| From: | "Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Ongoing,... |
| Date: | Thu, 10 Sep 1998 03:40:54 +0100 |
>>>>>[Christ, Andy, she's a cold bitch...
+++++begin video
The Easy Eight, on a busy night.
It's not even that different from an uptown club. The walls are thicker,
the security heavier, but the only obvious difference is the number of
weapons on display: slung, holstered, or laid on tables, it seems a good
quarter of the patrons are noticeably armed. Firearms are in the
minority, those mostly pistols and shotguns: among the uptowners, stun
batons and tasers seem to predominate, probably because they're less
likely to get you arrested back home. No outstandingly potent weaponry
is visible - only a few automatic weapons, those mostly well-used Uzi
clones and battered HK227s, nothing worth stealing by anyone able to do
so. Here, you carry to defend yourself, not to fight a war.
The clientele are the usual mix of locals, thrill-seeking uptowners,
mercs from Yeager Field and off-duty military from Fort Lewis and
McChord AFB. The soldiers are hard to tell apart, except where they wear
obvious unit garb - "UCAS Air Force, 45th Tactical Fighter Wing" adorns
one jacket, "Kursk Company - The Lynch Mob" decorates another T-shirt.
While they form their own noticeable cliques, the boundaries are
blurred, and out on the dancefloor they merge into a heterogenous mass
united only in their desire to have a good time.
The camera seems to be in someone's clothing, a lapel-cam or similar,
making its way around the edge of the crowded dance floor towards the
bar, the audio track all but overloaded by the thunderous music.
The music might be recorded, but it's played _loud_ through a high-
fidelity sound rig, and even via the inadequate audio pickup of the
lapel-cam its impact can be heard as it blasts out Killing Zone's "Final
Rights".
After a few minutes of working through the crush there, you recognise
Detective-Sergeant Hart-Kryzdanovich's voice when she calls to Vincenzo.
"Here to see the boss?"
The big Ork nods, taps the intercom. "What're you drinking?" he asks.
"Uh... Hart pauses. There's an impressive array of draught and bottled
beer, all microbrews or imported, and a good selection of spirits.
"Beer. Choose me a good one."
Vincenzo chuckles, filling a half-litre stein with golden beer. "You
betcha. This is German. Konigspilsner. On the house."
"Trying to bribe a police officer?" Easy's distinctive accent, right by
Hart's ear. The slim, ash-blonde Elf is striking in a black suit, and if
she fastened the jacket it would hide the two old but lethal M9
automatics perfectly.
"Common courtesy, boss." Vincenzo offers a toothy grin, turns to the
next customer.
Easy leads Hart back to her office, where she relaxes into her leather
chair. "So, Detective-Sergeant, how can I help you?"
"Information." Hart experimentally sips her beer. "All off the record.
This is being taped, but you haven't been Mirandized, your lawyers will
kick our butts if we try to use this, you know the deal."
"About what?"
"Bartolo. Kuo's death. Recent events in the area. Why we just got a fat
file on the Rathunters." Hart shrugs. "Take your pick."
"Bartolo and Kuo... simple. Luigi's a partner. He keeps the roads from
uptown open and as safe as he can, we work with him for construction,
he's hiring locals and training them, and meanwhile we cover his back
for him. Kuo was an arrogant pain in the ass, and making moves on Luigi.
So I pointed him to a hitman I knew needed the work, and left it at
that."
Hart nods slowly. "I see. So, just passing on a name... Could I meet
this hitman?"
"Why?"
"Curiosity. He's neat, smart, a pro, knew who he could and couldn't
kill."
"I'll ask him. Stick around." Easy nods, says something in Sperethiel to
her intercom. "What else do you want?"
"The Rathunters."
"Them." The Elf's tone is dismissive. "Street gang. Dealt some chips,
got some heat and think they're bulletproof. They're in my way and
they're pissing me off."
"You want Lone Star to facilitiate your business dealings? By
eliminating your competition?"
"The Rathunters are chip-pushing low-life scumbags. Good PR bust. If you
won't handle them, I will." Easy shrugs. "Just don't whine about the
body count. I'm giving you a chance here, Sergeant."
"A chance?"
The samurai in the leather chair leans forward. "Round here, the cops
rank somewhere between devil rats and roaches in popularity. That's fine
if you want anarchy, freedom, rampant criminality. If you want a stable
community... it's bad. Maybe I want to start rebuilding your image round
here."
"Maybe you figure it's cheaper to have the Star eliminate your
competition than to do it yourself." Hart snaps back.
