Rich Weyand was back in plenty of time for the last apprehension, and Ashton sent him a call in VR to let him know of the change of venue. As he walked up to the others, Ashton turned to him.
“So how’s Johnny?”
“ER doc said he’d be okay,” Weyand said. “He had some nasty cuts, and the ER doc brought in a cosmetic surgeon to do the stitches; said it wouldn’t scar that way. Then they pumped him fulla anti-everything, bumped up the nanites, and sent him home with some prescription painkillers; by the time the adrenaline from the fight wore off, and it bein’ his face, he was kinda hurting. We notified Detective Gorski and Colonel Peterson, an’ both of ‘em made sure he was okay, then told him to go home and crash. I walked him to the people-mover and saw him onto it, then came on back. The people-mover station is in the arcade level of his apartment building, so all he has to do is get off the car, get on the elevator, ride to his floor, and unlock his door.”
“That sounds good,” Ashton said. “Sorry he’s out of the tag, but he’ll be okay, and that’s the important part, right now. Okay, boys an’ girls, let’s get set up for this last one. Rich, you wanna help me take down Bronze?”
“Oh HELL yes!” Weyand responded.
With the Team in place outside, Ashton entered the bar and nosed about. When the hostess approached him, he looked up.
“May I help you, Officer?”
“Nah, I’m looking for somebody,” Ashton replied.
“Someone in the pub? Are you meeting someone?”
“You might say that,” Ashton replied, voice dry as dust. “I’d like to speak with the bartender, please.”
“Right this way.”
“Josip Bronsky? Who the hell is that?” the bartender asked, when Ashton inquired about the hit man.
“You might know him as Joey Bronze, or J.B.,” Ashton noted.
“Uh, nope, never heard of him,” the bartender averred. His gaze shot across the room.
“Perhaps you’ve seen him,” Ashton said, calm and undeterred. He showed the other man a copy of Bronze’s mug shot, printed from the ICPD’s wanted files…then watched as the bartender’s eyes flickered. Uh-huh, he thought. Bingo. That should do the trick.
“N-nope, never seen the guy,” the bartender doubled down, then shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t come in here, but let’s face it, man – I stay damn busy, back here.” He patted the bar.
“I’m sure you do,” a bland Ashton said placidly. “Should you see him, however, please contact the ICPD at once. This man is extremely dangerous.”
“Uh, okay. If you’re lookin’ for him, though, I expect he’s long since left the planet.”
“What’s the problem here, Officer?” another man said as he walked up.
“Officer Benton with ICPD, sir,” Ashton said smoothly, turning to the new man. “Just asking a few questions. And you are?”
“Brandon Travers. I’m the manager here.”
“Of course. Have you seen this man in the pub?” Ashton asked, holding up the mug shot once more. “You might know him as Josip Bronsky, Joey Bronze, or simply J.B.”
Travers threw a swift, almost unnoticeable glance at the bartender, then at the clock on the wall, before he looked back at the photo. Ashton noticed that Travers relaxed slightly when he saw the clock. Good. We’re timing this just right, he thought.
“No, sir, Officer. I don’t recognize the man. I doubt he’s a frequenter of this establishment, if you’re looking for him.”
“You might be surprised.” A slight, cold smile crossed Ashton’s face, and the two other men hid winces. “Should you see him, please contact me at once.” He handed small business cards to the two men in lieu of contacting them through VR; he didn’t want these two to have anything on him that they could pass on to others, and the contact information was for Colonel Peterson, at her insistence. The two men nodded, and he headed for the exit.
As soon as he exited the pub, Ashton tagged the others in VR via voice.
“They knew him, they just wouldn’t admit to it. So we probably want to hit a sting operation in the bar later, separate from picking up Bronze; somebody ping Stefan, so he can pass that information on to Major Dunham.”
“Done, Nick,” Rassmussen replied. “He says he’s on it, and not to worry about it. He’s gonna take care of it himself. Maybe with Dunham’s help, later.”
“Good. Now, Bronze picked this bar because it’s relatively high-end, has good food, and it only has two entrances – the front entrance and the kitchen entrance. I scoped that out thoroughly the other day. He chose it because of that very thing – he figured it would be to his advantage, as it would be easy to keep track of the comings and goings. Plus, whichever door the police enter, he exits the other way. But we’re not going back in; I got his buddies at the bar thoroughly spooked. The bartender and the manager are likely to warn him off, so we’ll let ‘em. But we’ll have people at both entrances.”
“Which one do you think he’ll take, Nick?” Ames asked him.
“Bronze is cocky; he’s gotten away with this for a long time. I expect the bartender and the manager to want to hustle him out the kitchen entrance, so you guys back there, stay alert.”
“But he’s really going to…?” Jones pressed.
“Come out the front, like everything is perfectly normal,” Ashton said. “He thinks he can bluff his way through all this, or that he’s so good, we’ll miss him, or don’t have enough evidence to book him, let alone hold him. He thinks Gorecki or one of his goons will come bail him out. He doesn’t understand – yet – that it isn’t us he has to worry about.”
