Chapter 3
Anderson studied the case file as Dredd drove. She was just finishing up as they arrived at their destination.
"We're here," Dredd announced. She looked up. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a trash filled alley between two buildings. Anderson knew from the file that Harrington had placed a call to control at 11:30 the night before about a body reported down that alley. Two hours later someone wearing his uniform strolled into the sector's food supply building and destroyed a week's worth of relief rations.
"This perp doesn't make any sense," she grumbled.
Dredd turned to her. "How so?"
"This guy went from floor to floor, ruining each batch of rations. He didn't panic, or get nervous and quit halfway. He was careful and methodical."
"A professional," Dredd agreed.
"Yeah, so why is a professional waving at the security cam on his way out, and putting a bloody handprint on the wall?"
They both sat in silence for a moment, stumped. Anderson nodded toward the alley. "You think this is where Harrington bought it?" She asked.
Dredd studied the alley. "Good place for an ambush," he observed. "Could be where he was killed."
"So lets check it out," Anderson urged. They got out of the car and walked across the street to the alley.
It was about fifteen feet wide with moldy garbage spilled everywhere. As they entered they had to navigate around unidentifiable rotting mounds of waste, and the concrete was slick under their boots. It was a blind alley, ending in a tall cinderblock wall, and piled against the wall, almost reaching the top, was a slope of garbage.
About halfway down the alley sat a rusty dumpster. And across from it was a recessed doorway. Anderson tried the door, but it was locked. Dredd lifted the lid to the dumpster and peered inside. "Here we are." He motioned Anderson over.
As she approached, the smell hit her. It was putrid and foul, and so strong that it felt like it was coating the inside of her nostrils. Inside the dumpster was a body, still in the early stages of decomposition. I was sunk down into the garbage, so only parts of it were visible, but Anderson could see that it was missing one of its hands. She pointed. "The right hand's been severed. I don't see any other injuries that might indicate the cause of death. Let's get an ID"
She pulled out a DNA profiler and leaned into the dumpster. She reached down into its depths to get the sample, holding her breath against the overpowering odor. One of her hands was holding the lip of the dumpster to keep her steady, and as she leaned further in, the hand slipped on the greasy surface. She would have toppled face-first into the corpse, but Dredd caught her belt and pulled her back out.
Her feet hit the pavement, and she staggered back from the dumpster. "Thanks," she said, a bit out of breath.
"I'll get a sample," Dredd offered, holding his hand out for the DNA profiler.
"No need. I got it," she waved the profiler in the air.
"Is it Harrington?" Dredd asked. The profiler dinged in her hand, and the display read 'No Matching Profile'.
"No, it's not him," she answered. "Or anyone else in the system."
"Let's pull him out."
"Yay."
Working together, they pulled the fetid corpse from its resting place. It hit the ground with a wet, squishy thump.
"Ugh. Thanks for requesting me on this one, Dredd," Anderson quipped.
"What makes you think I requested you?" Dredd challenged, as he leaned down to check the body. He searched its pockets, coming up empty. "No ID on the body. Call for a meat wagon, and let's keep searching."
Anderson nodded, and activated her comm. "Control…"
A faint noise at the back of the alley alerted Dredd. A metallic clicking, followed by a whirring sound. Reacting on instinct, he shoved Anderson as hard as he could into the recessed doorway across the alley. A bullet whizzed by where she had been standing as she sailed across the alley and slammed against the steel door. Dredd dove behind the dumpster as several more shots fired.
The two of them crouched behind their cover, whipping out their pistols.
"Did you see how many there are," Anderson called out.
"It's an automated gun at the end of the alley. It activated when you called control." Dredd answered. He saw her cradling her abdomen. "You're hit?" he asked, the distress not quite hidden in his voice.
"No. I just got the wind knocked out of me." Her ribs ached from her impact with the door. "Better than a bullet I suppose," she conceded.
"Stay put." Dredd instructed. "I'm going to try to get closer." The dumpster sat on four rickety wheels. He pushed tentatively against it and it rolled forward with a squeak. He only got a few feet before a shot rang out, punching a hole clean through the dumpster. Dredd stopped pushing. He was staring at the smoking hole just a foot away when another shot fired, and another hole appeared even closer.
Thinking quickly, Anderson hurriedly stripped her jacket off and waved it out into the alley like a matador. The autogun switched targets, and in the time it took for the jacket to swing out and back three shots fired.
Anderson held up her jacket for Dredd to see. Three holes, right through the center.
"Time for some air support." She determined. She activated her comm. "Anderson to Control…" She waited for the familiar response, but her comm. only spat out static. "Do you read me control?" Again, static.
"The autogun is dampening the signal," Dredd said.
Anderson clicked off her comm. She stared mournfully at her ruined jacket. She'd had it since graduating from the academy. "I'm really not liking this machine," she declared. She could envision the autogun at the far end of the alley, buried in the pile of garbage, waiting for any movement, its reaction mechanism far faster than human reflexes. She settled into a more comfortable position, giving herself time to think. Across the alley Dredd was doing the same. She pulled out a canteen of water and took a satisfied swig.
