"Good funeral, then?"
Nim smirked.
"You know these English, no idea how to give their people a proper send-off."
The cousins were having one of their regular meetings but not at the usual rotting pub on the pier. The light-industrial area wasn't any less dangerous than the docklands but this establishment at least was clean and dry and Nim wasn't worried about the beer maiming him for life or staining his clothes.
Brodie took a sip of his brew, smacking his lips appreciatively. He quirked a fair eyebrow at his companion.
"Many there?"
"Plenty to see him put safely in the ground, not many to mourn though." Nim lifted his half-empty glass in a mock-solemn toast. "To Ray Canly. Rot in hell, ya bastid."
The London crime boss had been shot dead outside his apartment building a little over a week ago. A good, clean shot to the head via a high-powered rifle from a distance. The Police were calling it an underworld hit and though they had a long list of possible suspects - there were plenty who'd happily dance on Canly's grave – not a lot of progress was being made on the case. The victim probably never knew what hit him but he'd lived long enough to witness the depth of his nephew's incompetence.
Joel Canly was on trial for conspiracy to murder. His girlfriend, who'd disappeared half a year ago, had suddenly come out of nowhere and accused him of hiring hit men to bump her off. Canly's lawyers were in a tricky position: their client denied the claims outright but the woman's memories said otherwise, and backed up by the testimony of the Emergency Room doctor who'd saved her life the case for Canly Jnr's innocence didn't look good. So far his legal team had won the skirmishes to not have their client's memories examined by a 'path but the court was wavering on the issue. The presiding judge wanted to know the truth of the matter and he had a reputation for readily admitting evidence from psionics in his cases.
Nim's boss was very happy. Not only had Mitch Hale outlived his enemy he'd seen the downfall of his empire and was already moving in to stake his claim on some of the more lucrative aspects. The future looked bright for the up and coming crime lord – who wouldn't be making the same mistakes Canly had.
Nim was happy that Mitch was happy, the more so because a happy boss was a randy boss. The slender red-head shifted on his buttocks, surreptitiously easing a deep and pleasant ache in his backside. For the moment life was good and he was content to lap up Mitch's attention, especially when Mitch more often than not didn't send Nim back to his own room at night...
"Will you be wanting to visit Joely?" Nim asked his cousin, half in jest. Brodie's brows lowered in thought for a moment then he shrugged.
"Nah, don't think so. He's shaped up to be a good fuck but I don't like him that much." He leered. "Not wanting to blow my own trumpet but whoever ends up with Joely as his bitch will find he's been nicely broken in."
"And without his Uncle's protection on the inside I can't see the little prick being anything but someone's toy." Nim smirked.
"Think it's likely he'll be convicted, then?"
"I wouldn't put good money on him getting off."
"Ah well, good riddance to bad rubbish." Brodie clinked his glass against his companion's, green eyes twinkling. "I'll miss the extra income though. Let me know if there's anyone else you want seduced and betrayed."
Nim laughed unexpectedly, snorting his drink over the table. He glared at the broad man's evil grin as he tried to mop up the mess with an inadequate paper napkin.
"I'll do that," then he chuckled, "It's always a pleasure to work with someone who enjoys their job…"
Razor's mental state was chaotic. She was feeling bewildered and lost, and… and useless. The problem was that Angel was deeply distressed and there was nothing Razor felt she could do to help her lover except physically be there for her. What she really wanted to do was get hold of Mr. 'Johnson' and slowly disembowel the bastard over hot coals, but, as satisfying as that would be it wouldn't actually help Angel right now. She wrapped her arms tighter around the sobbing cat-girl and nuzzled a kiss to her thick, brown hair. Angel drew in a shuddering breath, making an effort to master her emotions.
*I'm sorry.*
*For what?* The 'path frowned.
