Forget it Kovics, It’s Swaroon
by Hala Dika
Hala Dika is a poet and writer. Besides TallTaleTV, her work has appeared or is upcoming in Mobius Blvd., Schlock!, Lovecraftiana, Black Cat Weekly, Spaceports and Spidersilk, Aphelion, and Phantasmagoria. You can connect with her via her Amazon Author’s Page and Twitter:
https://twitter.com/adventurebard
https://www.amazon.com/author/haladika
More TTTV Stories by Hala Dika
Swaroon was the hardest city in Janyx. There were creatures there from across the universe; a very mixed breed. There were humans, aliens, A.I.s., Human-A.I., A.I.-Human, and, Alien-Human. Just about anything you could think of. I am of the first category; a rookie-humanoid-detective. They call me Kovics. If You’re Looking for Sin, the sign at our entrance repeats, You’ve Found It. It is no easy job to solve a case in Swaroon…and even less easy to prosecute one.
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It was an alien-human breed who had been murdered this time, the body disposed of in the Okashi River. The aliens were in an uproar, blaming humans, and the humans were in an uproar, blaming aliens. I had been summoned very early to look at the body, and taking my coffee and cigarette to go, arrived at the scene. It was lying on the embankment of the Okashi, naked, as all alien breeds were. It had a human-like head, but bigger. It had a nose and ears and mouth like humans, but very small. Arms, legs, and hands like ours, but longer. It had a kind of alien skin, but still of a fleshy texture, and though very scarce, tiny hairs on its arms and legs. But it was the eyes that got me. They were most mysterious; at once child-like and full of wisdom. Lucid and far away. Here and beyond. Human and alien. They were staring at me somehow, as if there was some life in them yet, though the body never moved, and the pupils were absolutely still. His chest was riddled with bullets.
“This is one of them early-century breeds,” the cop said. “There aren’t many of them left. I think he was the only one in Swaroon.”
“You think that’s why they killed him?” I asked.
“It’s highly possible if you ask me.” he said.
“Why?” I asked. “There are other alien-human breeds here?”
“Not old-century.” he said. “These breeds are the last of the progeny of human DNA collected in the first alien-human encounters. Born of test-tubes, not biological. Nor are they Janyx-born new-human.”
“So?” I asked.
“Well most view them as an inferior earth breed, not a Janyx one.” he said. “They are considered unnatural by some, not pure-blood.”
“Are you trying to tell me that this creature has survived generations, being born of a skin-scraping?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Did he have a name?” I asked.
“Flamon.” he said. “Flamon Quriq.”
“Get me all available contacts.” I said.
“You got it.”
I bent down next to the body. “Just whom did you piss off my friend?” I asked.
The contact sheet was brought to me the next day. Flamon Quriq had no known relatives in the area, and only one friend, an A.I.-Human by the name of Santos IB-40, generation unknown. Other then that, there was his landlady. I decided to talk to her first.
I knocked on the door. The FaceScan appeared to be broken. Finally, I heard footsteps descending. The door slid open. “Can I help you?” The woman asked.
“Oh yes Ma’am.” I said. “Did you used to have a boarder here by the name of Flamon Quriq?”
She stared at me through her Eye-Tech inner-lenses, which were so popular with older folk who developed cataracts, and might have gone blind.
“That boy was cursed.” she said. “I knew it the minute he walked into this house.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
She adjusted the volume on her chrome-plated ear. “Say again?” she asked.
I spoke a little louder. “Why do you think he was cursed Ma’am?”
“He was too good.” she said. “In Swaroon, that makes you cursed.”
“…What was he like?” I asked.
“Never heard a peep outta him,” she said, “He was always alone in his room. But he was clean and he paid me on time.”
“Did you notice anything personal?” I asked.
She shrugged, “He read a lot of books.”
“What kind?” I asked.
“I hardly know,” she said, “I couldn’t make heads or tails of ‘em.” She pointed to her ear, “As you can see, I have A.I. parts, not an A.I. brain.”
“Did he have any enemies?” I asked.
“I knew very little of his outside affairs,” she said, “You may wanna talk to that friend of his. Santos. I met him once or twice.”
“Thank you for your help Ma’am.”
“I hope you can find the boy some justice,” she said, “Poor lamb.”
