David Parrino walked with confidence through the dim haze of the club’s backroom as if he belonged there. Anything less would probably have meant his instant death. Standing against the wall in the corner furthest away from the exit, he studied each of the patrons, his well-trained memory for faces identifying the few he recognized as low-level criminals with no corporate or organizational affiliation. Finally, he spotted his target at a nondescript table along the far wall.
“There’s our boy,” Parrino said loudly enough for the comm-link in his wrist bracer to pick up over the background noise.
“David, this is the hard way to do things. Why don’t you wait for backup?” His partner’s voice rang in his earpiece.
“Are you saying I can’t handle this?”
“No, I’m saying this is the hard way. You could at least let me handle it.”
“Come on, man, it’s Skurv. He’s slime, but he’s not dangerous. Just let me get some job satisfaction for once.”
“I’ve got the security camera feed and have run checks on a few random patrons. Some of them might not take kindly to police officers in their establishment.”
“It’ll be fine. Just be ready with the transport, Mak,” Parrino said casually, hitting the button that switched off the comm. He had everything planned out in his head. He would play a few hands of Method, lose a little money, and put the man at ease. Later, he would propose talking business alone, outside or in the back room, where he could make a quick, straightforward arrest. It should go smoothly. He slowly went through the crowd to one of the vacant chairs at his target’s table and sat.
“Mr. Parrino,” a too-skinny man hissed through crooked teeth. “What brings you to me on a night like this?” Parrino’s instincts instantly went on alert. As far as his cover went, they were solid friends, yet Skurv was visibly annoyed by his presence tonight. He thought back on their last couple of exchanges. There was no reason for this attitude unless he suspected what was about to happen. Still, Parrino couldn’t see how his cover could have been blown.
“Evenin’ Skurv,” Parrino nodded, pulling a handful of credslips from his jacket pocket and shuffling them in his hand. “Just looking for some action this evening, that’s all.”
“Really? Tonight?” Skurv said, rolling his eyes. “You don’t get enough of this during your day job?”
“Noooo,” Parrino protested. “Corporate accounting supervisor? It’s not as thrilling as all those video dramas make it seem.”
Skurv snorted confidently and eyed the three others at the table with him. “I was thinking about your job as Detective Sergeant of the London Metro Police Department.”
Parrino did his best to look unfazed. “Detective!? You think I have the brainpower to be one of those?” He wasn’t merely annoyed with him; Skurv was nervous and almost terrified, but not of a simple police detective or even the potential of being arrested.
“Quite the contrary,” Skurv said, casually glancing at a series of cards in his left hand. “I think you’re just dumb enough to show up here and now of all times. So, what can I do for you?” He glanced again at the other three men.
Parrino’s mind was racing. Skurv knew who he was and probably had for some time, meaning there was no chance of getting Skurv alone to make the arrest out of sight of the other patrons. The idea of walking away with his tail between his legs, knowing his cover was blown and he’d never get this close to Skurv again, didn’t appeal to him. Someone else would make the arrest and get the credit while he put two months of his best undercover work into building the case. He’d be damned if he was going to let that happen. It had to be now or never.
“Hugo Dupont,” Parrino said at last.
Skurv shook his head, annoyed. “The name means nothing to me.”
“Really? You’ve been laundering money in his bank for years until someone ordered him killed a few months back. Didn’t you believe him when he told you he had copies of all the books and enough evidence to send you to a penal station if he died of anything other than natural causes?” He couldn’t make it any easier for the man. The only sensible move now was to surrender quietly on money laundering charges. If he put up a fight, things would only get worse. “The powers that be have decided your time’s up. It’s budgetarily advantageous to arrest you.”
“Which powers were that, exactly?”
Parrino hit a button on the gauntlet showing the arrest warrant underneath Locke Industries letterhead.
Skurv sat back in his chair, feigning confidence, though Parrino noticed his face had drained of color and sweat had begun forming on his brow. “And this is your plan? Come arrest me, all by yourself, in a room full of people who have no love for policemen?”
Parrino smiled confidently. “You assume I came here alone, and there aren’t twenty officers outside backing me up. Come on. Do the smart thing, Skurv. Non-violent crime like laundering and cooperation with the arresting officer? Your lawyers will have you home with a house arrest drone in time for your bedtime snack. Unless, of course, you want to try something stupid like resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer.”
Skurv snarled. “You’re bluffing. Locke Industries doesn’t want me bad enough to budget for backup. You didn’t come here to arrest me. You could have done that at any number of more discrete locations. You’re not that brave, and you’re definitely not that stupid.” He studied Parrino for a moment. “Well, wait a minute. Maybe you are.” He pulled a plaser from an ankle holster, leaned forward, and pointed it directly at Parrino. He pretended to count to three, then smiled. “I was right. No backup.”
