Taking the Highway (22 page)

Andre cut it off. He sent another blip. [
THEY ARE NOT ARRESTING REEM.
]

[
ORDERS SAY THEY ARE.
] Quigg answered.

[
PRETENSE FOR AN EXECUTION.
]

A longer pause. Stillness across the street, silence above his head. The hot, airless attic felt like a tomb. He figured Quigg was considering his words, forming a response. Six months ago, he’d probably say that Andre was off his rocker and call him in for a disciplinary hearing. But that was before drug kingpin Amos Farrad had died in a stand-off with police, before the incident just two months ago, when another dealer had killed himself while in custody.

Both incidents were easy to explain, both came complete with witnesses and ballistics tests and probable cause and other things DAs liked. Would anyone really miss a piece-of-shit dealer from the oh-zone? But from where Andre stood, it looked like the Vice squad had made the easiest of all possible leaps—from wanting glaze dealers off the streets to wanting them dead.

Vice had made Sufek Reem a priority because his influence was leaking out of the zone and into the suburbs, even the city. What happened in the zone stayed in the zone—
or else
. Andre wondered which was the worst of Reem’s crimes, dealing drugs, or not knowing his place?

A new blip from Quigg. [
WHY DIDN’T YOU REPORT THIS?
]

Andre ran his hand down the side of the datapad, leaving a shiny streak of sweat. He wanted to talk to Quigg, see his face, hear the tone of his voice. If he knew exactly how pissed his boss was, he’d know exactly how much to grovel, exactly what to say to get Quigg on his side. He’d never broken the chain of command before. He hoped it was worth it.

Worth it or not, he had to do it. Someone on Vice had been desperate enough to come to Internal Affairs, to rat out fellow officers, to do the right thing. Someone so scared that he stayed anonymous. Andre couldn’t let that person down. His informant knew Andre was here, knew he was recording. He wouldn’t let them kill Sufek Reem. Not today.

A soft step above his head, and the sliding noise of something being dragged. No movement across the street. Maybe they were they still setting up. He looked down at his pad and blipped Quigg. [
I HAVE AN INFORMANT.
]

[
WHO?
]

[
CAN’T SAY.
]

[
DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO IT IS?
]

Andre reached for his implant, then dropped his hand. Quigg was too far away to help him. If he spoke, he’d be revealing his position for nothing. Maybe it was all for nothing anyway. The word of one Internal Affairs cop against an entire Vice Squad, all on the back of a nameless informant. But above his head, in the yard, they were gearing up for something big. He had to stop them. [
MY GUT SAYS THIS INFO IS GOOD.
]

An even longer pause from Quigg. [
DO YOU TRUST YOUR GUT?
]

[
YES.
]

[
GO.
]

Andre exhaled a noisy breath and then jerked his head upward, listening. Silence. They hadn’t heard him. He shoved the datapad in his pocket and looked through the camera.

Across the yard, under the archway that framed the wide porch, the mansion’s front door stood open. Two black-clad officers disappeared inside, while two more took up positions on either corner of the house.

One person turned and looked across the street, his face glowing in a corner spotlight. Talic. He had two first names, neither of which Andre could recall. Talic circled his arm above his head and tapped fingertips to the top of it in the long-range signal for “I’m okay.” If asked, he could say he was alerting the snipers on the roof, although he had no reason to wave. They could see him just fine.

It wasn’t the snipers he was signaling.

So, Talic was the informant. Interesting, since Talic himself was under investigation for the Farrad murder. Andre would think about that later. Right now, he needed to be sure that Sufek Reem got out of his house alive. Talic’s anonymous blips had promised that they’d arrest Reem in his front yard, in full view of the camera. That was the deal—everything witnessed, everything recorded.

The officers returned, shuffling out the door as they maneuvered their captive through it. Reem’s graying dreadlocks fell across his face as he shuffled along, head down, back bowed. Andre felt his cheeks lift as a grin spread across his face. Somehow, they’d gotten past the bodyguards, past the alarms, and had convinced Reem to surrender peacefully.

