“What did he say when you talked to him?”

Wu rubbed the scar on his forehead, a broad groove that ran from one temple almost to the other. The way I heard it, he got the scar from standing too close to a competitive knife fight, one of those betting matches they run under Koba’s many bridges. “I didn’t talk to him,” he said. “I left a message.”

“You telling me your partner doesn’t take your calls?”

“Jesus, Juno, I called him four times, okay? He didn’t answer. What the fuck do you want from me?”

A serious loyalty problem. That was what I had. That was why I was so hot to secure a revenue stream. If I could fatten their wallets, they’d start thinking working for me wasn’t so bad. As it was, they were doing it because they had no choice. This crew had gotten into some bad shit a couple months back, some really bad shit. They fucking stank of it. They’d conspired with offworlders. They’d betrayed their own people, selling them off to be killed by offworlders who wanted to play executioner.

These assholes were
traitors
. Rat bastards, every one of them.

They hadn’t been the brains of the operation. Hell no. These humps didn’t have that kind of smarts, and they’d proven it when they’d let me catch them on film.
The Killer KOPs.
That was what I called my little documentary. It wasn’t a very long movie, barely three minutes, but still a pretty good flick.

Set in an abandoned warehouse, it starts when five cops enter through a cockeyed door and come face-to-face with one of their co-conspirators, a pudgy little local on the verge of squealing their devious deeds to investigators. The Killer KOPs are nervous and fidgety, you can see it on their faces. Wu keeps rubbing at that scar of his, and Deluski stands in back, shifting from one foot to the other. They’re desperate, see. Their traitor bosses are already dead, and they’re out to cover their tracks.

Wu pulls his piece. The porker knows too much, and they can’t trust him to keep quiet. Wu fires, and the beam of his lase-pistol burns through hair and skull and brain. A piece of the porker’s head comes free and falls to the floor.

It’s done. Deluski is staring at the corpse, his jaw gaping, his face ashen. Lumbela and Kripsen grab the de-lidded corpse by the arms and legs, and Deluski holds the door as they haul it out into the rain. Wu gives a look to Deluski, his finger pointing to the scalp on the floor. Deluski, the low man in their little cop clique, steps over to the porker’s lid and pinches a lock of hair between forefinger and thumb. He lifts it off the floor and rushes out with his arm extended, like he’s carrying a rat by its tail. Wu and Froelich are the last to leave, the pair of hommy dicks disappearing into the pouring rain.

Roll credits …

Like I said, not a bad flick. I harbored no illusions about these bastards—bad men through and through. But I knew a thing or two about bad men. Bad men could be useful. I was on a mission to take back the police department, and a mission like that required the accumulation of power. And if I had to start with these five misfits, so be it.

Instead of turning my movie over to KOP, I kept it for myself. And when I’d screened it for the five of them, they became mine.