I knocked on Santos’s door. He had some face. A young android with purple punk hair, a long earring hanging from his left ear, and an open jab on his right cheek, which exposed the machinery beneath. He saw me staring at it.
“Oh this.” He said. “I got stabbed by some guy at the Zanzi-Bar.”
“Santos?” I began.
He looked around. “You better come in,” he said. Once inside, he put a finger to his lip. “Elvira?” He said, “Self-engage.”
“Thank you,” the machine replied, “I will use this time to invent better ways to serve you.”
“You never know who’s listening.” Santos said. “But this hack prevents them for at least forty-five minutes.”
“I guess you’d know what you’re doing.” I said.
“I’m a Droid-Cyberpunk baby,” he smiled.
“Can’t argue with that,” I said.
“What do you wanna know about Flamon?” he asked. “I know that’s why you’re here.”
“Was he involved in anything?” I asked.
Santos was looking at me like he knew more than he was letting on. “Involved?” he finally said. “Played a little poker from time to time.”
“Poker?” I asked. “Doesn’t sound like the type?”
“He used to say that it was the only time he felt equal. ‘A good hand is a good hand,’ he used to say, ‘the cards never lie.’
“So you don’t think it was any old-century prejudice, but a winning hand at poker that got him killed?”
“I’d say it was a little bit of both.” Santos said. “Maybe someone didn’t like him, and he had a royal flush.” He looked at me again like before and leaned in. “If I were to guess, I’d say that someone’s pride couldn’t handle that.”
“That simple.” I said.
“Sometimes it is.” Santos replied. “He played on Friday nights.”
“Tonight.” I said. “Can you take me?”
Santos was afraid, but agreed.
It was around ten-thirty and the place was packed. A little while longer, I thought, and the criminal element would start to show up. I took a seat at the bar next to an A.I. that was recharging, and watching a game of pixilated darts. He turned to me and nodded. Santos had seen a few friends, and was off talking to them. Somebody was passing out ant-gravity tablets, and the people were floating toward the dance floor. I looked at the A.I.
“Do you come here a lot?” I asked.
“Yes I do.” he said. “I enjoy the ambience.”
“Have you heard of an alien-human by the name of Flamon?” I asked.
He turned his head quickly and stared. “I am aware of such a person,” he said, “But can release no further data on the matter.”
“Do you have data?” I asked.
“Yes I do.” He said. It was difficult for certain models to understand the concept of lying. “But I cannot release it,’ he continued, “Under threat of immediate deactivation.”
“Who’s threatening you?” I asked.
“That I cannot say either.” he said. “I do not understand deactivation. I am afraid.”
“It’s alright my friend.” I said, seeing that the poor fellow, his eyes to the ground, really was afraid, and, it seemed, ashamed that he could not help me. Sometimes, these A.I.s show more shame than humans, and are often faster to correct the offense. I decided not to push him. Perhaps when I found out who was threatening him, I could offer some kind of protection. Right now, I was about as good to him as a hand without a thumb.
The front doors opened abruptly, and in walked Simon Petrie, his brood of dumb musclemen wagging their tails behind him. If there was a number to be bet on in Swaroon, Petrie ran it. He arranged boxing matches; A.I. vs. droid, droid vs. human, human vs. A.I.. If A.I.s could bleed, they bled for Simon Petrie. He killed, deactivated, and crushed his enemies at will. Simon Petrie was an equal-opportunity murderer.
When the A.I. I was sitting next to saw him, the poor fellow had a neck malfunction, his circuitry overloaded with fear. And then I knew who had been threatening him to keep his mouth shut about Flamon. From the looks of the man, Simon Petrie might kill a person or a fly with the same indifference. I had only one run in with the man, and was told point blank by our police chief, not to interfere in his business. Had he something to do with it? Had he murdered Flamon over some perceived insult? Staring at the malfunctioning A.I., I thought, it was almost a sure bet.
Santos finally came back and sat down. “That A.I. is totally malfunctioning,” he said.
“Santos?” I asked. “Tell me something of Flamon’s personality. Did he lose his temper a lot?”
“No.” Santos replied. “Hardly ever.”
“But sometimes.” I said.
“Sometimes…yeah I guess you could say that.”
“For what reasons?” I asked.