The party reached the edge of the porch, and Talic joined them. Reem was still cooperating, still allowing them to steer him along. The DA would be thrilled—she’d been itching to work her way up the glaze-dealer food chain, and Reem was as good a start as any, better than most.

Andre turned away from the camera and bent forward, resting his hands on his knees. Finally, he’d get out of this crypt and stand upright on the ground. He hesitated, then rushed back to the camera.

What had he just seen? By now, the arresting officers had reached the middle of the lawn, shadows surrounded by shadows. He scanned the yard, the fence, the house. There—coming out the front door. Two young men, t-shirts straining across their muscled chests, weapons at the ready. Andre almost shouted, warning the snipers on the roof. Before he could, Talic’s team had surrounded the bodyguards, disarmed them, and were hustling them away.

The officers moved everyone to the side of the house. Odd, since they hadn’t cuffed anyone yet. Odder still since he was sure their vehicles were parked in the opposite direction. Did they really trust their captives not to bolt? Could the snipers even see from that angle? He moved closer to the camera and tried to adjust the focus, straining to see around the corner.

He heard it all at once, in stereo, from above and below. Movement on the roof, shouts from Reem’s yard, shots and footsteps and screams of pain. He couldn’t see any of it.

He scrambled to the trapdoor and flung it open. He slid down the ladder and fell hard on his backside. His numb legs wouldn’t hold him. He beat his fists on his thighs, trying to get feeling back into them. Sharp pins pricked his skin as his legs woke up.

He tried to stand. Failed. He crawled through the second floor hall and scooted down the stairs to the first floor on his ass. His legs were still rubber, but by the time he reached the door, he could at least remain upright. He opened the front door a crack and slithered through it.

Across the street, they’d shot out half the spotlights, and the yard was ribboned in shadows. Andre pulled his Guardian from the holster and eased himself onto Reem’s property in a patch of darkness. He circled to the side yard, crouched behind the waist-high wall and peered over the top.

It was over. He was too late. Reem lay on the ground, bleeding, not moving, probably dead. Two more bodies slumped in the grass. The bodyguards seemed even younger up close. Were they Reem’s sons? His nephews? The three Vice cops plus the two snipers all stood in a loose semi-circle, weapons at their sides, breathing heavily, looking out into the street. Waiting.

Reem twitched and moaned. Nobody moved to help him.

Andre vaulted the wall and rushed forward, only to be tackled from behind. He went to his knees, sprawling forward and sliding across the grass. The Guardian flew from his hand. He found himself face down on the ground, chewing dirt, an armored body on top of him.

Talic’s voice was a harsh whisper in his ear. “You don’t think I have friends in tech? They told me what you wanted. They told me they wouldn’t do it. You don’t put cameras on cops.”

Andre spat out dirt and caught his breath. He hunched his shoulders, trying to twist out from under Talic. “Get the fuck off me!”

He could hear murmurs and footsteps as the other armed officers gathered around them. Andre pressed his face into the cool grass. His resolve bled out and disappeared.

Talic must have felt him relax because he moved off and stood. “Sorry about that, man,” Talic said, loud enough for his fellow officers to hear. “I thought you were a local.” He held out his hand to help Andre up.

Andre rolled to his back and got to his feet, ignoring Talic’s outstretched hand. He took two unsteady steps and retrieved his Guardian from the lawn. He glared at Talic while jamming it back into its holster.

He twisted his head to look at Sufek Reem, who had long since fallen silent. No movement, no breath. His eyes were open and glassy, staring at nothing.

Talic lifted his rifle and secured the strap across his shoulder. “You want some advice?”

“From you? No.”

“I wouldn’t be asking tech for favors anytime soon.”

Andre shook his head. Like anyone in IA could ask for favors. Most of the guys he’d graduated from the academy with had stopped talking to him.