"Hey Dredd," she called out. "Why did you request me on this case?"
Dredd ignored her question. He pulled out a grenade and prepared to toss it toward the back of the alley.
"Hold on!" Anderson exclaimed. "Let's not remind it that you're over there." She pulled out one of her own grenades. Careful to not expose herself to gunfire, she calculated the angle and tossed it toward the opposite wall, trying to bounce it to its destination. Several shots fired, striking the edge of the recess, spitting fragments of brick at her. A moment later a heavy, concussive BOOM shook the alley. Then several more shots.
"Damn. Missed it," she said, unnecessarily.
Autoguns were built tough. A grenade would have to land close to knock it out of commission, and she wasn't even sure where it was. If she could get a good look down the alley it would help. She tried to think of any reflective surface she might be able to use. Her knife had a polished sheen. Could work, she reasoned. She slid it out of its sheath, and slowly inched the blade out past the edge of the wall. She could see a blurry image of the end of the alley. She angled the knife for a better view, when suddenly, whang!, a bullet stuck it and it went flying. She gritted her teeth in frustration, and clenched her stinging fingers.
"I'm going to pound this thing flat with a sledgehammer," she vowed. She readied her second grenade and tossed it. Again, the return fire after the boom proved that she'd missed it. She was down to her final grenade.
"Hey Dredd," she called to him. "How about before I toss this one you admit that you requested me."
She thought that he was going to refuse, but after a few moments he spoke.
"I requested you," he stated flatly.
"Why?"
"To see if it was true?"
"If what was true?" she asked.
"That you'd washed out," he replied.
His words took her completely by surprise, hitting her like a hard slap. It was a physical shock to hear it from him. She realized that he was watching her carefully, so she steeled herself, trying to hide the pain his words had caused. She ripped the last grenade from her belt and hurled it. BOOM. Again the alley was rattled by the blast, but this time there was no return fire from the autogun. Anderson gripped her jacked and waved it out in the open. No shots.
"It could be a ruse," Dredd cautioned.
She scowled at him, still burning from his earlier comments.
"I think I got it," she snapped, and stepped out of cover.
She couldn't stop herself from flinching, and Dredd popped up, pistol ready. Nothing happened.
As they made their way to the end of the alley, Anderson finally spotted the autogun. It was about ten feet up the mound of garbage, and only the barrel was visible. She saw with alarm that it was moving, tracking them. A high-pitched grinding noise came from behind the barrel. They quickly closed the distance and scrambled up the sodden mound, and were finally able to breathe easy when they were beyond the aim of the barrel.
They cleared the refuse from around the autogun, and saw that the grenade hadn't done much damage. Only a slight bend in the frame was preventing it from feeding bullets into the chamber. Dredd reached inside the frame and switched the gun off. He checked his wrist comm. "Comm's are working again," he observed. Anderson leaned down to examining the innards of the autogun, and acknowledged with a terse nod. Dredd activated his comm. "Dredd to Case Tech."
Perry's nonchalant voice crackled over the speaker. "Yeah, what's up?"
Dredd rankled a bit at his lack of formality. "Where are you on tracking down the symbol?" he asked, as evenly as he could manage.
"I'm going to need more time. If its gang related it's from a group we've never seen before."
"Well we've got something else. It looks like Harrington was killed by an autogun programmed to fire on judges."
"A programmed autogun? Was it still operational when you ran across it?"
"Yes." Dredd replied.
Perry gave a low whistle. "That's a nasty piece of hardware. Congratulations on being alive." His voice carried genuine respect. He continued, "It's not the kind of weapon you can pick up at the local pawn shop. Can you read the serial number?"
Anderson spotted it. "It's right here." She read off a series of numbers and letters in Dredd's comm.
"Who is that?" Perry asked.
"Judge Anderson. Just assigned to the case," Anderson responded.
In his lab, Perry pulled up Anderson's personnel file, and checked out her academy photo. Now that's more like it, he observed.
"Well, hello there," Perry greeted, and even through the comm. his salacious tone carried through.
Dredd responded even gruffer than usual. "You've got the symbol, and now a serial number. Find us a lead."
"I'm on it, okay," Perry promised. "I'll call you as soon as I have any—." Dredd cut the transmission.
They searched the alley for additional clues, but came up empty. They returned to the car, with Dredd lugging the powered down autogun. He dumped it into the trunk, and then got into the driver seat. Anderson didn't look up from the case files she was studying.
"You hungry?" Dredd asked.
"No," she stated, her eyes not leaving the monitor.
Dredd hesistated, wanting to say something, but he thought better of it and pulled out into the street. "I know a place nearby we can stop for a bite."
"I said I'm not hungry," she snapped. He wisely didn't respond. He could feel the anger and resentment simmering next to him.
After a few minutes Anderson closed the case file. She was roiling inside, and couldn't concentrate. She turned to Dredd, eyes blazing.
