Chapter 4:
It was midnight, and the family had only just walked into Silvia's house and sat down, when the knocking came at the door. "Who could it be now," muttered Silvia? Heading back to the door, she found her ex-husband on the doorstep alongside her eldest son. "Silvia," rumbled Bill Sr. "Mikey here?" Turning to her son, Silvia announced, "it's y'er father." Mike got up and went outside to where his father and brother stood.
"Judging by the fact you're in uniform, you didn't come t'say hello," said Mike. His father wore a hang-dog expression. "I'm supposed t'pick your brain, Mikey," sighed Bill Sr. "My boss wants t'know about these Plumber people, and he wants to know as much as you can tell us about these aliens." "He coulda' tried askin' the Plumber they had in lockup for six hours," grumbled Mike. "Yeah," sighed his father. "Nobody was really happy about that, Mikey." Both men were keenly embarrassed to have another cop get the shit beaten out of her on a street just north of downtown–by their own brothers no less–for the crime of helping out one of their patrolmen.
"If you want my help, no more lies," announced Lucy. The two Bills turned to face the alien woman standing at the top of the stairs. Mike gave his father and brother an ironic look. Walking down the stairs, Lucy said, "those three frogs were there to meet somebody. Who was it?" Bill Sr. glanced away. Lucy coldly told him, "then they'll continue to do whatever they're doing. They'll kill your officers when they get in the way. They'll turn your underworld upside down, and it'll all eventually spill out into the streets–and the lives of normal people." Just like in Bellwood. The two NYPD cops found themselves having a bit of a staring contest with the alien woman.
Bill Sr. blinked first. Softly, he said, "it was a sting operation... We... There's been this high-quality super-smack on the streets the last six months. We've had an epidemic of junkies dieing over it. The narcotics unit was trying to track the stuff to the source. We figured it was some outfit out of the far east. We couldn't get anybody to tell us about the connect, though, and we couldn't figure out where the money was going. They were buying platinum and some crazy metal called Neodymium..." Mike frowned. That wasn't something the Mexican cartels cared about. They wanted US dollars.
"That's the other thing," rumbled Jr. "Somebody's been whacking a lot of the usual dope-boys. They're... They're just disappearing. Latin Kings. Bloods. MS13. They're getting decimated." They'd seen twenty bodies turn up in the last week. All of them had holes through the center of their foreheads or holes through the middle of their chest–straight through. Said holes were burnt black. "Plasma guns," muttered Lucy. "That's when we guessed aliens," muttered Bill Sr.
"The brass wanted to see if our hunch was right," said the Captain. "We had the go-between under surveillance. He was just a small-time hood six months ago. We were tryin' to follow him up the chain to the supplier. Figured he was meeting the supplier's flunky in the park. We'd pick up the flunky and follow him home. We weren't planning on arresting him..." "But the patrolmen assigned to the park blundered into the operation," rumbled Mike. "Fuck!" They'd had three uninvolved cops walk into the scene, which pretty much blew the plan out of the water. Now Lucy knew where all the other cops came from. They were part of the planned surveillance.
"For the record," announced Lucy. "I would have kept my face out of things until the shooting started." She had no reason or need to involve herself, especially with a civilian in tow. The last thing she wanted was for her sister-in-law to get hurt in a shootout. Nor did she particularly want to be the only person at said shootout with no gun. It was the risk when you did surveillance on the street like that. That was why the bad guys picked the park in the first place–it raised the cops' risk and reduced theirs.
Silence took hold again. Neither side really had a whole lot more to say. Emotions were very raw, and there were prying ears nearby. Seeing Lucy wobbling there–and knowing she hadn't slept much the previous night–Mike decided to cut the conversation short. Turning to his girl, he said, "c'mon, babe. Inside... Time t'go to bed." She was jet-lagged out of her mind, and it now looked like she'd finally be able to sleep. "See you in the morning, pop," said Mike, as he scooped his girl up and carried her up the steps.
Just as the two doctors predicted, Lucy was a mass of aches and pains when she got up the next morning. She had aches in places that she hadn't even realized were injured. Worse, she was covered in ugly purple splotches, including a particularly ugly one under her right arm. She was a mess, and Mike was angry all over again.
A trip to the shower helped a lot. At least she was moving when she left the bathroom, but her side was even worse. She couldn't raise her arm level with her shoulder at all, which made getting dressed a chore. "Guess it wasn't a good idea to just bring pull-overs," muttered Lucy. Silvia came in with the blouse she'd been wearing yesterday. "I washed this," she said. Shooing Mike out, the older woman helped her soon-to-be daughter-in-law get dressed. It took a bit.
