Ex-Kop (30 page)

I surveyed the dock. There was a group at the dock's end, pooling their money for a shared ride on a double-long skiff. I looked over my shoulder. There were three more zookeepers coming down the stairs, none of them close enough to create any trouble. I closed the gap, pulling right in behind him. I drove my piece into his back flab. “Get in that boat,” I said.

He stopped short. “What?”

“Now!” I said, as I drove my piece in deep.

He stammered out some curses but complied. Maggie started the motor while he stepped over to the dock's edge.

I scanned in every direction. Nobody close yet. “Move it,” I told him. He picked one foot up and held it tentatively in the air as he tried to decide the best way to step down into the boat. I gave him a shove and sent him tumbling down. He smashed into the seats, his impact sending the shallow-bottomed craft into such a wobble that it took on water over the sides.

Maggie lost her balance and fell down. “Dammit, Juno!”

“Go!” I told her as I hopped down.

She gunned the motor. It took a second for the prop to bite before we started edging free of the dock. I stood on the side rail, steadying my balance by hooking my bad hand over one of the bars that held up the tin roof. The zookeeper was on the floor, struggling to get up, trying to get his knees under his mass. I tucked my piece back in my waistband. I grabbed hold of one of the roof supports with my good hand and swung over the zookeeper, monkey-style. I stomped down with both feet, driving him back down to the boat's bottom, stuffing his mass between the seats. He tried to extricate himself, but he was wedged in good and tight. He squirmed and wriggled, but one arm was pinned under his body, and the other wasn't strong enough to pull himself free. He was throwing an immobilized
fit, yelling so loud that he was almost overpowering the sound of the outboard.

I looked back at the dock to see if there was anybody making chase, but we'd gotten away clean. Maggie aimed us for deeper water. I stayed silent, letting him sweat it out, and by the looks of it, he was sweating plenty. We rode out into the gray water, the dimness of sunset draining the color out of everything. Maggie navigated us away from the shore, away from all the other riverboats, finding a nice, private expanse of river for us to carry out our interrogation. Maggie gave the motor one last throttle and shut it off. All was silence except for the rain rattling on the tin roof.

I watched him in the light of the single bulb that hung naked from the roof, waiting for him to quit his struggles. His body jerked a couple more times, but he couldn't pry loose. He was stuck between the seats like a giant lump of bread dough that had been left to rise far too long.

When he finally quit, I said, “Remember me?”

“I know who you are,” he responded more calmly than I'd expected.

“How about Detective Orzo? You know her?”

“Heard of her.”

“From who?”

“Screw you. I'm not talking to you.”

“You'll talk. You have no choice.”

“The hell I don't,” he said as defiantly as a man in his position could.

I was still standing on the side, and I leaned back, pulling the roof with me, tipping the skiff to one side. I stood straight up, letting the boat return to normal, then leaned back again, this time tipping back a little further. “You know what the problem is with these skiffs?” I said as I kept rocking the boat from side to side. “They're so shallow. Catch a little wave and you take
on water.” I leaned back again, pulling hard enough that the boat's rail dipped below the waterline. Cool water ran in and soaked the zookeeper's clothes.

He was scared. I could see it on his face, in his eyes. But he was keeping a lid on it, probably telling himself I wouldn't really do it. I rocked back again, this time taking on twice as much water as before. Water sloshed over his face and pooled around his shoulders.

I kept the boat rocking like we were in heavy surf. “Ready to talk yet?”

“No,” he said.

Another dip.

And another.

And another.

The boat was already hanging heavy in the water. All I had to do now was tilt my body, and I could run water over the edge in a steady stream. “You know how to swim, right, Maggie?”

“Sure do,” she said. She had her feet pulled up onto the seat to keep them out of the water. She was playing along this time, not trying to calm me down like she did when I braced Raj. Those pictures of Adela had her worked up. An innocent girl, framed for her parents' murder, and now forced to demean herself by posing naked. Maggie knew that if we had any chance of saving her, we couldn't be worried about procedure. There was no more time. Adela's execution was scheduled for tomorrow.

