Infected Page 11

  Holden kept busy making coffee, even adding steps he didn’t need to in order to avoid her eyes. But what she said was very interesting. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m pretty sure he was working an investigation he shouldn’t have been working. He’s Vice, not Homicide. But I get it. He knew of this guy through Vice, and he knew about the bad shit going down in the Jungle. He wanted to help. What I don’t get is why he’d involve you.”

  Holden leaned against the counter, hip cocked. “Oh, now you’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

  “Cut the crap. I’m not Roan, and I don’t give a shit what kind of trip you’re on. You’re fucking dangerous, and you could end Kevin’s career. He deserves better than that.”

  Holden swallowed a smile as he sized her up. She had him nailed. Hardly a point in pretending with her, was there? That’s exactly why he thought lesbians should run the world. He almost admired her. “He asked me to ask around the Jungle, see if I could find any witnesses to Burn’s murder.”

  She glared at him, honestly confused. “Why? It’s not his case.”

  “He wanted to find some kind of evidence in an attempt to delay city hall moving on the Jungle.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh while rolling her eyes and throwing her hands out as if appealing to unseen gods. “Goddammit. Would it have fucking killed him to not care for five fucking minutes?”

  Holden shrugged, finally pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Maybe he wouldn’t be him if he stopped giving a damn.”

  She shot him a sour look, but her shoulders sagged almost instantly. “Yeah. Fuck. What did you find for him?”

  He considered not telling her, but what if that was the information that led to Kevin getting shot? “I found out he might want to talk to a guy named Animal Dave inside the Jungle. That’s it.”

  “Animal Dave?” She rolled her eyes again. Apparently she thought that nickname was over the top as well. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. I still have a friend scoping the place out from the inside, but when people are assholes to you professionally, you don’t trust easily.”

  Dropkick both nodded and shrugged, apparently refusing to commit on an answer. She had started to turn back toward the door when he asked, “Does it help?”

  She paused and looked at him like he’d just started speaking Mandarin. “What?”

  “Does that info help find who shot him?”

  The fact that she had to think about it before answering him told him all he needed to know. “I don’t know. It may have nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh come on. How many drive-bys are there around the Jungle?”

  “Someone was just shot there a few days ago.”

  “Not from a car.”

  She scowled at him. “And Burn was stabbed. There’s a lot of crime going on around there.”

  Holden met her scowl with one of his own. “Wow. Are you really gonna turn this into a class thing?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just saying the likelihood that they’re not connected is pretty good. Different acts of violence can happen in the same place.”

  Holden shook his head. “You’re going into the investigation with a preconceived bias? Sloppy.”

  Oops. Holden knew he’d pushed it too far as he finished the sentence. She bristled, the anger showing in her eyes as her posture went ramrod straight, and her hands curled into fists, although she planted them on her hips. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

  “I’m sor—”

  “You know, I put up with shit from Roan because he was one of the best detectives I’ve ever met and a decent person. But you? I don’t fucking know you from anything but your arrest record. I am not Roan. I’m not putting up with your shit for a single second. I am good at my job, and I’m tempted to beat your ass ’cause I’m not sure you’re even a second-rate detective. Can you be tenth rate? A hundred?”

  “Okay, I deserved that.”

  “Fuck you, dickhole. You deserve a hell of a lot worse.”

  Holden held up a hand in surrender. He’d gotten so chummy with Roan he kind of forgot that all of these people were his enemy. They were all mammals, and that was pretty much the only thing they had in common. They’d probably have arrested Roan if they knew half of the shit he got up to, never mind that he was supposedly their friend. No atheists in foxholes—although Roan would argue with that—and no friends in the police department. How could he forget such a basic rule? “You’re not the first or the last person to say that. And there’s no need to shit on my detective credentials ’cause I know I suck. I have a friend who does the thinking; I’m just the dumb muscle of the operation.” And occasional bait/honey trap, but she didn’t need to know that. “And we both want to help Kevin, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned. She hadn’t liked him before. She probably hated him now. It was his fault, though. Taunting banter was for his friends, not friends of friends. “Do you? Do you give a damn about anyone but yourself, Krause?”

  He shook his head, tempted to snap at her that he was patrolling the streets late last night, and it wasn’t for his fucking health, but to admit that was a flamboyant suicide. Once he was sure he had swallowed back the anger, he said, “I was helping him with the fucking Burn case, wasn’t I? I didn’t even like Burn.”

  She huffed a snort through her nose, a slight thawing of the ice. “From what I can tell, no one liked Burn.”

  “He was a carrion crow. Vital to the ecosystem, but no one wanted to sit next to him at dinner.”

  She gave him a strange look he couldn’t really interpret. The anger was still there, but it wasn’t the dominant emotion. “Who benefits the most from his absence?”

  “Who doesn’t? He was just one of a couple of dozen different guys who keep the black markets running for the poor and disenfranchised. The chain isn’t so fragile that one man gone is going to affect it much.”

  “No one wanted his territory?”

