Lunatic City Read online

  Cue Ball had started to draw his piece, but I was already on him. I grabbed the lapels of his shirt, making sure to have some of his wife-beater in my grip. I pulled him down and leapt at him, catching the bridge of his nose with my forehead. I felt it crunch and knew the blood would be flowing.

  He paused. I knew he was trying to hold on to his consciousness. So was I. But, I didn’t have time for a standing eight count. I slid my hands down and wrapped them around the SM-6 that was now clear of his belt. I twisted my body like in some kind of corkscrew dance and wrenched the piece from his hands.

  I gripped it by the barrel and spun back to my right, building as much momentum as I could. The gun had reached terminal velocity by the time I’d rotated the three hundred and sixty degrees. Cue Ball had been reaching towards my right, grasping for a gun that was long gone. I looked in his eyes and could see that they were still foggy. This wasn’t going to help. The handle splintered on impact. He gave a pained moan and then toppled in slow motion to the dusty floor.

  Cue Ball quivered at my feet. I looked at T-Van. He was quivering, too. I held him in my gaze for several long seconds. He had a lean, gazelle-like build. Now came the hard part.

  He fled into the crowd, slipping by some and running over others. I let out a long breath and followed. Neither of us looked very graceful in the weak gravity and we both kicked up dust with every loping step. I wasn’t as fast as T-Van and had to take care of stepping on the civilians. He started opening the distance from his first step.

  T-Van moved toward the stairs in leaping strides and bounded straight to the first landing handrail and then to the mezzanine. There were some minor casualties among the civilians, but nothing that looked worse than bumps and bruises. I hit the stairs and took three and four steps at a time, trying not to hurt any of the bystanders. I knew this wasn’t going to be a sprint, even in the Moon’s low gravity.

  He kept jumping straight up, level after level, pulling farther and farther away from me. I took as many steps as I could, but he was jumping levels and kept increasing the distance between us in fluid, swim-like motions. He was maxing out at Level Six by the time I was on Level Four. He stopped and looked down at me.

  There was no time to pause. I could feel him slipping away. He started running east. If he was smart, he could be out of sight before I got to the top. This guy might be a pussy, but he had the survival instincts of a cockroach. It was time for a burst.

  I was on the Level Four landing, still almost two levels below. He was gonna vanish If I didn’t reach the top fast. I stopped and climbed onto the banister. I took landings: one, two, three. I wouldn’t have pulled it off had I been a centimeter shorter, but I was able to get my arm over the Level Six rail.

  I looked east and saw him moving away fast. I kicked my leg over and strained even in the light lunar gravity. I made it over and took a leaping start from the rail.

  T-Van turned south. The Street was only meters above our head. I was confused. He was half running, half jumping in the semi-weightlessness. But, half running, half jumping himself out of room. This was a dead-end. I slowed to I make the turn, expecting to find an ambush. But, there he was, run-jumping along an empty walkway.

  I accelerated. He might be in reach. But, then I understood: he was fleeing towards the crater wall. There were some middle-class apartment homes burrowed into the face. There were windows.

  T-Van leaped two levels. It took just two jumps in the lunar gravity to reach the lip of The Street. He hung there for several seconds. The world above him blazed yellow, orange, blue and red. There were flashing lights and the sound of air traffic.

  He wasn’t even breathing hard whilst I felt like each gasping breath might be my last. We both knew that this was the end. He smiled and blew a kiss. Then, in the same swimmer’s motions as before, he pivoted his handhold and slithered through a precut hole in the steel netting that separated the upper city from the lower.

  I stood there panting on the top mezzanine. I had pissed away my marriage for a busted lead, for nothing. Defeat filled my chest. What a waste.

  I kept looking up at the glitz and lights above me. I could just make out a flashing billboard advertising something to one of the millions of Tycho City visitors looking to part with their money. I looked down at The Lower City, dark and desolate. There was no reason to advertise down there.

  The Lower City wasn’t really a part of Tycho at all, but it was my city, Lunatic City.

  CHAPTER II

  The Thirty-third Precinct was like any other police station in The Lower City: hectic. We were sheltered from the chaos of the squad room by Captain Willis Rodson’s office door. It was a cramped place, especially for a foursome of grown men. It was hot and stank of stale coffee and sweat.

  It was also, despite the smells and overcrowded atmosphere, a neat and tidy place. The desk was metal with a calendar covering most of the open space. There was a coffee ring on the corner closest to Rodson’s right hand. Captain Rod, as he liked to be called, was a fast riser in the TCPD. He was just thirty-eight and already looking to make section chief. There was word that he might be going north of The Street soon.

  He was a well-polished, classy dresser. He still wore a starched, bleach-white button-up and tie in a time when most detectives wore embroidered pullovers. His shield clung to his belt. He had a lean waist and medium, well-formed shoulders. Perfect white teeth adorned an almost perfect smile. His brown hair was well manicured, and his brown eyes were sharp. He was, by all accounts, a good cop. He was also an asshole.

