“It was a simple enough bust, Parrino,” Chief Inspector Reginald Somerset said, only sounding slightly annoyed, as Parrino managed to take a seat in his office. “Why do you always have to make these things more difficult than they need to be?”
Mak, now in his default presentation as a weathered policeman in his mid-fifties, had already rezzed into the other chair next to Parrino moments earlier. “There was nothing simple about that bust, Reg. This whole thing stinks.”
“It only stinks because you let your partner go off-book and try to make the arrest in public, while the suspect was conducting business and surrounded by his own people, along with who knows how many civilians.”
Parrino leaned forward in his chair. “And because I did, we now know Skurv was doing business with Iron Claw.”
“We already knew that,” Somerset said. “Division 5 had a man in Skurv’s organization, assuming he didn’t blow his cover saving your sorry butt.”
“Saving me?” Parrino protested.
“Who do you think threw the stuncap and kept you from getting shot after Skurv went for his gun?”
“First off, I had that situation under control. I did NOT need the rescue. Second, if someone had TOLD me Division 5 had an agent conducting undercover ops in my precinct with my suspect, then yeah, maybe I would have handled it differently. Whatever happened to professional courtesy? As it was, he almost ruined the bust. In fact, that’s probably what he was trying to do so he could keep Iron Claw from pulling out.”
Somerset mulled it over. “You may be right, but even if you are, that’s not the point I’m arguing. Your disregard of procedure could have gotten you killed. You and your partner should have confronted him, together, discreetly in a less public area. Now at least fifty people in that club know your face and know you’re a cop, we’ve got damages to cover both to a restaurant and a street vendor, and I’m no doubt going to get a chewing out from the Guildhall and Division 5 about screwing up their operations.”
“And Locke Industries will step in on your side and back you up. Look, you know these corporate warrants always have hair all over them, Reg. We never even know if the charges are legit or just a profit grab. The bottom line is, we made the arrest, and your quota is solid,” Mak offered.
Somerset scowled and sat back at last. “That’s the only reason I’m not suspending the two of you. You are, however, off undercover duty and on street detail until this blows over.” Seeing Parrino did not flinch, he dismissed them with a wave and added, “And, yes, I know that’s not exactly punishment for you, so just keep out of my sight for the next couple of weeks.”
Mak rezzed out, and Parrino immediately stood up and exited the room. He spotted Mak, now standing at the other end of the office bay, and strode over to him.
Mak shrugged in amazement. “You could have made him happy and at least looked like you were upset about street detail.”
“It wouldn’t have fooled him, and all things considered, I didn’t want to insult his intelligence by pretending.” The two began walking toward the squad bay. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what, specifically?”
“For taking the rap with me. You could just as easily have told him you tried to stop me multiple times. I would have backed you up on that.”
Mak shook his head. “You’re my partner, David. I’ve got your back. You didn’t break any regs; you just bent them a little. You should have ID’ed Mancini and Vasilieva before you got to the table, and even though you didn’t, it should only have taken five more seconds to realize Skurv wasn’t going to come quietly. You could have had me waiting at the exit to nab him when he got two steps outside.”
“It was my choice and my arrest,” Parrino dismissed him. “Nothing personal, but I’d have been more pissed if you made it for me. You did your job backing me up.”
“I didn’t back you up, I indulged you,” Mak said, “but we’re partners. The thing that matters is the result. I know you want to prove you’re the go-to guy for these undercover stings, but the only thing you proved is that you spend too much time with those old-time vids and novels. You need to start treating those assignments like any other and stick to procedure.”
“I get it,” Parrino said, “and I appreciate you indulging me. I sincerely hope you don’t get a black mark on your record.”
“Hey, I was in your shoes once, back when I wore shoes. I probably would have done something like that at your age, too. Back then, before the Phrame, we had lowlifes and crime all over the streets. I miss those days, but they weren’t as romantic and glorious as you and those stories think they were.”
Parrino smiled wickedly. “Okay, grandpa. Let’s get you back to your nutrient tank.”
“Upstart punk,” Mak sneered, but still stifled a chuckle.
The two entered the squad room and were greeted by a half-dozen men and three projections of SI’s.
“Hey, Sherlock! Good to see you back down here with the working folk instead of living on expense account as an undercover,” Crag Hawthorne said by way of greeting as he shot a finger gun at Parrino. Hawthorne had only been a detective for a few months and was generally considered brash and cocky as hell. Parrino struggled to be nice to him, feeling certain that this was how Mak felt about their own relationship most of the time, even after five years as partners.
“Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a cop,” another corrected. “He’s more like that other guy. What was his name? Columbo!”
“Guys, I was going for Serpico,” Parrino smiled with good humor and stroked the stubble on the side of his face. “Honestly, you guys know anything about the history of your chosen profession?”
“I know enough to let SI’s do the dangerous stuff and not let a suspect point a gun in my face,” Hawthorne said, nodding toward Mak.
One of the men glared and subtly tried to shush Hawthorne, jerking his head to the wall where a holo of Sam Makluskey was one of two dozen on display in an area designated for those who died in the line of duty. Hawthorne’s expression didn’t change, but he seemed to flush a little in embarrassment.
