Sucker Punch (7 page)

Passing bucks up was SOP. Also SOP to pass them back, but he'd been her uncle before he was her captain.

He gave a short, sharp nod. “Just remember this isn't your case. Down the hall to the right.”

They made their way past a swarm of CSI techs and cops. Vi could not help contrasting it with Jimbo's crime scene. On the other hand, it would be difficult for MITSC to waltz in here and co-opt the crime.

Even without the pointer from Captain Uncle, they'd have found the vic. The concentration of people built the closer they got. The number of Bakers on scene was high, too. Vi exchanged greetings, saw the ones who hadn't met her partner eyeing him with interest. And a touch of suspicion. If they'd known she'd kissed him on his purple mouth, suspicion would get boosted to threats and jostling.

An internal chuckle pulled her thoughts up with a jerk. She'd forgotten about Wynken. Now that she remembered, it felt a bit like having a wide-eyed child riding on her shoulder. Its interest was intense. It wanted to see everything, so she obliged by turning her eyes everywhere she could without looking like a newbie. Or a crime scene groupie.

Bubba appeared to have breathed his last in his library. It was a total old-school space. Oak, paper books with fancy binding—Vi touched one. Okay, fake paper books with fake fancy bindings and massive expensive faux leather furniture—which once again contradicted the man of the people persona. Bubba's body sprawled untidily across a truly massive desk. Behind him, thick red velvet draperies stretched from floor to almost out of sight on the ceiling. It wasn't just a library. It was a setting with a capital S. The cast of characters looked small, except for the Coroner who had always been larger than life. The room was almost a “who's who” of the power brokers within the department. Except for—

Vi edged around a cluster of VIPs and came face-to-face with Benson. She blinked. “How did you end up here?”

“We were heading back to HQ when the call came through,” she said in a hushed voice. Her eyes were bright with excitement. Vi couldn't blame her. It was quite the crime scene. “Me and Jack were first on the scene.”

Vi resisted the urge to question her. Not her crime, not her scene. “Sweet. I guess.”

Benson's eyes clouded. “You guess?”

“Political murders can be tricky, but you'll get pushed out fast, so I wouldn't worry.” Much. If it went wrong, they'd be looking back down the chain of evidence for someone to blame.

“Oh, good.”

It was a bit unsettling how relieved she looked. She really was a newb.

“I didn't think you'd get assigned to the case. You already have one, I mean,” she added hastily, in case Vi took it wrong.

Vi didn't. “Oh, we didn't. We were just tooling by, and I talked Captain Uncle into letting us have a look. He still thinks I'm a baby detective.” Vi grinned, not sure why she didn't mention the possible connection with the MEC. Benson had been first on scene there, too. But if she knew something? Yeah, Vi would rather the actual baby cop didn't remember if she did know something. “Maybe we'll get some news vid time if we stand by the right person at the right time.”

Benson smiled a bit uncertainly and there was a bit of alarm in her baby blues. But since her cousin Frank loomed up behind her, it might have been caused by coming face-to-face with the Coroner's Investigator, rather than the thought of some news vid facetime.

“Vi?” Frank didn't look too worried at the thought she might jack his case. He glanced at Joe, then his gaze slid to Benson. “Hi, Gladys.”

Vi blinked at the friendliness of his tone. She looked from Frank to Benson. “You two…” She trailed off, figuring they could fill in the blank.

“Harry,” Frank said briefly, his gaze amused as Benson blushed and excused herself. “He always finds the new, cute ones first. Don't know how he does it.” He watched her backside until she was out of sight.

“It's a gift,” Vi said. “Captain Uncle said we could take a quick look. Mind if we turn him over?”

Frank shook his head. “Now why would you waste time doing that?”

He pulled a device out of his pocket and keyed in a command. Over the body, lines formed, taking the shape of the deceased. It spun in a slow circle, data points connected by various colored lines to places on the body.

“That,” Vi said, stepping closer, her jaw slightly dropped, “is—” She didn't have a word for it. “Do you have a cause of death?”

“Looks like his heart gave out.” He glanced around. “Lotta sound and fury for nothing, but I got to try out the new toy.” He held it out. “I'm testing it for the company who developed it.”

Vi took it, scrolled through the options, and picked the bio-chem analytics. They appeared as a pretty chart in front of her face. “Do you see this, Joe?” She glanced from him to Frank. “You two have met, right?”

“When I first arrived,” Joe said, meeting Frank's probing look with impressive calm.

Frank had broken up more than one potential romance with that look. But then, she was pretty sure Frank didn't know there was a potential romance, if they lived long enough to have a potential romance. That thought was sobering enough to get her mind off how cool the tech was, so she could assimilate the actual results. She scanned down the list—there. The markers were definitely there, but it seemed to her the concentration was lower—

You are correct.

