I could see where the G-men’s priorities lay.
“Huh. First time I’ve ever seen them do the ol’ switcheroo.”
“Excuse me, Detective?” Allen asked.
“Oh, just … you know, bodies shouldn’t just be sitting there, you know?”
“Quite odd, yes.”
The metal man leaned down over the bodies, inspecting them without touching. I stood there and watched Allen run from one area to the next, scanning the walls, the grime on the stairs, even the stain left by pooling blood. It looked around with such intense concentration that the place could have caught fire. I’d never seen an Automatic focus or think this hard. It was unnerving, but impressive. Damn impressive.
“Where did the first shots come from?” Allen’s ringing metallic voice ripped through the silence, startling me. It got up from its low crouch, the plates on its legs moving under its pants in odd shapes.
“First shots came from there, I believe.” I pointed up at the twisted, broken railing of the balcony. “The rounds double-tapped through an undercover officer — one in the gut and one in the shoulder. He was thrown from the balcony, and then the second Red-eye came in and sprayed the place with .45s.”
“How many rounds were fired?”
“Fuck, you want to count the holes? Be my guest.”
Allen took its time circling each of the bloodstains on the floor, eyes blinking and whirring as — I believe — it tried to rip whatever evidence it could from just gleaming at the bodies. It waved me over to the two cops in the centre of the floor, the ones who had put Jaeger away.
“Notice anything interesting about these men, Detective?”
“Other than the fact that they’re dead?”
“Sarcasm aside … look at their wounds. They did not sustain fire from an automatic weapon. While the patrons around them have been hit by submachine gun fire, these cops are spotless, save for two shots each. The only way they could have avoided being sprayed by the automatic weapon is if —”
“If they were already on the ground.” I knelt down, inspecting the bullet wounds. On both corpses, there was one in the head and another in the chest. The officer on the landing had taken a bad hit, but that was a reactionary double tap. These shots had been very precisely taken. The Automatic up above hadn’t been fucking around; it had targeted these boys. “I think the G-men hid the wrong bodies.”
“I agree. The Automatic’s body might be useful evidence, but these wounds are equally so.”
“The massacre — or attempted massacre — was a cover for the two real targets. Something tells me we should get started on that lead Jaeger gave us.”
“Agreed. I shall be ready to depart in a few moments. I have one last thing to investigate.”
I turned from Allen and put my hand over my revolver in its holster, spinning the cylinder with one finger to keep my hands busy. Something felt odd about this place, like I should get out of here. I still felt watched. Was I getting paranoid, or was someone actually watching us? We had to get out of here soon and get on with the investigation, or at least discuss things in a more secure location.
I didn’t want to tell Allen that I thought there was a chance it was my old partner who’d put holes in those cops. Best to explore that theory without Allen looking over my shoulder. However, Allen seemed to have a good instinct for these things, and I needed its opinion.
“What are you looking for, Allen?”
“Footprints … the assassin approached and, before departing, took something from these corpses — something easy to hide, given the chaos they were surrounded by. Once we find the machine, we can discover what that object was.”
“Unless the Automatic is just a shell, like the last one.” Allen didn’t seem to believe me that the now-missing Automatic had been lacking a Neural-Interface. But I knew what I had seen, and I needed more information as to how it was possible. “If that machine did take something from the bodies before running out of the speakeasy, it would have blood on its feet …”
“And in that case, it would be quite easy to track it.”
“Exactly what I was thinking, metal man. Get on a phone and get the 5th pick up these bodies … they deserve more respect than being dumped here.”
Allen nodded and I exited the old speakeasy. The cold air and desolate landscape of the Lower City matched the shitshow inside. The street was filthy, but there was indeed a faint blood trail leading out the door. I was surprised it was still visible, especially considering the foot traffic in this part of town and the G-men. I supposed they had been looking for oil, not for blood. Then again, the blood trail was faint. It could have been a remnant of someone’s bloody nose or someone could have gotten shot on the street a few days earlier.
The trail ran alongside the building on the sidewalk, leading into a small alley, which contained a moderately sized trash bin, along with some garbage bags and forgotten debris. The blood was far more visible here, contrasting against the dark concrete of the alley, and it led straight to the Dumpster. Judging by the garbage surrounding the Dumpster, it hadn’t been moved in months. Or years.
I opened the receptacle and found a weapon. But not the one I wanted. A Foldgun was lying on top of the garbage bags inside. The large shotgun was identifiable by its straight edges, octagonal barrel, and the large handle on the top of the receiver, enabling it to fold into a large briefcase. I pulled the weapon out and cycled the pump, which yielded nothing. Even if it was loaded, these babies couldn’t hold .38 rounds, and if it had been used in the shooting, those men in there would have been little more than ground beef. This wasn’t the weapon I was looking for, but it was something the