Easy laughs, coldly. "Right." Suddenly, she's got the short, evil CAR-15
carbine in her hands. "I could wipe out half the Rathunters in thirty
seconds, and half the rest in thirty hours. Cost to me, a day's work and
a few hundred rounds of ammo. Or I can take some big chances sharing
info with the cops, risking maybe someone in your side's taking a payoff
and is gonna tip off the Rats that I'm gunning for them. You're not
exactly pristine round here either, you know... now, do you want the
rule of law to apply here or not?
"I can live with frontier justice, but I have this nasty feeling that I
get screwed both ways. I ask for your help, I don't get it. I do what
has to be done out here, you come after me for it. Lose-lose, all
because I tried to open the door to the Law."
Hart starts an angry retort, pauses. "Look. I'll pass the information
on. I do Homicide, it's not my department, but I can make
recommendations..."
"Fair enough." Easy makes the cut-down rifle vanish as fast as it
appears. "I don't have a quarrel with you, Sergeant Hart-Kryzdanovich.
But I have to live here and the Rathunters are fucking with my people.
Someone has to act on that. If the cops won't do anything, I will. I
_want_ law and order round here. It's fucking hard work being town
sheriff, I want the cops to do their jobs and protect me and my people
so I can concentrate on making money legally so you can tax it so you
can afford to pay yourself your salary."
"Do they agree with that?"
"Actually, yeah, most of them do. Most of the people on my payroll and
my customers, anyway." Easy shrugs gracefully. "I had a deal with the
High Lord Killers. They stuck to protection rackets - and that
protection better be worth something - the numbers, and prostitution. No
chips, no drugs, no coercion. You want to gamble, you want a whore, you
wanna _be_ a whore, no problem. Nobody gets electric lady shoved at
them, nobody gets coerced into hooking, and you raid a home they
protect, you're gonna be hurting. Not ideal, but all I can do on my own.
"The HLKs got to make a living, I need beat cops and they're the best I
can get. The Serenity guys are great but they only cover the bar and the
brewery. The HLKs, I worked with. Now they owe me. Senior survivor from
Padfield still has a gang to lead and a clubhouse to work from, thanks
to me. Stupid, she isn't, and she'd rather work for me than get killed a
brave independent. I _need_ the High Lord Killers or someone like them,
I don't need the Rathunters."
The Elf sighs. "I pay taxes. A _lot_ of taxes. Least, it seems a lot
considering I had to build my own roads, set up my own power and water
and sewers, school my own people, and now I got to be my own cops, and
I'm paying for all of that without getting any fucking help at all. Part
of that money goes to law enforcement. But if I call the cops, I get
told that we're in a low- coverage area and I should be grateful you're
even answering my call."
"I'm not going to argue Department policy." Hart replies. "I don't make
it, I just execute it, and argue to change it when it seems wrong. I'll
pass your Rathunter file up the chain, with a personal comment based on
informant data that we either move fast and grab some live collars, or
we move slow and pick up corpses with zero chance of arresting the
killers. Sound right?"
"Spot on." Easy nods, lighting a Dunhill cigarette with a slim rectangle
of rolled gold, offering the pack to Hart: after a moment, the detective
accepts. "They _will_ get dealt with. I'm giving it to the cops. If you
won't act, then don't whine when... someone else does. Some sort of
law's got to happen round here."
"Yakuza lighter?" Hart changes the subject.
"I did some wetwork for Sagami while I was in Vegas." The Elf shrugs.
"Vegas? Your file says-"
"Fort Worth and then Seattle. Yeah. You missed nine weeks, four blood
matches and two assassinations in Vegas. Bad move, for me. Good money,
but too risky, and I was still drinking it as fast as I earned it.
Shouldn't have bothered. Vegas is a bad town for runners, especially
junkie runners." Easy taps ash off her cigarette. "Dexamphetamine and
Jack Daniels. Seems like a good mix when you're on it. You look back and
think, Jesus, what the fuck was I doing? And yet you still think how
much simpler the world was when you were drunk and buzzed... One of
Sagami's secretaries helped me quit. I got out of Vegas, figured I could
disappear in Tarislar. Why the fuck am I telling you this?"
"Because you know I can't hurt you much with it?" Hart suggests. "Not
off the record. And _on_ the record, your attack lawyers make you rich
for life if I or the Department try to use this."
"Yeah, probably. And maybe I trust you. Your boyfriend - husband - that
'Marlowe' guy. He's an okay dude. Cop, yeah, but a good cop. Got some
integrity in there. Same feel I get from you." Easy stubs out the
remnant of her Dunhill. "Dirty cops, open season, they're good sport
even if they make lousy eating." She's probably joking, but it's hard to
be sure. "Good cops, I need, I want, I'll help if I can. Means changing
things round here, well, that's life. You dig?"