“They used to say, ‘Playing it safe gets you killed in this line of work.’” Parrino sighed, pretending to ignore the insult to his partner for the moment.
“Yeah, well, hopefully you’re right. We just drew a murder case in Soho. Looks like a nasty one.”
Parrino’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding? An honest-to-God murder?” At most, there were only a half-dozen murders per year in the metroplex, and most of those were open and shut.
“Yeah, sorry about your luck. I know you’d love to get your fingers in it, but you’re off-duty in an hour, and we’re just coming on.”
“Well, good hunting, and feel free to call on me if you want another pair of eyes,” Parrino offered.
“I doubt it will come to that. Syn. Whitmor never lets me down, but thanks,” Hawthorne said, grabbing his uniform jacket and heading towards the exit.
After he had left, Parrino looked at Mak apologetically. “I’m sorry for that.”
Mak raised an eyebrow. “What, the SI crack? He didn’t mean it. Just didn’t know I’m THAT guy, the LiM. Honestly, I’m more put off by his attitude towards SI and his partner.”
“Speaking of partner, I owe mine a drink. What do you say?” Parrino smiled.
Mak acknowledged the snark but said simply, “I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”
The Cellar had been well-established as a Policeman’s bar for the better part of a century, and it looked and smelled as if it had been around far longer than that. The damp must of a basement room mixed with the smell of spilled and stale beer permeated almost every bit of well-preserved wood that made up the bar and tables, along with untold stories overheard, never to be repeated.
Parrino entered and immediately spotted Mak at the corner table, his image projected from a humaniform drone, or slac which allowed him to interact with his surroundings in an almost human manner and appearance. Parrino signaled the bartender for his usual and sat down across form Mak, who was already halfway through a beer.
“You know, I notice you never use a slac on duty. It would easily dispel all those misconceptions that you’re an SI,” Parrino said, accepting his beer from a floating service drone.
“Sure, then they’d think I was some lazy Phramer. That’s even worse. At least if they think I’m an SI, there’s an inherent preconception that I’m some kind of superbrain.”
“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve got almost a century of experience and service on this force. You’re worth ten of those SI’s like Whitmor. At the very least, they should be acknowledging your Elizabeth Emblem and show some respect, but you don’t even acknowledge that. I’ve always wondered why.”
“I’ve got a whole drawer full of medals that mean something. I don’t even remember earning that one, but I’ve seen the footage. A heart attack while investigating a domestic dispute should not qualify as ‘death in the line of duty.’”
“From what I understand, you already had more than fifty years on the force. You deserved a little leeway, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s an insult to those guys who made the ultimate sacrifice, frankly, which is why I stayed active instead of retiring, and completely pissed off my former in-laws who arranged and paid for the whole damned thing after my wife died.”
“Ah, but you agreed to it though.”
“I agreed to having my neural patterns backed up weekly while I slept. At the time, I figured I’d outlive them and cancel the whole damn plan when they went through it first and hated it.”
“So, they didn’t hate it, and your in-laws are LiM’s too?”
“I died before they did. I was only 87. My mother-in-law’s patterns didn’t take to the psytron matrix, so my father-in-law cancelled his plans. That just left me. I’ve thought about just shutting all this down a million times over the past twenty years.” He laughed a little. “Funny how the survival instinct kicks in even when it’s damned inconvenient.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“Transhumanism? Being a life model simulation?” Mak appeared to think about it for a moment. “Well, I can still taste the beer. The computational matrix is so perfect that I can still get drunk. It’s just different now.”
“Yeah, but surely in-Phrame, you’re no different than any other person.”
Max scowled. “I never went in for all that virtual life stuff. I’ve been a street rat for over a century now. I like it dirty and mean, not tailor-made to keep my dopamine levels just right. Besides, all my friends are cops. I really don’t even know that many people outside of the force.”
Parrino thought about that for a moment. He always assumed Mak spent his off-time in clubs with other LiM’s, the same way SI’s tended to congregate in their spare time, but now he realized that Mak may be unique in that he was a blue-collar LiM, while all the others he could think of were celebrities and the wealthy elite. Maintaining the computational storage and power of a psytron matrix was an expensive proposition. His in-laws must have left a fortune, either to Mak or the hosting company. “Well, in that case, I’m glad you’re my partner. I’ll take you over an SI any day.”
“That may be to your detriment. If I had half their recall and computational capability, maybe I might be worth something.”
“You’ve got almost a century of experience and much better intuition, plus your stories are great, my friend.”
“Yeah, but that’s about it, isn’t it? You almost died today because I wasn’t fast enough to stop Skurv as soon as he tried to run. I wasn’t accurate enough with the autochef. I was sloppy steering that food cart.”
“Stop already, Mak. We got the job done. You made the arrest. You already got on me for being reckless and going after Skurv. You can’t have it both ways and ALSO be down on yourself. I’m not having this argument.”
“Maybe not, but it needed to be said.”
“So, you said it. Now, finish your beer, go home, and get some sleep. Tomorrow we’re back in the streets.”
© 2022 Darrin Snider. All Rights Reserved.
