Kop (9 page)

But actually following through was another matter.

I just couldn’t do it. I kept putting it off. Day after day, I’d tell myself tomorrow would be a better day to do it. Pretty soon, the tomorrows added up to a week, then a month. I couldn’t quit being a cop. It was who I was.

I’d apologized a thousand times for letting her down. I’d explained it as best I could, yet she insisted on continuing to beat me over the head with it.
“You said you’d quit. You promised.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. I fucking get it already. What do you want me to say?

It wasn’t like I’d totally blown her off. I eventually did work up the courage to cold-turkey my enforcing. I demoted myself to a collections man—no investigatory responsibilities. If a cop or pimp got out of line, I’d make the referral to Paul, who would take care of it with one of his young-buck thugs. Giving up the enforcing was the key. Without the need to constantly anesthetize my soul, I’d been able to drop myself down to a two-glass-a-day habit. Wasn’t that the important part? How about a little credit?

I started hurrying into my tux. I got hung up on the shirt, damn hand. These buttons were a bitch, especially the ones on the cuffs, but I’d be damned if I was going to call her for help.
I’d get it done without her. It wasn’t like she was so perfect. Shit, she popped more painkillers than a damn cancer ward.

There.
I’d finally gotten the last button. Now for the bowtie.
How the hell am I going do that?
Fucking hell. I swallowed my pride and apologized.

We took the car. I’d bought it straight off the manufacturing line in ’84. I had it classed up with black paint, silver trim, and a monitor-hide interior. Niki talked the whole way, about shopping and then I didn’t know what. My head was back on the case. Why was it that the mayor’s man, Karl Gilkyson, got to hang out in Paul’s office? Paul had never answered to the mayor’s office. He operated KOP independently.

It was true that Mayor Samir was the most powerful politician on Lagarto. Lagarto’s planetary government was a joke. More than half the planet’s people lived inside the Koba city limits, and Lagarto’s entire economy was controlled out of Koba. Whoever ran the city ran the planet. Despite the mayor’s political dominance, he had no standing with KOP and no right to station one of his lawyers in Paul’s office. Beyond the technicality that the mayor appointed the chief, there was no relationship between the two entities, and everybody knew that it was really the previous chief who appointed the next chief; the mayor would just sign off on it. It was the way the system worked.

Yet, Karl Gilkyson had been planted in Paul’s office. How much trouble was Paul in?
What’s been happening since I stopped enforcing?

The Iguana King loomed ahead, ten stories of Lagartan luxury. A sign ran from the ground to the roof, the words “Iguana King” riding the back of the largest lizard you’ve ever seen, outlined in bright green neon, with a curled red-neon tongue that whipped out at a neon fly buzzing ten meters above the rooftop, in a four-stage repeating capture sequence.

I stopped at the back of a line of cars waiting for valet service. I left my keys in the ignition and walked around to the passenger side to open Niki’s door. We walked past the cars, every one of them freshly washed and waxed. There were a few offworld cars in the mix—miners and orbital-station entrepreneurs networking with Lagarto’s rich and politically powerful, looking for ways to save money on Lagartan food or lobbying for development projects like the half dozen resorts in the works. They liked to run their own resorts. That way, vacationers wouldn’t have to come in contact with us natives. Not at all what Paul intended when he set out to increase offworld tourism so many years ago.

We made our way toward the main entrance. Tuxedos and evening gowns crowded into a who’s-who mass of winks, handshakes, and pecks on the cheek.

When we finally made it in, I said, “I have to talk to Paul. Then I’m yours. Okay?”

Niki went off without answering. She moved effortlessly from one social circle to another, an elbow grab here and a formal hug there. I immediately felt naked without her. She would class me up enough to hang in high-society circles like these. She was the one who could talk the talk and fill the conversation lulls. She elevated me beyond my Tenttown upbringing. I was out of my league without her in a place like this.

I went off to find Paul. Tall windows ran down both sides of the ballroom. Plush red drapes were tied back with gold ropes. A twenty-piece band kept the dance floor busy. Waiters carried silver trays loaded with drinks. Hoity-toity dilettantes and pseudo-intellectuals gathered in small cliques speaking snob to one another. I betted my new partner’s parents were around here somewhere. I passed a group of brown-nosed Lagartans hanging on some offworlder’s every word. The offworlder was probably twice my age, but looked like a thirty-year-old vid-star.