Is there enough to have been the cause of death?

There are traces in the heart wall.

Vi took care not to throw a significant look at Joe.

Any sign of exit trauma?

No. It took care to…leave quietly.

There was an echo of pain behind the words. Vi didn't comment or even think. It needed closure, not sympathy.

I don't think we can learn anything more here,
Vi concluded reluctantly. Both visits had created more questions than answers. But she had to find out one thing….

She turned to Frank. “How does it interface with our databases? Is the data shared across platforms?”

“Not yet. I have to do an upload when I get back to the office. If I do one,” he added. “Doesn't seem to be anything here. Old boy has a few secrets that I'll probably be ordered to keep.”

Vi's eyes widened. He looked left, then right, took the device and keyed it, then tipped it so she could see. “He's a—” …Girl? She stopped herself. She looked up, saw Frank's raised brows and looked closer. Bubba'd been a boy, changed sides and now dressed like a guy? NON didn't mind quirky. Didn't mind crossdressing or sex change operations, but when you mixed them all up, added in a marriage to a very politically connected Louisiana family, and tried to keep it all secret? She bent and studied his slack face. Bubba wasn't Afoniki's type of…girlfriend, but she—he—whatever—must have been his type of politician. Secrets were a currency Afoniki understood and loved to exploit. Which begged the question, had Afoniki known Bubba was already dead when he sent them here? It was like an old-fashioned shell game using real people. Which body was the evil ‘it' in?

She and Joe, and their nanites, needed to have a serious talk. She turned to leave and almost bumped into Captain Uncle. He gave a chin jerk, which she took to mean follow him. They did, none of them speaking until he led them to a small, empty side room. At his signal, Vi closed the door. Captain Uncle glanced around, and perhaps concluded it still wasn't safe.

“Under the current circumstances, I'm going to expand your team. Assign you a couple of uniforms to ride around with you.”

Vi opened her mouth to protest.

“Unless you'd like to be put on leave?”

He had no idea how tempting that offer actually was. If she could have kept the skimmer…

Vi closed her mouth.
How are we going to talk, let alone hunt for ‘it' while saddled with a couple of uniforms?

Very carefully?

J
oe followed
Vi out of the big house and back down the curved drive to their skimmer. Waiting next to it were two uniforms: Benson and her laconic partner. Benson waited with some attempt at sobriety, but there was a quiver to her small body that hinted at some inner emotion. He could not determine which emotion.

“Ma'am.” She didn't salute, but Joe sensed she wanted to. Her eyes showed signs of what appeared to be awe.

Vi studied Benson, gave a smile that felt like it had a sigh in it, then nodded to her partner. “Jack, isn't it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” His face was on the long side, his eyes so light it made them appear blank, and he had a hint of a droop to his mouth. Not unlike some of the canines Joe had observed.

The correct term is “hang dog.” And Benson has something called a “girl crush.”

A…girl crush on…Vi?
Lurch provided additional definitions for him. She was not looking at him with awe, much to his relief. He did not even wish Vi to look at him in that manner.
She is in love with Vi?

It is hero worship. Admiration and a desire to be like her.

Oh.

“Did Captain Un—did the captain tell you why he assigned you to us?”

“He said you needed some extra help—and eyes—for a few days.”

She nodded, as if that tracked with her understanding of the situation, too. She took care not to look at Joe. He also took care in how he looked at her. If—a very large
if
—‘it' had been in the councilman, then it was possible it had moved to one of the people milling around. It was already suspicious of them, though he could hope that their cover story when they were dirt side had resulted in uncertainty. It could be testing them, trying to draw Lurch out, as it had on the surface. Or it might be on track to elude them again. Leave them waiting for the next brutal murder, which the MITSC now appeared to also be tracking.

How are we to locate it?
They had been so careful when they arrived here. Would they have to begin again in a different place? For the first time since he'd embarked on this adventure with the nanite, he felt real despair.

Now you feel despair? Not when we were dirt side—

Never mind. Perhaps what I feel is overwhelmed. We have gone from a couple of possibilities to…to this.
He stared around at the swarm, amazed that it was for one dubious councilman.

If it is here. It may be in Afoniki.

Or it could have moved to one of the MITSC; in which case, we are back to square zero.

I will admit I find its behavior somewhat puzzling.

Somewhat?

It could have disposed of Jimbo's body very easily,
Lurch pointed out.

