Warren Hammond: Kop

We circled the dance floor, scoping tables for Malis. Discount perfume and opium smoke burned my throat. Maggie grabbed my elbow and pointed. Malis was in a wraparound booth surrounded by doped-up bar trash, passing an O pipe.

Maggie showed her shield to the group. Malis smiled and waved in drug-stupor stupidity. Higher-than-a-kite girlfriends cleared out and weaved to the dance floor. Maggie and I escorted Malis to the restrooms. There was a line at the women’s. A steady stream of women was coming out with freshly poofed hair and water-doused shirts that clung to braless bods. We took her into the men’s. The bathroom was empty except for two offworld men swapping stories at the sink. One modeled marbled skin that made him look like statue. The other was going with his everyday look-chiseled chin, sharp eyes, and a beguiling smile. A genetically enhanced ten. I badged them out.

Maggie seized Malis’s bag.

Malis objected in a punch-drunk whine. “Heyyy, that’sss mmmine.”

Maggie pulled the drawstring, reached in, and handed me the vid. I wrapped my hands around it like it was the Holy Grail. The mayor’s going down.

“Youuu cccan’t have that. It’sss mmmine.”

I passed her the overstuffed money envelope.

Malis leaned into me, breasts first, looking for a new sugar daddy. “Hhhey, baby. You wwwant to ppparty? I’ll show yyyou a good timmme.”

Maggie pushed Malis away. “Let’s go.”

We moved back through the club. Maggie stopped. I looked over her shoulder. A badly dressed man had entered the club. I recognized him instantly-Carlos Simba. I grabbed hold of Maggie’s elbow and led her across the dance floor. Gyrating bodies closed around us. We bumped our way through the sweaty mass to the other side and beelined for the back exit.

We dashed through the door. The alley dead-ended to the left. We sprinted right. An offworld car was parked at the end. I tried to stop and turn back. My ankle rolled over. I fell down hard. Maggie helped me up. The offworld car was emptying. Four figures were coming our way. We started trying doors-locked, locked, locked. Simba came out of the Club Dynasty door in front of two offworld heavies. I snatched the vid out of my shirt, scanned for a place to toss it out of their reach-nothing. Shit. Another door-locked! I clutched the vid to my chest. We were so close!

I kept my weight on the good ankle and faced the oncoming figures. They sashayed through ferns and alley trash with an offworld economy of movement. Maggie stayed next to me, putting a proud face over a terrified one.

There were seven of them all told. The offworld thugs didn’t even bother to take our weapons. They knew how useless they’d be against offworld tech.

The seventh figure came face to face with me. Crime lord Carlos Simba said, “I’ll take that.”

My hands were viced onto the vid. I should go for my gun. I might be able to kill Simba before they react. Or I could hostage him, use him to get us and the vid out of the alley. Simba was staring me down, his hand held out for the vid. Offworlders surrounded us, clacking finger blades and flaunting brass knucks that emerged from under their skin. I calculated my chances-zero, zero, zero. I handed over the vid. I felt I was passing over KOP with it.

Simba tossed the vid over his shoulder. One of the thugs caught it and read the data with eye implants. “It’s authentic,” he said.

Simba stood in front of me-slicked hair, peaked forehead, and a poor-fitting store-cut suit that matched his man-of-the-people image. He was going to kill us. My legs went weak. I thought of Niki trying to go it alone and sank to my knees, my ankle wrenching uncomfortably under my weight.

Simba talked to Maggie. “Mayor Samir would like you to know that your deal is off. What good is an informant that chooses not to inform? He is very disappointed in you. You would be well advised to resign from the police. The mayor promises you nothing but shit duty as long as you stay. Consider yourself very lucky that we’re not going to kill you.”

Maggie didn’t shrink from him. “Why not?”

“A dead cop with your family connections would complicate matters. There’d have to be an investigation, and that just doesn’t fit into our plans at the moment.”

Simba looked down at me.

I got to my feet, swallowing the ankle pain, summoning my emasculated self upright. Kill me standing up.

Simba roughly patted my cheek. It bordered on slapping. He didn’t say a thing. He just turned around and walked down the alley, brushing through the ferns.

I yelled at his back. “Are you afraid to kill me yourself?”

His entourage of offworld goons turned to follow. They piled into the offworld vehicle and powered off, mysteriously leaving me alive.

We left the alley. I refused Maggie’s help and limped. The ankle didn’t feel broken, just a sprain. I tried calling Paul for the third time-no answer. I called his home. His wife, Pei, answered: no, she hadn’t seen him; yes, he was still at the station; he must be in one of his meetings-that was why he wasn’t answering.

Maggie said, “What do we do now?”

“We have to go see Paul. I have to talk to him.” I started for the car.

“How did Simba know about the vid?”

I threw my hands up. How did he know?

Maggie grabbed my elbow. “Tipaldi.”

I ran the possibility. The only people who knew about the particulars of the pickup were Sasaki, Tipaldi, Mdoba, Malis, and the two of us. Mdoba was dead, and Sasaki would never tell Simba. “You’re right. It has to be Tipaldi.” Unbelievable. Everything was going to shit. I half-stepped as fast as I could on the bad ankle. My heart raced dance beats as I hustled down the mossy sidewalk. “Tipaldi is the top strong-arm in the Bandur cartel. He has access to Bandur’s books. If Simba flipped him, Bandur is going down-soon. I have to see Paul.”

We covered the distance to the car in no time. We hopped in and raced to the station, not saying a single word on the way.

We left the car down the block and hurried into the station. Cops stopped what they were doing to watch as I half ran, half limped up the stairs. I felt a cop tug on my arm. “Not now,” I said. I tore my arm loose from the grasp and my other arm was grabbed. Suddenly there were hands all over me. “What the fuck are you assholes doing? I have to talk to the chief!”

I heard Maggie protesting then I saw her on the floor, knocked down. I went berserk. I dug my feet into the floor. I couldn’t feel the ankle pain. Cops reached for my legs, to pick them up. I kicked frantically, making contact with hands and shins until the first leg was seized, then the second.

I jerked violently against their hold as I looked back for Maggie and saw her at the end of the hall, some uniforms blocking her path. They took me into interrogation room two, threw me to the floor, and locked me in. I beat a chair on the floor until it came apart in my hands. Then a second one. I started on the table but ran out of steam before it broke. Three chairs left, I sat in one of the tall ones and waited.

This was it. The mayor had made his move. KOP was in his control. I wouldn’t be stuck in here, detained by my fellow officers if it wasn’t. I had to hope that Paul was still operating freely, finding a way to turn things around. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that that was the case. Paul was one resourceful bastard. It would take a lot more than the fucking mayor to stop him. All I had to do was wait it out. Paul would spring me out of here, and Maggie and I would get back to work. We’d lost the vid, but we’d find other proof.

We made a good team, Maggie and I. She had a lot to learn, but she was sharp. She was right about there being little difference between Paul and the mayor, but it hadn’t always been so. Paul tried to make a difference. It wasn’t until he’d so clearly failed that he gave up and started looking out for himself. Who could blame him? How could anybody fix this place? The fact was he did try, which was more than I could say for myself. All I ever did was tag along.