Night and Day (Book 3): Bandit's Moon (5 page)

I leaned forward in the chair,
thinking that she was done, but she wasn’t.

“The number of members in the
Resistance fluctuates between five hundred and eight hundred,
though...”

“Sgt. Olsen.” I said loudly. The
history of the Resistance in a thousand words or more was interesting
enough, but I was afraid if I didn’t turn the spigot off, she’d eventually
drown me with words.

I’d gotten her attention.
“Yes?”

Actually she still wasn’t looking
in my direction, and was still slowly rubbing her belly, but at least she’d
stopped speaking.

“This is all very interesting and
useful, but I think I have enough background information for right now.
Would it be okay if we moved on to some specifics? We can come back later
to the general stuff if it adds context.”

“Of course,” she said. “Have you
known Chief Northport for a long time?”

I didn’t know what that had to do
with anything, but said, “Yeah, I’ve known him for more than twenty-five
years.”

“I have met Chief Northport twice
and spoken to him on the telephone seven times,” she said. “He seems like a
very strong man, very virile. A hunter.”

I’d seen a picture on Daryl’s wall
of him in hunting garb with some people I didn’t recognize, surrounded by
dead animals, so I said, “Yeah, Chief Northport does some
hunting.”

“What specifics?”

Another abrupt transition. I was
getting used to them. “Let’s start with a nickname. Red.”

“Michael J. Redmond,” she said.
“Also known as Red or Red Mike. Interned at Camp Alpha-14, joined the
Resistance two months after the end of the internment policy. Chosen as
leader of Free USA, an amalgamation of four small conservative political
groups. Invited to join the Resistance Council. Chosen as a member of the
Executive Council when it was formed. Current location unknown.”

Her hands flew on the keyboard in
front of her and information appeared on the three monitor screens,
including a full-screen photo of Red with a couple of other people sitting
around a table. It looked like it had been taken around the time I first
saw him two years ago, when he started eating breakfast at
Hanritty’s.

“Yeah, that’s him,” I
said.

“You have met Michael J.
Redmond?”

“I’ve run into him a few times,” I
said. “You know, Chief Northport mentioned earlier that a Resistance
safehouse or whatever you call it got shot up this morning. Could that have
something to do with Redmond?”

“It is possible,” she said. Her
hand went back to her stomach and rubbed as she continued, “The warehouse
at 459 Beacon Street was used as an alternate meeting location for the
Resistance Executive Council before it was dissolved, and was occupied by
Free USA as recently as six days ago. Why do you ask?”

There was no doubt in my mind that
Olsen would report to Daryl everything I asked about or said. And if she
didn’t do it on her own, he’d be on the phone asking before I was out of
the building. But I couldn’t worry about that. I needed enough information
to start putting pieces together, and Olsen was the only source I
had.

I took a deep breath. “I saw
Redmond this morning. I think he was wounded.”

“In what way was he wounded, and
how serious did the wound appear?”

“He was bleeding but mobile,” I
said. “That’s about all I can say for sure.”

“What were the circumstances of
your encounter with Michael J. Redmond?”

“It was in connection with a case
I’m working.”

“Case? Are you a police officer or
Federal law enforcement officer?”

I shook my head. “Private
investigator.”

“I have never had contact with a
private investigator,” she said. “Are you protected?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does the law protect you from
revealing information about your relationship with Michael J.
Redmond?”

“You mean like a lawyer?” I shook
my head again. “No, there’s no legal protection of that kind for private
investigators in this state.” I paused. “But I will say right now that I
won’t give up any specific information about the case, whether I’m legally
protected or not.”

“You understand that if I make a
lawful request for information and you refuse to provide it, you are in
violation of State Statute 334.6 and I will arrest you.”

“Are you threatening me,
sergeant?”

“No, I am confirming your
understanding of the law and possible consequences,” she said. “Where and
when did you encounter Michael J. Redmond?”

“This morning, at my office, around
ten, ten-thirty.”

“What is the address of your
office?”

“198 Hennessy,” I said.

“Michael J. Redmond was wounded but
alive at that time?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have knowledge of Michael
J. Redmond’s location at this time?”

“No,” I said. “He left the office,
got into a white panel van, and left. I don’t have the tag
number.”

Olsen’s fingers moved quickly on
the keyboard. “I am referring to you as a confidential informant in this
log entry,” she said. “If you should have further contact with Michael J.
Redmond, you will provide that information to me so I can put it in the log
file.”

I didn’t hear a ‘please’ there, but
I let it slide. It didn’t sound like she was interested in the
circumstances of my encounter with Redmond, which was a relief. She’s
already told me what she would do if I stonewalled her, and I didn’t have
time to sit in the city jail.

“Do you need additional specific
information?” she asked. She was staring at the photograph of
Redmond.

“I’ve got another name,” I said.
“Katarina Shoo or Sloo...”

“Katarina S. Schleu. Also known as
Captain Kat and The Commander. Internment camp unknown. Telephone
intercepts indicate that she was in the Atlanta area when the war ended, so
it is probable that she was interned in one of the camps in the
Metro-Atlanta internment zone. Arrived here one month after the internment
policy ended. Leader of the Humans First Front, an amalgamation of local
members of racial organizations such as the Ku Klux Klan, the American Nazi
Party, the National Socialist Movement, and the White Aryan Resistance, as
well as militia groups The Watchmen and the Confederate States Home Guard.
Invited to join the Resistance Council. Chosen for the Executive Council
when it was formed. Unconfirmed telephone intercepts indicate that Katarina
S. Schleu and her agenda is the primary reason for the dissolution of the
Executive Council. Her current location is unknown.”

