'Don't thank me yet. Because of you, and Binder, I got internal affairs clamping down on my ass—even if it was those Shaker cronies of Binder's that dicked around the Johnson murder. This Ziphead crap has got City Hall in a panic, the vids are having a field day—
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And I got suspicions it's all because you stuck your nose where it don't belong. If it was my choice, I'd lock you up and never let you go.
' 'As it is.'' He turned to Isham. ' 'If the special agent would kindly leave me and the tiger alone. Nohar, we have things to discuss, in private.'
Harsk led him out of the interrogation room.
CHAPTER 20
Harsk's office was in the basement of police headquarters. It smelled of paper, dust, and mildew. When Harsk led him in, Nohar had to duck the pipes that snaked along the ceiling. There were two chairs opposite the rust-dotted green desk. They were water-stained chrome pipe with red-vinyl seats that were held together with silver-gray duct tape. Neither one looked like it'd survive him, so Nohar stood.
Harsk took a seat behind the desk. He picked up a cup of old coffee that had been sitting on one corner of the desk. It was one of many cups that occupied various open spaces in the room. Harsk took a sip, grimaced, and finished it. 'So, Nohar, you think you just walked out of all that crap because of a clean life-style and goodness of heart-'
Nohar wrinkled his nose. He thought he saw something floating in the coffee Harsk was drinking. 'You're about to tell me otherwise?'
The left corner of Harsfc's mouth pulled up. The closest the pink cop would ever come to a smile. He drained the cup and tossed it in the corner of the room, near a wastepaper basket that was awash in a tide of old papers. 'Good. Your bullshit detector is working. I'm going to tell you why you're walking.
It has little to do with the DEA's incompetence—'
Harsk opened a drawer and took out the Vindhya. 'How many people know who your father is?'
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That was the last thing Nohar expected to hear from Harsk. 'What has that got to do—'
Harsk started taking out the magazines for the Vind. He arranged it all on the desk in front of him. 'Everything, Nohar. If you don't see that, you're dumber than most people give moreys credit for. Do you realize what the Fed, much less those dimwits at the DBA, would do if they knew you were your father's son?'
'It isn't my fault who my father is.'
Harsk gave Nohar a withering stare. 'If that ain't a load of bullshit, I don't know what is. There's a good chance that half the tigers descended from the Rajas-than Airlift were sired by him. You're the fool that had to track down your paternity. There's a few hundred Rajasthans out there that left well enough alone. You brought Datia's history on to yourself. Now you got to deal with it.'
Nohar wished he had a good argument for that. He didn't. 'What do you mean, if the Fed knew?'
'They don't, yet. I'll answer my first question for you. Perhaps a half-dozen people in the department know that Nohar is Datia's son. The DA's one. I'm another. All of us were at that last showdown at Musician's Towers. He held off a SWAT team with that gun.' He motioned to that Vind. 'When the Guard showed up, they torched the building to get him out.'
Nohar didn't want to hear this. He was grateful that Harsk was a pink and couldn't smell the emotions off him.
'Datia was a dyed in the wool psycho who left about half his mind in Afghanistan. A lot of humans don't understand why hundreds of moreys followed the bullshit he spouted. Datia, at the end, didn't believe it either. Could've been anyone, though, That August was too tense, too hot, too unstable. Moreytown was primed, anyone could have touched the spark— A lot like it's been lately.''
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There was a silence in the room. It stretched out for a long time. 'What are you getting at, Harsk?'
Harsk shook his head. 'You blind SOB. Do I need to spell it qut for you? Six people in the department and two National Guardsmen were with your dad when he croaked. He mentioned you. His ramblings are in the official transcripts. It's just that no one has cross-referenced them yet. It is only a matter of time before someone in the Fed is going to see how closely this Ziphead thing was engineered to look like the riots, and look up your dad. Poof, all hell breaks loose.'
Harsk stood up. 'Does the word scapegoat mean anything to you? What you think Mclntyre and Conrad would do if they knew this?'
Nohar felt the world slipping away from him. 'They'd think I was . . .' '—running the show, you shithead. It's damn lucky me and the DA know different. Though, if it wasn't for two things, I'd lock you up just to be on the safe side.'
'What two things?'
Harsk sat back down. 'Me and the DA think you'd make a great martyr. If you get locked up, or shot, or anything, and word got out of your parentage, that could be the spark that blows everything up again. Right now, we have to deal with the rats—that's enough.'
Nohar could feel his own past bearing down on him. It felt like he had spent a decade running away from his own tail. 'You said, 'two things.' '
Harsk turned the chair away from Nohar. 'The other reason is your typical interagency departmental screwup. Agent Isham seized your weapon and didn't turn it over to property. Somehow the Vind got lost in the shuffle and never got tagged as evidence. You can't have a weapons charge without a weapon—' Nohar looked at his gun, laid out on the table. He didn't need more of a hint. He bolstered the Vind and pocketed the magazines. 'Is that it?'
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'Fucking enough, ain't it? Do me a favor and stop being one of my problems.' Nohar left Harsk's office.
When Nohar got to the lobby, dawn was breaking across a slate-gray sky. He was glad that they didn't make people pass through the weapons detectors on their way out.
The public comms in the lobby of police headquarters were in better than average condition—which meant maintenance spent at least one day a week cleaning off the piss and graffiti.
He called Manny collect, hoping to catch him before he left for work.
Angel answered the phone. 'Fuck you be, Kit?'
'What the hell are you doing answering the phone? Nobody's supposed to know you're there—'
'Chill, Kit.' Angel looked chastened. 'Whafuck happen to you? Pinky's been up all night—' Nohar felt guilty for the way his spirit lifted when he heard Stephie was worried about him. '—and Doc's been riding a pisser ever since he got back last— Speak of the devil.'
Manny came on the comm, pushing Angel aside. 'Do you have any idea how lucky you are? I told myself I shouldn't ask where that hole in your hip came from—I was just about out the door to do more autopsies on rodents you shot—'
'Sorry, only place I could go.'
Manny sighed. 'I know, and I can't well turn you away. I hear that no one is pressing charges.'
'It was self-defense.'
'Next time would you go through the process? Where are you? You look like hell.'
'Is that a professional diagnosis?' Nohar was still coated with algae. He probably smelled like the pit, but his nose had long ago gotten used to it. 'When am I going to get the full story on what's going on?'
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