SIX

Rudlow stood by the docks, looking out across the ocean.

He wore a long trench coat, glad of the shelter it offered against the downpour of rain.

It was dark and a thick blanket of cloud hid the stars. Yet, in the distance, Rudlow could still see the pyramids, circling the island like ships, their glow starting to fade without the sun. The pyramids collected solar and steam, their three-sided glass walls and m5 piping said to be the most effective energy drain around.

Two cranes loomed over the harbour. To Rudlow, they were like giant robots, guarding the city from some fantastical alien invasion. Once upon a time they were used to lift and lay loads coming on and going off shore. But now, a time when pretty much all tech was code-assisted, the old cranes simply rotted in the salty air.

A clatter of uniforms busied themselves around Ms Liberty’s toes. The old girl was her usual perky self, standing tall and proud on her pedestal beside the cranes, rain-battered face still smiling. On the ground before her was a split polystyrene case of cuddly bears. It had come from Total America. Rudlow suspected that the bears held something more sinister than fibre in their fluffy bellies: Grade A Heroin, the last drug to remain illegal in Maalside.

He had received the call twenty minutes ago. Made it downtown fast enough to find a trickle of what had clearly been a big haul. Tyre tracks, discarded goods, a hint of gasoline in the air: it suggested a sloppy getaway, but a getaway nonetheless.

Rudlow knew too well where he’d find the rest of the stash. But tonight he was tired, and a shakedown at Paul McBride’s place down in Koy Town wasn’t appealing. It would inevitably end with a stand-off; Rudlow and his men on one side with McBride and his on the other.

Retrieving a small penknife from his pocket, Rudlow lifted one of the bears then carefully cut a small hole around its belly. Acrylic stuffing showered the dock’s cold, damp tarmac.

He eased his gloved hand through the hole, piercing a thin lining of plastic. It returned coated in brown powder.

Rudlow dropped the bear to the ground. Peeled the glove off fast, like it was coated in acid. He’d known what to expect, but it still bit him every time he came into contact with this shit. This wonderfully, addictive, electrifying and destructive . . . shit.

He rubbed his mouth then pulled the collar of the trench coat up to his neck. A sudden chill rose through his body.

He turned to walk away.

‘What do you want done with it?’ one of the uniforms asked him as he passed.

‘Just clean it up,’ Rudlow said. ‘Then go home.’

 

u

 

Downtown was a banal city block over on River Quarter.

Since Lark’s secession, and its repeals, Rudlow found himself with so few men he hardly could keep the building staffed at night. Tonight there was only one guy on the desk; an Irishman by the name of Jones.

Rudlow was tired. He wanted to get in, write up that fiasco at the docks then get the hell home.

But Jones called as he passed.

‘Sir?’

‘Not now, Jones.’

‘But sir, there’s –’

‘I said not now, Jones.’

Rudlow pushed through the double doors leading into the open plan.

He moved through to the bathrooms, banged open the door and entered, finding the sink.

He pressed the blue button, waiting until a little water had poured before scooping it up and throwing it around his face.

He looked in the mirror, finding his worn-out stubbled face looking back. God, he needed some sleep.

He cupped some more water into his hands, sipped it, swilling a little around his mouth before spitting it out. He watched it swirl, disappearing down the plughole. It was pink and Rudlow realised his gums were bleeding. Seemed to be a stress thing. That or not brushing his teeth too much, the night seeming to blend into morning, all sense of routine lost.

Rudlow left the bathrooms, heading back through the open plan towards his own office.

Jones spotted him once more, this time leaving the desk to approach him. Boy couldn’t take a hint.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said to leave it, Jones. Whatever this is can wait until morning.’

‘But sir –’

Rudlow opened the door to his office, reaching his hat towards the nearby coat stand.

He froze.

There, at his desk, in his chair, sat another man.

Rudlow looked to Jones.

‘I tried to tell you, sir.’

‘It’s okay,’ Rudlow said, waving the desk cop away.

He closed the door, sized up the man at his desk. Joker was leaning back in Rudlow’s chair, wiretap on his face, coil running to his cell. He was zoning. Right here in Rudlow’s office, this no-mark was hanging loose and zoning.

‘Can I help you?’

The VR trigger kicked in, alerting the man to Rudlow’s question. He shook once, twice, before a hand reached to remove the wiretap.

His eyes opened.

‘Ah, Mr Rudlow,’ he said, a wide smile spreading across his tanned and perfectly toned face. Rudlow figured him as forty-something. Fairly well-to-do company guy. Bit of work done for sure; he’d maybe pass as thirty to some folks.

‘Chief Rudlow, actually.’

‘Forgive me if I’m intruding,’ the company guy said, jumping to his feet and coming around to the other side of the desk. Standing, he seemed taller. He wore a sheen jacket and strides. PVC shoes on his feet; probably size nines.

‘You are intruding,’ Rudlow said. ‘This is my office. Waiting room’s out there.’

The other man smiled again, seemingly undeterred.

‘I’ve been watching you, Chief Rudlow,’ he said. ‘Keeping tabs on you.’

‘Now look here, Mr –’

‘While City Hall goes to hell, and the Mayor couldn’t give a damn, you soldier on. And that takes courage.’

With that he had Rudlow’s attention.

The company guy buttoned his jacket, straightened his tie.

‘I can see that you and I are on the same page,’ he continued. ‘You see right and wrong as black and white, easily laid out in perfectly good legislation. Legislation, of course, that has been repealed in the name of so-called progress.’ He leaned on the side of Rudlow’s oak desk. ‘But we know that progress isn’t only about dollars. Progress needs moral fibre and moral fibre’s something you have, Chief Rudlow, by the bucket load.’

Rudlow raised his hand.

‘Look, who are you?’ he asked.

‘Forgive me,’ the company guy said, extending his hand. ‘My name is Philip Garçon and I’m here to make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse.’