John Shirley - Watch Dogs - Dark Clouds

“I’ll think on that,” Shuggie said.

Wolfe had his hand in his coat pocket, was activating the PearcePhone.

He muttered, “Seline, distract them. Non violently.”

He said it just loud enough for Shuggie to hear, too.

She stepped forward, “Stop there, detective, and let’s work out a deal. Otherwise we’re gonna have to open up on you. That bullet proof vest you’re wearing under your coat isn’t going to protect your head.”

Tranter paused, stood his ground. “What the hell are you up to, lady?”

“Just give me one minute. Let’s make a deal, as the man says…”

As she spoke, Tranter was looking toward her, frowning, and Wolfe had the phone out. He transmitted the file he’d set up earlier on Tranter—to everyone within a ten-block distance. Then he sent a text informing everyone who’d received it of Tranter’s whereabouts right now…

“Maybe if you let me and Shuggie go, we could avoid blowing your brains out,” Seline was saying.

“Sound pretty good to me,” Shuggie said.

Wolfe, sending the text, was pretty sure… pretty sure… they were just playing Tranter.

“Hey boss—” It was one of the Graywater Mercs, whom Wolfe recognized from the rooftop gunfight just before he’d swiped the helicopter. “That guy’s screwing around on his phone!”

Tranter turned to Wolfe—and pointed his gun at him. “Drop that phone!. Or you can go down right now. Up to you.”

Wolfe clicked the phone’s sensitive speaker-mic on, so it’d pick up his voice, and dropped it, hoping the case he’d put on it would keep it from breaking. “So I guess if I’m not yet dead, there’s someone who wants to interrogate me…”

He glanced around at the neighborhood. He hoped the Black Viceroys in the area were as close as he’d figured.

“…but the thing is, Tranter,” Wolfe went on, raising his voice so the phone’s speaker device would pick up on it, “…you’re well known for racial profiling. I’ve been looking up your history. And you’ve backed it in the department. And you’re famous for targeting not only blacks… but Black Viceroys. I sent all that data, summarized, out just now. I’ve been saving it… so I think you’re the one who oughta surrender.”

Tranter snorted. “If I hassled Black Viceroys it’s cause they’re gangbanger scum—they specialize in stealing cars, they take protection money from businesses in their turf.”

“Ten percent, that ain’t much,” Shuggie said, sounding reasonable. “How much you take from the Club, Tranter?”

“That’s right,” Wolfe said—loudly. “Tranter’s in with the Club. And the Club’s been moving in on Black Viceroy turf… and now Tranter’s threatening to kill Shuggie!”

“You not aware, Tranter,” Shuggie said, “That I had some of my people move in on this area before we came. And there’s more coming, I’m guessing…”

He looked at Wolfe. Who nodded.

Whistles came, from behind the building. Voices. The sounds of a crowd converging on the area.

Tranter’s eyes widened.

“Down, Seline!” Wolfe shouted, pulling his .45.

“Take ’em out!” Tranter commanded. The Graywater Mercs raised their weapons.

Wolfe threw himself flat beside Seline. Shuggie jumped behind a parked car.

Mack 10s rattled and bullets sucked through the air where Wolfe had been a moment before. Wolfe extended his arm, aimed, fired, all in a second—and one of the Graywater Mercs, shot through the head, fell backward, dead before he hit the ground.

The others quickly fell—shot to pieces, despite their vests, by heavy AR15 fire coming from the left, that tore into their legs and blew off their heads.

Tranter looked desperately around—then ran. But a phalanx of Black Viceroys were coming at him from that direction, walking quickly, in ragged but closed ranks.

Tranter stopped and backed up… then turned and started between the two half-ruined tenement buildings… but from that direction, striding up past the big Black Viceroys tags, came five more Viceroys, pointing their weapons at Tranter.

Tranter dropped his gun, put his hands up, waving his badge. “I’m a police officer! If you harm me, they’ll never stop looking for you!”

Shuggie was up now and walking toward Tranter. “The department gonna do all that for your sorry ass, Tranter?” He laughed.

The encircling Black Viceroys closed in on Tranter…

Wolfe got to his feet, helping Seline up. “Wolfe—they’re beating him! All of them! They’ll kill him!”

“Yeah,” Wolfe said. “It’s a sad thing. Even though Tranter’s a corrupt, murdering dirt bag. Come on, let’s go upstairs and have that drink…”

Starling’s face appeared on Verrick’s desktop, in a webcam video. Verrick knew what the report would be just from the look on Starling’s face. “Sir, Mr Verrick, sir, we lost track of him… We think he’s somewhere in Black Viceroy territory. There is one possibility…”

Verrick was at his desk, looking at the first reports of the SystemsLeak upload. He closed the news window, and looked at Starling.

“Starling…” Verrick had to pause a moment, to get control of himself. He was in his Blume office—he didn’t want to start shouting about this, in here. He found a roll of antacids on his desk, and flicked a tablet into his mouth, began to chew. His stomach felt like bubbling cauldron of hydrochloric acid. His back was aching; his head was throbbing. He was thinking seriously about having an Oxycontin.

“Sir yes sir?” Starling prompted.

“Starling—have you seen the SystemsLeak uploads? They’re already hitting the net.”

“Sir, yes sir. I have been monitoring the situation. I would like to point out that they went mostly to alternative news sites. The story hasn’t been picked up yet by the New York Times and CNN. We could unleash the Purity cyberhack team and take down the mainstream news sites. The way the Syrians did to the New York Times—”

“Starling, I told you never to mention Purity in any transmitted communication!”

“Sir, sorry sir. But we could bring down those news sites…”

“No, no, that’d just make it look like someone was hiding the truth—if it came out that we… no. Instead… I have another plan. Most of this stuff in this file is just people connecting the dots. There’s no real proof against me or Van Ness in it. What I need is… I’ve got to talk to you in person, Starling. How far away are you?”

“Sir, not far, sir, I was directing the…”

“Never mind. Meet me on the roof of the Blume Building. You’ve got the all-access card.”

Verrick cut the connection and decided on half an Oxycontin. He had to stay functional.

He took the half pill, lay down on his office sofa for a while, and tried not to think…

Twenty-five minutes later, he was up, and heading to the roof.

It was damned cold up there. But he was a little numb from half a synthetic morphine pill, and bundled in his overcoat and hat and leather gloves.

Starling arrived a couple minutes later, not as warmly dressed, and cringing into his old Army cold weather coat against the Hawk wailing across the rooftop.

There were two miserable looking Graywater mercs up there, standing sentry, rifles over shoulders, tramping back and forth to keep warm. Verrick made a mental note to get them relieved. He didn’t need these guys starting to think disloyally out of resentment.

Verrick and Starling took shelter in the lee of the elevator housing, out of the wind, the two of them pressed close to the housing’s wall. “Well, Starling, what else have you got to tell me?”

“Sir, the bodies of Four Graywaters were found dumped in the Club’s turf, about ten minutes ago. And there was another body with them. It was barely recognizable, but—they think it’s Detective Tranter.”