Terrence paused to gaze at the brick and granite buildings scarred by fire, stark and imposing against the slate October sky. During Project Unification they began using the sublevels as interrogation rooms, twisting information from any scavenger unlucky enough to not flee or die as the guards swept through the city. Lore had it that General Johnson ordered the prisoners freed so they could filter through Rivertown and spread the word of their harsh treatment in the bowels of the detention center. Whatever grandiose name the Four Families gave the place never stuck. Another, more fitting, name came into common use among guards and scavengers alike: the Tombstone.
Terrence despised every inch of it.
Guards hustled across the Tombstone courtyard every ninety minutes, their footfalls on pavement and call-and-response reverberating off the surrounding buildings. Like so much of the MPD's operation, this movement was all a façade, a performance meant to mask how few guards were stationed there. Once inside the joint, your boot heels echoed as you walked the empty corridors, eerily silent save for an occasional faint echoing scream from the detention block. Of course this wasn't the impression most prisoners formed, smuggled in under black hoods and ushered to the basement cells. One in two dozen might be released back into the wilds of the city, their foreheads branded with the MPD mark.
Terrence arrived during a shift change but he felt an unfamiliar tension in the air. The courtyard buzzed like a kicked bee's nest: agitated, angry. He approached the main gate with his hands raised high, his tattered travel cloak pushed over his shoulders to reveal the MPD logo emblazoned on his body armor. The guards at the gate seemed nervous as they asked the security questions, and he uneasily watched the rooftops, where he was being watched closely from the sniper tower.
Sergeant Nessman, Tombstone manager, intercepted him as he passed through the gate. "Terrence," the squat man said as he dashed over, his voice tight. "We weren't expecting you. Your shift doesn't begin until tomorrow." His nose wrinkled at the smell from Terrence's cloak. The authenticity of street life did not appeal to most.
"Sorry, plans changed," Terrence replied. "What's going on? Everyone seems keyed up."
"Noticed, did you?" he asked followed by uncomfortable laugh. "I'll save you the rumor mill. Follow me."
Terrence picked up his pace as they strode diagonally across the courtyard. "Where we headed?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"To visit our distinguished and unexpected guest in the infirmary," Nessman responded. "Perhaps you've heard of her. Miss Ellen Johnson, Commander-in-Chief of the MPD?"
"And no one knows any more than that," Nessman said for what must have been the third time as he held the infirmary door for Terrence.
Terrence bit his lip. He couldn't make out if Nessman knew more and wasn't telling. As it was told, Johnson collapsed on the doorstep of the Tombstone in the early morning hours, bruised and hypothermic but breathing. Apparently she had spearheaded some covert raid that went bad and had almost cost her life. He had met her once, at some Family function with canned salmon and cheap champagne. She hadn't made much of an impression on him but he knew she was beloved by the guards.
"Damn it, Nessman. Who the hell is this?" Ellen asked, looking uncomfortable and pale against the bed's yellowed linens.
"It's okay," Nessman said. "He's a sergeant."
"Whose appointment?"
Terrence answered for himself. "Lukowski."
She sighed as shifted, tugging at her gown. "Get me some clothes, Nessman. I want out of here."
"Patience. You have to get your strength up," Nessman said, nodding at the juice and biscuit at her bedside. "Your father's orders," he added softly.
"So Lucien tells me you had a bad night," Terrence said, inserting himself into the conversation. Ellen's eyes hardened and Nessman's body stiffened. Terrence folded his arms.
"Look, I understand this all confidential," he said, not wanting to spoil the air between them. "I don't care what you were doing out there. None of my business. But I'm investigating some other events for my boss. Suspicious things. Some Lukowski guards gunned down recently. Neither look like an amateur job." Terrence let the idea hang there.
Ellen pursed her lips. "I heard he appointed a new sergeant. Hadn't thought about a connection. We were ambushed. This was not a random hit-and-run. Planned. Highly coordinated, even. They hit us when we were most susceptible."
Terrence leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Get a look at any of them? Any hunches who they might be?"
He didn't want to suggest one of the other Families, not yet at least. In his mind though, Terrence had already ruled out the Johnsons—they wouldn't risk their golden child's life, even as a cover. That left the Reichmans and Reyes, and he was hoping to get her in a talking mood and mabe coax a clue or two out of her. But Ellen took it a different directly entirely.
"Two of my squad were talking," she said, recollecting. "One said he had been the Bazaar recently with his friend, he was remarking at the amount of hardware in the joint. Lots of guns. Lots and lots of guns of all shapes and sizes."
Terrence waited for her to go on. The Bazaar was in the Western Reaches; crossing out of MPD territory while on leave was illegal, but rarely enforced. If you got caught, it was the kind of information they dropped in your file at Ol' Federal and let it sit there, festering, ensuring you never step out of line again. "Oh yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah. It got me thinking. There's a lot of weaponry out there not in our hands. Who knows what else they've got? Explosives? RPGs? Doesn't take much training to use them. A two dozen well-armed men could cripple this place like that," she said snapping her thumb.
"What was his name, this globetrotting officer of ours?"
"Does it matter? He's dead now." She stared Terrence in the eye as she said it.
"His friend's name?"
"Sing, I think. Didn't catch a first name."
"Know anything about him?"
"Never heard of him."
"So what's the next move?"
Ellen's expression turned icy and Terrence knew he'd pushed as far as he could go, if hadn't pushed too far already. "That's enough questions sergeant," she said. She faced Nessman. "And I've had enough juice and crackers. Get me my clothes. That's my order." She tore back the sheets and swung her powerful legs over the bedside. A patchwork of purple and brown bruises decorated her legs and arms.
"Yes ma'am," the man answered and took Terrence's arm. Terrence offered Ellen a crisp salute and his most charming smile—she ignored both—as Nessman ushered him into the hallway.
"Thanks a lot," Nessman growled. "I didn't bring you down there to interrogate her for God's sake. That could be my ass."
"I need a favor," Terrence said. "You've got to call down to Ol' Federal find out where this Sing guy is stationed. I don't want to go running all over the city chasing him down."
Nessman snorted. "A phone? Are you out of your mind? You're fresh out of favors, Terrence."
Terrence wheeled Nessman around by the shoulder and jabbed him with his finger. "Look pal, I'm not playing here. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. We've got two dead Lukowskis, a squad that got wiped out, and a commander-in-chief who's lucky to be breathing, and my boss wants me to get to the bottom of it. So you're going to take me to the house phone and make the call. Lukowski will come down on me like a ton of bricks if he doesn't get results soon and I won't hesitate to say who slowed me down. Now are you going to help me or not?"
Nessman glared. "Mr. Tough Guy, huh?"
They stood sizing each other up before Nessman bruskly turned away. "The cordless is in officer's lounge. Keep it under five minutes, it doesn't hold a charge long."
Nessman escorted him to the lounge and evicted the surprised guards he found there chatting. "Remember, five minutes max. If they try to put you on hold have them call you back. The number's written on the table. And Rabeneck," he said, lowering his voice. "Get to the bottom of this, okay? My son graduates from the Rock next month and I don't want to see him getting caught up in this."
"I'll do what I can," he replied, but the door had already closed.