The Beam: Season Two (61 page)

By his gut’s urgency, Dominic knew that Leo’s moondust should be his next priority. But even if he’d felt able to face the thought of stealing narcotics from the station (he wasn’t), it was a conflicted knot of immeasurable proportion. Whose side was he on? What did he stand for? Was he willing to break more laws to help Leo, or was he with the law that was trying to bring him down? Dominic had planted a bug for NPS, and in return, NPS had given Dominic a temporary pass on drug trafficking. But would they be so kind if he resumed his activities using a confiscated stash?
 

Dominic leaned back, trying but unable to get comfortable. He glanced around his office then reached into his pocket, withdrew a vial, opened it, capped it with the pad of his finger, and inverted it. When he pulled his finger away, he saw a small circle of gray dust — the loose drug that had sifted to the bottom of his Lunis vial. He looked at the circle, said, “You motherfucker,” and licked it.
 

After a few minutes, the tiny hit stripped some of the edge from Dominic’s stress. He thought about the vial and the task before him. He replayed theories he’d heard about various narcotics throughout the years. Grandy used to deal with crack cocaine activity — something that had been mostly subjugated of late under harsher alternatives. Back then, people in the ghetto said that those higher up the ladder had created crack to addict them on purpose, to keep them in line. Dominic had never understood how that was supposed to work. If the people didn’t want to be kept in line, why didn’t they just not smoke crack? But as he looked at his small vial, he finally saw their point. He’d never meant to become an addict, but here he was. If someone had created Lunis as a similar means of control, they could count him as one of the puppets. He was a thief, a smuggler, a trafficker, a rat, and soon to be a traitor to two organizations. Dominic’s job, in part, was to keep drugs off the streets. Now, he was considering treating confiscations like confetti. If Lunis didn’t control him, would he be doing that? He wasn’t so sure.

He sat up, feeling minutely less terrible, and dimmed his office’s walls so he could see out. The lawyer who’d been waiting had blessedly left. He poked his head through the door, spotted Mason, and rattled a series of commands to address Mason’s most pressing concerns. All were Band-Aids, but they would buy him a few hours. By then, the crises would return, and they’d be worse. Eventually, Dominic was going to have to face them properly, let the city burn, or let Quark handle it all, which they seemed quite eager to do. Talk about a no-win scenario.

Dominic checked his mail, trying to catch up.
 

He surfed through the police reports that had been logged since he’d left the city. He spent a long time reading through one involving a woman who had an add-on designed to make her biologically more adept at fellatio. When her canvas paired the woman with her husband’s implant to feed his responses into her cortex, the flimsy firewall had breached. In that exposed moment, she’d seen a second file relating to the man’s implant, meant for use with a different woman. But the woman, displaying inhuman patience, hadn’t confronted him right away. Instead, she’d had her device swapped out for something closer to a gastronomic processor (the report described it as an in-mouth garbage disposal) then given him another round of oral favors. This time, the man had walked away without a penis.
 

Dominic chuckled, thinking about how when you became jaded enough by humanity’s darkest parts, tragedy often turned funny.

He checked on Mason then opened his mail again. He remembered his approaching high school reunion that he’d yet to answer. Doing so now seemed important, so he did. He declined the invite but refrained from adding a note to the mail list about how stupid the whole thing was. He’d moved to the school hosting the upcoming reunion shortly after his time with Leo and had never personally met any of his classmates. It was virtual, like most schools nowadays.
I didn’t know you then,
he wanted to reply,
so why would I want to reunite with you now?

Fifteen minutes had passed. A tiny hit and some procrastination had settled Dom’s nerves. His blacked-out office blinded him to the station’s chaos.
 

He thought again about how he was going to settle Leo’s problem with the dust. What would be worse — to steal from the police in order to deal his drugs, or to uphold the law and let the entire Organa village start tearing itself to pieces?
 

Again, his handheld buzzed. And yet again, a glance showed him that it was Omar.

Maybe he
didn’t
have to steal from the police. Maybe, somehow, the lesser of many evils would find him a way out.
 

Maybe he could meet with Omar, offer him some exorbitant price for an emergency supply that Dominic knew the double-dealing son of a bitch would have squirreled away somewhere, then kill him and take it. Dominic wasn’t a killer, but Omar wasn’t a typical son of a bitch. He’d set Dom up then sold him more dust with a smile as if it was all just water under the bridge. Omar was a dangerous wild card. He deserved to die. And if Dominic was looking at escalating his crimes anyway, why not graduate all the way to murder? It would feel good to rid the world of a blight like Omar. Dominic was a police captain and had the connections to go with it. He’d be able to get away with it, wouldn’t he? He’d be able to sashay into Omar’s operation and take it over, wouldn’t he? He could be one of those corrupt police kingpins they were always making vid series about. Why not? It would be so much easier to deal that way, and he could make Omar’s traitorous, asshole corpse into a rug for a fittingly plush office. That would intimidate his underlings into obedience.
 

He glanced at his terminal, made sure the room was still secure, then took the call.
 

“What?” he barked.

Omar’s voice was unhurried. “Hey, man. Put me on your wall. This is so impersonal.”
 

“I can’t put you on the wall. I’m a cop. Cops have desk terminals. Because we’re fucking cops. It’s not like we’re a vital organization trying to save the city from itself.”
 

Omar dodged Dominic’s passive-aggressive tone. “Then put me on your terminal.”
 

“Why does it matter?”
 

“Because I’m here with friends. This feels like meeting through a tube.”
 