*Going to pieces like that.* Her lips quivered as tears threatened again. *It's just so unfair!*
Razor growled soundlessly. It wasn't just 'Johnson' she'd like to hurt… 'Johnson's army of lawyers had put Angel through the mill during their cross-examinations, suggesting she was 'making it up' about being the banker's sex-slave for three years. They'd called into question her honesty, her intelligence, her motives. They'd belittled her suffering and tried to make out she got a kick from pain. They'd even called into question the validity of her memories, reasoning that she'd been under the Agency's 'protection' for over a year, who knows how her mind had been tampered with? These so-called 'memories' of her imprisonment could merely be lies implanted by persons unknown to discredit her alleged 'owner' – Francis James Dalmer – who was known to be a kind and generous man, well liked amongst the business community and the charity groups of which he was such an active, and munificent, participant…
The suits were also strenuously resisting any attempt to examine the memories of their client, or for that matter the memories of the few members of his personal entourage that had been rounded up. Chief amongst these was a tracker, Landers. The Agency investigators was itching to get their hands on him: from what they'd gathered from Angel the tracker had more than enough corroborating evidence in his head to nail Dalmer even without the defendant's own memories being used as evidence. Needless to say the lawyers were fighting as hard to keep the Agency away from Landers as Dalmer, and Landers was desperately hoping they'd succeed. After all, if the lawyers failed and he was handed over to the 'paths he'd undoubtedly be found to be complicit in the allegations. The idea terrified him. Whereas his employer would only lose his freedom and his money, Landers would lose his psi abilities.
The galling thing was that the Agency had all the evidence to convict Dalmer but as it had come from unofficial telepathic surveillance of the accused, not only was it inadmissible in Court, they couldn't even declare they had it without Dalmer's lawyers crying foul and pushing for a mistrial. What was needed was an order from the Judge allowing them a formal, supervised 'interview' with the defendant. Dalmer's lawyers were fighting tooth and nail to prevent this, helped in their cause by a Judge who didn't look too kindly on psionics. It was frustrating for all the Agency and Metropolitan Police members involved, but sheer agony for Angel, the lone small voice shouting out against the banker and the pet industry.
Razor was still barred from actively taking any part in the investigation process but she was seeing first-hand the emotional toll the trial was taking on Angel. The cat-girl was tougher than she appeared but even so Razor was worried about how much more of the veiled abuse her lover could tolerate. Certainly it was in Dalmer's interest for the case to drag on for a long as possible, but the longer it took the more stress Angel came under.
*It's late,* Razor kissed the ex-pet's forehead, *come to bed?*
Angel slumped, nodding wearily.
*I suppose I should at least try to get some sleep before I'm grilled again.* She ghosted a small smile. *Thank you, Raze, I couldn't do this without you.*
The 'path stroked a velvet cheek.
*I wish I could do more...*
*Razor!*Lenore's abrupt interruption on their personal link made Razor frown. *Is Angel awake?*
*She is.*
*Patch me through to her.*
*Why?*
Lenore tch-ed with impatience and Razor caught a faint mental whiff of the petite woman's contained excitement.
*The Met's stumbled over some new evidence.*
*Hang on…* Razor mentally switched *lines*. *Lenore would like to speak to you.* she 'pathed to Angel. The cat-girl blinked, then nodded.
*Angel?* Lenore sounded like she was striving for dispassion. *Do you know someone called Makka?*
Angel blinked again.
*She was an assistant or something to Mr Johnson,* unconsciously she leant towards Razor's comforting warmth. *She… looked after me. Fed me, kept me clean. Why?*
*She's come forward, offered to give us access to her memories.*
There was a pause, then Angel growled:
*And what does she get out of it?*
*We're negotiating.* Lenore sighed. *But first we have to convince the Judge to let us access her memories. Charles is sweet-talking Barnes now.*
*How much use will this woman be?* Razor joined the conversation.
*As far as I know she never witnessed any of the… rapes,* Angel shivered, *But she knew the conditions I was kept under, knew what I was there for, mopped up the mess afterwards…*
*She couldn't have believed you were there voluntarily, could she?* Lenore asked.
*Not unless she was a complete idiot with some very strange ideas about relationships.*
*Good.* the Agent was brisk. *If we can use her she could be a way into Dalmer or Landers.* her voice softened. *Sorry to barge in like that, Angel, but I thought you'd like know the latest.*
*I do, thanks.* the cat-girl replied.
*Right, I'll leave you to it. I'll let you know the moment I hear anything more.*
*Actually, could you leave it 'til the morning?* Angel was apologetic. *I… just need a break.*
*Of course,* Lenore *smiled*. *Have a good sleep. I think we're finally moving forwards on this.* The Agent signed off, leaving the women alone.
Angel was still shivering; Razor pulled her close.
*Bed now?*
The cat-girl nodded mutely then turned green eyes on her lover.
*Raze, can I... will you let me make love to you?*
*Yes.* the 'path blurted after a moment, cheeks stained crimson. *You don't need to ask.*
*Yes I do.* Angel was quietly serious. *It's important I never make you do something you don't want.*
Razor nodded then found herself being led by the hand to their bedroom. Angel smiled back over her shoulder but her eyes were still troubled.