  Holden shrugged, glad she was willing to let the ugliness go for now for the sake of the case. But again, lesbians got shit done. They had no time for piece-of-shit men like him. “That’s where Dirty Eddie and Animal Dave came in. But it was a flimsy lead, and I’m pretty sure it’s a dead end.”

  Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Dirty Eddie? As in Dirty Eddie Valentine?”

  Holden shrugged. “Can’t say I caught a surname. Why? He on a suspect list?”

  “Not exactly, but he’s shifty as hell, and Vice has all but blamed him for the influx of aura into the city.”

  “Aura?” But even as he asked, Holden raised a finger, cutting off her response before she could make it. “Wait. This is some silly new drug, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. It’s a bastard offspring of bath salts and ecstasy.”

  Holden tried to imagine that and failed. “How does that work?” Ecstasy was a gentle drug, all things considered. Bath salts were a rectal exam with a chainsaw coated with sulfuric acid. They seemed like polar opposites.

  Dropkick shook her head. “That’s more Vice’s domain than mine. Basically it’s speed with a bit of a feel-good twist. It’s not as bad as bath salts, since nobody’s taken to ripping other people’s faces off and eating them, but it’s shitty in the fact that people get hooked easily and build up a tolerance fast. We knew it had hit the city when five people OD’d on it in one day.”

  “So you think it’s a drug thing?”

  She shrugged, throwing her hands up again. Holden now recognized it as a sign of frustration. “It’d be a good answer, wouldn’t it? Money makes the world go round and is ultimately responsible for a shit-ton of homicides.”

  “But what if it isn’t? What if it’s just some fucked-up personal thing? Which I assume makes up the other big chunk of homicides.”

  She dipped her head in a way that suggested she thought he was right but was reluctant to admit it. He was still on her shit list and might never come off it. “I just have to follow the lead where
ver it takes me.”

  “You sound like Roan.”

  “It’s basic investigator stuff. I’d be surprised if he didn’t teach you that.”

  “And I’d be surprised if I ever followed it.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She turned and headed back toward the door, but Holden wasn’t quite done with the conversation yet.

  “Hey, which hospital is Kevin in? Is he going to be okay?”

  Just from the way she paused and looked at him, Holden guessed she was considering whether to tell him or not. Ultimately, she decided to. “He’s at Harborview. You’re not family, so I doubt they’ll let you see him. And they don’t know if he’s going to make it or not. It’s iffy right now.”

  Holden nodded grimly, grateful she’d told him. He probably could have found it out on his own, but this was easier. She left without a further word, but that too was for the best.

  Could his tip about Animal Dave have led to Kevin getting shot? He didn’t think so… but there was no fucking way that was just coincidence. He tried to sell himself on that and couldn’t. Drugs was an expected angle, although aura was new to him. It was funny how being off the street even if only to sleep indoors was enough to disconnect you from most things.

  Holden ran through several possibilities in his mind while he took a quick shower, still not sure where to start. Except the Jungle was a given, wasn’t it? He really needed to check in with Hel, although he was sure she was fine. She wasn’t a cop; she was a known staple of the street scene. Even if you didn’t know her, you knew of her.

  He was still getting dressed when he heard a familiar, rhythmic knock at his door. It was Chai—his knock was unmistakable—so he went ahead and answered the door with his pants on but unzipped, water dripping from his hair onto his naked chest.

  Chai looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Did I interrupt you posing for a romance novel cover?”

  Holden gave him the finger and retreated to his bedroom to finish getting dressed while Chai came in. “Don’t get dressed on my account,” he called after him.

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” Holden shouted back. And he was, which was a nice surprise.

  “I think I found Alexei.”

  “Already?” Holden wondered when the last time he did his laundry was. He really needed to carve out some time to do it. He was running out of clean clothes. Maybe tonight instead of prowling the streets, he should pick a shady Laundromat and wait for trouble to come to him.

  He finally decided on a T-shirt from the Pride parade in ’11 and came out to find Chai standing beside the couch, leaning on his cane. Holden was glad he was using it. Not only because it was a decent weapon, but that was a good part of it.

  Chai looked dapper but casual as always in coffee-colored corduroys and a deep blue button-down shirt that really flattered his skin tone, but he also seemed personally brighter than he had been in a while. Happier. Ooh, had he finally gone out and gotten laid without the other guy being a drag about it? He’d have to ask him later if Chai didn’t tell him. “How’d you find him so fast?”

  “Let me stress that I think it’s most likely him,” Chai said. “And I’m afraid it’s not a happy story.”

  Holden felt a sharp sting in his stomach. So much bad news, and the day had just begun. “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “No. But he is in an induced coma, and he may be hard to visually identify because apparently his face is a bruised, swollen mess.” Holden stared at him intently until he started explaining. “There’s this tiny hospital called Overview. It’s up near the passes. They were part of my cold calling, in case they had anyone in the morgue or the hospital that matched Alexei’s description. They didn’t, but the nurse told me they did have a John Doe who might be the guy I was looking for. They said the police brought him in, badly beaten and missing his wallet. They think he was viciously mugged and left for dead but had been hoping he was a local and making inquiries that way.”

