It Sometimes Snows In May: A B.E.A.N. Police Novella (9 page)

“Don’t get sentimental on me. You’re not the type,” Ryles says.

“The Triad has the right to...terminate your employment, and has shown restraint in exercising it. So why are you so eager to die,” Director of Protocol asks.

Ryles grins “Maybe I’m tired of it all.”

Director of Protocol nods, and his heavy drops Ryles again. Ryles moans in pain. The Director hovers to the entrance to the terrace. “Maybe you found a better offer? Maybe you though, if I get burned, let me burn everyone else?”

“Maybe...you should...lay off the drugs,” Ryles says.

“You ought to know,” Director of Protocol hisses. He hovers back to the heavy. “Throw him off the terrace, and put her into the car.”

Elisa stares out across the bridge connecting New Mass to Ispari and then her view drifts to the dunes beyonds. The sky is clear and the temperature is still high enough that the air conditioning is on high. “It’s a shame what the civil war did to this valley,” Aalin says. “Thank God we won.”

“Did we?” Elisa rub her hands on her belly. Suddenly Elisa hears a voice. She spin her heads to Aalin. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Aalin replies.

“Nothing.” Elisa composes herself.

“Well...you have to admit, It was easy for the
daiswrights
and
excretas
of New Mass to put you in office after that. With their crossing to Ispari foiled, they had nothing. No food, no water. Not a hole to bury themselves in. What choice did they have but to accept the terms of the new constitution, and integrate into the caste system for their welfare chips?”

“
He seems resentful. Don’t you think
.” Elisa hears in her head.

“Jealous?” Elisa responds.

“Jealous, of what?” Aalin asks.

“
That you chose Zota over him.
”

“Well, I married a
daiswright
instead of a
plutocrat
,” Elisa says.

Aalin walks back towards Elisa. “You needed a pretty face for the photo ops during your campaign. I get it. You needed someone that could help pull the
daiswrights
to your side, and see you as the best of the worst. Your mistake was keeping him around too long. Long enough to become a liability. My mistake was not taking care of the liability when your poll numbers first began to slide.”

Their sport luxury vehicle reaches the Ispari end of the bridge. Guards at Ispari border gate control scan their passports. The guard reviews the analysis on Elisa’s passport, and then does a double-take when he reads the caste details. “My apologies ma’am.” He quickly waves at the gate sensor to allow them through. “It’s procedure.”

“Well you wouldn’t want to make it appear you’re too eager for a seat at the table of power, now would you?” Elisa asks Aalin.

“
He can’t be trusted to be satisfied with whatever he gets.
” The voice in her heads whispers.

“I’ve paid my dues Elisa. I’m not going to let a ghost from your past take what’s rightfully mine,” Zota says.

“
He means rightfully ours, doesn’t he
.”

Elisa turns away back to the glass, looking back out the window as the vehicle speeds into Ispari. Her gaze is haunting and vacant.

Zota arrives at the corner of Normandy Avenue and Fifth Street. He scans his surroundings after wiping the sweat off his brow. His chest heaves and falls, and his lungs burn. “Man, I’m out of shape.” Zota begins to dig into the bag while it’s still slung on his shoulder. He drops to one knee, placing the bag on the ground once it proves too cumbersome to attempt a one-handed search. Zota opens the bag up just wide enough to fit his hands. Soon, Zota hears two sets of footfalls approaching. The footfalls slow down and Zota pretends to feel around the bag. When the footfalls stop, Zota looks up. Two large teenage boys are about four meters in front of him.

“You need help,” a teenager sporting a mohawk says.

“No thanks. I’m just looking for my water bottle,” Zota replies.

“That wasn’t a question man,” the other teenage with tatoos on his bald skull says. He laughs.

Zota’s hand brushes over Ryles’ auto-pistol. He stops cold.

Seconds later Guard Practice, swooshes by in a hover cruiser. She sees two teenagers towering over a man stooped over, and pulls over.

“Yo!
guardie
,” the mohawk teenage says.

“You’re lucky day pops,” the tatooed tenageer says, “let’s hover.”

Zota hears their footfall move away from him. He exhales and releases his grip on the auto-pistol. He hears more steps from the opposite direction approach.

“Are you okay sir?” Guard Practice asks.

“Yeah.” Zota rises up and turns around. When he sees Practice he smiles nervously. “I’m looking for a rent-a-hover station at Normandy and Fifth. Those kids weren’t much help though.”

“Actually, if you follow those kids through the mall parking lot, you can’t miss them. Look for the yellow signs in the first row,” Practice says.

“Thanks,” Zota replies.

Back in the vehicle the computer broadcasts and calls to Practice. She waves off to Zota and dashes back to the hover-cruiser.

Patel and Practice arrive at the address next to Ryles’ apartment. An older woman rushes out to their hover cruiser waving frantically.

Their hover-cruiser hisses to a stop a meter in front of the woman dress like someone interrupted her shower. Patel and Practice step down from the cruiser.