I kept tipping back, letting the water trickle over the lip, watching him watch the water. “This is it,” I said, and I meant it. “I'm not going to ask you again.”

He looked me in the eye, searching for any sign that I'd stop. I kept up my cold-blooded stare. If this dumbass had any idea whom he was playing chicken with …

The water kept trickling in. It wouldn't be long before the river grabbed permanent hold and sucked this skiff down for
good. He was really beginning to piss me off. This guy was going to make me swim back to shore. He was still looking at me, wrongly thinking I'd flinch first. I wished he was a cop. Then he'd know my rep. I was the undefeated champ of chicken.

Nothing to do but wait him out. If the boat went under, it would be his own fault for doubting me. The water was gathering around his head. He looked at Maggie, who was standing upright, getting ready to dive. His desperate eyes turned back on me. I met them with my own. I wasn't afraid to look him in the eye. He wouldn't be the first man I'd killed.

The water was creeping up his face diagonally. He turned his head away from me, toward the high side of the tilted boat, keeping his mouth and nose out of the rising water. Maybe we wouldn't have to swim after all, I thought. He might just drown before the boat went under.

He turned his head to look at me again, but his face went under when he did. He sputtered as water ran up his nose. He went into a choking fit and turned away again, straining to hold his head up out of the water. He let out such a violent cough that his head jerked back into the water, and he caught another gagging mouthful.

Maggie turned away, and she covered her ears. I kept the water coming, no longer caring much if he talked or not.

“Okay!” he choked. “Okay!”

I kept the water trickling in, punishing him for making it take so long.

“I'll talk,” he spluttered. “Stop! Make him stop!”

I leveled the boat, and the water went from diagonal to horizontal, his head now fully under. I reached into the water and pulled it up by the hair.

His body wracked as he fought to clear his lungs. “Crazy motherfucker!”

Maggie tossed him a cup. “Start bailing or we still might go under.”

He took hold of the cup with his free hand and dunked it full of water then tossed the contents toward the river, half the water hitting the side and rolling back down into the boat.

I gave him a minute to get his breathing under control. “What's your name?”

“Wozniak. George Wozniak.”

“Okay, George, tell me about Adela Juarez. Somebody's been making her do smut pics.”

“My arm hurts. You gonna pull me up?”

“No.”

“C'mon, man, just pull me up.”

I let go of his hair. His head dropped under like a stone. His free hand swiped at me but caught nothing but air. He tried to lift his head over the waterline, but all that surfaced was his forehead. He kicked with his legs, found some wiggle room, and managed to get his eyes up out of the water, but his nose and his mouth, they were still under. His face looked like it was about to blow from the pressure. I waited as his head fell back all the way under. I grabbed hold of his hair again and pulled him up.

His mouth sprayed water like it was a blowhole, then he went into another round of choking and coughing.

I used my foot to push the bailing cup back into his reach. “You were telling us about Adela Juarez.”

“Yeah, Adela Juarez,” he said, defeated. “That was Ian who took those pics. He brought some photographer with him.”

“Who?”

“I don't know the guy's name.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was fat, a real porker, if you know what I mean.”

Looking at George, seeing his thigh-sized arm working the bailing cup, I said, “Yeah, I know what you mean. Was his name Yuri?”

“Could be. I told you I don't know his name. Ian said I didn't need to know his name.”

“What else can you tell me about him?”

“He was all nervous and shit. When we brought him onto death row, he was always looking over his shoulder like he was afraid one of those cages would pop open any second.”

It was Yuri all right. “And he took the pics?”

“Yeah. You should've seen the RIPs in the cages.”

Maggie interrupted. “Rips?”

“Yeah, you know, Rest in Peace. These assholes, they're already dead. That's what we call them. Anyway, these RIPs were all jerking off and shit. Last time any of them were going to see some titty. And that girl had a nice pair on her, too.”

“You didn't think of bringing her someplace private?”

“Ian didn't want to. He wanted to shoot her in her cage.”

“How did he get her to pose?”