"Washed out?" she spat. "You think I washed out."
"It's what they are saying," Dredd said.
"I don't care what they are saying. They weren't my partner for over a year. You know that I was put on medical suspension."
"You could have fought it," Dredd countered. She barked a dark, ugly laugh.
"Fought it!" All the misery, loss, and indignity of the last six months surged forward, threatening to explode out of her. She forced herself to breathe, to calm down. At last she was able to speak. "You don't know what you're talking about, Dredd. How about you keep your opinions to yourself."
"You asked me why I requested you." Dredd replied after a moment.
"Fine. I did ask. I just wanted to know…what your expectations were." He looked to her, puzzled, and she suddenly felt drained. "I'm not the same partner you had," she mumbled, and turned away, looking out the window.
"What does that mean?"
She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just a little rusty." She desperately needed to not be talking about this any longer. "Where is that food place you mentioned? I'm starving."
The Food Distribution Center was a gigantic warehouse with a row of food dispensers along the outside. A crowd of people was gathering for their morning food relief rations. They formed rows in front of each dispenser, spilling out from the sidewalk and into the street, becoming a solid mass of hungry citizens. Each dispenser had a light above it, all currently red.
At precisely 10:30 the light turned green, and the sluggish lines moved forward, one shuffle at a time. But something was wrong. The lights above the dispensers began turning back to red, with only a lucky few having gotten food. The forward movement ground to a halt.
The crowd became restless. "Come on!" "What's the holdup." Angry citizens shouted, while others murmured and wondered if they would be able to eat that day.
Anderson sat alone at the table in the cramped food shop. Dredd was at the counter, picking up an order. She was already regretting her outburst earlier. Her self-control had slipped drastically since she was a judge. It seemed so much harder to keep it together these days. She was sure that Dredd would bring it up.
He returned to the table, balancing their order in one hand. The other held a Styrofoam cup with a picture of a coffee bean. The bean had arms and legs, and a very excited expression. A word bubble read: 'The Real Thing! 100% Coffee!'
He placed the cup in front of her. "Peace offering," he proffered. She took the cup, and sipped the steaming coffee with relish.
"Thanks." she replied. He plopped their food onto the table, and they settled into silent eating. A television hung behind the counter, and they absently watched the news broadcast.
A news crew was on the scene at the Food Distribution Center. The camera panned over the angry crowd, and then returned to the reporter, who was straightening her bleach-blond hair. Anderson recognized her face, but couldn't quite remember her name. Valerie something. Valerie looked straight into the camera, and struck just the right expression between concern and outrage.
"The scene at this distribution center is one of many throughout the sector. Despite being told that there are no more rations, the crowd is refusing to disperse. A persistent rumor has been circulating that the food bank actually has a full days rations, but for whatever reason is not distributing them," She intoned, and then touched her fingertips to her earpiece as her studio anchor asked her a question about the City Council's response.
Looking around the food shop, Anderson saw most of the patrons engrossed with the coverage. A major food shortage was news to everyone. She was glad that details of the extent of the damage hadn't been leaked yet.
"We'll be lucky to make it though the week without a food riot," Dredd pronounced.
"Do you think that's what our guy wants?" Anderson asked. "To cause chaos in this sector?"
"To what end?" Dredd replied, and Anderson shrugged.
At the Food Distribution Center, the reporter Valerie made her way through the crowd, film crew in tow, occasionally singling out the more agitated citizens to interview. She stretched her microphone out toward a sullen looking man, and was about to ask him a question when she heard a commotion behind her. Three judges were arriving on their lawmasters. Valerie made a bee-line toward them, glancing back at the camera as she pushed through the crowd.
"Three street judges have just arrived on the scene. I'm heading over now to see if we can get some answers."
The judges dismounted and surveyed the crowd dispassionately. A citizen called out, "Hey judge, help us out. They're holding back food rations in there!" "Yeah judge, help us all out," another hollered. The crowed pleaded for the judges' intervention. Valerie and her camera crew were closing in. Get their shields, she commanded her cameraman, and the camera zoomed in onto their names: Graham, Carr, and Riley. "Judge's," she called out over the din of the crowd, "can you give us any idea what the probl—." She didn't have a chance to finish.
Without saying a word, judge Riley pulled out a pistol and shot the nearest civilian in the head. Pieces of skull and brain matter splashed across the citizens nearby. Valerie screamed, and threw herself to the ground. The crowd erupted in panic like a stampeding herd, as all three judges began shooting into the packed mass.
At the food shop, all the customers watched in horror as the carnage played out on live TV. "What the hell?" the shop owner gaped at the screen. He turned toward Dredd and Anderson's table, but they were already rushing out the door.
A/n: If you've read other Dredd fanfic you may recognize the reporter in this chapter. Valerie, the reporter, was based off of a character from the story Bee-Movie, by ThePsiFiles. It is an excellent fanfic which I would encourage any reader to check out. Thanks for reading :) , and like everyone else I do enjoy feedback.