Parrino stared back down the barrel of the gun. He knew Skurv too well. The man had been utterly predictable for the past two months. This play was entirely out of character and made absolutely no sense. Between his lawyers and association with various criminal factions, Skurv had a decent chance of either outright beating the charges or at least cutting an immunity deal with what he knew. Now, he was adding resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer, or potentially murdering a police officer to the list of charges. This put him in a higher, more dangerous class of criminal and almost ensured he would do serious jail time or worse. Parrino had seriously misjudged the man and the situation. Something was driving Skurv to do this. He was terrified of something.
Parrino studied the other two at the table for the first time, a man and a woman. The pair appeared Mediterranean and vaguely familiar, but for once, he had difficulty placing the faces. Unlike Skurv, they were utterly unfazed by what was going on. While they casually regarded him from the corner of their eyes, their focus remained locked on Skurv, studying him intently, awaiting his next move. He suddenly realized Skurv was more frightened of those two than the prospect of jail time or being shot resisting arrest.
Skurv adjusted the power level on the plaser and aimed it straight between Parrino’s eyes. “Sorry, Detective, I really did admire you, but this is business.”
“So’s this,” Parrino said quickly, whipping his arm up and grabbing Skurv’s gun wrist with his left hand, snapping it at the joint as he pointed the barrel of the plaser towards the ceiling. His right arm had already liberated his sidearm from his shoulder holster and pointed it directly at Skurv’s face.
He caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, heard the distinctive tinkling sound of a small object bouncing off the center of the table, and reflexively dove to the floor just as the stuncap detonated. He would have been completely disoriented for the next ten minutes if he had been slower. As it was, he maintained his vision and had only a slight ringing in his ears.
Skurv seemed less fortunate as he jumped out of his chair and stumbled towards the rear exit. Without stopping to judge the state of the others at the table, Parrino leaped up, made a half-heated lurch at Skurv, then finally took off after him to the corner of the room, down a narrow hallway, and through an emergency exit out into the street.
Parrino flipped on the comm on his bracer and retrieved the earpiece. “Mak, east side street, do you have him?!”
“Of course,” came the reply, calm and collected. “This didn’t work out the way we discussed. Didn’t you recognize the others at the table with him?”
Parrino slid down the railing of the back steps and onto the sidewalk, regained his balance, and started after Skurv, who was much more agile than he would have expected. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“That was Giovanni Mancini and Irina Vasilieva.”
“What’s a low-level player like Skurv doing meeting with Iron Claw’s goons?” Parrino was panting now.
“I guess we won’t know since you interrupted them. This could be trouble.”
“Just stop Skurv so we can ask him, will ya?!”
“As soon as I see a way to do that, of course I will,” came the reply.
Parrino inhaled deeply and picked up his pace. “Fine!” he yelled, “At your leisure then!”
Skurv had at least ten meters on him when he regained his senses. The smaller man’s lithe frame allowed him to deftly dart between pedestrians and bystanders as he continued up the alley of Wardour Mews towards D’Arblay. Parrino made the sharp right, nearly knocking into a group of young women as he entered the thoroughfare. Just ahead, he saw Skurv duck into a doorway and continued as best he could.
“Do you still have him?”
“I’ve got him, David. Hotel lobby, heading right towards the restaurant.”
“Too many civilians,” Parrino shook his head. “Seal the exits and lead him into the kitchen.”
“Already on it.”
Parrino lowered his weapon to appear less threatening as he stormed through the reception area into the restaurant. Within seconds, he spotted Skurv at the far end near the terrace exit. A bartender was yelling at a cylindrical barback drone who had suddenly left his position and was standing in the arched doorway brandishing an expensive bottle of wine like a club in a pincer-like claw. “Liam ‘Skurv’ Fischer,” the drone said with Mak’s unmistakable Scottish brogue, “by the authority of a Directorate warrant you are under–”
Skurv fired twice at the drone, causing a small explosion and a shower of sparks, but the automaton continued, its voice now a fluttered gibberish of crackles and buzzes. The metallic arm twirled the wine bottle twice and began advancing to indicate it was unfazed by the attack. Skurv spun around, started running the way he came, spotted Parrino, and ducked into the kitchen.
Parrino stormed in a few seconds behind him to see him facing off with a four-armed robotic chef brandishing a cleaver, a paring knife, and a Santoku knife in an approximation of a fighting stance. “As I was saying,” Mak’s voice continued from the drone. “Liam ‘Skurv’ Fischer, by the authority of Direc–”
Skurv raised his plaser, but the drone was faster and sent the Santoku sailing end over end through the air, finally stopping two inches deep in the man’s bicep. Grunting more in frustration than pain, Skurv reached over, grabbed a sizzling pot off the stove, and hurled it at the chef drone, sending it rolling back two meters on its wheels from the force of the impact. Without hesitation, Skurv shot past the drone and out of the kitchen, barely ducking below a swinging cleaver as he did so.
Parrino laughed and regarded the chef. “It was a good plan. Where’d he go?”