  Those perfect white teeth were hiding behind a scowl. His sharp brown eyes were waiting, studying me for some kind of lie. I held his stare for several seconds, curled my lip in a sardonic smile and turned my eyes toward the door. I held a cold compress to my aching forehead.

  “The ERT got activated about two hours ago.” The Emergency Response Team was our paramilitary elite team that dealt with special situations such as high-risk searches, arrests, hostage situations, and, in Tycho City, taking on street gangs.

  I stared at the closed blinds of his office door as if I could see the squad room beyond. “Yeah?”

  His pale complexion went red in my peripheral vision. “Yeah. The Revolution, you wanna tell me about it?”

  I glanced at Jimmy Watson, a thick, dark-skinned sergeant from the Seventh Precinct and my union rep. He didn’t speak. He seemed to have no further guidance to give. We’d met outside before this little conference. I told him all about my adventure at The Revolution and my chase across six levels of The Lower City. He had told me, and I quote, “Just don’t lie.”

  Thanks a lot, Jim.

  “Not really.”

  Jim looked at me. His eyes widened in unspoken warning.

  Rodson threw himself backward into his chair, blew out a long, exasperated sigh and glanced at the man next to him.

  Special Detective Andrew Tsaris was a member of the Internal Affairs Bureau. I wasn’t like a lot of cops. I’d seen corruption, watched cops take pay-offs, steal evidence, and abuse their authority. I understood the need to police the police. I knew that most IAB detectives got a bad rap among their brothers and sisters, and that they really believed in protecting the citizenry from that kind of corruption rather than making their career on the backs of good cops. Tsaris wasn’t one of them. He wore a blue TCPD collared pullover and a smile that was supposed to be warm.

  I held his gaze for a second and smacked my lips in distaste before looking back to Rodson.

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  I let him wait a few more seconds. I pressed the angry knot on my forehead and rotated the cold pack. “Waiting for what?”

  He made a show of rubbing his temples, a habit he employed when trying to intimidate a subordinate. It was his way of saying that he was tired of the bullshit and, perhaps, that his head might explode if it didn’t quit. I’d been exposed to it fa
r too often to be cowed. It was a tired routine. “What the hell were you doing there?”

  I drew a long breath and stared at the wall past him. I read his diploma from the Tycho City Police Academy, a couple of certificates of completion and his police department appointment certification from twenty-two-thirty-four. They’d been in the same spot for years. He really needed to redecorate. “I got a tip.”

  “What kind of tip?”

  “The anonymous kind.”

  Rodson grew redder.

  Jim shuffled in his chair.

  Tsaris shifted his weight. I thought he might take over the interrogation, but Rodson continued. “About which case?”

  I clamped my mouth shut and turned my gaze back to the door. Pent-up emotion twisted my gut and gripped my throat. I thought about Rick and tried not to lose my composure.

  Rodson read my face. He softened his tone and entreated me to come clean. “It was Rick, wasn’t it?”

  I knew he was playing me. The technique was as old as police work. I let him win. They’d find out anyway. I still didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

  “Who gave it to you?” His voice was soft and smooth. It wrapped itself around my shoulders like a comforting arm.

  I stared at the door for several more seconds deciding how to play this. I glanced at Jim, but he just stared back. He’d have to wipe the drool off his chin if he held that expression much longer. Some representation.

  I looked back at Rodson. He was displaying the patience of a fisherman. The hook was already set.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It came in on the tip line… digitized voice… some kind of scrambler.”

  “You didn’t find that suspicious?”

  “She was narcing on a runner for one of the most vicious street gangs in The Lower City. No, a good dose of paranoia seemed very called-for in that situation.”

  His expression changed and some of the contempt bled through. It was subtle, though. “You said ‘she’. It was a woman?”

  “Couldn’t tell for sure. You know, the distortion and all. But I assumed it was a girlfriend slash lover situation. Hell hath no fury, right?” It was getting too easy to talk to him. I made a note to keep my answers shorter.

  “So, you get an address from your pReC?”

  I glared at his stupidity. “She took the time and effort to scramble her voice but used a traceable address?”

  He shrugged at my insult. “Okay, so you were there for,” he slid his fingers across the notepad, “Terrance Valkenburg aka T, T-Van, Van—.”

  “T-Van,” I said. “Yes.”

  Tsaris must’ve been getting bored with this. He leaned forward on the desk and interrupted.

  “Detective Parker, you nearly ruined an eighteen-month investigation into the activities of The Lunatics street gang. A team from Special Crimes was there observing gang activity. I understand that there was even an operative in that night club, and there you were running through the club flashing your badge like it was some kind of hex!”

  He punctuated hex with a fist to the table.

  “We were notified by Special Crimes before your T-Van finished his acrobat routine! They want your head on a platter! The captain, yes, captain who called me said he wanted you arrested as a vigilante! Rodson, here, wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Says you’re all boo-hooed up about the death of your partner. I, for one, don’t give a shit.

  “If you can’t handle this job, go see the department shrink. Otherwise go ride a goddamned desk! But don’t go fucking around with active investigation to exorcise your demons!”

  I twisted my mouth. It became easier to keep quiet.