*I love you, Raze.*
The 'path quashed her embarrassment – she was still not wholly comfortable with such emotional openness – and squeezed Angel's hand.
*I trust you, Angel. I know you won't hurt me.*
The cat-girl smiled again, an expression this time overflowing with sultry promise.
Razor woke around 7 a.m the next morning with Angel still sleeping soundly beside her, tucked in close to the 'path's body. Razor very, very gently brushed over the cat-girl's mind and smiled: Angel's sleep had been dreamless for the first time in far too long, she was relaxed and calm. Working as swiftly as she dared the psi stroked a tendril of her will into her lover's mind, lulling Angel into deeper sleep. Razor was sweating by the time she'd finished – subtlety and fine control were not her strengths – but Angel was guaranteed at least another hour of restful sleep.
Lenore however was already awake as Razor found out when she quested quietly along their private link.
*Morning, Baxter. Any news?*
*Not yet.* her partner *sounded* exhausted. *Judge Barnes is 'considering' the request. She said she'd let us know by 9 this morning.*
*Are we hopeful?*
Lenore chuckled.
*Hopeful? Yes. Moderately. Barnes is openly hostile to psionics. Charles can talk up a good case, though.* The affection in the Agent's *tone* almost had Razor smiling.
*And we're back in court at 10?*
*Yep. Hopefully to hear Barnes call an adjournment while we interview Makka.* She sighed. *I'm going to get some coffee. See you later.*
Razor checked the depth of Angel's sleep again, then, satisfied the cat-girl wouldn't wake for a little while, longer the 'path slipped out of bed and prowled through to the kitchen to prepare them something special for breakfast…
It was good news. Judge Barnes had decided 'after a night of deep deliberation' to allow Makka's memories to be admitted as evidence. She'd adjourned the trial until the following morning to give the prosecution time to prepare their witness and for herself to consider the new evidence. Razor was pleased for Angel's sake to have a day off from court and she planned to spend it pampering the cat-girl.
The rest – and Razor's loving attention – did wonders for Angel's equilibrium. The ex-pet had another good night's sleep and woke feeling refreshed and less apprehensive about the continuing trial – which had suddenly leapt forward. Judge Barnes had reviewed Makka's memories and had, reluctantly, conceded there were grounds now to authorize access to at least Lander's memories. Depending on what was found there she might consider extending her authorization to the defendant himself.
There was a problem, though…
*Absolutely not, Greg, we can't risk it.*
Outside the interview room in the Police Station Greg Mahican took a deep breath and marshalled his argument.
*I don't like it either, Wombat, but the Judge has only given us 24 hours. If we can't get anything useful from Landers in that time we won't be given another chance. Lander's mental defences are surprisingly tough. I can't get through, not without taking time we don't have. I need Razor.*
There was silence while the head of the Field Agents section pondered. Then finally:
*All right. I'll sanction her involvement – with reservation.*
*Thanks, Wombat. I'll keep an eye on her.*
*See that you do, Greg, there's too much at stake here for any cock-ups…*
Twenty minutes later the telepath greeted a grimly cool Razor outside the interview room.
*Try not to damage him, Anderson, no matter what we see.*
The look she gave him was withering.
*Credit me with some sense, Mahican.* She nodded peremptorily at the Police officer standing guard. The young woman twitched, eyes wide, then hastily fumbled open the door for the psis.
Landers glanced up at the pair walked into the room, paling as he instinctively recognised the threat the tall woman personified. Razor loomed over the terrified tracker.
"Landers, I am Special Agent Anderson." She said as much for the benefit of the Police and Legal witnesses as Lander. " I am here to assist Agent Mahican." She grabbed his wrist, squeezing painfully when he tried to pull away. Sapphire-blue eyes blazed. *This will hurt a lot less if you co-operate.*
Razor consciously allowed Mahican's mind to meld with hers, waited impatiently while he gathered up the three flatscan witnesses, then shaped her will into a knife-edge. The tracker screamed as the 'path sliced neatly through his defences.
It didn't take the Agents long to find what they were looking for.
Landers had been in Dalmer's employment for several years before the banker acquired the cat-girl – his second pet. Jackson had joined the 'team' shortly after Angel was delivered, and it was only days after that the cat-girl had attempted her first escape. (In the privacy of his thoughts Landers didn't doubt there was a connection between his new partner and the pet's running away but he never voiced his suspicions.) He and Jackson were dispatched to bring her back, which they did easily, catching up with her within a few hours. Landers was amazed at the defiance the girl showed when she was dragged back in front of her owner – didn't she realise how much trouble she was in? A coldly furious Dalmer dismissed the trackers and when next Landers saw the pet a couple of days later she was in obvious pain and had lost some of her spark...
