"It's Raddatz."
"Hey."
"What kind of shape are you In?"
"Tired. I can function if I have to."
"What I talked about before: the end of fear. Do you want to be part of that? Is that something you want to be part of?"
"Well, I don't know what it is. I can't say I want to be part of something when I don't know what it is."
"It's the right thing, Soledad." He was being oblique. "You've got to know, inside you, the truth is you want to do what's right."
She lay in the dark. Not a word. Not a sound. The day had come so close to being insignificant. Now it was on its way to being monumental. An invite 'from a rogue cop to be part of "what's right."
"Soledad…?"
"It's a bullshit question. Yeah, I want to do what's right."
"I'm going to come around. Be ready. And, Soledad.
"Yeah?"
"Have your piece ready too."
Not that Soledad had ever put much thought to such things, but in passing she never figured a clandestine meeting regarding murder-murders that had occurred, murders that might- would take place in a Jamba Juice.
That's where she was with Raddatz, with Panama, with Donatell, with Shen. All of them with their scars and missing digits. And Shen with his… his head. It was where a head goes on a regular body. Right up there on top of the neck. That's where its similarity to normality ended. Shen's was all stoved in on the sides. Pushed in at the front. Features violently asymmetrical. At some point something had crushed it severely. And all the king's horses and all the king's men… The kid clerking the counter unable to keep eye contact with Shen while he took Shen's order for a Mango-a-Go-Go. Donatell had been right about Shen. Shen did make him look good. Sitting around as they were, they looked like busted war vets come out to drink smoothies, reminisce and try and convince each other the sacrifice they'd made in some desert or jungle or European city thousands of miles away'd been worthwhile.
Except for Soledad. In the company she kept, the bums on her neck made Soledad look like a security guard who'd gotten scratched breaking up teens scuffling at the mall.
Somber. The group was somber as they took a minute to put down their blends of fruit and ice and nonfat yogurt, and it would have been hi-F'n-larious to Soledad- grown men, boozers all probably, drinking their girlie drinks-except their avoidance of liquor and caffeine signified they were keeping clean for work. And not a one of them was at the minute on the city's clock. The work that was coming was extracurricular.
A little bit of bullshit was slung back and forth. Home talk. Cursory personal matters. There was subtext to it. Reminders to alclass="underline" There's something I've got to go home to; a family, a life. Somebody. Something. So when we hit it, I got your back. Make sure you got mine.
From an envelope Raddatz slipped a photo. Surveillance photo. Black-and-white and very, very grainy. Very snowy. The camera that took it was apparently shit. In relation to the doorway he was passing through, the subject was a man of average size, though his weight appeared above median compared to his height. Vague as that was, it was also as detailed a description to be gotten from viewing the photo. Wearing a sweat suit, a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head, all the more to be said was that he (or she; it was impossible to be absolutely certain of the subject's gender) resembled those.FBI sketches of the Unibomber, and those FBI sketches of the Unibomber never quite resembled anybody, which is why the FBI caught the Unibomber only after the Unibomber's brother ratted him out.
The photo got passed and passed and passed. Everybody took a look. Nobody said a thing. Except Soledad.
Soledad said: "Who's This?"
"It's the guy," Raddatz answered, "we're looking for."
"Didn't know we were looking for a guy."
Shen hit the bottom of his cup, slurped up the last of his drink.
Soledad said again: "I didn't know we were-"
"He's a person of extreme interest."
"That says a whole lot. How do we find Mr. Interest? If this is all we've got to go on…" Soledad flicked the picture over the table back to Raddatz.
"Run a watch." Panama made it sound like Soledad's lack of savvy was tightening up the muscle around his neck and head, causing him pain.
"We're going to watch over the whole city? The five of us?"
Donatelclass="underline" "We know where to look."
"How do we know where to look, 'cause I don't know shit except for what you're telling me."
"You gonna give her everything?" Shen asked of Raddatz.
Raddatz kept quiet.
"Good Intel. That's what DMI's all about." Panama gave DMI one-oh-one. "You get good intel, you get your freak."
She wasn't trying to be contrary. For the sake of her true objective, Soledad was trying to front acceptance of the offered vagaries. She nodded a little. But the reality she wasn't buying what was being passed off didn't need articulation, was obvious beyond words.
"I think what we wanted was to give you a taste of how DMI works." Panama was coming across, was trying to come across soft. Not. one time before had he been anything less than tough with Soledad. Every word he was saying now: bullshit. "This is just us processing a tip." He didn't trust her. He was trying to shove her
off.
"Middle of the night in a smoothie store is where you all process your info." She made it all sound stupid, wanted Panama to know how stupid he sounded. "If I'm in or I'm out, that's up to you. But if I'm out, don't call me up and drag me around way after dark anymore."
As he got. up from the table, Raddatz to Soledad: "You ride with me."
So here was Soledad In a car parked off a street in Westlake. Waiting. Watching, supposedly. But she knew she was on the hunt. No matter the convolutions Raddatz was taking her through, she knew that she and the cadre were on the edge of a badness. At the low end was acting without authority. The far end was targeting a metanormal for execution. Simply, murder.
To Raddatz: "This guy we're watching, is he a freak or is he a freak fucker?" Raddatz said nothing.
To Raddatz: "If this is a freak, if you're thinking about doing more than just watching him, we need to call In MTac."
Raddatz kept looking straight ahead. Right out the windshield. His gaze went down the block, over the horizon. It was that distant.
"If you've got solid Intel, it needs to get passed to-"
"We're getting a little more."
"It takes the five of us to eyeball a freak? They only send four MTacs when it's time to take one out."
"I'm taking a chance bringing you along."
There were a lot of ways to take that. Best, Soledad thought, not to take it any one way in particular. No assumptions. Let Raddatz explain himself. Let him help her figure what to do.
"You're good-cop, Soledad. From what I know, as a cop, there's not one thing wrong with you. You remind me of me."
"You complimenting me or you?"
"If it's a compliment, it's backhanded. When I imply I was a good cop, I was the kind who didn't ask questions. I believe… I believed in the job-"
Believe. Believed. The tense shift stuck out to Soledad.
"I believed, and I followed orders. I didn't question things. I could be trusted to do right."
"That's what good cops do." Soledad slouched against her door. Kept up the outward appearance of being relaxed. She eased, very much eased, a hand for her piece. For whatever was coming she'd feel better gripping it.
Raddatz: "It's also what your average Nazi did: act without consideration. Just follow orders."
"That's not a backhanded compliment. That's back-fisted."