“Oh my God. It was awful, just awful. They just threw him out like a bag of trash,” she says.

“Calm down, ma’am…” Patel says.

The woman waddles to the side of the house she came out from. “This way!” She leads Patel and Practice beside her house, and then to the back. Splayed out over inflatable pool furniture, is John, bloody and bruised.

Patel pulls his auto-pistol and begins scanning the area. Practice sprays on some insta-skin, waits a few seconds, and then checks John’s pulse. “He’s dead.” Practice tap her earpiece, “Med-unit to my twenty, subject dead at scene.” The older woman gasps at the body, and then turns away. Practice comes beside her. “Can you identify who did the throwing?”

“Oh yes. He was a big fella. Like that wrestler on
Friday Night Fights
,” she says.

“Was there anyone else involved?” Practice asks.

“Yes. A few minutes after the man threw the guy over, a fat man in a hover chair came out. After him, the same big fella. The big fella, put a woman in the trunk of his car.”

“Did the woman look like this?” Patel shows the older woman an image of Ryles on his PDA. The older woman squints, and then turns her head from one side to the other.

“Well, it could be her, but I dunno. I mean they all kinda built the same you know,” the older woman says.

“Yes. We know,” Practice says. “What type of vehicle was it? What color?”

“It was one of those temp cars, you know? Rent by the hour… A red one I think. Yes, it was red,” the older woman says.

“How do you know it was a temp car?” Patel asks.

“It had the logo on the back,” the older woman says. “I passed when I was walking Reginald..” Patel and Practice were about to respond. “..my dog. It was too new and cheap, to belong to anyone on this block. We like the old stuff. You know, cars that last at least five years.”

A temp car with the Director of Protocol in the back and his heavy driving hum down the avenue. He hears faint banging beyond the rear cabin he’s seated in.

“I guess you didn’t drop her hard enough,” Director of Protocol says.

Zota breezes through city traffic. He peeks at the GPS clock on the heads-up-display. “Damn.”

Morefishco reclines at his desk. His wireless earpiece flashes blue, as he puts notes to net-paper. “What about John Doe?”

             
On a split display atop Morefishco’s desk, Patel appears. “
Ah, he got away from us.
”

              “Got away?” Morefishco. “How does a man who doesn’t even know his own name, in a state he doesn’t live in, get away from a state guard?”

              “
John Doe and Misses Brown were gone when we got to her residence. A neighbor says some men put Misses Brown in the booth of a temp car. We have another John Doe; dead at the scene
,” Patel says.

“Great!” Morefishco says. “Any more good news?”

“
I’ve got a trace on our first John Doe,
” Patel says. “
He is travelling down Main Street. His destination is...East Ispari Hospital.
”

A virtual desk guard pops his head into Morefishco’s office. Morefishco waves him forward. Behind the virtual desk guard, Morefishco can see Elisa and Aalin. “Have them wait a moment.” Morefishco tells the virtual desk guard.

“Please be mindful of the two minute warning,” the virtual desk guard says.

“Yes, I won’t keep them waiting for more than two minutes. I know the regulation,” Morefishco says. Morefishco waits until the virtual desk guard has retreated, before turning his attention back to Patel. “Bring him in.”

“On what basis?” Patel asks.

“Driving without a license for starters,” Morefishco says, and then taps the screen to end the call. Morefishco waves Elisa and Aalin into his office. He studies them with his glance as they sit down in suits that look like they would cost him a weeks salary.

“Thank you for coming Representative Citysun. Can I get you some coffee, water…” Morefishco gestures over to his well appointed minibar, including juices and carbonated soft drinks.

“Zota Citysun is my husband,” Elisa says is an even tone. “Where is he?”

Morefishco waits a moment, gazes to Aalin, and then returns his gaze to Elisa.

“This is my protective detail,” Elisa says.

“Well, before I can answer your question, I’ll need to verify you are who you say you are,” Morefishco says.

“Really? You don’t know who I am?” Elisa slides forward, leaning towards Morefishco. “Do I need to call your superiors?”

“Don’t take it personally. After the week I’ve had, I’d ask Jesus Christ for I-D, and he can walk on water.” Morefishco slides a print scanner in front of Elisa.

Elisa straightens up, and places her right hand on the scanner.

“I guess you don’t get net news here in Ispari?” Aalin says.

Morefishco swivels to Aalin. “We do, but I figured why let a few million dollars worth of technology collect dust. On a net-paper display, Elisa’s identification and credentials are verified. Her dossier includes the name and picture of her husband.

“Zota...Citysun. I didn’t think he was a John”, Morefishco says.

“Now that we’ve established my identity, I would like to see my husband, now,” Elisa says.

Morefishco glances at his PDA momentarily as if to will it to chime with a news flash of Zota’s capture.

“Well, he’s going to be under observation for at least another hour…” Morefishco says.