“Okay, but I don’t get what PFL has to do with anything.”
“There have always been suspicions that French fudged the vote. Let’s say French needs an opening in his first race and so he gets close to a man with high-level connections through the unions and Hessian Engineering. French now has friends at the PFL’s political arm and he has access to the financial and political resources of Colin Hess, all through this Elijah Perry.”
“That’s a lot of conjecture.”
“I know, but it’s a start. See if you can find anything more on this guy, I’m looking into Jurkken.”
“John, you’re not going to the Zone, are you…?”
“Hell no! I’m going to see my friend Fust.”
Gresham ended the call and watched the monoliths of downtown Los Angeles zip by in the distance as his HUVR hurtled south. He finally arrived in the Inglewood neighborhood, reassuming manual control of his vehicle and steering through the winding streets between the centuries-old buildings until he found his destination.
Gresham parked his HUVR outside of a large yard that was filled with broken HUVRs and peered through the electrified chain-link fence. He caught the attention of a dirt-covered yuun, who hurried over to see what was going on.
“Can I help you?”
“John Gresham here to see Mr. Fust. He’ll know who I am.”
The yuun nodded and jogged back towards one of the low buildings along the edges of the yard. He finally returned with Fust, grinning as always, in tow.
“Johnnie! Long time no see!”
“I know, Fust, I’m sorry. That information you got for me at the Dragonfly helped out a lot though.”
“Did it? I heard someone went after Lugrash, never coulda dreamed it was you.” Fust opened the gate and motioned for Gresham to enter his yard. “You haven’t been by the office lately, have you?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve been real busy.”
Fust nodded knowingly. “I got a new shop put up on the yard, so I have capacity to fix twenty HUVRs simultaneously now. I’ve got three new robots too. Business is looking up here, Johnnie.”
“That’s good.”
Fust navigated around a HUVR having its fusion-core engine being torn out by a pair of atvals and showed Gresham to his tiny, cramped little office. On one wall was a map of Terra above a map of his ancestral homeworld of Mingiclor, and on the other wall was a gigantic nude pinup poster of a popular actress whom Gresham could place but not name.
“Classy office,” Gresham commented as he squeezed into a tiny chair across from Fust.
“Thanks,” the Mingiclorian replied. “So what can I do you for?”
“Well, last time I came to you for help, I struck gold. Lugrash was in deeper shit than we thought. He was running guns stolen from the Marine depository and it turns out his operations were more complicated than we imagined. It might go all the way through Zone Bank to Pacific Capital, maybe even Hessian Engineering.”
“Damn, Johnnie, you gotta be careful who you mention this to,” Fust observed and pulled a short, poorly-rolled cigar out of his desk. “Want one?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Fust lit his cigar and puffed on it. It smelled awful. “So you have proof that Lugrash and Hessian were in league?”
“Well, no, not directly.”
“So what’s this suspicion based on?”
“Lugrash had connections with krokator gangsters in the Zone. I’ve come across an operative of the krokator military, though he might be sukuda, and he believes that Hessian is helping fund a heretic faction within the Empire.”
“Hudda Kugrall?”
“You know the name?”
Fust nodded. “Yeah, see, it’s not easy hiding your loyalties from me. People come by my shop here and they talk. I hear everything.”
“It’s what makes you the best.”
“Who are you looking for?”
“A Zone gangster named Kalenn Jurkken at the moment, but my contact’s real target is another krokator, Kamaan Dakkal.”
“See, right there you’ve got a real problem. Jurkken’s part of the ‘not-fucking-around’ crew. He’ll rip your eyeballs out if you look at him the wrong way.”
“That bad?”
“Well, he’s not an aggressor. That’s why he’s not as dangerous as some of the other scumbags in the Zone. Jurkken won’t go looking for fights, but if you threaten him… well, you can figure out how that story ends, I’m sure.”
“SIS apparently set him up as an informer years ago.”
