Twenty-seven

Rusedski turned his back on us and faced the small crowd of hommy dicks. “The cop killer’s name is Bronson Carew. Time for an old-fashioned manhunt. Listen carefully, this guy is dangerous. He killed your brothers in blue. Use any force necessary.”

Rusedski’s intent was clear. He didn’t want a trial, didn’t want the truth about his detectives’ involvement with the genie to come out. On that score we agreed. The genie had to stay bottled.

But Maggie and I had far more to lose if Carew’s story went public. Nobody could ever know that he was nowhere near this rooftop tonight. I couldn’t let Rusedski’s task force get Carew until I planted my evidence.

Questions came at Rusedski from several directions, his task force members seeking clarification. Maggie gave me a look and headed for the stairs. Good a time as any. I sucked in a deep breath and swept my hand over my pocket. Flies launched. I felt them bounce off my fingers, my shirt. I walked. They pelted me in the face. Buzzed in my ear.

I came out of the shadows, my eyes on Maggie’s back, my heart thumping like a pile driver. Flies followed, black dots streaking across my vision.

I moved as fast as I could without drawing attention. I stepped around a junk pile and took one last peek at my handiwork. Mota and Panama, blank eyes staring at the Big Sleep’s bleak sky.

I passed behind Rusedski. Flies darted into his circle and scribbled the air with humming flight patterns. I saw him shoo with his hand, as did the detective next to him. I put one foot in front of the other, the stairs only a few steps away. Don’t look. Don’t look.

Maggie was already on the stairs, me and my buzzing entourage approaching fast. I reached the stairs, took my first step down.

“Juno.” I stopped at the sound of my name. As did my heart. Slowly, I turned my head, but kept my body facing forward, flies zeroing in on my pocket.

Rusedski’s eyes were cold. My nerves turned frigid. “You stay out of our shit, you hear me? You’re not a cop anymore.”

I gave him the finger and hurried down the stairs.


I stood in the shower, hot water trickling from a caked showerhead. I’d scrubbed my skin clean three times over. Same with my hair, enduring the pain of a scalded scalp. I turned off the water and toweled, wet bandages feeling heavy on the end of my right arm.

I pulled on a fresh set of clothes and exited the bathroom. Two sealed plastic bags sat on the floor. One had my bloody clothes inside. The other leaked water onto the floor. I’d bought a nice piece of fish on ice around the block from the hotel, then found a bathroom, dumped the fish, and emptied the contents of my pocket into the bag of ice.

I suppressed a shiver. I was one demented bastard.

I checked the time. Deluski was supposed to be back by now. I went through the curtain, out to the hall and walked to his room, threw open the curtain.

The room was empty. Dammit. I needed to know what he’d found out about Carew. These last few hours were all the head start I had on Rusedski’s task force.

I leaned against the door frame. Time ticked past, every second adding another turn of the wrench that had hold of my gut.

When we’d first left the hotel, Maggie and I walked down the street together for a time. I’d said something stupid, something like, “Close call.”

I remembered the way she accelerated her pace. No relieved smile. No acknowledgment of my quick thinking skills. Nothing but double-timing legs trying to put distance between her and me.

The street had been crowded with cars and pedestrians, packed walkways and crammed sidewalk stands. Maggie carved a path for herself, legs pumping, me tagging along, saying things like, “Slow down,” and “Hold on a minute.”

I tried to tell her she couldn’t shut me out. We were partners. She needed to find a way to forgive me. But she wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen.

What else could I do but let her go? I had a lase-rifle to retrieve. I needed ice.

Deluski appeared at the end of the hall.

Finally. “What you got?”

He came my direction, with soft steps and worried eyes. “Not much. Nobody I talked to has seen Carew in months. His financials were interesting, though. He lives off a trust fund he got from a charity.”

“Let me guess. Hudson Samusaka is a donor.”

“And a board member. Carew made several big withdrawals starting about a year ago. The balance is almost zero.”

“Probably used most of it to pay the doctor for his work.”

He asked the big question: “What happened with Mota?”

“It’s done.” That was all the detail he’d ever get.

He blew out a breath. “It’s really over?”