It had a point. The tent had not been that far from the side of a platform. The swamp would have quickly hidden the body, aided by the heat and humidity. There would be no scanning for heat signatures when everyone was focused on post-storm cleanup.
Why do you think it wanted the body found?

The most obvious answer is that it wants us to find it.

Why?

If I knew that, I would know, not everything, but at least something.
The nanite felt amused. And yes, wry.

Okay, you cannot read its mind, but I am back to discouraged.
If it wanted them to find it, it was only so it could kill them.

And yet it did not kill us down on the surface when it had the chance.

What do you think that means?

There was a long silence.
That we have something that it wants.
Another pause.
I could be wrong, of course. But that is only conclusion I can reach with the available data.

What could they have that it could want?

“Earth to Joe?” Vi's voice broke into his thoughts. “Do we need to get you some food? And a break?”

Joe managed a semblance of a smile. “I am sorry. I am rather amazed at all this.” He waved a hand toward the now winding down, crime scene.

She looked concerned. “We could head back to HQ and, you know, eat.” That she did not sound excited by that, even if it meant a short break, could be attributed to her lack of enthusiasm for the meals-ready-to-eat. Indeed, he could not blame her. Benson and Jack offered half-hearted agreement. Vi looked at Benson and Jack. “You haven't heard of any eateries opening up, have you?” She glanced at Joe. “I always had better intel on where the good food was when I was on the street beat.”

Benson and Jack exchanged looks, that could have meant anything, but before they could speak, they got a call. Joe looked down at same time as Vi, then they both looked up.

“Disturbance?” Joe asked.

“The looting has begun, I'll bet,” Vi said. “People are coming out of shock, figuring out where they are. How to get home.”

“Bored,” Benson agreed.

“What's the twenty?” Jack asked, his tone in the mournful range. “What's there?”

Vi looked down. “It's downriver. No clue what might be there. Maybe one of you can try to get more information once we're moving.” She heaved a sigh. “Lock and load, people.”

Joe frowned. “Should that not be load and lock?”

Vi exchanged a look with Benson that Joe did not understand. Then she patted his cheek. “You're cute when you're clueless.”

T
he coordinates took
them down toward what had been Chalmette, but it, like the Greater NON area, was unfamiliar territory in the aftermath. There was no sign of Jean Lafitte park. It probably wasn't reasonable to find this upsetting, but Vi did. The Battle of New Orleans was a big deal in NON. The Brits still came over every year for the reenactment, even though they kept losing. It was actually done dirt side, which upped the down-and-dirty factor by even more. They marched through the swamp, fired old cannons, pretended to shoot each other, and stuff. It wasn't as big as Mardi Gras, but it was big.

“Can you slow down a bit?” Vi asked, peering down in hopes of spotting where it was supposed to be. “They'll have to find the visitor center and tow it all back.” Wouldn't they?

“Tow what back?” Joe asked, sounding puzzled.

“Jean Lafitte.” It was their history. Only, large chunks of NON could make that claim, too. There was the really old stuff. Then there was the newer old stuff and some kinda new stuff, because NON liked being old. And easy.

“Would he not be able to get back on his own?” Now Joe sounded worried.

“The park. The guy is long dead.”

“Oh.”

She leaned her head against the screen and blinked back tears. Her city was broken and so was her heart.

Wynken made a small sound of distress, and it almost felt like it patted her head.

I am sorry.

What you went through, it's worse. I know that.

It is your home.

It's happened before. Fires and floods. And we always come back. But this—I'm not sure we can come back from this.

If the hearts of your people are as strong as yours, your city will be back.

This won't be about hearts, but pocketbooks, I'm afraid.
What was the price of a city's heritage? Was it time to finally embrace a truly new NON? Would they have a choice?

“Look.” Joe spoke for the first time since they lifted off.

Benson and Jack—Did the guy have a last name? He wasn't another relative, was he?—hadn't spoken either. Maybe she and Joe were scary to the baby uniforms or something. Vi felt a hundred years older than them, though the real gap was maybe ten years. That thought made her flinch. Had she really been that so squeaky-clean-young once? Because this was not a productive line of thought either, Vi followed Joe's pointing finger. And blinked.

“Is that…City Park?” Benson sounded a bit awed.

“It looks like it,” Vi admitted. “Circle it once, Joe. Let's see if it's all there.”

Joe altered course, bringing the skimmer around and dropping his air speed just enough to keep them in the air. Her first thought was that there was no power in the park. Not a shock. Not much of NON had power. But that meant the holo-bayous and river were offline. Also the holo-oak trees and some of the bushes. It changed the look of the Park to be missing such key landmarks—there was that word again. But “air marks” didn't have the same meaning. And it sounded awkward. Besides, you couldn't mark air, so it even failed as a metaphor. If there were any metaphors. Vi could admit to being bit vague on the metaphor rules.