“That’s right, they gave him asylum. But Jurkken also doesn’t act like a criminal. Selling gukka is totally legal on Terra and he has a license – at least he did last I heard – for all three of his bars. Besides, nobody has proof that his side businesses actually exist.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it that he’s been peddling highly-illegal ET weapons lately. And not illegal as in unlicensed guns or stolen military shit, I mean really dangerous stuff. Okka needles, organic bombs, weaponized hepatitis…”
“Christ,” Gresham said and rubbed his eyes. “That explains where the needles came from. How do I find him?”
“He’s got a few different gukka bars in the Zone, but I haven’t been to that part of the ETZ in years. It’s a krokator neighborhood near the heart of the place called Crocktown, and nobody in their right of mind goes that deep into the shit. Place is a refugee gangland.”
“Crocktown. Sounds lovely.”
“To get to Jurkken’s place, you first need to go through turf run by Orracowans. You ever seen them?”
“Yeah… nine feet tall, eight eyes, two mouths, built like oxen, right?”
“You don’t fuck with Orracowans. They’ll tear you to pieces. Literally, they’ll rip your flesh off and eat your guts while you’re still alive.” The Mingiclorian watched a smoke ring waft towards the ceiling. “Haven’t heard that other name, though. But if he’s a Crock criminal and he’s in LA, he probably knows Jurkken.”
“Who, as you’ve pointed out, lives in the middle of a practical warzone surrounded by Orracowan cannibals.”
Fust grinned and flicked ash from his cigar. “You ask, I answer. Look on the bright side, at least you won’t go running in there now without armored cavalry.”
“That doesn’t help with my investigation.”
“Guess not.” Fust checked his watch and grimaced. “I gotta get back to work, these retards I’ve got working for me start playing with their balls if I don’t yell at them every five minutes. You find me one ET who gets off his ass long enough to do his fucking job and I’ll show you that beachfront property in Barstow I’ve been trying to sell.”
Gresham got up, shaking Fust’s hand. “Thanks for the advice, I appreciate your help. I’ll see if SIS or the police can get a lead on Jurkken’s whereabouts so we can go in protected.”
Fust escorted Gresham to the gate and shook his head in disdain upon seeing the HUVR parked outside. “That’s what you’re still driving? Let me get you a new, nice F5 series, true luxury, a third of the market price. Least I can do for a friend.”
Gresham had no illusions about where Fust would acquire a HUVR of that quality and price. “I’ll think about. I’ll see you around, Fust.”
“Later, Johnnie.”
#
Perry leaned back in his chair and stared out over the street beyond the hotel’s lobby windows. He returned his attention to the clerk after she returned from an employee office in the back.
“Here’s the package you requested, Mr. Perry.”
“Thank you.”
He headed to the restaurant, was shown a table in the back corner and brought a menu shortly thereafter.
“I’d like your house special beer, please,” he said and reviewed his dining options. The hotel had a surprisingly exotic offering. Perry set the menu aside when he spotted a balding, thin-faced man approaching him from across the restaurant out of his peripheral vision.
“Mr. Barkley,” Perry said when the man reached his table. “I’m glad you could join me.”
The man identified as Barkley nodded and sat down wordlessly.
“Find the hotel alright?”
“Yes, Mr. Perry.”
“Good,” Perry said and thanked the waiter who arrived with his beer, handing him the menu and asking for the chef’s choice. He sipped his beer, savored its darkness and set it aside, studying the craters in the foam. Finally he glanced back at Barkley. “I’d ask if you have what we discussed earlier, but only an idiot shows up to an arranged meeting without his end of the bargain.”
Barkley looked around. “No, I wouldn’t come here otherwise.”
“Good. Well, I’m a man of my word, Mr. Barkley, and my promise was that you would be paid.” Perry handed him the package he had claimed at the front desk under the table. “I haven’t counted it but it should all be there.”
Barkley nodded and handed Perry a thin beige envelope under the table in return. “Everything you needed.”
Perry slid out one of the pages inside and glanced over its contents. “How current are these?”
