“All over it, boss-man.”
Joey Bronze was looking forward to lunch. It was a late lunch, but he preferred being a night owl, then sleeping in, and getting out and about later in the day, unless a hit was in the works. The Fire Water Bar had great pub food, and it was late enough that he could get a few brews with lunch and nobody would think twice.
So, confident in his cover and with his mind on the menu and what he felt like eating, he didn’t notice the unusual number of people around the pub that day. He would regret that later.
Bronze entered the Fire Water Bar about three in the afternoon and headed straight for the bar.
“Hey, Dirk.”
“Hey, Joey, you been a bad boy?” Dirk the bartender asked, waving Brandon Travers over.
“No more ‘n usual. Why do you ask, Dirk? I got a guilty look on my face?”
“PD’s been asking around after ya.”
“Which PD?”
“Imp City!” Travers said, walking up. “They were in here maybe thirty, forty-five minutes ago.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, I told ‘em I thought you left the planet. Ain’t seen you around.”
“Ah,” Bronze said, unperturbed. “Long gone by now, then. Any word from the Cool Breeze Pub?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Travers said.
“Okay, I’ll head over there instead, then. Thanks for the heads up, Dirk.” He set a ten-credit coin on the bar.
“No problem, Joey,” the bartender said, pocketing the coin.
“Come on, I’ll take you out the kitchen entrance,” Travers said, turning and waving Bronze to follow.
“Relax, Bran,” Bronze said. “This ain’t my first time around the block. Just lay low, don’t say anything, and this will blow over like it always does. They don’t have anything on me except suspicions.”
And Bronze left the way he had come.
Bronze got to the corner and was about to head for the elevators to the arcade level, when he found himself between two uniformed Imperial City Police officers. He berated himself for his inattentiveness, but kept his cool. Chances were, he thought. he could slide out of this one like usual, if he played his cards right.
“Josip Bronsky?” the dark-haired one said.
“Yes, Officer?”
“Come with us, please.”
“Am I under arrest, Officer?”
“Yes, Mr. Bronsky. Come with us, please.”
“Of course, Officer.”
Joey Bronze was the quietest of the lot, but it turned out that he wasn’t the threat that day. Nor were any of the assassin team they took into custody.
Marc Olestri, one of Stash Gorecki’s goons that had, with two others, tried to apprehend Ashton during the ICPD headquarters bomb threat – except Olestri was intelligent enough to be a certified shuttle pilot, unlike most of the rest – happened to be coming out of the Fire Water Bar just as Ashton and Weyand took Bronze into custody nearby.
Wait a damn minute, he thought. Ain’t that – that’s Bronze. Oh hell, that’s bad. But that’s – SHIT! That’s that bastard Stash has been hunting for, Nick Ashton! The real Ashton! I need to talk to the boss about this one!
Ducking his head, Olestri got as far away as he could as fast as he could, attempting to get out of reach of the VR suppression field, then called Stash.
“Yeah, Stash, I’m sure. It was Ashton. He was in a fake ICPD uniform and everything. It ain’t like they’re that much different from the IPD uniforms, ya know. So he was fairly easy to recognize this time.”
“Yeah, I know, Marc. I’m not surprised. We’ve known he was out there, he’s just proven a damn bugbear to get hold of. He’s a smart one, and he’s got help. What was he doing?”
“Hold onto your hat. Taking Joey Bronze into custody.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Lotta that. Whole lotta that. Whatcha gonna do?”
“Two things. First, tell Stanier and Kershaw. Second, put out the word to keep an eye out for Ashton around all the ICPD precincts, ‘cause if he’s not working for ‘em, he’s gotta be working on contract with ‘em. And we’ll set up a hefty three-figure credit reward for locating ‘im, an equally hefty four-figure credit reward for takin’ ‘im out. Third, we gotta figure out where they’re holding Bronze and see if we can spring ‘im.”
“Hey, count me in. I’m gonna go back and see if I can watch where they head off to.”
“Good man. Don’t forget rehearsals tonight.”
“I won’t.”
“George, we need some apps pushed to the guys,” Gorecki told Imperial Police Chief George Stanier within five minutes of the contact from Olestri.
“What sort of apps, and why?” Stanier replied.
“Look, this Ashton kid – either he’s trained to become a master of disguise, or he’s got a master of disguise workin’ with – or for – him.”
“Wait. So we still don’t know where he’s working?”
“Nah. We figure he’s either put out a shingle of his own, or he’s workin’ with Imp City. Right now, my boys are leaning pretty heavy toward him workin’ on his own, but he may be contracted with Imp City. All our efforts to find him on their records, or in their people, seem to fall through. And even though we ginned up that murder warrant on ‘im, nobody seems to wanna turn him in.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Well, he’s got some damn good disguises. If he’s in disguise, you basically gotta have slept with him to recognize him.”
“Watch saying that around Kershaw. That’s how his niece got close to Ashton. And Kershaw dotes on her.”
“Damn. I didn’t know she slept with him.”
“Way I understood it, yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll watch what I say around him. But Ashton is just…damn, George. It’s next to impossible to spot him. Unless he wants you to spot him, I guess.”
“Huh. So he’s an undercover artist, has one working for
