Lenny stood impotently on the sidewalk as they hauled Zane's corpse to the silent ambulance, sealed up in a zippered black bag like trash. His last words to Zane had been flippant, a curt dismissal, because Lenny had too much else on his mind to be bothered with friendly banter.
Zane had supported Lenny's return to LAPD when the rest of the department still regarded him like something they had scraped off the bottom of their shoes. Any chance to thank him now was forever out of reach. Lenny's already short list of allies was growing shorter by the day, and Zane's murder would shorten it further and it would be like it was when he had first come back; little, noxious gifts left in his locker, his brake lines sabotaged. Unexplained errors on his paycheck.
A car passed behind him, Jonah One reverberating from the amplifiers in the trunk.
...So when you can no longer control the seas
Better retreat to your gated communities
To concede that the free have been released
From their leash and remember your atrocities…
Since Zander had told Lenny about Jonah, his music seemed to be stalking Lenny everywhere he went now. Lenny bristed at the frisson of fear bouncing through his thoughts, the heady sense of deja vu that was a like a fragrant scent encapsulating a memory the way the aroma of roses just past their prime could take him right back to his grandmother's mawkish funeral service, or the stink of spilled whiskey on old carpet spirited him away to a lost weekend of hard partying with Max Peltier. Treacherous, traitorous Max, felled by a slug in his brain pan, his career on the force ended, his true vocation revealed on that fateful New Years eve.
Long tapered fingers squeezed Lenny's shoulder. Wren.
"Hi, sweetie," she cooed. Lenny turned to face her. She was dressed in a one-piece black number, her eyes kohl-lined Cleopatra style. She regarded him from under a dark fringe of false eyelashes, enjoying his discomfort, knowing he was aroused without looking.
"Hey."
"Sorry to track you down here. I heard about Zane and thought I might find you here."
"Word travels fast."
"Faster than you think. You're all the rage, Lenny. The body count is up to two already. Faith is looking for you. Someone gave her a blackjack clip of her former cellmate being murdered, as a message to you. They really want that memory, Lenny, or the original clip."
"Who was the wearer?"
Wren shook her head. "The guy working security for Faith is one of mine. I just wanted you to be one step ahead."
"Fuck," muttered Lenny.
"Keep it together, babe. I've got eyes everywhere."
Not here, you didn't. Lenny exhaled raggedly.
"The bangers are getting restless," Wren continued. "Talk to anyone you trust higher up the food chain. The sooner you close ranks, the better. You're the most wanted man in town right now, and not just by me. Keep moving, Lenny. I'll be in touch."
They embraced briefly, Wren holding on a few seconds longer than Lenny anticipated, but he found he didn't mind so much. She smelled good, like musky cinnamon, a momentary antidote to the smoke that clung to everything. He turned away to find the ambulance already gone.
Lenny drove dejectedly back to the precinct. It was the last place he wanted to be right now, and he winced inwardly at the the recriminations in the eyes of everyone he passed on the way to the Chief's office, the unspoken accusations that stalked his every step.
A solid man, squarely built with a no-nonsense police issue haircut that gave him a slightly simian appearance, Chief Orson Lamarche was waiting for Lenny, seated ramrod-straight behind his desk. There was a line of small, potted plants on the windowsill behind him, each with its own tiny puddle spreading like dark blood stains beneath them. Lenny was distracted by them, his mind reaching for anything that would keep his thoughts from the scene he had just witnessed.
"Nero. Close the door. Take a seat." Lenny could see his jacket open on the Chief's desk, dismayed at the thickness of the file. Plenty of reprimands, a couple of rips for going off script and insubordination from before Lamarche's time, and of course the full report on that fateful New Years Eve. Lenny was certain there was another report on the events of that evening locked away at Internal Affairs, one far more detailed.
"As you know, we all had our doubts about you, Nero, given your past, but you've proven us wrong time and time again. SQUID-related crime is down citywide, mostly because of your efforts. I know you've felt the boot on your neck for a long time, because of what you know, what you saw. That's going to change. I'm going to circle the wagons."
"I don't think anyone else has gotten the memo yet, sir."
"They will, or I'll bust some balls. Zane Metz was a real loss to this precinct. I can't get justice for him until you level with me, Nero. Every detail."
Lenny unburdened himself, about Tick, and Faith, stating his fears for Mace and Zander, withholding Wren's involvement, needing his own skin in the game if things went south. "I can't go home," Lenny said tiredly. "It only makes them more of a target. Not going home leaves them more vulnerable to attack, even though Macey can handle herself better than I ever could. If we give them what they want, the riots will never end. If we don't give them what they want, they're going to riot anyway. I see no way out of this."