No sooner had Lucy emerged from Mike's old bedroom, than knocking at the door announced trouble. Val went to the door and opened it to find a cop there. "Is a Ms. Lucy Mann here," he asked? "Yeah," growled Val. "Whaddya' need?" "The Commissioner wants to speak with her," replied the cop. Val turned to find Mike standing at her right shoulder, glaring at the patrolman. "Commissioner said to bring you too, sir," said the cop. Inside, Lucy went and got her coat, while Silvia howled complaints. "They haven't had breakfast yet," growled the older woman! "It won't wait," said the cop.
Lucy emerged from the bedroom with her coat and Mike's. Mike slipped his on with ease, but he had to help Lucy into hers. Walking down the stairs, Mike quizzed their driver about the reason for the sudden summons. "They didn't tell me, sir," replied the younger man. It said something about the urgency of the summons that the young patrolman went lights-and-siren all the way to police headquarters. It was the craziest limo-ride Mike had ever seen, and he still wasn't sure they wouldn't be facing cuffs and harrassment when they arrived.
The patrolman pulled into an underground loading dock, where a couple of Inspectors were waiting. Helping his lady out of the car, Mike asked the question again, "what's this about?" "Upstairs," muttered the older of the pair. Minutes later, the couple followed the two Inspectors out of an elevator on the top floor. Just steps away they found themselves walking into a conference room to find Helen Wheels standing there. Her comlink was on the table and Magister Tennyson's face was floating above it.
Helen immediately went to hug Lucy. Lucy bit her lip against the pain as her friend touched one of her bruises. Max Tennyson cleared his throat, interrupting the little reunion. "Sir," Lucy greeted the Magister. Mike helped her into a chair while the Commissioner and Chief looked on in embarrassment. "Now that we're all here," said Max Tennyson.
Helen started things off, announcing, "we believe a cell of Incursean sleeper agents is present in New York City. They're loyal to Vanos Myrdral, and they appear to have landed last year at the tail end of the usurper's attempt on his niece's life." That explained a lot. "What're they after," asked Mike? "Do we know?" "Not a clue," replied Helen. "We don't have numbers. We don't have names. All we really have is evidence provided by Commissioner Williams..."
Mike glanced to the Commissioner. Blowing out a breath, Bruce Williams announced, "when the junkies started dieing, we got concerned. When the numbers started rising, we thought we had another Frank Lucas on our hands. Well, the number of dead junkies is so high, the morgue can't keep up, but the number of addicts is going higher than before..." Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Mike said, "that's not possible." "That's we thought," retorted Inspector Graves.
Helen reported, "I ran a sample of the drug through analysis. It's been altered chemically to tailor it to human brain chemistry. It's instantly addictive. The addiction's so powerful that the user would need advanced medicine to break free." "Alien science," muttered Mike. "Ok, so now he's got an army of junkies hooked on poison. What does that buy him?" Lucy rumbled, "local currency." The NYPD cops all turned to look at her. She'd kept her silence, as if reminding them of the way she'd been treated the day before.
In a clear voice, Lucy announced, "he tried to do his last deal by barter. He tried to acquire a sustainable slave population that he could sell on in exchange for weapons. That doesn't work well. Slaves are a hard product to sell, and he has to maintain them until he can dump them, which eats into profit..." All the humans except Max grimaced. Lucy said, "he'll earn local currency that can be traded for something he can use. That will get shipped off Earth to support his war-effort."
That was starting to make sense, but Inspector Graves couldn't understand the part heroin played. "Why not cosmetics or food or machines," asked the Inspector? Mike fielded that one, "Prime Directive, Inspector. It's illegal for aliens to come here and just start hawking their wares. The Magister would have shut him down. Besides which, he's a wanted man on the run from his own people. It would have been a little tough for his guys to just swing by and hang out while securing FDA approval. Not to mention, he needs money now." Heroin was a ready-made product that he could sell for big money, and he didn't need government approval to sell it.
"Shit," groaned the Commissioner. This was just getting worse. "I have an alien warlord hustling dope on my streets, whacking my criminals by the basketful, and building supplies for a war," he griped! With a smile, Mike said, "you also got some of the best cops in the galaxy here to help." Inspector Graves asked, "you say he's buying something. What?" Lucy shrugged, "no clue. Without knowing what material he lacks, it's hard to say. We'll know it when we see it." "Fine, fine," growled the Commissioner. "You now have official permission to find these guys and stop the madness. Any resources you need. Whatever it takes. Get a list to Inspector Graves." Mike blinked in surprise, but Max Tennyson announced, "Mike? I spoke to Chief Carson last night. You're officially on loan to the NYPD." "Yes, sir," replied Mike. It was time to get busy.