“Left up the street. Be with you in a minute. Looking for a ride.”
The back street was poorly lit and free of bystanders. Parrino followed the sounds of running footsteps, abruptly stopping just before he rounded a corner onto what looked to be a complete block of abandoned buildings. A security drone hovered overhead and aimed a spotlight at one doorway before being taken down by a series of shots from a downstairs window.
“No respect for public property,” Mak said over the earpiece in Parrino’s ear. “I’m gonna be late now. You should probably wait for me, even though I know you won’t.”
Parrino smiled, put his back to the wall next to the door, and checked the load in his plaser. He was committed now; no point in skulking back to HQ with tales of an “almost bust.” He took three quick breaths to summon his adrenaline, kicked the door with the back of his left foot, and ducked into the entryway.
Everything was dark, and the only noise came from the street behind him. He felt his way into the room, tripped over a low table, and stumbled forward until he found the opposite wall with his shoulder. Keeping his sidearm and attention pointed at the shadow-obscured corners of the room, he felt his way along the wall until he found the door. He opened it as quietly as possible and ducked inside, keeping close to the ground.
Something cold and metallic tapped him on the back of the head. Skurv had been standing behind the door, ready for him. Parrino, caught flat-footed, could only smirk, power his weapon down, and set it gingerly on the floor. Skurv kicked it to the middle of the room and walked over to join it. Aware he would not stand a chance against Parrino in hand-to-hand combat, he kept the gun leveled at his head.
“Was all this really necessary, hero?” Skurv said, disappointed. “You just had to bust me in my favorite club and in the middle of the most important business deal of my life. You know what hurts more than that? Your bluff about having backup. You think so little of me that you thought you could bring me in alone. That really hurts, Parrino.”
“Yeah, well, sorry if I ruined your chances with those Iron Claw goons. You should consider retiring. Get out while you’re still ahead.”
Skurv thought about it for a moment. “I’m sure I can explain how I had the situation in hand all along, especially when I show them your corpse.”
Parrino scanned the room. It was completely off-grid, with nothing for Mak to use to help with or even witness his current predicament. At least he knew where they were and had complete confidence in his partner. Mak would monitor the entire area and pick up Skurv the moment he set foot on a public street.
Parrino’s meticulous plans had gone up in smoke, and his improvised attempt to save the situation was about to cost him his life. At least it would be in the line of duty, and despite Skurv’s confidence, there was little chance a cop killer could avoid spending the rest of his life on a penal station with the special attentions of the prison guards as a bonus. He decided he might even call the score even.
There was a sudden crash of broken glass from the window behind Skurv, and a hovercart, ostensibly used to serve food to pedestrians on the street, came bounding into the room, striking Skurv squarely in the back. Parrino leaped to one side, barely dodging the reflexive blast from the plaser as the cart and Skurv slammed through the door and back into the main room. Skurv slid across the floor, quickly got up, and ran through the front door and back into the street.
“Nice ride,” Parrino said, taking a sausage out of one of the cart’s display cases and taking a bite.
“Okay, you’ve had your ‘job satisfaction.’ Now, mind if we go back to the book, and I finish this before you get killed?” Mak’s voice said from a speaker on the side of the cart.
Parrino frowned but remembered he’d already blown his cover and missed two opportunities to make the arrest. “Fine,” he said, skulking out of the building.
He spotted Skurv, favoring a badly hurt leg, maneuvering up the street as fast as he could. He rudely pushed several people out of his way, stumbled over to a parked hoverbike, and pointed his gun directly in the face of the owner, who was casually sitting side-saddle on the seat speaking to a group of young ladies. Parrino could not make out the exact conversation. However, it ended with the rider raising his hands and surrendering the bike to Skurv, who clumsily climbed aboard and started the engine.
Parrino smiled, stopped, and leaned against a lamp post, casually readying his plaser as he watched Skurv take off over his right shoulder. Seconds later, he heard the small man’s panicked screams as the bike shot straight up into the air, made a banking right turn, and dove back towards the street. He was frantically grabbing at the bike’s controls with both hands and holding on for dear life as it descended, then stopped two feet in front of Parrino.
“Liam ‘Skurv’ Fischer,” Mak’s voice came over the bike’s sound system, “By authority of a Directorate warrant signed by representatives of the Locke Corporation, and now general criminal misconduct, you are under arrest for accessory to murder, assault, and attempted murder of an officer of the London Metroplex Police Department. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. You understand this, don’t you?”
Skurv rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, lousy SI.”
“SI?!” Parrino said, half laughing. “That’s racist. He’s no synthetic. You just have no idea what an honor it is to be arrested by the legendary LiM Sergeant, Samuel ‘Mak’ Makluskey, my trusted backup.”
“Backup?!” Mak’s disembodied voice jokingly protested over the sounds of a half-dozen police vehicles descending on the scene.
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