“There's the NOMA.” It helped that the New Orleans Museum of Art was both large and not a hologram. And she'd seen it from above almost every day. When the Park was where it was supposed to be, it was common to fly over it on the way to somewhere else, since it tended to float somewhat lower than other parts of the city because of its sheer mass. “Okay, there's the stadiums, so it all looks to be here.” All except for the art and stuff, which had been evacuated prior to the storm. “Log it into the database, would you, Benson? And report that we're on scene.” She looked at the panel, comparing their coordinates with where the disturbance had been reported. At the moment, her looting theory had lost fuel. There just wasn't that much to loot left in the Park. She'd guess that even the tourist stuff had been shifted. It was possible looters didn't know that the buildings were mostly empty. “Let's do a quick fly by on our ‘disturbance' before we set down.”

For some reason, the setup made her gut twitch. The coordinates put the problem around the carousel. But it wouldn't have mattered where. Why kick up a fuss here? There were more buildings in that area, so maybe someone found something to loot. But what? And who reported it? It felt off. Wrong. Joe kept their air speed down, then kicked on tracking, looking for heat sigs. His tracker flared, then the skimmer screamed a warning that came too late.

“Incoming—” She and Joe said it at the same time, but hers was an incredulous question, while his was Joe-ish and matter-of-fact.

The skimmer rocked to its side before Joe righted it.

“Starboard engine is offline,” Vi reported, as required in the regs, even though Joe would know it by the change in steering control. That was almost a surgical strike. Vi pulled the description from her vid game play with the cousins. They liked to toy with her, bring her down in painful stages. Then have their character go head-to-head with hers.

The hit knocked them off course just enough that the second shot missed. Though its detonation rocked the skimmer.

Vi slammed their black box alarm. Joe was ready for the third shot. Dang, the boy was a decent pilot. She heard a scrape of metal on metal, then another boom that almost flipped them upside down.

“I will have to land,” Joe said, his voice steady, though his arm muscles bulged as he fought to control the damaged skimmer.

“Officers in trouble. I repeat, officers in trouble,” she snapped into communications, sending their location. “We are under fire from an unknown source.” She glanced at their two uniforms. Benson's eyes were wide, almost fixed from shock. Jack, well, he didn't seem to waste calories on having expressions. “You strapped in? You picked a
crapeau
day for a ride along with us.”

Though this crash should be better than their last one. Unless this crash was about the nasty something or other? Memo to self: when your gut thinks something is wrong, believe it. If you live long enough to read your memos later.

She checked her straps. Something about the nature of the shots bothered her, but she didn't have time to think about it now.

“Try to land where we have some cover.” She studied the landscape. “There, if you can make it.” It was the pavilion, but there was one other structure between them and where the attack appeared to have come from. She elbowed the latch on the weapons locker built in to each exit hatch. She half turned and snapped at their passengers, “Check the weapons locker back there. We'll want to move as soon as we touch down. Secure any extra power packs. If you don't have pockets for them, pass them up.”

She shoved power packs in every pocket she could find, but didn't remove the long gun yet. If the crash went badly, it would just beat her up more.

The ground rushed toward them, though their airspeed was slower than the last crash, which might be good. She didn't have extensive experience in crashing.

There was standing water around the pavilion, but it couldn't be that deep.

Joe banked the skimmer. It bucked and fought the turn, but came around enough to line them on a relatively flat stretch of ground.

The damaged port engine sputtered and died.

The last few feet down were a silent rush, followed by the thump of first contact.

The skimmer bounced up, then hit again, harder.

The next bounce was smaller, the next hit even harder.

There was a jerk and the skimmer spun, sliding sideways toward a bench.

She threw up her arm, because, you know, that would soften the impact against her side—

The skimmer made teeth-jarring contact with the bench and stopped moving. She wasn't sure who won the battle. The skimmer had the weight, but bench was probably hard bolted into the platform. Maybe a draw, since the horizon was at an angle.

The skimmer shuddered and subsided with a last, bitter hiss.

Vi took a breath. It hurt some. So did her head. And her arm. She flexed. Didn't think it was broken.

I am on your injuries.

Thanks.
She flexed again. Arm already felt better.
If I'm bleeding anywhere visible, probably better leave those alone so as not to raise suspicion.
If their passengers survived the impact.

Vi slammed the lock on her straps. Had to hit it twice before it released.

Joe did the same thing on his side. She grabbed her long gun, sliding her arm through the strap and pushing the weapon onto her back. Tried her hatch. No surprise it didn't work. She tried manual release.