"I already put a detail on your family. You're going to be working with a liason from the SQUID Task Force. Living with him."
"A Fed?"
"Yeah. The FBI is involved now, Nero, whether we want them here or not. Zane Metz was one of theirs."
Zane, a Fed? "I think the Shaman may be one of ours, Chief. Milan was given the clip of Zander being threatened with the explicit message 'Steckler says hello.'"
"They're just skullfucking you, son. We're digging into it though, believe me." Lamarche buzzed the front desk Sergeant. "Send Best to my office." He leaned back slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers.
"Go meet up with Faith Justin. I want the clip they gave her entered into evidence. We need a rock-solid case when the time comes."
"From your lips to God's ear," murmured Lenny dourly.
"Best stays with you at all times, Nero. No exceptions. He's their resident playback expert, Use him, You're going to be moved from place to place for your safety. Your wife and son are being relocated as we speak."
"What? Where?"
Lamarche shook his head. "Need to know." He slid a cell phone over the desk to Lenny. "You can still call, but it'll be monitored. No divulging locations, not even a hint, or you're cut off."
Lenny bristled, but held his tongue. As long as they were safe, nothing else mattered. The new guy came bounding in, the antithesis of a Fed. Lenny stifled a laugh; Best looked like an aging Jeff Spicoli, dressed in khakis and high-top chucks and a loose muslin jacket, his hair tied behind him, a diamond stud in one ear. He stuck out his hand.
"Silas Best. Good to meet you, Lenny. I've heard a lot about you."
Lenny gave him a pained smile, pumping his hand. Best's grip was strong, unwavering. Not a total wimp. Best had milky blue eyes framed by tawny lashes that matched his sunbleached hair.
"Such as?" Lenny asked sheepishly.
"I've been thoroughly briefed. Are you ready to go? I arranged a meeting with Faith Justin, and we gotta jet if we're gonna make it in time."
"Where?"
"A lounge near the airport."
"Yeah. Okay, let's go."
"Keep me in the loop," the Chief said. They were out the door before Lenny could reply.
Silas drove the kind of van most cops dream of, equipped with all the latest tech and a small arsenal. "The FBI supply you with all this?" Lenny asked, whistling approval.
"Some of it. Most of the weapons I've collected over the years. It's taken some time to put all of this together."
"You even have a signal spectrometer. I'm impressed."
"It's good to be able to process clips on site, wherever I'm at. Identify the wearer's signature without waiting around for some backlog to be cleared."
Lenny couldn't help but think of Tick then, who had once had a similar setup and lived in it. There was enough room for the two of them to abide indefinitely, to work without needing any backup. Lenny had often wished for a similar rig himself, but it wasn't in the LAPD budget. They could barely afford vests and gas for patrol cars. Investing in algorithms as tools for justice wasn't even on the radar yet.
"How long have you been with the Bureau?" said Lenny when he was done perusing all the toys.
"I went to Quantico right out of high school. I grew up in Alhambra. I originally wanted to serve overseas, because of a girl, an exchange student I fell hard for, but I became so engrossed in the growing world of cybercrime here I just couldn't leave. Too much needed doing here at home."
"How'd you end up working for the SQUID Task Force?"
"I started out as an addict. I nearly lost my career. I was doing playback all the time. Totally obsessed. Ran through my savings buying clips, until someone gave me a whole series and begged me to do something as a Federal agent."
Lenny waited for Silas to break the poignant silence that fell then, absently drumming his fingers against his thighs until Silas could go on.
"A set of clips that spanned several months. This piece of human excrement in Oregon. Stood by and did nothing while her live-in boyfriend tortured her two-year old son and recorded it all. Chained him to a wall in the basement and force fed him salt until he collapsed. Drowned him over and over in the bathtub and brought him back via CPR until the day he didn't come back and boyfriend emerged from the bathroom with his dripping corpse. He mixed up a few bags of concrete and the left the kid encased in in a barrel to rot while the 'mother' thanked him for not leaving the kid to rot and stink up the place. They got evicted while trying to find someone to sell the clips to, and the new tenants found the barrel in the basement. I had the pleasure of hunting these two animals down and putting them away, but not before I broke a few of boyfriend's bones and held his sorry ass head under water for a good long time.
The playback was all the trial they got. The woman had the nerve to say she was sorry she wouldn't see her son grow up and graduate and have kids. Turns out boyfriend had a teenaged daughter who had gotten the same treatment as the little guy, and she helped put them away. From then on I've been all about SQUID crime."
"Jesus," gasped Lenny.