She hadn't been deterred though. Over the following few years she escaped three more times, and each time it took longer for the partners to find her and bring her back. There was no doubt in Landers mind that Jackson enjoyed the chase, savoured the pet's fear and went out of his way to frighten her at every opportunity. He knew the younger man was a sadist and had had the misfortune to meet some of his like-minded friends. That the man Brewster was evil was beyond doubt…
The invading 'paths skated over Angel's punishment after her last failed escape from Dalmer, save noting Landers' disgust with what his partner had done to the girl in his absence. It wasn't an entirely humanitarian response though: Landers was just as annoyed that Jackson's actions meant he couldn't fuck the pet anymore.
The first Landers' knew about the cat-girl being traded to Mr 'Brown' was when Dalmer called the trackers into his office. Apparently the 'little bitch' had tried to escape from her new owner and Dalmer was lending him their services to track her down. Starting from the point where she'd jumped out of the moving car it hadn't been hard to find her trail. So easy to follow in fact that even though she had a good start on them Landers had left Jackson to continue the chase on his own while he attended to some… personal business. It was a decision he'd regretted ever since.
His partner had called early the next morning to say he was close to the target – and then nothing. Worried after an hour's silence, Landers had followed the combined trail of the pet and tracker until it came to a dead-end in an alley. What he found there wasn't reassuring. A pile of rotting cardboard scattered as if something had been dug out from underneath it, a pool of cold urine – not actually that unusual except for the volume - but worst of all were the cut and tattered remains of Jackson's clothes dropped amongst the debris. Landers didn't need to be a seer to know something bad had happened. He reported immediately to Dalmer who told him to forget Jackson, find the pet. The order made sense in a coldly logical sort of way – there was far more of a threat to the status-quo if the cat-girl was found by someone outside the pet-rings – but Landers was angry at being forced to abandon his partner. He did as he was told, though, and followed the cat-girl's trail until it disappeared abruptly in a particularly run-down part of the city. Landers was sceptical about the pet's fate. He reported to Dalmer that he could find no trace of her but he was certain she wasn't dead. The trail hadn't dwindled to nothing, as he'd witnessed before when tracking someone who'd subsequently died, it had simply stopped. Landers concluded the pet was being psi-shielded.
Dalmer had been furious, and justifiably worried. It was imperative the cat-girl be found and if unable to be brought back, disposed of. He gave Landers a small remote control, the trigger mechanism for an explosive device planted in the pet. It had a range of fifty yards and Landers spent the next twelve hours carefully quartering a kilometre wide area around the end of trail. He heard no explosions though, which meant that even if she was still in the area she was out of his reach, or as was more likely, had already been moved. Dalmer ordered him to widen the search, find the pet at any cost.
Meanwhile, in all the time he was searching for the runaway, Landers thoughts were never far from Jackson. As soon as he could, and at every opportunity over the next couple of weeks, he continued the search for his partner.
*I don't understand.* Razor frowned. *He didn't like Jackson, thought he was a psycho. Why was he so concerned?*
*I'm not entirely sure.* Greg probed delicately around the edges of the memory. *It's tied up somehow with his work ethic. Jackson was more than just a co-worker, he was his partner. They were comrades, a team, and loyalty is something Landers holds in great reverence.* The 'path smiled wryly. *What do you want to bet he's followed the same football team all his life?*
*Does that have any relevance to the case?* Razor *sounded* puzzled and Greg suppressed a sigh.
*No, no relevance, just an observation. Let's continue…*
Landers eventually found Jackson deep in a disused sewerage tunnel. He'd been in a horrible state; filthy, brutalised, barely alive, missing his hands and his teeth and… (the 'paths felt the tracker's revulsion) it looked like he'd been sodomised by a bloody tree…
Jackson had survived his ordeal but privately Landers wondered if it would've been better if he hadn't. With cyber-ware replacing his hands the younger tracker had lost his psi abilities and consequently his job and self-esteem. Dalmer had paid for the surgery and given Jackson a large payout then promptly forgot about him. Landers hadn't found it so easy though. He kept in contact with his ex-partner for several weeks after he was released from hospital, watching the mental and emotional decline of an already unstable personality and fretted over how he could help. Jackson was downright hostile to Landers, making it clear he wanted nothing more to do with the tracker. The blond endured the alternating cold silences and acid verbal abuse and doggedly kept trying to pull Jackson out of the pit he'd dug himself into. Not once did he question his reasons for persisting with the thankless task. Eventually though Landers had to admit there was nothing more he could do. He made one last attempt, giving Jackson a contact number for a man in Europe, something that had taken him days to finalise, but when that small lifeline was flung back in his face Landers turned his back on his ex-partner. He didn't see Jackson again but found out some time later from an acquaintance that the bitter young man had used the number he'd given him and was now in Italy. Landers felt he'd more than discharged his obligations towards his partner: he wished Jackson luck then severed the emotional tie…
The 'paths had all they needed now and they withdrew quickly from Landers' mind. The hollow-eyed tracker slumped to the table, despair radiating from him in waves. Greg spared him a glance then eyed the flatscan witnesses – the baby-faced lawyer looked like he was going to throw up.
