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It was all over.
I sat myself on the steps outside the Tribeca headquarters and watched the sun fall down the edge of the dome and set. There evening was coming in fast. I was exhausted. Hungry. Thirsty. I wished for whiskey, but only my other vice was available. For now. I lit up a damned cigarette, taking a deep long drag of the poison, and watched as a clean-up crew started to work on removing what remained of Augustus Smith and Augustus Smith. Or if you’d rather, Emmett Greene and Gary Emmerson. I blew out a plume of smoke toward the unfortunate souls tasked with the gruesome task. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen the sort of mess that could be left by people plummeting from buildings, but I was still surprised by just how much of a mess they’d made. And how wide an area both men had achieved.
It was all over.
They... were all over... the street.
Goddammit.
Everything was a goddamned mess.
I took another drag of my cigarette. Every part of me hurt once more; the knife wound near my liver, the puncture to my shoulder, the broken nose and black eye. Even my old thigh injury ached in sympathy.
It all felt so... real.
Ms Dionne Bex was with the police up in her office, but I’d needed some air. I’d assured the army of officers that had flooded the building that I wouldn’t go far; I’d bummed a pack of cigarettes from one of the cute ones and headed to the front door. The CEO’s office had felt stifling, overwhelming. I couldn’t stick it any longer.
Fake Smiths. Fake, like I was. All dead.
Emmett Greene, the Smith from my own universe, was dead.
And so was the real Smith, a man who I’d briefly trusted. More or less.
The clean-up crew blasted the street with jet washers, diluting and sweeping away the viscera. Bigger, and mostly unidentifiable, chunks were picked up with grabbers and deposited into bags. It was impossible to tell which pieces were Smith and which pieces were Smith.
What a mess.
And it had all been for nothing. No matter how evil, how morally bankrupt Smith’s plan, it had been pointless. Utterly pointless. Smith had failed; people had died for absolutely nothing. Regan had died.
Damn it.
Damn it all to hell.
I inhaled more fumes, a little too much at once, and made myself cough and retch.
Damn it.
A comforting hand touched my shoulder. “Jack,” said Suede. He took up a seat beside me, heaving himself down to my level. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” I said. I wasn’t fine, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Bex should be in jail. She caused all this. Yet again.”
The cop laughed. “You know her better than that,” he said. “I’ve heard a rumour there’s going to be an investigation into her business dealings, one she can’t stop. The SmartBoy you handed in, Regan Bex’s, will help. I hope. But you know what his mother is like; she’ll probably weasel her way out.”
“Good lawyers and too many damned credits.”
“Yeah.”
We sat there in silence watching blood and gore being disposed of. Sector Three sensibilities didn’t allow for this kind of mess. Faceless, cocooned people consumed by their formless but protective black overalls working methodically and systematically to remove all traces of the Smiths. It would be like they never existed. I was sure the same would happen with the bodies in the lab upstairs. Everything swept under the carpet. As if it all never goddamned happened. As if no-one had died. Ms Dionne Bex would continue to exploit the universe no matter the cost.
I finished off the cigarette and flicked the stub to the floor.
“Queenie faked the missing Delartes statue,” I said. “Insurance fraud. She used me.”
“What?”
“Yeah, she’s the one behind the assassination attempts too,” I said. “Told me that she was just trying to scare me from the case, so I didn’t look too closely at what was going on. She got away from me, did a runner.”
“I’m sorry, Jack,” said Suede.
“I’m guessing you want me come and make a statement about it?” I said. “I’ve also got some evidence... messages on the device that last hitman had... the man I... er... talked to in the bar.”
“When you’re ready, come into the station,” he said. “I’m not gonna rush you; you’ve been through hell recently. In the meantime, I’ll put out an APB for Elizabeth Decker. Queenie.”
I withdrew another cigarette from my jacket and lit up. “The past week, no, this past year, has been nothing but a joke, nothing but lies,” I said. “People lying to me left, right and centre. Breaking my trust. Nothing ever changes, does it?”
“You don’t really believe that.”
I shrugged. “Emmett Greene was the Augustus Smith from my universe; the same Smith I chased into the facility where I had my accident all those years ago. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Your world has gained a fake Jack Gemini because of a fake Augustus Smith. Kinda.”
“I think...”
“You know what? He hadn’t changed.” I dragged on the cigarette. “Still the same crazy nutcase... but with money and influence. All thanks to Ms Bex.” I snorted a laugh. “The funny thing is that the real Smith, the Smith from here, he’d at least tried to change, tried to improve himself.”
“That doesn’t excuse his past.”
“No, no it doesn’t. The point is, he tried.”
“And now he’s dead.” He gestured to the disappearing mess before us. “Just like Emmett Greene. Fat lot of good improving himself did.”
“Yeah,” I said. I blew out some smoke. “Regan Bex told me something important, just before he died. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but...” Something orange caught my eye, just in my periphery. “Goddammit,” I said. I stood and stared into the alley across the way. The damned thing was taunting me.
“What did he say?”
I ignored him and focused on what I was seeing. Mrs Lafferty’s missing cat. It was there. The damned ginger bastard was nonchalantly sat on the corner looking at me. It licked a paw. Goddammit.
“Jack?” said Suede.
I turned to the cop. “I’ll... I’ll be back, I promise; I still need to give my statement about what happened in the lab, a proper one. And... and the one about Queenie.”
“Jack, you always say that but you never...”
“I will, I will!” The cat hadn’t moved. Neither had I. I stalked forward, ignoring my aching body, and I could hear Suede continue to call my name. I shushed him.
“Jack,” he repeated. “At least tell me what Regan said to you.”
I didn’t take my eyes off my prize. “He told me that there’s no reason a fake cannot surpass the original.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
I didn’t reply, pretended I didn’t hear him and crept down the steps and toward the evil beast. I was close. The creature was almost within my grasp.
“Jack...”
I might not be the real Jack Gemini, at least, not the real Jack of this universe, but I could always do better, surpass what I used to be, surpass what the other Jack Gemini had been. I could be a better person. The best Jack Gemini.
And I was going to catch that goddamned cat if it killed me.
I pounced at my prey.
And missed.
––––––––
Case Closed.