“Oh you know, if he saw a big guy beating up on a little guy. He said in school they used to bully the hell outta him, and there was nothing he detested more than a bully.”
“Santos?” I asked, “Is it possible that Flamon would play poker with such a bully as Simon Petrie?”
“It’s possible.” Santos said. “Flamon hated him.”
“What?” I asked. “Why didn’t you mention this before?” Santos and the A.I. were looking at the ground now. “Ah.” I said. “He got to you too.”
Santos pointed to his cheek, “A day before you showed up,” he said. “Since then, I have been playing with my life talking to you. And being seen here with you? I’m not sure I’ll make it through the night.”
“You’re with me now Santos.” I said. “I won’t let them take you.”
Santos let out a long breath. “Guess the genie’s outta the bottle now,” he said. Meanwhile, Simon Petrie was burning a hole in his back staring at him.
“All I know is that he said he was going to play some poker at the Zanzi-Bar with a few friends, and he never returned. Petrie knew that’s all I knew, but he wasn’t about to let me give the authorities any leads. Didn’t seem to matter to him that I would think he had done the job.” He looked from the malfunctioning A.I. to me. “What are ya gonna do?” He asked. “Bring that animal in for questioning?”
“No.” I said. “I’m gonna play that animal poker.”
Santos was worried, and leaning his head close to mine, said, “What the hell’s wrong with you? You lookin to join Flamon the fast way?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I said. “If I don’t join him by Simon Petrie’s hand, I may join him by the hands of my own.”
Santos pulled back. “Then we are all ghosts,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said. “We won’t know until we play the hand.”
Santos hit the A.I. on the back, and its neck straitened out. All these centuries later, and still nobody knew why that worked.
Ronny, the droid bouncer, started clearing the place out around one, and the poker had begun. “All three of us are here to play,” I said to him. He looked over at Simon.
“Hey Mr. Petrie!” he yelled over. “We got three here want in on the game tonight.”
Petrie looked over, and although he knew who we were and what we knew, a kind of deranged amusement spread across his features. Cat and mouse, I thought, his favorite game. Cat and mouse and poker, so much the better.
“They got money?” he asked.
We nodded that we did.
“They say they got it,” the droid said.
“Bring ‘em over,” said Petrie.
Upon seeing our strange posse, the men at the table began to laugh. All of them, including Petrie, were Janyx new-human.
“Would you look at this,” one of them said, “We got a rookie detective, a cyberpunk, and an A.I. with Tourette’s. Simon, you gonna let this freak show play with us?”
Petrie, who had the manners of a shark, in that he put a napkin on before he ate you, said, “They got money, they play.”
We all sat around the table; far enough away, so it didn’t look like we were running some hustle. I had already told Santos and the A.I. to fold most of the time, and to lose a lot more than they won. I wanted Simon Petrie all to myself. There was a glass of stale beer to my right. How I wished I could throw it into his smug little face. He stared at me and cackled, like he was watching a funny show, like I hadn’t a chance in hell, like everything belonged to him. The thing was, in Swaroon, everything did.
“I like to see a greenhorn eager for an education in the rules of the game,” he said. “And a wet nose grow a little balls,” he laughed, along with the rest of his thugs.
I decided then, that I would be a quiet player, to try and throw off his seemingly permanent sense of bravado. I didn’t attempt to make any reply. This confused him a bit. It appeared that he did not trust quiet people. And that was enough to start the game at a small advantage. For here at the poker table, he did not have possession of all the odds. If I could not beat him in the streets, I could win this one game. What Simon Petrie didn’t understand, was that I was involved in my own little game of cat and mouse. I may never be able to book him for Flamon’s murder, I knew that, but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I just wanted to get him to slip up, allow his natural brazenness to make him slip up. He seemed eager to prove his invincibility.
Petrie was staring fiercely at the A.I., who shuffling, had another malfunction and dropped all the cards. He picked them up immediately, and put more focus into the task. I knew then, that Petrie, though outwardly playing the proper host, still had ultimate command over this poor creature. His fear of deactivation was at its peak.
