Kop

KOP
EX-KOP
(forthcoming)

I
HONESTLY
have no idea how many hours it took to complete this story, but I can safely say that it’s a big, big number. Day after day, month after month, I toiled away in solitude, lost in a world of my own making, wondering if there was any chance that the novel I was writing would ever get published. On the rare occasion that I came up for air, I shared whatever I’d written up to that point with friends, family, and eventually professionals in the publishing industry. Without exception, I was received warmly and encouraged to continue, a kindness I’m not likely to forget. I’d like to recognize some of these people now. Without them, this book simply wouldn’t exist. Richard Curtis, Suzanne Czech, Clyde Farnsworth, Jim Frenkel, Kathy Gansemer, Rachel Hutson, Lisa Ledet, Jean Monforton, Elisavietta Ritchie, Jim Sailer, Shawn Stugart, Jamie Sudler, Julie Wahlstrom, George Whelpley, John Whelpley, and Ruth Whelpley, I sincerely thank each and every one of you. Your feedback and support are evident on every page.

J
UNE 28, 2787

T
HE
place was almost empty. There were two boozers splitting a bottle at the far end of the bar and a gray-haired woman with her head on a table, out cold with an empty glass in her hand. The windows were closed up tight. The aircon was blowing full.

Bensaid and I were standing face to face, the bar standing between us. Bensaid was the owner of this rat hole. He ripped off his patrons by cutting his brandy with water. He kept a bottle capper in the back room that he’d use to seal the bottles back up so you couldn’t tell.

“You better not be holding out on me,” I said as I pocketed the thin wad of bills, too thin.

“You don’t trust me? You know I wouldn’t short you.” Bensaid tried to look offended.

“Bullshit. Where is the rest of my money?”

“Son of a bitch!” He slammed his drink glass on the bar, splashing brandy up onto his bushy arm. “I’m sick of your bitchin’, comin’ in here every month ’cusin’ me of this shit. It’s all there. Count the fuckin’ money yourself you don’t believe me!”

The pair at the far end of the bar looked our way. Gray-hair didn’t flinch.

I should’ve smashed the glass into the side of his face. Forced him to count aloud as I laid out one bill at a time—prick thought he could cheat me! When I was younger, I wouldn’t
have hesitated. I used to be KOP’s ass-stomper supreme, but that was a young man’s game. These days, I’d just make my collections and try to stay out of trouble. Besides, I wasn’t as quick as I used to be.

I patted his cheek, all cool. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was all there? That’s all I need to hear.”

Bensaid glared at me, pissed times ten. First I’d accused him of cheating, and now I was pulling this fake nicey-nice shit on him, saying, “Why didn’t you just tell me it was all there?” If I wasn’t a cop, he would’ve jumped me already or pulled out that shockstick he kept back there for bouncing rowdies out of his dive when they got carried away.

“See ya next month,” I said, grinning in his face…extra long…then I turned my back on him and walked out of the bar snail-slow.
I dare you to jump me, you fuck.

The truth was I wanted to count the money as soon as he forked it over. My right hand shook, and all I needed was for a bastard like that to see and start thinking I was old and weak. I’d first noticed that I couldn’t hold it steady a few years ago. When I’d gotten it checked out, I learned it was a degenerative thing, caused by a twenty-five-year-old injury. Nowadays, I’d keep my right in my pocket most of the time. People around here would walk all over you if they saw you had a weak spot.

The heat hammered me when I hit the street. Lagarto’s sun had been up for a couple hours. The thin cloud cover didn’t do much to minimize the late morning sun scorch. I could feel the prickle of sweat breaking out on my forehead as I headed down the block. I should’ve started my rounds earlier. I was getting too old to be out in this shit. One of these days, I’d have to face facts and hang it up, turn in my shield, and take Niki out of the city. She’d been after me to quit. We had all the money we’d ever need, but I just couldn’t get the job out of my system. What else would I do?

I crossed the street, weaving between the puddles and piles of rotting garbage. Geckos scattered out of my way, running for cover under green weeds that had pushed up through the rippled pavement. Every few months, the city would come through on a slash-and-burn. They used to poison the encroaching jungle growth until people started to notice tumor-ridden fish belly-up in the Koba River. Citizens’ groups got worked up over their health and forced the city to change methods. Now, they blasted the streets with flamethrowers, crisping anything green, leaving only the smoldering stench of burned trash and vegetation in their wake.

I rounded the corner and strode into Li’s Parlor to hit up Li for my cut. The entryway was done up in Asian silks, reds and golds. The aircon was blowing in my face. I fanned my shirt to get some of the cool inside. One of Li’s women led me back to the lounge. On the left was a bar where the johns would knock back a couple before heading upstairs; on the right, velvet sofas were backed against the wall. They were used to display the merchandise.

Li’s Parlor was one of a thousand snatch houses on this planet. We were experts at drawing tourists down to Lagarto from the Orbital and the mines, feeding them some hot tail, and relieving them of their offworld dollars.

Li was counting pesos at the bar. Rouge and caked-on lipstick both feminized and anglicized his Asian features. His hair was in a net, too early for the wig.

“Juno!” He singsonged my name.

“Hello, Li.”

“It’s so nice to see you. Would you like to join me for some tea?”

“Not today, I’m running behind schedule.”

“Why are you always in such a rush?”

I shrugged a response.

“You must come back this evening. I have two new girls. One is just your type…tall and quiet with a real wild streak. You have to let me earn back some of the money I give you every month.”

“Sounds interesting, but I don’t think the wife would let me.”

“Oh, stop it!” He mock slapped me. “Mr. Tough Cop turns into a little kitten at night? I don’t believe that. My mother used to tell me stories about you.”

Li’s mother used to run the joint before she’d died.

“That was a long time ago,” I said.

“That wife of yours won’t mind if you get your main course at home and get your dessert at Li’s.” His eyelids fluttered. “Are you still worried she’ll be upset? I’ll tell you what, if she feels left out, you can bring her along. You can still handle two women at a time, can’t you, Juno?”

Smiling, I said, “I’ll have to ask her, Li.”

“You tell her first-timers are free.”

“How’s business?” That was my usual signal; it said I was done with the small talk.

“You know how it is.” He passed me an envelope. No need to count, Li always played it straight…so to speak. “I have to let Ramona go. You know how offworlders are. They keep wanting them younger and younger.”

I shook my head in that what-can-you-do way.

“I just can’t make sense of it, Juno. Those mines are booming, and I still have to let her go. I’m telling you, the market for mature women is dying. More than half my girls are in their teens now. You know how old Ramona is? She’s twenty-seven. She started here when she was nineteen. That’s only eight years, Juno. How’s a girl supposed to earn enough money to set herself up after only eight years? It used to be, a girl could have a fifteen- or even twenty-year run.”