Some quick typing and Redmond’s
information was replaced on the screen. On the right monitor was a picture
of a woman with short blond hair, wearing a camouflage jacket over a black
turtleneck, coming through a door.

“Is that her?” I asked.

“That is Katarina S. Schleu. The
photograph was taken at the 459 Beacon Street location twenty-two days ago,
two days before the Executive Council was dissolved.”

She was surprisingly young. Redmond
is my age, or close to it, and I figured that Schleu would be about the
same age. But she was maybe thirty. And probably a few years younger. I was
almost old enough to be her father.

“She seems kind of young to be a
Resistance commander,” I said.

“We do not have any information
concerning Katarina S. Schleu’s age,” Olsen said. “There is no record of
Katarina S. Schleu’s birth in any database that we can currently access. It
is possible that she was not born in the United States. However, telephone
intercepts do not reflect a foreign accent.”

“Any possibility that Schleu is
behind the shooting on Beacon this morning?”

“There is a high probability that
the Humans First Front is responsible for the incident at 459 Beacon
Street. The Humans First Front is the largest, most militant and most
violent of the organizations that form the Resistance in this city.
Telephone intercepts and human intelligence indicate that the Humans First
Front was responsible for many of the difficulties encountered by the
Resistance Council in setting overall policy, which required the formation
of the Executive Council.”

So the question was, had Redmond
been blowing smoke up my ass about why he wanted Schleu found and killed?
If she’d tried to cap him this morning, he might want some payback. Or he
might be worried that she’d make another try.

On the other hand, he’d been pretty
convincing when he mentioned Christmas Eve and Armageddon.

“So you don’t know where Schleu
is?”

“The photograph that you see here
on the screen was taken at the last sighting of Katarina S. Schleu. In the
ensuing twenty-two days, we have had no intercepts or human intelligence to
indicate where she is currently located. The Humans First Front draws many
low-level recruits from the east side of the city and is headquartered
there. If Katarina S. Schleu is alive and currently with the members of her
organization, it’s a logical assumption that she is on the east
side.”

“Anyplace in particular on the east
side?”

“An apartment building at 9551
Tuxedo Avenue is believed to be the headquarters of the Humans First Front.
Unconfirmed reports indicate that the building was forcefully taken over by
the Humans First Front six weeks after the internment policy ended.
Twenty-six residents were killed. The forty-two apartments in the building
are believed to be currently occupied by Humans First Front members. Human
intelligence indicates that Katarina S. Schleu had or has an apartment in
the building.”

I pulled a pad from my jacket and
wrote down the address. If it was the building I thought it was, a building
called the Floresta, it was about three miles from the now-shuttered
83
^rd
Street Station. I’d been inside it a few times while
working plainclothes with Robbery-Homicide.

I don’t know how many of the
original tenants had returned to the building after they kicked us loose
from the camp, but there had been some rough old boys living in that
building. If they were still around, the takeover by the Humans First Front
wouldn’t have been easy. They loved their cheap pistols and sawed-off
shotguns in the Floresta.

“Thank you, Sgt. Olsen,” I said as
I stood. “You’ve been very informative and helpful.” I would have put out
my hand to shake, but what was the point? She hadn’t looked in my direction
since I’d come into her office.

“You have no further
questions?”

“No, that’s all I need to know
right now,” I said. “If I have any more questions, I’ll call Chief
Northport and get permission to come see you again.”

She stuck her hand into the pocket
of her stretch pants and came out with a business card, then held it out in
my general direction, still not looking at me.

As I took the card, she said, “I am
available at that telephone number at all times. If you have additional
questions or if you locate Michael J. Redmond or Katarina S. Schleu, call
me so I can add the information to the log file.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, sticking
the card in my jacket pocket. I might call to get a question answered, but
I didn’t expect to see Redmond again, at least not until after I’d found
Schleu. And if I found Schleu, letting Olsen know about it was low on the
list. I’d be deciding whether I had to kill her.

Schleu didn’t seem like America’s
sweetheart, and she sure kept some pretty lousy company. But I’m not in the
murder-for-hire business. The only reason I could imagine pulling the
trigger was to avert what Redmond had called Armageddon. And nothing I’d
learned so far had pointed in that direction.

When I left her office, Olsen was
still sitting in front of the computer monitors, fingers slapping the
keyboard. Updating her log file or typing up a report for Daryl Northport.
Or both.

I left my TRUSTED VISITOR card with
a passing officer in the hallway before I went out into the lobby. Anything
to avoid another encounter with Trisha at the front desk. The winter
sunlight was bright, but not especially warm as I hit the sidewalk and
walked to the curb where my Jeep was parked.

It looked like I’d be spending some
time on the east side, just like I’d figured. And it wouldn’t be on a
hunch, based of the words on the envelope Redmond left, or because that was
where somebody who didn’t want to be found would hang their hat.

I had mixed feelings about going
back to the east side. I’d spent more than five years in plainclothes
working the streets in that part of town, and had only been over there a
handful of times since I got out of the camp. Based on what I’d seen during
my infrequent forays, the nuts in the Humans First Front would probably be
the least of my worries.

But the east side would wait till
morning. It was getting towards four o’clock. The sun would be setting in
less than an hour. And Cynthia would be itching to get home before
then.

I went back to the office, sent
Cynthia home, and transferred the phone lines to the answering service for
the next two weeks. Then I went downstairs and across Expedition Square to
Hanritty’s for a big plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.