“He told her we'd pass her around the cages if she didn't. He said he'd move her from cage to cage, an hour in each one. He said it loud enough for the RIPs to hear. They went apeshit thinking they were going to get some.”

Maggie put her face in her hands. Her voice came out muffled. “You told her she'd get raped if she didn't strip.”

“Don't get all righteous now. That girl is a damn murderer. Making her strip is nothing compared to what she did to her parents. Beside, it's not like she was a virgin or something.”

Maggie pulled her hands away, revealing a face I'd never seen before. “Dunk him,” she said.

George stopped bailing. “Shit, lady, calm down. We weren't really going to do it. Ian didn't want anybody screwing her, not even us guards. Nobody touched that girl.”

She was pointing at me. “Dammit, Juno, I told you to dunk him.”

I shook my head at her, saying no and shaming her at the same time. This wasn't her. “Why did Ian give the hands-off order?” I asked.

“Ian wanted to keep her fresh. He had plans for her.”

“What kind of plans?”

“You gonna let me go if I tell?”

I nodded.

“How about you?” he said to Maggie. “You gonna let me go?”

Maggie made a disgusted face but nodded.

“What about Ian?” he asked. “What am I gonna do if he finds out I talked?”

“We'll take care of Ian,” I said.

“But what if you don't?”

“Would you rather die now?”

That finally did it. “Ian came to me almost a year ago,” he said. “I hardly recognized him. When he started at the Zoo, he was this little stick boy. I took him with me on rounds his first day. I was showin' him around, and he looked like he was about to cry, his eyes were all misty, and his nose kept running. The kid was scared, seeing all those faces looking out at him from the cages. I thought, this kid's never gonna last, but he hung in there. Gotta hand it to him, he hung in there, long enough to get a posting at KOP. Anyway, he came up to me about a year ago, and I couldn't believe I was looking at the same guy. He had all these muscles and shit, and he had this new attitude, actin' like he was the man, you know what I'm sayin'?”

“What did he want?”

“RIPs.”

“I don't get it.”

“He buys RIPs, man.”

I still wasn't getting it. “Take it from the beginning,” I told him.

He took a deep breath. “Ian told me he had a partner, right? An offworlder. I never met him. Like I said, Ian tried to keep everything on a need-to-know basis, so I don't even know his name, but Ian told me the guy's story. This offworlder opened a business doing sex tours for offworlders. But he found out real quick that that shit's a competitive business. He had to take any business he could get. So when he'd get these crazy-ass requests from people, he'd try to accommodate them when the competition wouldn't. No matter how freaky the fantasy, he'd try to set it up. He did that for a long time, long enough that he eventually got known as the go-to guy for anything outside the norm. At least that's what Ian told me.”

“Go on.”

“Well, from time to time he'd get these S&Mers who were into snuff. They'd never come out and say it, but they'd hint around, see? They'd ask questions like, ‘You ever wonder what it would be like to kill a person?’ So Ian's offworld partner took the hint. He saw a big money opportunity and started checking into how to go about it. He scoped out the barges and found some good isolated sites. Then he hit the streets and started befriending some opium heads and orphans, looking for good candidates. You know, the kind that don't have any friends or family that would miss them. He got it all together, but when it actually came time for his clients to pay up, none of them came through.”

“Why not?”

“At first he thought they were just trying to get him to cut the price. So he made it clear that price was negotiable, but he still didn't get any takers. None of them had the guts to go through with it. He almost let the whole idea go, thinking they were all talk.”

“Were they scared of getting caught?”

“That's what I thought, but Ian's partner was smart. It occurred to him that the problem might be that these people actually had a conscience, you know what I'm saying? These offworlders aren't used to seeing O addicts and orphans where they're from, and they feel sorry for them.”

It was beginning to make sense to me. “So he figures that if he can find victims who deserve to die, it might help sales.”

“Right. He dropped all that snuff talk and started marketing it as your chance to be an executioner. Shit, that's when it took off. He had enough customers lining up that he was able to auction off the first RIP. We're talking serious money.”

“How many did he do?”

“I don't know. I didn't count. At least twenty.”