I navigated the perimeter of the room, looking for the police table.

“Juno!”

I turned to the voice.

Matsuo Sasaki said, “Come have a drink with me.”

Shit, I didn’t need this right now. I sat down. You didn’t snub Sasaki. “Hey, Matsuo. Long time no see.”

“You can say that again.” He snapped, and a waiter appeared. “A glass of brandy for my companion.”

Matsuo Sasaki was the number two man of the Bandur cartel. He’d served under Ram Bandur from the beginning. Since Ram’s death, he worked for Bandur’s son, Ben. He was wearing a white tux that went well with his silver hair. He clapped me on the back with his four-fingered hand. “It’s been too long, Juno. What have you been up to?”

“I’m still working the streets, making collections and keeping my head down.”

“You are a wise man, Juno Mozambe.”

“Where’s Ben?”

“He couldn’t make it.” He spoke crisply, like he was unhappy about Ben’s absence. It sounded like there was a little trouble in the Bandur camp. Sasaki normally kept his emotions corralled.

I didn’t ask why Bandur didn’t come. You didn’t question Sasaki. His toughness was legendary. The story went that Sasaki was one of many lieutenants working for Ram Bandur in the early days of his organization. They were all vying for Bandur’s favor. At one of their meetings, Bandur joked that his lieutenants should be willing to cut off their own fingers to serve him. Sasaki saw his opportunity and abruptly left the meeting, returning ten minutes later with a pair of pruning shears and his severed pinky. The sick fuck didn’t even use a lase-blade. That way, at least the wound would have been partly cauterized and a
hell of a lot less painful. Ram Bandur instantly made him his pinkyless right-hand man.

Somebody was on stage, making a toast. Holy hell, it was Bandur’s chief rival, Carlos Simba. Sasaki gritted his teeth. I was stunned. What was he doing up there?

Simba was wearing an ill-fitting tux. High-water pants showed sock, and a purple cummerbund clashed over a blue shirt. He loved his uncouth image. It endeared him to the impoverished Lojan people. He stuck it to the rich. Nobody cared that he was a drug-dealing mass murderer.

He held his glass high. “I won’t speak long. I know you are all having a good time, so I’ll make my comments brief. I want to speak on all of your behalf by thanking Mayor Samir for inviting us to this fantastic banquet.”

The room sounded gentle applause. Sasaki looked ready to blow. The audaciousness of the
Loja
crime lord toasting the mayor of
Koba
was too much for him. He stamped out. A collective intake of breath ran through the neighboring tables.

Ben Bandur should’ve been here. Simba wouldn’t have been so daring as to affront him in person. I realized for the first time that the outcome of the war between Simba and Bandur’s cartels might not be as predetermined as I thought. I had deemed Simba’s attempt to take over Bandur’s organization nothing but megalomaniacal folly. Loja was a mere fraction the size of Koba and had no tourist business to speak of. I thought Bandur’s monetary dominance was impenetrable. Tonight, I wasn’t so sure.

Simba finished his toast and chinked glasses with the bandleader. A spotlight illuminated Mayor Samir. He held up his glass like he was returning the toast. Then he slowly poured it out on the carpet without taking a sip. He turned his back on the stage in a show of contempt. The crowd went pin-drop silent. The mayor was letting everybody know he was anticorruption pure. He didn’t consort with criminal elements.

I slugged down a hit of brandy to quell my nerves. Simba left the stage with a broad smile, not missing a beat. His goal wasn’t to score points with Mayor Samir. He wanted people to notice his presence and Bandur’s absence at a major Koba social function. The signal was clear: I’m the new man in town. The Bandur kid had better grow up fast and quit staying home before Simba took away his Koba empire in a self-fulfilling prophecy of greatness.

I knocked back the last sip of brandy and moved on. I found C of D Diego Banks at the police table. His mousy wife gave me an abbreviated smile.

I dispensed with the niceties.
This asshole wants Paul’s job.
“Where’s Paul?”

Banks stared at me. The hostility between us pushed his wife back in her chair. Banks pointed to the dancers.

I waited on the edge of the dance floor. The band was playing an upbeat number slowed down to a geriatric tempo. Haughty old men moved in slow motion. Their dates danced with hankies to dab the sweat off. I mentally relocated to the Tenttown canal party—dancers spraying starlit mud and sweat with every gyration. Poor people knew how to party.