"Is that enough?"
"Thank you, Agent Mahican, yes I believe it is." DS Macmahon shoved his hand through his short-cropped grey hair. He quirked an eyebrow at Lander's lawyer. "Cup of tea, sir?"
The man swallowed thickly.
"Please." He croaked. "And I'd like to speak to my client in private."
"Of course, sir." Macmahon was conspicuously solemn. "The Constable here will take Mr Landers back to his cell when you're finished."
Outside the interview room the Sergeant's stoic demeanour faltered.
"There are times I'm very glad to be a normal." He nodded to the 'paths. "The Constable and I will record our observations shortly. They'll be finalised and in Barnes' hands by the end of the day."
"Thank you for your help." Greg inclined his head. "You're prepared to testify if necessary?"
"If it'll help put bastards like Dalmer away… Oh yes."
The agent's dark eyes gleamed.
"We'll see you in court, then." He shook the Sergeant's hand then after an affirming nod from Razor, the 'paths turned to leave.
They spent the next few hours making their own exhaustive notes on the session, Greg all the while keeping a surreptitious eye on Razor. The frosty 'path had handled herself remarkably well, in so far as despite what she'd seen happen to Angel not a hint of her profound rage had manifested in front of the witnesses. She was still bottling it up now, which might not be so healthy.
*Anderson, when you're done here why don't you do a workout in one of the containment suites?*
Blue eyes glittered.
*Is that a suggestion in your professional capacity?*
*Yes.*
The 'path regarded him with icy dispassion for a moment, then she relaxed.
*I don't want to return to Angel while I am still so… upset.*
Greg clamped down on his surprise: six months ago Razor would have denied there was even a problem, let alone accept advice. That had to be Angel's influence. Greg turned back to his notes.
*I think we should pass on that European contact of Lander's to the Paris branch. It's the strongest lead we've had so far of Jackson's whereabouts.*
Razor nodded, grim again. Jackson was high on the Agency's most wanted list, and hers, though she couldn't – wouldn't - give any guarantee as to her self-control if she ever met him.
Judge Barnes declared herself satisfied with the evidence garnered from Landers and Makka's memories and suddenly Dalmer's legal team found they were battling uphill against a conviction. The to-ing and fro-ing of the trial had taken weeks but after the summing up it only took the jury eight hours to reach a guilty verdict. Dalmer was the first of those involved with the pet industry to be put on trial but the ripples from his fall were felt around the globe.
Not all those who deserved it were brought to justice. Some managed to avoid a guilty finding and some escaped the net completely. In spite of an exhaustive investigation Jackson's trail had gone cold in Italy. It'd been discovered he'd had some problems – an indiscretion with his employer's wife – and been fired… and then he'd simply disappeared. It was frustrating but the Agency couldn't countenance its resources being used to hunt down one individual, not when there were still so many others with equally heinous crimes attributed to them left to find. Maybe at a later date…
The hunt had reaped an unexpected bonus though. Richard Roydson, the owner of the pet brothel, had been spotted in the company of a man known only as Carlos. As it was suspected the Italian had links to the European pet-industry the decision was made to not swoop on Roysdon immediately. Instead he, and Carlos, would be put under surveillance. It was a delicate operation, both men were intensely wary and had covered their trails well, but there were high hopes of finding something soon…
But most worrying of all to the Agency's 'top three' was that so far they'd not found any trace of the psi, or psis as it turned out, responsible for the memory wipes. 'Jane' - the telepath Razor had damaged beyond recovery - while vicious had not been part of that aspect of the industry, neither had she known who the others were though she was aware of their existence.
The psis had to be found and neutralized. Leaving them free to continue their mischief could prove an incalculable danger to the Agency's agenda…
© 2005 February 7th Lutra Darkside
© 2005 Wavewrights