  Holden sighed, glad Alexei wasn’t dead. But mugged, beaten to hell and back? Jesus. He almost hoped it wasn’t him. People were the fucking worst, weren’t they? “So we’re gonna have to go up there and see if we can identify him?”

  “We? I think you mean you. He’s a good-looking guy in a photo to me. I wouldn’t know him from any other sexy motherfucker.”

  Holden nodded, wondering about the drive. They’d have to head into the mountains, and going there and coming back would probably eat up most of the day. Shit. “On our way, can we make a pit stop?”

  “Sure. Wanna catch some breakfast?”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I mean. Kevin was shot last night. I thought I could put in a visit to make sure he’s still kicking before we go.”

  Chai’s eyes bugged out. “Kevin, your cop friend?”

  “He’s more of an acquaintance. But yeah.”

  From the look he was giving him, Chai found his reaction slightly underwhelming. “Should we put off the trip to Overview for another day?”

  He shook his head. “No point. We’ll just put in a brief visit and see if he’s conscious. Then we’ll get going. I doubt I can see him anyway. I’m not family.”

  Chai grimaced. “Is it okay that I think that’s kind of weird? Not all of us have family we want to see.”

  Holden shrugged, although he agreed with him completely. If he ever ended up in the hospital again, there was no fucking way he’d ever tell his parents. In fact, if ever asked about his parents, he always said they were deceased. It made things so much easier. He idly wondered if they ever included him in lists of relatives and decided probably not. They’d removed him from the church material, right? Permanently removing him from their lives was probably minor by comparison.

  Yeah, this was exactly what he needed to be thinking about right now. Goddammit.

  THEY HIT a drive-through and got breakfast sandwiches they ate in the car before maneuvering the parking lot at Harborview. Like all hospital parking lots, it seemed to have been built by a sadist who felt all pain should be experienced to be understood. They found a space about a quarter of a mile away, and Holden told Chai he could stay in the car to spare him the walk. It looked like Chai didn’t care, but then he reconsidered and decided to remain in the vehicle. Holden guessed he didn’t want to impose, which was very polite of him, but he was unaware that Holden was essentially imposing. If Kevin’s family knew who he was, there was no fucking way in hell they would want him near.

  Once inside, he asked where Kevin Robinson was, and after some wrangling about who he was and him not being family, Holden found out he was in the ICU and wasn’t allowed visitors. Still, Holden slunk off and found his way to the ICU waiting area, where Kevin’s relatives were.

  There was an elderly woman in a deep blue dress with a matching jacket and hat combo that Holden had only ever seen aged women in church wear, and he guessed she was Kevin’s mother. She was accompanied by younger men who had a very similar body shape to Kevin’s. He assumed they were brothers or cousins, close relatives of some stripe. There was only one younger woman among the group, and she looked frazzled and distracted.

  Since he was in the hall, he looked away from the waiting room and down the corridor and spied a somehow familiar figure slumped in one of the hard plastic chairs. Holden wandered that way until he recognized the guy—Colton—the former (?) hustler who periodically lived with Kevin. He had no idea what their current status was, but it didn’t matter.

  Colton looked up as Holden approached, and while he gave him a friendly nod, he looked surprised. There was an empty plastic chair beside him, and Holden took it. “Not with the family?”

  Colton shook his head. “They wouldn’t want me there. They did tell the staff I was his roommate, though, so I guess that’s something.”

  Holden almost asked if they meant it euphemistically, but he already knew the answer was no. They probably had no idea he was a former hooker and a recovering junkie and may have had a relationship with Kevin that went beyond roommate. If th
ey even suspected, he might have been banned from the ward.

  “How is Kevin doing?”

  Colton frowned and looked away. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, like he had been crying. “I eavesdropped when the doctor talked to the family. He’s out of surgery and stable.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.” Colton wiped his hand over his face and sniffed. “Those rumors about you… are they true?”

  Holden smirked. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  Colton looked at him again and leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “That you’re a… fixer. You take care of problems.”

  How to answer this one. He got it enough he should have had a stock winking denial ready, but usually the people who asked him were desperate, and it seemed cruel to subject them to that. “Depends on the problem.”

  “This asshole that shot Kevin… you can get him, can’t you?”

  Holden shrugged. “I don’t know. And the cops are on it, so I’d be working against them.”

  “He needs to pay for what he’s done,” Colton hissed, his eyes shiny with hurt and anger. “I don’t trust the cops.”

  No shit. It was kind of hustler/hooker code to never trust cops. They either arrested you or did something much worse to you. “You don’t have to. Lots of people liked Kevin. He was a decent cop, and you know how rare that is. The first time this idiot brags about shooting a cop and someone realizes he means Kevin, he’s in the shit.” That wasn’t a lie. No matter how good a cop you were, a lot of street thugs wouldn’t care, except they’d remember when he was decent to them when he didn’t have to be, and guilt would take over. They’d have to put a hurt on the shooter, if only as a way of balancing the scales.