The tune ended. People spilled off the floor to the surrounding tables. Paul had his arm around his wife’s waist. Her dress was conservative, covering shoulders and knees. She saw me and gave me a strong hug for such a small woman. Paul and I shook hands and found an uncrowded spot near the can.

Paul looked sharp in his tux. He looked good in everything. He said, “Did you see the shit Simba pulled?”

“Yeah, the guy’s got cojones.”

“I don’t even know how he got in here. The mayor never invited him. He must’ve bribed his way in through the kitchen.”

I changed the subject to the reason I came. “What’s this case about, Paul?”

Paul’s permanently pasted-on smile disappeared. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know. Listen to me, I got the mayor’s office investigating me, and their man Gilkyson’s been like my fucking shadow. Then the Vlotsky killing came up, and I found out his father worked for the city, so I thought I could get some good PR with the mayor’s office if I made a show of the investigation, maybe get them to lay off a little. Then Gilkyson started telling me the mayor didn’t want special treatment. Give me a break. Since when does a politician not want special treatment? So I got to thinking they might have something to hide. I started talking big, saying things like we have to nail the SOB that killed Vlotsky, or people will think it’s open season on city employees. It was a total stab in the dark, but Gilkyson got all nervous. He kept trying to downplay the whole thing. I’m telling you, Juno, I’ve had that weasel in my office for two weeks. I can read him. The more I talked about ramping up the investigation, the more he resisted.”

“You think the mayor had Lieutenant Vlotsky popped?”

“That, or he has a good reason for covering it up. Either way, I need you to connect him to it. I have to kill this corruption investigation. I’m getting desperate. You get me the goods on this one, and I’ll extort the mayor into laying off of KOP.”

“Why don’t you just kick that asshole Gilkyson out of your office?”

“Don’t you get it, Juno? I work for the
mayor.
He wants Gilkyson to follow me around. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Just give them what they want. Hand over a couple crooked cops, and they’ll leave you alone. You have a whole police force to choose from. Use it as a goddamned opportunity to clean house.”

Paul became visibly angry, very un-Paul. “You don’t think I
tried that? Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? The mayor won’t take the deal; he wants
me,
Juno.”

I snagged a brandy from a passing waiter and tossed it down my throat. The alcohol quashed my rapid-fire nerves. “Why?”

“He wants control of KOP, and he knows he won’t get it as long as I’m here. He wants a fucking yes-man.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad. My informants in the mayor’s office say he’s getting ready to make a move on me.”

I rejected the notion. “He can’t touch you.”

“The mayor is flexing some serious muscle. He’s got cops on his payroll, and he’s got Chief of Detectives Diego fucking Banks working against me. He’s the mayor’s little lapdog, and he’s drooling all over himself, thinking about my job. He’s been sucking up to Mayor Samir so he’ll get appointed chief when I fall. I never should have let Samir get elected. I thought I could buy him off like the other mayors. I should have sabotaged his campaign the minute he started in on KOP. Now it may be too late. It’s only a matter of time before Gilkyson ties me to the Bandurs. Shit, we’ve been allied with the Bandur cartel for twenty-five years. We worked hard at covering our tracks, Juno, but we’ve been sanctioning criminal activity for over
twenty-five years
. You can’t tell me they won’t find something.”

“I can’t believe what you’re saying. Why haven’t you told me about this?”

“I couldn’t do that to you. You’ve been working so hard on getting your life under control. I wanted to keep you out of it.”

“But now you want me back in?”

“I don’t want to drag you into this, but listen to me, Juno. You’re the only one I can trust. Since Mayor Samir started in heavy on this corruption bullshit, I’ve been trying to take him down, but nothing’s worked. Even my extortion scheme fell through.”

I waved for another brandy. “What kind of extortion scheme?”

“I put some of my most loyal cops on it. They started checking into Mayor Samir’s personal life. Turns out the mayor’s daughter is a real slut. ‘Sounds promising,’ I thought. We catch some vids of her poking every guy she meets and threaten to go public with them, and the mayor will lay off. We’ve been tailing her for a month, and we’ve got squat. All the sudden, her legs lock together at the knees. It’s like she’s a fucking nun. Somebody in the inner circle’s a rat.”