“A day old, but I doubt they’ll change the security arrangements unless there are some serious threats. I think the President and his people are stressed about this as it is. I’ll keep you updated on the ground once your people are in place.”
With a grimace, Perry slid the paper back into the envelope and placed the file into his briefcase. “Well, Mr. Barkley, in case I don’t see you again in person before tomorrow night, it has been a pleasure. We’ll be in touch tonight to go over the final details.”
Barkley nodded and was about to say something when Perry spotted the same SIS agent who had confronted him at the scene of Jack French’s attack the day before. His heart leaped into his throat and he acknowledged her tacitly.
“You’d best be going, Barkley. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mr. Perry.”
The female agent reached the table. “Mr. Elijah Perry, I presume?” She glanced at Barkley. “And you are?”
“Leaving,” the man replied and got up, nodding courteously. “Have a good day, Mr. Perry.”
The female agent, the one named Taylor, sat down. “So, funny running into you again, Mr. Perry.”
“The same to you, Agent Taylor.” He dabbed at his lips with a napkin and smiled politely. “I didn’t know I’d be having the honor of you joining me for lunch today. Let me get you a drink or a salad or something.”
“I’m fine, thank you though,” Lara said warily. He was clearly sizing her up, trying to interpret her facial expressions.
“I see you know how to conduct research over at SIS if you tracked me down based off of just a chance encounter.”
“Your hotel is only fifteen blocks from my office, Mr. Perry, and I actually stumbled across your name through a completely different vein of inquiry than you would expect.”
Perry smirked. “Oh? Well, then, Agent Taylor, you didn’t come all this way for nothing. I suppose you have something to talk about.”
“Your relationship with Jack French, specifically.”
“Alright, then. My relationship with Commissioner French.”
“You’re not his campaign manager or on his staff, but yet you seem to be very intimate with his political life,” Lara continued. “What’s your role?”
“I am an informal business partner of Jack’s,” Perry replied smoothly and swirled his beer in his glass. “I’ve built my career on knowing what goes on in Pioneer City back home on Mars and Jack can always use some objective, analytical advice from someone living in his constituency who knows the issues.”
“Issues like the labor deals between the Pioneer Federation of Labor and the management at Hessian Engineering.”
“You did your homework, Miss Taylor. Well, yes, my father was a senior member of PFL when I was younger and I think I broke the old man’s heart when I threw my lot in with the banking crowd. He was an old-fashioned, blue-collar type of man, went to church every Sunday and the union meeting every Monday.”
Lara riveted Perry with her gaze. “Then you wound up with Hessian and Pacific Capital.”
“I think my role at Hessian is a bit overplayed. I was there for about three months on an interim basis. Colin – well, Mr. Hess – offered me an advisory position after the resignation of his VP of Labor. I helped run things while he appointed a successor and I returned to Pacific Capital thereafter.”
“Why didn’t you lobby for a permanent position? A spot on the board at Hessian must be an eight figure job annually.”
“The timing wasn’t right, that sort of thing.”
Lara clicked her tongue. “Well, I’m not here about your business achievements, Mr. Perry, although I must say they are impressive.”
“Thank you. Why are you here, then?”
“I’m here about Jack French.”
Perry smiled confidently. “Well, Ms. Taylor, if I may call you that, I did some research of my own. I have a few friends over at SIS who told me that you are with Alien Affairs. A noble line of work, and a necessary one, but hardly one that has anything to do with internal investigations of the Commission or the financial industry… at least it wasn’t last I checked.”
“I get involved when people like French start using the Supernova database to move Alliance property into the Zone to cut a profit. Very under the radar, very well thought out way of beating the system.”
Perry’s expression said everything Lara needed to know, and his response was predictably dismissive. “I’ve heard about Supernova. It’s a real shame when those we entrust with its privileges abuse that right for financial gain.”
“I agree. Which is exactly why French will be going to jail soon.”
“And I suppose you have hard, indisputable evidence of his involvement in gun trafficking?”
“I didn’t say he was trafficking guns,” Lara said coyly. “I said he was moving Alliance property. Could be anything. Bullets, grenades, body armor.”
