Warren Hammond - KOP Killer

Holo-Mota stayed silent.

I needed to keep pushing. His little bout of courage had to be quashed. “The chief used to like you, you know. When he sicced me on you, he told me to go easy. Nobody will be holding me back this time.”

“You got some nerve mentioning the chief,” he countered. “You ratted him out when he needed you most. You’re nothing but a two-bit snitch.”

My temples pulsed. My feet picked up their pace, my shoes clomping angrily on the pavement. Holo-Mota stayed on my wing, his apparition floating alongside.

Snitch. Squealer. Rat. I’d heard the accusations before. I’d been hearing them in my head since the day Paul was murdered.

Paul’s enemies used me to bring him down. They threatened my wife. They forced me to turn on him. They used me to get him fired. And then they killed him and sold it as a suicide.

“I’m no rat,” I said through grinding teeth. “I was set up. Everybody knows that.”

“You caved. All that tough-guy bullshit is just an act.” He was on a roll, his tone getting more confident with every word. “Down deep, you’re just a pussy, and everybody knows it. Cops aren’t afraid of you anymore. They laugh at you. You’re pathetic, you hear me? You’re just a washed-up boozehound. A shaky old man crying over his lost love.”

I let him finish, my cheeks burning, my temper building. Then I uncaged the enforcer inside me. “You talk to me like that again, I’ll kill you.” I’d stopped walking, my eyes aimed at the sweet smile on Mota’s holo-face.

As he let seconds tick by, the headlights of a passing car momentarily shined right through him. Then he said, “Fucking try it.”

Fucking Mota. I twisted the napkin in my lap, wringing it into a cord, tighter and tighter.

I was sure he’d back down. No way would he call my bluff. That pretty-boy pencil pusher had no business running a protection racket.

Fucking Mota.

The Punta de Rio was packed, every table occupied, wait staff making the rounds, a crowd of offworld tourists milling in the lobby. The menu was expensive, but so were Maggie’s tastes. This place was the go-to spot for anybody feeling nostalgic for Lagarto’s brandy era, back when barges carrying brandy fruit used to dock right outside to unload their cargo. The decor was nautical, antique anchors and tow ropes, fishnets and brandy barrels. Windows ran around the circumference, all of them opened wide to let a pleasant breeze float through. Outside, I could see a well-lit derelict riverboat that had been refurbed into a museum.

I sipped my tea. Maggie was talking, had been for a while now, saying something about her promotion to squad leader. The words entered my ears but not my mind. I couldn’t focus, my buzz now fully dissipated to be replaced by a vicious headache. I needed a hit in a bad way. Every drunk knew the best cure for a hangover was more booze.

But not in Maggie’s presence. She’d once admitted I was a father figure to her, and a father ought to set a good example.

“This is already way tougher than I thought.” She swept back the dark hair that had fallen over her emerald eyes. I still wasn’t used to the eyes. They used to be blue, but she’d had them changed out. Rich as she was, she could afford to get them swapped with the seasons. These were her winter eyes, she’d told me.

“Those guys don’t respect me.” She shook her head.

Despite missing most of what she’d said these last few minutes, I got the gist with that final statement. “It’s only been a few weeks. You have to give it time. They’ll learn how capable you are. Just like I did.”

She smiled, her teeth sparkling as bright as her eyes. With a mischievous grin, she said, “Yeah, you were pretty slow to catch on, weren’t you?”

All I could do was nod. It hadn’t taken me long, though. Not long at all. Her type was rare. Paul Chang was the only person I’d ever known who could match her intensity, drive, and purpose. She was on a mission of her own, a mission to bring order to this city, to make it a place where justice ruled, where people could count on the police for protection. She was determined to make it a place where she wouldn’t have found her father alone on the street in front of their home, blood oozing from a charred wound in his chest.

She’d be chief one day. I’d see to it that nothing would stop her. Koba needed her.

Paul Chang and I had already taken our shot at changing this city, but KOP was corrupt, the levers of power smeared with shit. The only way for us to move up was to hold our breath and grab hold. Beat-downs and frame jobs. Cover-ups and payoffs. Forced confessions and back-alley executions. To seize control, we had to outcorrupt the corrupt.

By the time we reached the top, we’d become no better than those we’d replaced. Fucking classic how it worked out.

This time would be different. It wasn’t too late for Maggie. She had the capacity to play dirty when she had to. I’d seen it more than once. But her dark side had to stay under wraps. The dirty work had a way of soiling you, rotting you from the inside out. I knew that better than anyone.

The dirty work was my job, and mine alone.

The waitress arrived to refill my tea. I was starving. Where was the food?

I noticed Maggie looking at me funny. “What?” I asked.

“When were you going to tell me about the sunglasses?”

“What about them?”

“You have a black eye under there?”

“No. They were a gift.”

She rippled her brows. “You do know it’s dark out, don’t you? No sun for weeks?”

“I know.” I didn’t elaborate. “Tell me about Wu and Froelich.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Are you going to tell me why you’re wearing them or not?”

“No.” Let Maggie think I had a coon eye. I didn’t care. “Wu and Froelich,” I repeated. “They been behaving?”

After a reluctant pause, “I guess so.”

“I told you they would.”

“They have no choice, Juno.”

“True. But at least you have two obedient squad members. The rest of hommy will eventually follow their example.”

She leaned forward, planting her elbows halfway to the table’s centerpiece. “You should’ve turned them in, the whole lot of them. They belong in the Zoo.”

“What good would that do? They wouldn’t survive a week in prison. This way you have a loyal following.”

“I don’t want them on my squad.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I can’t have bad eggs stinking up my staff.”

The food arrived. Grilled fish over rice with two ’guana eggs blanketing the top. The eggs looked overcooked, two slate-colored eyes staring out from a lake of white. It was as if the cook heard Maggie say “bad eggs” and fried some up to order.

“What’s with the eggs?” I asked the waitress.

“No sunny-side-ups during the Big Sleep. We do ’em all over-easy this time of year. The offworld tourists think it’s a kick.”

Offworlders. Fucking over this world wasn’t enough for them. Now they’d gone after my eggs.

“Wu and Froelich killed a man,” said Maggie as soon as the waitress stepped away.

Forgetting the eggs, I leaned toward her, keeping my voice soft, my tone strong. “Are you really going to make me go through this again? I have Wu and Froelich under my thumb, and they have their hooks into a whole bunch of uniforms. Add in Deluski, Kripsen, and Lumbela, and we have a whole squad. We can’t piss that away. You want to be chief someday, we have to take every advantage we can get.” I didn’t mention my new protection racket or how I would expand the new revenue stream into a river of police power. She wouldn’t approve.

Her phone rang, and she looked at the display. “I have to take this.”