"It gets more depraved all the time, as the market grows worldwide. Image it in countries without laws like ours. A neverending cesspool."
"A losing battle."
"No surrender, Lenny. Each of us almost became the animals we're fighting now."
They said nothing more the rest of the way, Lenny sensing he had just met the best friend he hadn't known he was missing.
Lenny expected to find Faith holding court, but she was alone except for the man standing behind her chair, who winked at Lenny. Faith was so changed that Lenny could have passed her on the street and not known her, except for her voice, that unmistakable gravelly timbre that Janis Joplin would have envied
"Lenny. Hey. Thanks for meeting me."
"How are you, Faith?" Lenny replied awkwardly.
"I'm good. Really good. Except for what happened to Charlotte."
"You bring the clip?"
"Yeah. Wanna check it out, officer?"
"I do. This is my partner, Silas."
Faith regarded Silas coldly, offering them both a seat. The lounge was a time-capsule, all worn red naugahyde and chipped formica. A waitress scooted over, sensing a good tip for little work. They all ordered coffee. Lenny and Faith avoided each other's gaze while Silas and Faith's security detail, whose name was Leo, made small talk about sports.
"Look, Lenny, I know this is strained."
"To say the least."
"It won't do any good for me to apologize. I know that. But I'm still gonna try. I know how badly I hurt you. I rolled over a lot of people trying to get a leg up. I should have come clean to you about Jeriko as soon as I knew."
"A lot of shit could have been avoided."
"I know. I've had the last ten years to think about it, believe me." Her hazel eyes flashed in that way he had once found so beguiling. It had no effect on him now, only invoking a sort of sad pity that he didn't recognize.
"What's done is done. I need that clip as evidence, Faith, so I can nail the prick threatening my family and killing my friends, and yours."
"Lenny the cop," snorted Faith. "Talk about a do-over. You can have the clip, and a bonus, two tracks from my upcoming album. I'm really doing it this time, Lenny. I signed a contract. I have a label, and a producer. I'm finally on my way."
A slow smile that he couldn't suppress spread across his face. It was genuine. "I'm happy for you."
"I wore while I recorded the second track. Maybe after you see it, and feel it, you'll understand why I was the way I was." She passed him a disc, and handed another to Silas.
Lenny ran a thumb over the smooth case. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom and check this clip out, in case I have any questions for you, Faith," said Silas. He strode off without further explanation.
Faith giggled. "He reminds me John Travolta in Pulp Fiction," she said, pantomiming the dance number from the movie. Lenny laughed along with her, one eyebrow raised.
They talked quietly for a few minutes about Tick, and Mace, and her recording contract and tour plans after the album was released. Silas returned and soberly slid back into his chair, sipping his coffee.
"Brutal murder. Was she a friend?"
"As much as a cellie can be. We had each other's backs, ya know?"
Lenny swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed a twenty on the table. "We gotta bounce, Faith. Don't go anywhere without Leo." Lenny crooked a thumb at Faith's taciturn companion.
"Okay. Take care, Lenny. Good luck."
"You too."
Back in the van, Silas waited until they were out of the short term parking lot to state his observations, a departing plane roaring directly overhead. "She's still in love with you." Lenny didn't answer, still gripping the clip she had given him with bloodless fingers.
"Why don't you watch that while I drive, and you'll see that I'm right. Then you can check out the other clip."
Lenny fished his deck from the inner pocket of his jacket and slipped the trodes on, hesitating before pushing play, assailed by memories of all the nights he had sought refuge in his collection of clips that were fragments of his life with Faith, all he had left after she was gone. Used emotions. He hit play, closing his eyes.
Bare feet, a hard stool beneath her ass. Ceiling fan circling lazily above, too slowly to stir the notes from her guitar, calluses on her fingers fresh and sore. The mic before her, phallic, hard and waiting for her ministrations.
A young manboy just released
Shoots pool with plastic blue
Rosary beads
And fresh tattoo
And eyes on me
Runs his hand along his hard body
Says you see it done me good
Embraces everyone he meets
He knows he's gonna keep
With this discipline
He knows that he can be
Anything he wants to be
Oh yes
Anyone he wants to be
Loving father
Good son
Puppy, shark
Rolled into one
He has a story
Lessons learned
And a new hard body
All hard earned
Feels the tides inside him sing
The tears, the blood
Psychiatry
The library
Eyes on me
Emotions men pretend to hide
It all comes out
In the world
On the inside…
All the anguish of the last ten years, the night watches of regret, her voice rusty satin. Her soul fused with his again one last time, like it had never left, like she had never left. Maybe she hadn't.