“Okay, that’s as much as I know how to do, at this point,” Armbrand said, sitting back and studying Smith’s bandage-patched face. “At least I got it stopped bleeding, cleaned out, and cleaned up.” He shrugged. “Rich, take John off to IUH for some medical attention, please. There’s some places in that mess that really need stitches, and I’m sure he could use an antipathogen, there. No telling what was under her nails.”
“Right,” Ashton affirmed, as Weyand took one of the arcade carts and headed off with Smith beside him. “The rest of us, let’s get reset. Beckham arrives for lunch in a couple hours.”
Derek Beckham was due to arrive at the Waffle Stomper diner for lunch around noon, or about two hours after Kaplan had left it…though, unbeknownst to Beckham, only about an hour and a half after she was unceremoniously carried away, unconscious and in custody. Based on the team’s undercover reconnoiter, it seemed he wasn’t such a great cook; he ate out for at least ninety percent of his meals except breakfast, was seen purchasing cold cereal and milk in a grocery for that, and the Waffle Stomper was one of his favorite haunts, despite his expensive tastes. It was cheap, it was quick, it was reasonably good food, and it was long on safety for people who lived on the wrong side of the law.
“Okay, he’s on the way,” Ashton told the others through the team’s VR channel, after getting the message through the separate reconnoiter channel. “Weaver and Compton just checked in.”
“They’re trailing, right?” Rassmussen asked. “With Rich and John gone, we need them for backup on this guy. If he fights the way Kaplan did, we’re in trouble – he’s a helluva lot bigger than she was.”
“No shit, and no argument,” Ashton said, “and yes, they are. Alan is gonna be my arrest partner once he ditches the hoodie jacket he’s using to hide his face and uniform tunic, and Hugo is gonna handle the VR jammer.” He paused, then asked, “Any other questions?”
“Nope,” came multiple replies. “We’re good, Nick,” Armbrand added.
“Good. Remember, we grab him just around the corner as he’s headed inbound, so hopefully we’ll be out of sight of anybody who might rat on us. Especially after takin’ down the banshee.”
Beckham was looking forward to lunch. The Waffle Stomper had been where he had first met Susan Kaplan, nearly ten years ago; she was as much of a looker now as she had been then, and he had become one of her best and most regular clients. They had soon become good friends, and that was why he had brought her in on Joey Bronze’s little operation. Sometimes the pair met at the diner for what she called brunch, though it was anything but what the upscale restaurants served as such. But for some reason, his recent cons had not panned out as he had expected, and he was a little short on cash for those upscale restaurants as a consequence, so the old standby diner would do.
He didn’t expect to see SuzieQ at the Waffle Stomper today, though; they had made the considered decision to avoid being seen in public together for a few weeks, to allow any activity around the assassination to die down, and avoid any accidental recognition. He had come somewhat later than his usual time for lunch as a consequence, though not by much.
So he wasn’t really expecting what came next.
Beckham was right around the corner from the diner when he was suddenly accosted by two uniformed police officers.
“Come with us, Mr. Beckham,” said the tall, dark-haired cop. “Put your hands behind your back, please. You’re under arrest.”
“I think there’s been a little misunderstanding, guys,” Beckham said with an ingratiating smile, even as he attempted to raise help via VR. It was blocked, to his dismay. As the brunet cop pulled one of Beckham’s forearms behind his back, the ginger cop enclosed that wrist in handcuffs, quickly capturing Beckham’s other wrist in the restraint, as well. “I’m on your side.”
“Look closer,” the ginger-haired cop snapped.
“Huh?” Beckham responded, badly confused by this point. He had expected the Imperial Police to leave him alone, all things considered.
“I’m Imp City P.D.,” the redhead pointed out.
“He’s not,” Becker said, shrugging a shoulder at the brunet. “He’s Impie. I recognize him from the Imperial Police Headquarters, couple years back. And I’m on good terms with those guys.”
“Not any more. I’m with Imp City now,” the dark-haired cop replied, cold as ice. He pointed to the Imperial City Police Department patch on his shoulder. “So I’m not one of ‘those guys.’”
“Oh,” Beckham said lamely. His heart sank.
Much to the arrest team’s relief, Beckham didn’t try to fight; he came with them quietly. In short order the same two beat cops who had carted away an unconscious Kaplan were departing with Beckham in the same transport.
“Heh. The male of the species is less dangerous than the female, it appears,” Armbrand joked.
“Thank God,” Ashton said, sincere in his gratitude. “I wasn’t keen on taking that big guy down. He stays in shape, and it shows.”
“But you could’ve,” Ames averred. “I’ve sparred with you, Nick. You’re good.”
“Yeah, I could’ve. But it wouldn’t have been fun.” Ashton shrugged. “I prefer using my brain to take ‘em down…or out.”
“Now what?” Rassmussen wondered.
“Lemme double-check the tail,” Ashton said, his expression temporarily going blank as he contacted the remaining two members of the team, who were undercover and tailing Josip Bronsky, a.k.a. Joey Bronze. Moments later, he resumed an active demeanor. “Change of venue,” he decreed. “Just like we figured, we’re headed six blocks over to the Fire Water Bar, as fast as we can