“Don’t you put me on speaker, Omar. You’d better be using an implant if you’re daring to call me here.”
 

There was a pause as Omar read the writing on the wall: the conversation wouldn’t go well, given its current trajectory.
 

“You want me to hit you back later?”
 

“What did you call for, Omar? Just get on with it.”
 

“You seem mad.”
 

“I can’t imagine why.” Then, realizing how spiteful and painfully immature that had sounded, he added, “Fuck your mother.”
 

“My mama’s long gone, Dom, but I can fuck yours.” He laughed because it was obviously just ball-busting between friends. That was how Omar was. He’d presume amity then proceed as if everyone thought he was as cool and friendly as he seemed to think he was himself. It was maddening. After a few minutes with Omar, you’d forget what a motherfucker he was and just start chuckling along.
 

Dominic grumbled.
 

“Cool,” Omar said. “You wanna chat like strangers, we can chat like strangers. But my girl here, she’s got an implant too, of course, and it’s as secure as mine. I can still bring her into the call if you’d like to hear her lovely voice.
 

“Why?”
 

“Because I got an idea, Dom. You know my ideas are gold.”
 

“Like when you ratted me out and got me arrested?”
 

“Man, I knew they’d let you go!” Omar’s tone said that Dominic was absurd, as if they’d agreed on all of this ahead of time and silly Dom had forgotten. “We just have to play the game. They were after a bigger fish; I knew that. What they want you for? Who they after, anyway?”
 

Oh no, you don’t,
Dominic thought. Someone new to Omar might answer that question, but Dominic knew him too well.
 

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I want you to talk to us about a deal. A way we can all work together.”
 

Dominic rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to ask the question that Omar wanted him to because that was a classic Omar gambit. If you made any inquiries, that proved your interest in whatever bullshit he was shoveling, and then Omar would swoop in with his smooth talk and flip the dialogue to his benefit. Dominic wanted to find out about emergency dust stores. He wanted to figure out how to kill the smooth son of a bitch and hang his head on his office wall then take the dust and run. If it happened fast enough, there might even be time to get it to Leo before the village ran dry.
 

“I need moondust. Now.”
 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” said Omar. “Give me a kiss before trying to fuck me.”
 

“Cut the shit, Omar. I’m not in the mood to play games. Pull up Beam Headlines. See the stories on the front page? Eight of them are on my personal plate to solve. Things are always dicey leading up to Shift once the parties start slinging mud, but holy shit…this year, it’s like everyone’s in Crip blue or Blood red, making evil eyes at each other.”

“What are you talking about?”
 

Dominic sighed. Cop history was lost on non-cops. “You said this last shipment would be bulletproof. I strung Leo along on the assumption that you were competent enough to keep your end of the bargain. And now there’s nothing?”
 

“Nah, man, I’m sorry.”
 

“Nothing at all.”
 

“Got pinched. We got dick back here.”
 

“But you must have emergency stores.”

There was a pause. “Dom, let me add in our other party. It’s time to put our fists together. Become the dream team.”
 

“I only care about
right now
. Where is my dust? Now. Today.”
 

“I’m talking about you never having to worry about dust supply again.”
 

Dominic shook his head, wishing he’d agreed to video so Omar could see his loathing distrust. “I’ve heard that before. Many times. And yet you continually, reliably, fuck up.”
 

“This is different. What I have in mind with my girl here.”
 

“Fine. Fine, Omar. Who is she? Is that what you’re trying to get me to ask? Okay, here goes: ‘I want to know who’s with you. I want to know everything about your amazing, brilliant plan. I’m sure I won’t end up fucked again. I believe in you, Omar. You’re a fucking genius.’ So why don’t you tell me what’s up, and stop dipping your finger in my asshole?”
 

Omar hesitated. Dominic felt a blush of satisfaction.
 

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” Omar’s voice was less pleasant than it had been a moment earlier. “She’s an associate of mine. A smuggler with considerable talents.”
 

“Is this the miracle girl who you said couldn’t fail?”
 

“Let’s go video, man. This is better with video.”
 

“Fuck you. I just want a shipment.”

“You’re missing the big picture. This is bigger than a shipment.”
 

Dominic closed his eyes. “Goddamn you, Omar. I don’t care about the big picture. I need a shipment, right now. You hear what I’m saying? I have a very, very serious situation on my hands. A problem, by the way, that you caused, that is your fault. It’s serious enough that if you can’t help me, I’m considering some things I’d never do.”
 

Like killing you
, he added in his head.

“Okay, tell you what. You come meet with us, and I’ll make sure you get your emergency dope. I got a few meterbars in storage, but man…this is bottom,
bottom
emergency shit. By taking it, you are very seriously putting my head in a vise. You dig?”
 

“You
caused the problem, Omar.”

“The problem caused itself.” Omar’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. “My operation is tight, and my people are the best. Yes, including the runner. What happened was unavoidable and would’ve happened even to your lily-white ass. We regroup, we do better next time. Which, by the way, you can help with. Get your hands dirty for a change. So you can stop telling me what I’m doing wrong and start taking some responsibility, once you see how it is.”
 

“Blah blah blah. I only care about the dust.”
 

“You’ll need to pay triple. This is seriously deep shit for me if it’s not replenished. Hands need greasing.”
 

“I can get my hands on two and a half.”
 

“Get your hands on
triple,”
Omar said. “You hear me?”
 

“Fine.” What did it matter? He didn’t actually need the credits, seeing as he’d be killing the son of a bitch anyway. Why was Dominic the only one playing by some citizen scout set of rules while everyone else was doing what served them best?