Simon smiled at him, and then, as if relaying a private message, said, “Just a push of a button.” Then he stared at Santos, and gave him an unspoken threat of the same flavor. Santos had told me everything he knew, but the A.I. hadn’t said a thing. From the way Petrie was looking at him, I knew it was visual evidence. I don’t know why Petrie waited, but when I saw him whisper something into the ear of one of his men, I knew that the A.I. was already a goner…a visual rat.
As for Santos, Petrie knew he had little to offer, and that he had been a stranger to the A.I. before this particular evening. Santos was lucky for now, but there was no telling when Petrie would decide to change his mind. But the A.I. had certainly been there. When I thought about how I came upon him, sitting sullenly recharging in the corner, I realized that they had not let the poor bastard go since the night of the murder. He was their hostage. And tonight, because he said two words to me, they were going to erase him. I couldn’t allow them to do that. One, because that kind of evidence could put Simon Petrie away for a very long time, and two, because I had grown to like the fellow. I had brought both men into this trouble, and it was my responsibility to see that they walked away from it.
I had an Elektra-R15 at my side, and an Elektra-R9 at the small of my back; each capable of enough shock power to subdue an elephant, or kill a man. But I had no doubt, that Petrie and his assortment of criminals, had enough to subdue a dinosaur, and obliterate a man. The odds were not in my favor. But you have to understand, that is nothing new for me. Now some people wanted to go around proving how lucky they are. I had no such inclination. I knew I had less to complain about than most, and I suppose that’s a kind of luck. But for what I was about to risk, my life and the lives of my two friends, I was not above praying for holy intervention.
Petrie dealt the first card. I watched his eyes. I found that he had an almost non-existent tick, just above his left eye, nearly obscured by the brow. Everyone at the table had one. Poor Santos had no chance for a poker face. Every time he got a decent card, the exposed machinery of his right cheek, would emit an electrical current. The A.I. was too terrified to have any tells at all. Simon was cold. I could see the frost forming on his lips. After that initial tiny tick, he gave away about as much as a wildebeest would a fresh kill. I thought only, that if in a poker game, money was food, then the best way to rattle a wildebeest, would be to take it from right under his nose.
Simon Petrie was nothing if not a fatally narcissistic man, and a fiercely competitive one. If there was one thing he couldn’t handle, it was losing, at anything. I had the unbeatable, a royal flush.
“So?” Petrie asked. “Why are you playing with the enemy tonight Kovics?”
And then I realized I had been a fool, complicating things. There was another way to play this. “You’re hardly an enemy Simon.” I said.
He looked at me. “Oh yeah?” he said. “I’d heard you were, shall we say, cool towards me.”
“I was a fresh rookie then,” I said, “Head full of do-goodin. But I learned not to stake my life on a losing hand.”
“Well,” Petrie said, “It is satisfying to watch a youngster learn the error of his ways.” He leaned in, “But tell me, what interest do you have in these two?”
“I got an order to make sure that these silent witnesses remain silent,” I said, having no doubt in my mind, that the whole department was covering up the murder, and had been playing me like a fiddle, ever since I talked to that cop on the embankment.
“You a good ‘ole boy now Kovics?” he said. “Hip to the moral code of the streets?”
“There is no winning the other way,” I said, “An intelligent, reasonable, man, cannot ignore this.”
Santos kind of knew what I was trying to do, and to his credit, played it cool. The A.I. too had picked up on it, and seeing that the con was thus-far efficient, became a little less nervous.
“You three are quite the freak show,” Petrie said, cackling to himself. “Call.”
“Gentlemen first,” I insisted.
“Ain’t none of those here kid,” he said, laying down a king-high straight flush, crossing his arms, and grinning boastfully from ear to ear. The others laughed. When I didn’t move, he assumed I didn’t have it. “Don’t feel bad kid,” he said, raking in the pot, “Anybody can have a bad hand.”
“And who said I had a bad hand?” I said.
He froze then. One of the guys behind him couldn’t help himself. “If this mother—– has a royal…”
I turned the cards, crowns shining from ace on down. Their jaws dropped. Simon Petrie just had to sit there, while I pulled the meat back, one inch away from his ravenous mouth. He did not like that. I saw his hand slide down to his side. Had there been a moment just like this for Flamon? And was it only about to pass for me because I was cop, and Flamon was a civilian…street-food?
“Well,” Petrie finally said, “I underestimated you greenhorn.”
“Detective Kovics,” I said.
