The guy had grown tougher than he used to be, a bona fide badass. But had he gone so bad he could’ve chopped off Froelich’s head? That shit was savage.
The timing of it was hard to contradict. Froelich must’ve died just hours after I ordered the breaking of Jimmy’s legs. Who else could it have been?
I told myself it didn’t matter. Either way, Mota had to die. The mission required it.
My face hurt. I probed my features with my fingers. They felt strange, like I was wearing a puffy mask. My side ached, like somebody had shoved a shiv between my ribs. Despite the pain, I had to smile. Good fucking fight.
The bedroom light went out. My heartbeat moved up a tick. I checked the time. I’d give it a half hour, let him get into a deep sleep first. Let him dream his last dream.
I spent the next thirty concentrating on how I was going to beat the rap. The obvious move would be to frame Wu. After that stink he raised tonight, he’d be an easy mark.
But he was one of mine. That dumb, scar-headed asshole was one of mine.
I twisted my brain, trying to figure a way. All raps were beatable. There was always a way. And I was a fucking master, a frame-job maestro. Evidence was my paint, crime scenes my canvas. The perfect scam was out there. I could find it if I just concentrated. Think, dammit. Just think…
Fuck this brainy shit. I’d kill that dickhead and take his body with me. I’d take it out to the jungle and find a nice private place to dump it. The jungle made quick work of corpses. Geckos and ’guanas. Beetles and maggots. Give it a couple days, and he’d be mulched into shit.
I poled the skiff out from the mangrove and crossed the narrow canal, pulling up to his dilapidated back porch. Broken posts sat atop bent pilings, the collapsed floor half submerged. I tied the boat to a loose beam.
I pushed my shades up onto my forehead. I needed to see. Carefully, gingerly, I stepped onto the porch. Floorboards creaked. The rooftop swayed. Shit. I froze, my heart pounding, my throat dry, my teeth clenched tight. I reached for my piece, my ears waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps, my eyes zeroed in on the bedroom window.
Nothing.
Breathing easier, I moved toward a window, not the bedroom window, but the one on the opposite side of the door. This section of the porch was underwater. I stepped slowly into the drink, taking care to keep from slipping on river muck. Cool water seeped into my shoes as I popped the screen and crawled silently through.
I was inside. A rush came over me. I was unstoppable. A fucking force.
My inner enforcer was in charge now.
I slunk down a hall, water squishing in my shoes, the bedroom door my target. I carried my piece two-handed to keep the shaking under control. Mota didn’t know what was coming. Wakey, wakey, pretty boy.
The bedroom door was open. I filled the door frame, my piece trained on the bed, bathed in the blue glow of a holo-clock. Mota’s fine features were an unearthly mix of radiant light and shadow. He snored loud, deep sawing echoing off the walls.
I looked to his right. From under the crumpled sheet, thick black locks spilled across the pillow. Mota wasn’t alone. And he wasn’t gay. She slept with her mouth wide open, a model’s face caught in an ugly pose. My piece shook in my hands. I had to fry them both. No witnesses. Whoever she was, she had to die.
I tried to level my weapon.
Tough luck, lady.
Wrong place, wrong time.
Shit fucking happens.
I was on a mission, dammit. KOP needed to be conquered. This world had to change.
I couldn’t steady my hands, my aim wobbling out of control. Sweat stung my eyes.
I had to kill them. The mission required it. I couldn’t blink. Paul and I never blinked when we took KOP so many years ago. Fucking do it.
But she was an innocent. You don’t hurt women, Juno.
Conflicting urges yanked at me like a pair of monitors tug-of-warring over a fresh kill. My knees shook, and my heart pounded explosive beats. I couldn’t make myself pull the trigger. But Mota had to die. He wouldn’t stop until he turned KOP against me.
Pull the trigger, Juno.
But my trembling finger wouldn’t move. She was innocent.
And with every second of hesitation, I felt the mission crumbling away. I wasn’t up to the job. I could see that now. I didn’t have what it took. Not anymore.
I spun away, out of the door frame, and pressed my back against the wall. My lungs heaved for air. Must’ve been holding my breath.
I moved down the hall, away from the snoring, into the living room and slumped onto the couch. This whole thing was a joke. I couldn’t take over KOP. I wasn’t even a cop. What was I thinking?
Why did I even care? This world was beyond saving. People were mostly assholes anyway. I shouldn’t even give a shit.
With total certainty, I knew the mission was dead. Dead, dead, dead.
So was Niki. My Niki.
And Paul.
I realized I was dead too. My body just didn’t know it yet.
I wanted the mad spark to come. The crazy sensation that could sweep me away from this world. I tried to summon it- come out, come out, wherever you are. It didn’t come. Even it had abandoned me.
I held up my lase-pistol and studied it in the dark. This gun was all I had left.
I brought the barrel into my mouth and sucked on the metal composite, my finger fondling the trigger.
Still, the mad spark wouldn’t come. Fickle bastard.
Do it anyway. Just fucking do it. I came here tonight to end this, and I still could. Pull the trigger.
A tear trickled down my cheek. I couldn’t breathe, not with my nose running and my mouth stuffed with metal. Just do it already. My lungs felt ready to burst. I was getting light-headed. Dizzy. Do it!
I pulled the weapon out of my mouth. Fucking coward. That was twice you couldn’t pull the trigger.
I sank deeper into the cushions and dropped my shades down over my eyes. I listened to snoring from down the hall. I didn’t know how long I sat there. One minute? Ten? An hour? I couldn’t tell. But I stayed put until long after the tears dried and my nose cleared.
I still tasted metal. I licked my shirt to scrape the taste off my tongue.
A phone rested on the coffee table. Mota’s phone. He must have left it there when he went to bed.
I called Maggie, holo-free. I got voice mail, hung up, and tried again.
I was numb. From head to toe, nothing but numb. I called her again. And again.
She picked up, her voice a middle-of-the-night croak. “Yes, Captain?”
I kept my voice down. “It’s me, Maggie. It’s Juno. I’m using Mota’s phone.”
“Why are you using Mota’s phone?”
“I trashed mine, didn’t want to be tracked.”
“Where are you?” Her voice turned urgent. “Why are you whispering?”
“I’m at Mota’s place. In his living room.”
A pause. “What?”
“I came to kill him.”
“Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with you?”
“I really fucked up, Maggie.”
“You killed him?”
“No, he’s in bed, sleeping. He’s with somebody. I couldn’t do it.”
“Can he hear you?”
“I don’t know. He’s snoring pretty loud.”
“Get out of there. Now, Juno.”
“I started something I can’t finish.”
“Are you moving?”
I stood up. “I am now.”
“Good. Now keep moving.”
“Did you hear me before? I started something I can’t finish. I really screwed up.”
“No fucking kidding.”
I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the dark. Blinking neon splashed the far wall. A loud groan came through the wall behind me. Somebody was getting their money’s worth. At this hour, he must’ve paid for an all-nighter.
I’d managed to sneak in without waking Maria, who was crashed in the sex swing, her big hair catching every strobe of neon in its net and briefly lighting up firefly style before fading to black.