Perry attempted to hide his slip-up with a cough. “Well, I just assumed.”
“To answer your question, we do. French’s login information is there set in stone at the Department of Defense. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this side business of his, would you?”
“I don’t answer loaded questions like that without my lawyers present,” Perry replied, visibly angered. “I’ve already told you, my expertise is with Martian affairs. That is where my home is and that is where I conduct my business.”
“I understand that, Mr. Perry, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here in Los Angeles right now.”
“I am here on business for Pacific Capital.”
“Which you resigned from four months ago to work for the PFL’s political advocacy arm, which has donated millions of credits to Jack French’s campaign fund – a campaign fund for which you’ve served as a fundraiser in the past.”
Perry’s meal arrived. It was a lush seafood menagerie with tossed spaghetti and salad. As he dug in, he remarked, “Ms. Taylor, I sense the insinuation that I am in some way involved in the alleged criminal activities of Commissioner French. I’m not his lawyer, nor am I close enough to him to know if he is guilty. If he is, it would come as a surprise to me.”
He tried a scallop and closed his eyes, savoring the taste. “As for myself, Agent Taylor, I resent your attempts to implicate me in any of this. I’m sure you have all my financial information at SIS or Financial Oversight, everything you need to learn about my income is there for you to see. I’ll send you my statements from last year if you need.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Perry.”
He leaned forward aggressively, scowling. “Well in that case, we are done here. Unless you have a warrant to obtain information from me, you will hear from my lawyers next time I’m harassed in this fashion.”
Lara nodded respectfully. “Very well, Mr. Perry. Enjoy your lunch.”
&
nbsp; As she got up to leave, Perry raised a hand. “By the way, Miss Taylor, I studied the security tapes from Jack’s office. I’m wondering: is your friend Major Gresham aware that assaulting a sitting Commissioner is a crime?”
Lara glared at Perry, infuriated by his smug expression, before turning away and leaving the restaurant in a huff.
Perry returned his attention to his food, but not before watching her well-shaped rear the entire way out of the restaurant. It was a shame she was so fit and attractive. A true waste.
It appears I have some more loose ends to tie off, he thought and bit into a particularly succulent shrimp.
#
“I don’t think the investigation will last long,” Moss said to Gresham as they rode the lift up to Godford’s office. “There’s no security footage from inside French’s personal office to imply that you actually attacked him first. We can easily deny your involvement and run with the assassination story.”
“You don’t think that’s a little extreme?” Gresham asked. “I don’t think the krokator meant any harm. French attacked him first…”
“You burn or the Crock does. French didn’t break his own face, that’s for sure. When he remembers enough to actually testify, he’ll be saying he got attacked. There’s not a long list of suspects.”
The lift doors opened and they exited. Moss chuckled. “A shame you let the Crock get away though. Must have been one hell of a pursuit. Wish I’d been there to see you running after one of those space gorillas and jumping from rooftop to rooftop.”
“Yeah…” Gresham coughed. Moss knocked on Godford’s door and the general buzzed them in.
Godford shook both their hands and motioned for them to have a seat on an L-shaped couch that ran the entirety of one of the walls. “Glad you both could make it. We have a lot to talk about.”
They relaxed and Godford poured them both drinks. “In hindsight, I’m glad I put Gresham on this job. Look what he turned up! The biggest political scandal in a decade. A sitting member of the Commission peddling guns. The media will have a field day when we announce the charges next week.”
Gresham raised an eyebrow. “Next week?”
“That’s right,” Godford said and sat back down behind his desk. “Right now, it’s tomorrow’s security summit. We’ve got some big names coming in. You guys ever heard of Rommel? He’s one of the top iktathol generals and will likely take over their military once the Mother Harvester decides on the late supreme commander’s successor. We’ve also got a who’s who of big names from the briling, the prees, the Gardelli, the works.” He handed them both briefings and Gresham skimmed through it. “The big prize, of course, is High Prod Nikkwill.”