  Rodson glared at Tsaris, then looked back at me. “Frank,” he said, his voice low and soft. “We had the place under observation. We were trying to gain some intel on their activities, on their players. You know what that little episode is gonna do to our ability to spy on them now?”

  I did. Had I been that captain I’d have been pissed too.

  Rodson glanced at Tsaris again. “Frank, we know about Rick. I know you blame yourself for not being there. I understand, Frank. But you can’t keep doing this. We can’t have you running around the city conducting your own private investigation. You’re messing things up for us.”

  “I understand.”

  He nodded. “Ok, we’re gonna chat, now.” His tone of voice said, “That’s good. I understand.” But I knew. They were trying to bury me.

  Jim still just sat there. I wasn’t too mad. It wasn’t like he could do much for me this time. I’d gone there without any real authorization, brandished my shield, and beat down two of their thugs. I was gonna get time off for this one, maybe a demotion and transfer.

  He followed me out of Rodson’s office. “That went pretty well.”

  He speaks! I glared at him then left him standing in the doorway.

  *******

  Dana Cooper was a beautiful, mocha-skinned detective who worked homicide. She kept her raven hair pinned to her crown. Her body was petite. She had a graceful elegance that seemed more suited to a ballroom than a crime scene, but she was tough and smart and carried the weight of her team. Rick was her case. Well, it was really her sergeant’s case. But even Dana Cooper’s street smarts couldn’t make up for Ken Schoaler’s incompetence.

  I plopped into her partner’s empty chair and tossed the now lukewarm cold pack into the trash. “Hey, Dana.”

  She looked up from her computer. “Hear you were off interfering in my case.”

  “I was trying to assist my fellow law enforcement officers by following up on a lead.”

  She frowned and returned to her work.

  “Come on, Dana. You don’t really think that moron Schoaler is gonna do anything with info I pass him, do you?”

  She looked up from her display, again. “You mean like what you did with it?”

  Ouch! “Ok, so it didn’t exactly turn out as planned. But at least I wasn’t letting the case on a dead cop go cold.”

  I saw a wince of shame cross her face. We both knew: there were reasons why the TCPD wasn’t breaking its neck to find this asshole.

  “Even if I believed he was a dirty cop, which I don’t, he’s still one of ours.”

  There was a time she’d have agreed with me. Now, she shrugged.

  I looked out at the squad room and let several seconds tick off. “So, what do you have?”

  “Parker.” Her voice was firm.

  I looked out at the almost empty office.

  It took her several seconds to speak again. “No.”

  I tipped my head a hair and rolled my eyes to look at her over my nose.

  “Parker.” Her voice took on a pleading tone.

  I waited.

  She took a breath. I could almost see her weighing what she was going to say. “You say he was running down a tip on the Carson case?”

  I nodded. Dana and I had talked at length about the investigation Rick and I conducted into that murder.

  David Carson was a wannabe DJ. He worked two regular jobs: one in a topside hotel as a janitor and one in the Lower City as a maintenance man at the apartment complex where he lived. His third job was as an occasional DJ at The Revolution. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Lunatic potential in his murder.

  Terrance Van Valkenburg was one of his closest associates and a person of great interest in our investigation. He was hard to track down, but Rick had found him, although I never knew how. He didn’t live long enough to tell anyone.

  “Well, your boy was quite the player,” said Dana. “We’ve found six kids from five different mothers. Their ages range from six months to eight years.”`

  I nodded again. “Ok, pretty mild for a self-appointed DJ with gang affiliations.”

  Dana smiled. “Yeah, but word is, he might not have known when to stop.”r />
  I raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “There might be a seventh kid.” She held her little morsel over my head for several long seconds. “Giovanni Rocamora is suspected of beating his girlfriend Monique Benson to death after a baby that was supposed to be his bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain DJ she worked with at The Revolution.”

  I stared hard into her face. “Giovanni the Rock?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Jesus.”

  “The very off-the-record word was that Carson was banging her in one of the back rooms of the club.”

  “Bullshit! Nobody’s that stupid.”

  Dana shrugged. “Seen men do some stupid shit for pussy.”

  I’d have liked to argue with her, but she was right. “Ok, but The Rock is a Street Captain. He runs The Floor—”

  “And part of the second level.”

  “Ok, and part of the second level,” I said. “So, why kill a cop to cover up Carson’s murder? He’s had plenty of people killed in his name. Hell, you just said he killed his girlfriend.”

  “And the baby.”

  That gave me a moment’s pause. “And the baby. How’s this any different?”

  Dana frowned and looked out over the office. “Schoaler says the same thing. He thinks that story is just a cover. Carson’s maintenance job? Timmons Park.” That was where Rick lived. “Rick didn’t mention that to a single person.” She gave another worried glance at the office. “Schoaler thinks that Rick was the mythological leak providing intel to The Lunatics.”

  She didn’t elaborate any further, but the theory was as clear as it was simple. Carson would be the perfect go-between: only loose connections to The Lunatics and a common residence with Rick. It was perfect.

  “Schoaler’s wondering why you didn’t say anything.” That statement was a show-changer.