He smiled like a snake. “Indeed.”
The A.I. slowly turned its head towards me, as if to ask, what the hell are ya doin? Poor fellow had super-intelligence and had to pretend to be stupid. Simon Petrie had super-violence. I had super-idiocy and an ounce of courage.
I could see Simon getting more and more annoyed at the loss. Along with his hatred, rose his esteem. But in this crowd, more respect meant more suspicion, and that you had to be watched more closely. Now his eyes were cutting in their precision; focused; his black pupils retreating in size, manually scanning every feature of my face. One thing was certain; Petrie was off his cool.
“You don’t like losing, do you Simon?” I asked.
“If I were you,” he said, “I would reserve judgment to the end of the game.”
“Have you ever come across an alien-human by the name of Flamon?” I asked.
He looked up at me. “Yeah, I come across him. How could you miss a thing like that?”
“Isn’t he the one with that alien body and human skin?” asked one of his guys. “That guy ain’t natural.”
“He’s not a true Janyxian,” his friend said.
“No kiddin,” Simon said, “With them creepy human-like eyes. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t stand to look at the guy. Most of the alien-human breeds I’ve come across are more alien than human. But when you looked at this guy, you couldn’t tell which was which. He was too alien to be human, and too human to be alien…you can’t trust a guy like that.”
“He sure could play poker though,” one of the men said.
Simon looked directly at me. “At least he used to,” he said.
“You didn’t kill him, did ya Simon?” I asked.
“Little ‘ole me?” he said. “Now why would I go and do a thing like that.”
“Maybe because he had the wrong hand,” I said.
Petrie stared at me while fondling his chips. “Place your bets.” he said. He turned to the large man standing behind him. “Marvin,” he said, “Take this A.I. into the back room.”
“If you want to win your money back,” I said, “The A.I. stays.”
“Is that right?” Simon said. “You’re not on the take boy. You’re a minnow trying to catch a shark.” He turned back again. “Marvin! I said come take this A.I. rat to the back room!…and the rat-droid too!” Marvin took them both away. Simon looked at me. “Now. Good cop.” he said. “We both know that you wouldn’t leave your friends to their fate. You will continue this game, or follow them sooner than you expected. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” I said.
“Show me your cards.”
I was grateful to lose this particular hand. I needed to drag the game out until I could figure out what I was going to do. I didn’t hear any screaming coming from the back room, and took this as a sign that, for now, Santos and the A.I. were alright. It was just me and Petrie. He was grinning. They were all laughing now.
“You seem to have walked into a little trap my friend,” Petrie said, “Now kindly stand up and follow me to the back room…the game is over.”
I put my hand on my Elektra, jacking up the power with my finger. I decided I would go for his henchmen. Petrie I wanted convicted, just to see the look on his face when they took him away. I wanted all of Swaroon to witness it. I had to see what was in that A.I.’s head.
“Now don’t get any ideas greenhorn,” Petrie said, “You can’t outdraw us all.”
I lowered the setting to incapacitation. My carrier was open at the nozzle. First, I hit Petrie in the legs. He went down. I immediately hit the others, while they were still in shock. Judging from the size of most of them, I had about ten minutes to rescue the A.I. and Santos, and get the hell outta there. We took a Veru-Air-Taxi about fifty miles outside of town, and held up in an old motel.
The A.I. projected the video onto a yellow wall. Someone had turned off the audio and there was no sound. I could see Flamon sitting in the same place I had. Petrie and his goons were staring at him with disgusted looks on their faces. One of them rose and touched his skin, making a show of shaking with disgust. They all laughed. But Flamon didn’t wince or say a word. He only smiled wide in Simon Petrie’s face, put down his cards, and started to rake in the pot. That smile cost Flamon Quriq his life. Petrie pulled out a real gun and shot him to death. His goons were quick to pick up the body and take it out back, after which, it no doubt ended up in the Okashi.
I had rattled Petrie and solved the case. The visual evidence was irrefutable. Santos and the A.I. were in my own, private, witness-protection-program. But like I told you before; the prosecution was the crux, let alone the conviction. It would not be the first time that a guy like Simon Petrie got away with murder. Once again I would be forced to play the game a hand at a time, and ignore the voice which always said, Forget it Kovics, It’s Swaroon.
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