Chapter 22
The Raccoon City police station was a huge, cathedral-like building built in the mid 1970’s with considerable financial assistance from none other than the Umbrella Corporation. Entering through the front door to the lobby was like entering a cave, with the ceiling three stories high and large lights hanging down like glowing stalactites. An enormous marble fountain dominated the center of the spacious lobby, a woman with a water pitcher on her shoulder, pouring continually into the water at her feet. Wesker, upon first entering the building, was struck by the magnificent architecture. It was becoming something of a habit.
Brian Irons was a husky, brawny man in his early forties with shaggy brown hair and a full beard. Generously overweight but not fat, with wide shoulders and an imposing stance, Irons would have made a good linebacker. His office was on one of the upper floors of the police station, but the winding hallways and numerous rooms on the upper floors made it hard for Wesker to guess its exact position in the building. The office was surprisingly small as well; Wesker expected something much larger for the Chief of Police. The office wasn’t much larger than the bedroom at Wesker’s rented house, with dark green walls and shining mahogany furniture taking up was little room there was. Iron’s desk in particular was so wide it almost reached across the whole room, leaving only a narrow space for Irons to squeeze his bulk through to sit behind it.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Wesker?” Irons said, leaning back in his chair, his large hands folded over his impressive gut. Judging by the way his bushy eyebrows arched inward over his small, dark eyes, Wesker could tell that Irons knew exactly what he could do. The question at hand was: Was he willing to do it?
Wesker was dressed in a sharp blue suit that he was totally uncomfortable in. He still, however, wore his sunglasses. “You know who sent me?” he asked. A necessary preliminary.
Irons nodded gravely. “You work for Mr. Spencer at Umbrella.”
“This is a confidential visit, you understand.”
Irons chuckled and bared his teeth, which were stained yellow. “They’re always confidential, aren’t they? Do you think I have listening devices hidden in here?”
“No, of course not.”
“So get on with it,” Irons grunted. “What do you want?”
Wesker uncrossed and recrossed his legs, putting on the air of an experienced executive type. The kind of arrogant, skilled bureaucrat that preferred misleading, politically inoffensive half-truths to the kind of straight talk Irons clearly hoped for. Wesker had to keep the illusion of superiority or Irons would walk all over him.
He spoke as if reading off a script. “I’m sure that you know that we at Umbrella have always generously donated to Raccoon City public projects. We’ve worked very hard to develop a friendly, mutually-beneficial relationship with the city. As Chief of Police, we’d like to offer you the same courtesy that we’ve always given members of the City Council.”
“Courtesy, huh? Is that what they call it these days?” Irons said, narrowing his eyes.
“We’d like to assist you, Chief Irons.”
“I bet you would.”
Wesker casually pulled a manilla folder from the briefcase on the floor beside him. He flipped it open and pursed his lips as he scanned the information. “It’s come to our attention that you’ve lost quite a bit of money recently on some unsuccessful business ventures.” In reality, they were substantial monetary losses on sporting events.
“What business is it of yours?” Irons asked, baring his teeth again.
“We just want to help,” Wesker replied smoothly, returning the folder to the briefcase. “After all your years of selfless public service, we feel that you deserve it. A man in your position shouldn’t have to concern himself with stressful financial matters. You have the safety of the city to worry about. We thought we could help you, as a token of our gratitude.”
“Is that so?” Irons said after a few moments, staring at Wesker so hard that it looked like he was trying to kill him with his mind.
“The City Council agrees with us, and the Mayor does as well. They’ve given us permission to assist you. We see it as just another way of helping and supporting the city.”
According to their intel, Brian Irons was a clean cop. He worked the streets for a few years, worked his way up to detective, and fought his way into his current position without so much as a hint of corruption in his record. The man was practically a saint.
But he was still just a man. Divorced, badly in debt, overweight, and getting older every day. If his yearly salary wasn’t enough to cover his expenses, how could he survive on his pension? Chief of Police was the highest police rank in Raccoon City, so Irons could climb no higher. His lengthy silence was all the evidence Wesker needed to know that he had already accepted their offer, he just wasn’t willing to admit it to himself.
“We know you’re busy and overworked, and we’d like to help you out with that,” Wesker said, his voice smooth as a waxed floor. “We have a perfect candidate that we think would fit in very well here at the RCPD. Think of him as a liaison between the police department and Umbrella. He can assist you and take some of the workload off your shoulders. We can send over his paperwork today, if you like. You could have it approved by tomorrow.”
“You want to send a new cop to my department?” Irons asked, his eyes narrowing even further.
“We want to help you,” Wesker said again. “When our candidate arrives, we’re certain that you’ll see what a valuable employee he can be. Umbrella has qualified individuals with a wide range of skills. We feel he could easily be promoted to a command position within the department.”
“I can’t play favorites,” Irons said firmly. “I can’t support anyone who doesn’t deserve it. The other officers under my command won’t stand for it.”
“We understand that. I give you my promise that you won’t be disappointed. Our candidate will do his share, just like everyone else. No one will ever know that he works for Umbrella.”
Irons thought it over, studying Wesker’s face for any hint of dishonesty. There was none, since Wesker was essentially telling him the truth.
“For how long?” he asked. “How long will this candidate of yours work here?”
“As long as you need him. He may work here for years.”
“And the … financial assistance?” Irons hissed out through clenched teeth.
It hurts him to say it, Wesker thought. He’s a good cop, but he knows what this is. Wesker phrased his speech very carefully, only mentioning the money in an off-handed way, referring to it as a gift or reward, and bringing up the City Council several times to help enforce the point. Irons would have to be a complete moron not to see the signs. If there was one thing that convinced good men to become corrupt, it was reminding them that everyone else was corrupt as well.
“It would be our privilege to assist you in any way we can.”
“I guess it would be rude of me to turn down your generous offer.”
“No, not at all,” Wesker said, smiling. “It’s a gift, made in good faith. If you aren’t interested, we won’t hold it against you.”
But the City Council might. Or the Mayor. Wesker didn’t have to say it. Irons knew perfectly well that if he didn’t want Umbrella’s help, the City Council would find someone else who did.
“It’s a deal,” Irons said. Wesker half-expected him to stick out a hand and shake on it, but Irons did not move from his chair.
“Wonderful,” Wesker said, standing up. He straightened his tie and picked up the briefcase, surprised at how easily everything had fallen into place. He had almost been looking forward to a more heated negotiation.
He reached into an inner pocket and pulled out an envelope. He placed it gently onto Irons’ desk. “Thank you so much, Chief Irons. I hope this is the beginning of a long and successful relationship. Here’s a token of our appreciation.”
Iro
ns hesitated it before touching it, as if worried it was booby-trapped and would explode the moment it was opened. But he picked it up off the desk and peeled it open, using his thumb to flip through the stack of one-hundred-dollar bills inside.
“You’ll get the transfer paperwork this afternoon,” Wesker said, heading for the door. “It’s all in order. You don’t have to inspect it too carefully.”
“Yeah,” Irons said absentmindedly, counting the money. Wesker opened the door and was halfway out the door when Irons looked up and said, “Just who is this candidate of yours, anyway?”
Wesker smiled widely. “Me,” he said, and went out the door, closing it after him.
A note from the author
Resident Evil Legends
Part One: Welcome to the Umbrella Corporation
Part Two: The Arklay Outbreak
COMING SOON
Part Three: The Mansion Incident
Part Four: Calm Before the Storm
Part Five: City of the Dead
Part Six: Escape from Raccoon City
Part Seven: Aftermath
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