“Ballsy doing it near the 5th. Dead cops are enough to get you a bull’s eye painted on you — on the street and in the big house. They might as well have walked right up to the precinct and tried to gun it down.”
Robins paced for a while before sitting down at the desk again and putting his head in his hands. He wasn’t usually this calm; some days he was like a tsunami. It all came back eventually. “You have any leads?”
“A serial number I haven’t yet run. I could use someone to make head or tail of it in the Automatic Division. And —”
“No time,” Robins interrupted before I could finish. “I can’t have the FBI coming down from their perch to see a former cop running side ops for us. One of the main reasons they’re coming is all the recent Automatic crime. Shootings, stabbings, Mob fights, bootlegging. Red-eyes mostly, though no machine will be off the table when they start their inspections. How do you think they’ll react if they spot a serial code search with no records of who looked it up? If they find any connection between us, they’ll toss you in prison and cart me off the island.”
“That hasn’t been an issue before. Either you’re getting paranoid, or there’s some shit-stirring going on here.”
“These FBI agents are everywhere, from the 5th up to the 9th on the Upper West Side. Something poked the nest, and the bees are swarming now. Whatever that something was, they think we caused it — we being the Lower City, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And the problem is, we don’t know what they want. They’ve pulled a ton of big names from the other precincts up to the Plate for questioning, and I might be next. Were there any agents on the scene?”
“One guy from the Automatic Crimes Unit. Agent Masters.”
“What a stupid name,” Robins chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Fuck, it’ll get back to her eventually. Then the shit will really start flying.”
“We talking about Greaves? Annual inspections, I presume.”
“Same time of year — it never changes. Greaves is punctual, I’ll give her that. You’ve got to tread carefully while they’re here, especially if they already have agents on the case. One whiff of you near a crime scene they’re investigating, and it’ll be both our asses. And I’m far too young to retire.”
I snickered. In response, his face twisted into a scowl.
“Sorry. Well, in that case, I’ll be off to solve this case properly.”
“Not so fast. I need a favour.”
I groaned. Fuck. “I’m already solving a crime for you. Can’t you put a hold on it?”
“I really can’t. This news has forced my hand. Given the context of your investigation, as well as your reputation for dealing with Black Hats … well …” Robins stared at me for some time. Not like he was disappointed with me — I knew that expression quite well. He looked almost concerned. “You won’t like me.”
“I don’t need a reason, but I’ll take one regardless.”
“If the FBI decide to question you, we need you to look completely legit.”
“I agree.”
“In every aspect, right down to the badge, which I’ll have for you in the next few days.”
“Excellent, new badge, whatever. You’re stalling. What’s your big idea for making me look on the level?”
Robins tapped a device on his desk. A buzz emanated for several seconds, then stopped. After a moment, there was a knock on the door. He got up, walked around the desk, and grasped the door handle before continuing. “You’re going to have a partner for the time being.”
“What the fuck!” I jumped up so quickly that it knocked my chair back. Robins looked surprised by my reaction, but his expression was resigned.
“Elias, relax.”
“Where the hell do you get off slotting me with some pill?”
“If it weren’t for that last ‘pill,’ you’d be dead. You’re welcome.”
“Are you talking about Joan or Desmond? Because I don’t think ride-alongs count as partners. In any case, distracting a guy aiming a Foldgun at me hardly counts as saving my life.”
“They took the heat for you, and both of them were found by our patrols wandering around 90th Street, where you always leave them. You can’t keep blowing this off. You’ll need someone watching your back, so this time, you’ll have an official partner, like it or not. And if any agents corner you, you can shove the new guy at them, and he’ll answer all the questions they shoot your way. Besides, I need him out of here while this investigation into Red-eyes is going on. They won’t spare any Automatic — Red, Blue, or Green.”
I sat back down. “Speaking of partners … you interrupted me earlier. There’s something else about the killer.”
“Other than the serial number?” Robins asked, his hand still resting on the doorknob.
“Yeah. The Red-eye that helped shoot up the place was a Swinger model, quite a strong one to be able to throw an undercover cop across the room, and with pretty precise firearm handiwork, if I do say so myself.”
“What are you implying?”
“I mean … of all the Green-eyes working for the cops and all the Blue-eyes that’ve been laid off, how many are Swinger models? And how many have custom police programming good enough to pull double taps?”
Robins looked down for a moment, sighing. “Elias, there’s no use chasing ghosts …”
“We never recovered its body, remember? Someone could have repaired it or ripped its NI. It could be James.”
“I sincerely doubt that … and you should have led with that information. You are really going to hate me.”
He opened the door a