“You’re clear. I want everything you got on Carew, then I want you to move back home. Get some sleep and get back to work tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna need my help finding him.”

I shook my head no. “He’s not our problem anymore. I told Rusedski all about him. There’s a whole task force tracking him down. Only a matter of time before they find him.”

“You saying we’re done?”

For him the answer was yes. I wasn’t going to let him get dragged into the mess I’d made of things on that rooftop. Let him think it was Rusedski’s game from here on out. “It’s really over,” I said.

His eyes misted, and he put a hand out to the wall to steady himself. “I can’t believe it.”

I grabbed his shoulder, squeezed down with my fingers. “You remember this day, you hear me? Fresh starts are hard as hell to come by.”

He nodded, gaze aimed at the floor. I held on until he met me eye-to-eye, man to man. “You hear me?”

He nodded a yes.

“What did you get on Carew? I need to pass it along to Rusedski.”

“I went down to the south-side docks where he grew up. I asked around but like I said, nobody’s seen him, not in a long time. I got some family photos, pictures of when he was young.” He handed me a chip.

“Thanks.”

With a weak smile, he said, “I stopped at the hospital on my way back to check on Maria’s sister.”

“And?”

“She got cut up good.”

“She’ll live?”

“She’ll need a lot of work if she wants to keep her job.”

“She can work for Maria.”

He went into his room to grab his things. I went into my own room, nabbed the bags on the floor, and headed toward the exit, leaving a trail of dripping water. I pushed my way outside into the church courtyard.

I threw the bag with my bloody clothes into the trash bin and made for the stairs to the street. The preacher gave me a wave from the church doorway. “Good-bye now.”

“We’re out of here,” I said over my shoulder. “Thanks for the digs.”

“Jesus loves you.”

Only because he never met me.


I sat on a park bench, downed the last bite of a ’guana taco, hot sauce running down my wrist. I wiped my mouth with a napkin then set it flat on my lap and rubbed my wrist across it. Some of the simplest shit was such a pain in the ass.

The park was busy for so late: dice rollers and card players, flasks and bottles. People jawed, and loud music swirled in O smoke.

I was alone now. Completely, utterly alone. Didn’t see that coming when Paul died. Didn’t realize he was just the first to leave me. Niki. My crew. Maggie.

I balled the napkin and tossed it at an overflowing trash can. I sucked on a can of soda, bubbles making my overheated tongue sting. The leaky bag sat by my feet, my shoes in a growing puddle of water. I called to the woman behind the fryer, the one who had prepared my taco. “Got ice?”

She nodded, then stood and opened the cooler she’d been using as a chair.

I untied my bag, brought it over, and held it open so she could dump ice in, held it high so she wouldn’t look inside. Finished, I tied it back up and returned to the bench.

I pulled out Deluski’s chip from my pocket, pushed it against my temple; photos were picked up by my optic nerve, imagery going straight into my brain.

Bronson Carew as a baby, as a young boy. Always posing alone. A forced smile on his face.

Frustrated, I pulled away the chip. This shit was worthless. A manhunt like this required manpower. Rusedski had a task force. I had me.

Maggie should be helping. Her ass was on the line same as mine. But she was chained to her desk until Carew was caught. Truth was I wasn’t sure she would help even if she could. I’d pushed her too far. She had a good heart, and the goodhearted couldn’t associate with me, not if they wanted to stay that way.

I’d have to pull our asses out of the fire myself. Plenty fair considering I was the one who struck the match.

I put the chip back to my temple and called up his mother’s picture. Silver hair. Brown skin rutted like a sun-baked terra-cotta rooftop. She seemed too old to have given birth to a nineteen-year-old. Lagartan women weren’t prone to gestate their babies in tanks like offworlders. Didn’t have the money.

I pulled up a pic of his two older sisters when they were his age. Locked arms and broad smiles.

I pulled away the chip, the sisters’ image fading with it. I recognized her. The sister on the right.

Miss Paulina.

New possibilities blew into my mind, a ripple effect of connections and deductions. Sudden understanding gusted at gale force.

Riding a high of explosive comprehension, I stood and grabbed my plastic bag, tossed it over my shoulder, and let the ice chill my back as I walked, a glimmer of imaginary sunlight marking my path.

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