"Yeah. I dig." Hart nods. "Anything else you need to say? No? Any word
on that hitman?"
"Yeah. Mani'll introduce you. He's outside." Easy nods. Hart rises.
"Thank you...?"
"Julia Wolfe, Elizabeth Christine, Beverly Ann Bowen, the Ice Queen,
whatever. Had a lot of names. _I_ know who I am." Easy rises, opens the
door. Outside, Mani is a brooding, alert presence, who still offers a
gentle smile to Easy before glowering at Hart.
"Mani? What did our friend say?"
"The Serpent said he was happy to speak to Detective Hart-Kryzdanovich,
off the record or outside legal context." Mani replies at once.
"Would you mind making the introductions? Once they're settled, I've got
letters to write, and you've got the tale of Nasrudin and the pickpocket
to finish."
"Of course." Mani nods, and indicates to Hart that she should head back
into the nightclub.
"Nasrudin?" Hart asks the big Sufi.
"A popular hero. A wise man whose wisdom was too often put to the test."
Mani replies. "My lady Easy enjoys such stories."
Hart stops, just short of the door to the club. "Why would you tell her
_stories_?"
The Turkish mercenary regards the policewoman with something that is
almost contempt. "It pleases her, to hear these tales. If that pleases
her, then of course I shall oblige. She enjoys the old stories, and I
take pleasure in telling them to her."
Hart studies the hawk-faced Sufi for a moment. "You really love her,
don't you?"
"That is no concern of yours." Mani isn't even embarrased: instead,
totally cutting off that discussion, he opens the door to the nightclub,
noise washing over both of them. The music is some sort of oldie-rock,
all amplified acoustics.
"With the fire from the fireworks up above me
With a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain at hand
You run for cover in the temple of love
You run for another but still the same
For the wind will blow my name across this land.."
The Elven mercenary leads Hart to a wall booth, where a Human male is
engrossed in conversation with a young, stunning Elven girl of maybe
eighteen or nineteen: who glares at Hart, and rises, and sashays away to
the dancefloor. Her departure indicates that the cut-down double-
barreled shotgun on the table belongs to the man, at least, its nylon
sling looped with a dozen multicoloured cartridges.
"Serpent. I give you Detective-Sergeant Hart-Kryzdanovich." Like Easy,
Mani doesn't stumble at all over Hart's married name. Without waiting
for a response, the Sufi turns and leaves.
"Better be good, DS Hart. That girl was a sure thing, I haven't been
laid in weeks, and I doubt you're here because you're seized by lust for
my skinny butt." Serpent is Human, though almost tall and thin enough to
be an Elf with fixed ears: dark hair growing out of a crewcut, too long
to tame and too short to tie back. His blue eyes have an unblinking,
unwavering stare that probably earned him the name: hard to hold that
gaze for long.
"Did you kill Chung Kuo?"
"I have the right to remain silent, if I give up the right to remain
silent-"
"Can it, Serpent, I want answers not convictions." Hart snaps.
"Sure."
"The hits on his businesses?"
"Grove West and Ninzime was someone else. I think, Red Raiders out to
make some name for themselves. Haven't checked, the Raiders are staying
out of this war and are stalling _everyone_ until they see who wins.
"The other three reported hits, yes, they were mine." Serpent reaches
behind his back, comes out with an old and well-worn SIG-Sauer automatic
pistol. "This is the murder weapon. Sort of."
"New barrel?"
"I might be inexperienced, Detective, but stupid I try not to be."
"So even if I arrested you now, nada, waste of time. Not that I intend
to, just explaining why I won't." Hart nods. "Commercial hits?"
"Yeah. Good money, all things considered. I'm new here, no rep, no
contacts, I don't intent to start fighting any uptown wetwork today."
Hart nods. "Good. Keep it that way. Barrens gang fights, gee, such is
life. Not good, but 'No SINful citizens hurt'. Kill people with SINs -
or SINs that weren't probationaty for being busted - and we can't _not_
get involved. Be grateful you're as good a shot as you think you are."
"Well, one piece of advice in return." Serpent makes the old automatic
vanish, picks up the shotgun and tucks it under his black duster.
"Believe Easy when she says she wants the cops here."
"I do." Hart shrugs. "Thanks for talking to me, Serpent."
"And you. Stay in touch, Detective-Sergeant Hart, I could do with a
sort-of-friend on the force."
+++++end video]<<<<<
-- Julianne Hart-Kryzdanovich <02:31/04/09-10-59>