The cops still stood in a circle, two of them with their weapons trained on Reem and his bodyguards, as if they would suddenly stand up and start fighting. Andre traced the length of Reem’s body with his eyes, taking in his sandals, his diamond ring, his bloated face. He hoped for some pity, something to mix into the anger he felt at Talic, at the Vice squad, at himself. But it felt hollow.
One less glaze dealer. One less zoner.
He wondered if he’d feel differently if Reem were a citizen. That thought bothered him more than Reem’s death. Being a cop was hard enough. He didn’t want to live in a world where he was judge and jury too.

He spat out another mouthful of grit. “You could have arrested him, made him give up his suppliers. Your case was tight. He’d never walk.”

Talic shrugged. “He resisted.” Amused agreement rippled through the rest of the Vice squad. Andre looked from one to the other, forcing them to meet his eyes. All these men and women in kevlar and kincloth, carrying assault weapons, not one of them with a single scratch. He turned and looked at Reem on the ground in shorts and a t-shirt, his unprepared bodyguards at his side, one of them barefoot. How much could they have resisted?

“He shot first,” one of the younger officers insisted.

“Really.”

Talic walked away, motioning Andre to follow. He turned the corner into Reem’s front yard. “I can prove it. He pointed across the street to the attic where Andre had been hiding. “Actually,
you
can prove it. Thanks.”

Andre stared at the missing chunk of siding where he’d set up his camera. Talic had screwed him to the wall, making sure he was present at Reem’s execution so that Quigg wouldn’t be. Andre’s sting had gotten him less than nothing—he was now Talic’s witness, his recording with its inconclusive perspective the only record. He’d only cemented Talic’s position.

Talic waved at the camera, again touching fingertips to head in the okay sign.

Andre clawed at his holster, whipping out the Guardian.

Talic ducked away, arms up. “Whoa, whoa.”

Andre ignored him, took his stance, and fired. It was far for a short-range weapon, clear across the street and three stories high, but he hit his target on the first shot, leaving a very neat hole where his camera used to be.

Talic stood upright as Andre holstered the Guardian. He closed his mouth, pursed his lips, and shrugged again. “Makes no difference. If the biggest glaze dealer in Detroit wants to suicide-by-cop, I’m not going to stop him. One way or another, he needed to be taken out.”

“And you’re the hero who did it.”

“Somebody is.”

Andre nodded. “Which makes me the asshole for insisting you do it legally.”

“Here’s some more advice,” Talic crossed his arms over his chest. “If I have to choose between hero and asshole, hero wins every time.”

T
he morning after his
interrupted tryst with Sofia, Andre wove his way through the technical department’s maze of cubicles. He kicked aside a fast-food wrapper that a careless tech had left, wrinkling his nose as a sour whiff hit him. It smelled like the twisting streets of the zone. He concentrated on finding his way to Jordan Elway’s office.

They called it The Labyrinth. He walked the maze of sound-absorbing poly-board walls, glowing screens, and tech experts lost in the world of the unreal, consulting his pad and counting lefts and rights, ignoring expressions that changed instantly from recognition to hostility. He hoped his geek shield would hold long enough for him to find Elway.

Jordan Elway rated a tiny cubicle near the center of the labyrinth. It was basically all holostage, leaving room for a float chair and a single flatscreen. The flatscreen was running three programs, all of them so cryptic and bizarre that Elway had no need for a privacy shield, since nobody would understand what he was doing anyway. The tech reclined in the chair, like an astronaut or an embryo, headphones over his ears, datashades over his eyes, leaving his body vulnerable while his mind disappeared into the electronic universe.

Andre had the urge to kick the younger man, or soak his pants with coffee, or shave half his head—anything to show Elway that he couldn’t just check out like that. Instead he tapped Elway’s outstretched foot until Elway found his way back to the tangible. He sat up in his chair and offered a hand which Andre shook. “Thanks for coming on a Sunday, Sergeant.”