Rex 03 The Face

  The High Life

  1.

  Enveloped in tendrils of toxic smoke stands a man dressed all in black. Somewhere nearby the sea is crashing softly against the concrete breakers that prevent its waves from invading the shore, but the smog in this part of Dartley is much too thick to make out the water’s edge. The man in black is half lit by the red glow of a neon sign above his head that spells the legend “House of Cards”, and the crimson beam glows upon his pale skin. His bright blue eyes take in the sign with interest.

  One gloved hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, plastic bottle. Popping open the cap, the man takes a look inside, spying only a few grams of chalky, white powder. He groans into his gas mask, for this is the last morsel he has left. He replaces the bottle in the pocket of his long, black coat and exchanges it for a scrap of paper, upon which is written a list. The bright blue eyes scan down the crossed-off names upon the register; until the man in black finds the one that he is looking for.

  Lady Locke.

  With a deep breath that fills his half-face mask with heat, Caecilius Rex steps into the House of Cards.

  The cheerfulness of the place doesn’t match Cae’s edgy demeanour. Coming down from his last shot of RESISTANCE is giving him the jitters, and now that he knows there’s only one mouthful of the powerful drug left, his anxiety levels are running high to say the least. A happy check girl tries to take his mask and coat, but Cae will only surrender his battered old gas mask once he is into the clean air of the casino’s foyer.

  It is a bright place, garlanded in red and gold trimmings with signs for every currency decorating its walls, and there are plenty of desperate people at the cashier’s desk ready to try their luck at the tables. But Caecilius Rex is not here to gamble, it would not be fitting for a special detective of his stature to be seen rolling the dice. The young, dark haired man glides swiftly past the cashier to an information desk, where a tan skinned man is chatting up a waitress.

  “I’m here to see Lady Locke,” Cae announces to the man, who looks him up and down with a contemptuous glare.

  “You have an appointment?” Asks the fellow, his stubbly chin contorting into a judgemental grimace.

  “I don’t need an appointment,” Cae answers bluntly. “I’m the police.”

  At this the little waitress slips away quietly, and the tanned man rubs his black hair back against his head.

  “You’d better come this way,” he says quietly.

  The man leads Cae into the casino proper, a huge hall with a high ceiling that the young detective knows only too well. Cae’s sharp blue eyes take in the newly decorated venue, but the layout tells him that he has been here before. Six months ago, in this very room, he almost died. He wonders idly if the new owner knows what the place was being used for before she bought up the space.

  Cae is led to a roulette table where a series of people are gathered to watch the wheel spin. A raucous cry goes up from a thin old man as Cae arrives beside the croupier. The young detective makes a double take at the staff member, surprised to find that beneath his tuxedo and bow tie, he is actually a robot.

  “Paying the gentleman a split, 17 to 1,” says the machine. “Calculating payout…”

  “Miss Locke?” Says the tanned man in a low voice across the table.

  A glamorous woman with bouncing blonde curls turns her made-up face to look at him. “Yes Andre?” She replies, but her brown eyes have already moved on to study Cae; they travel shamelessly up and down his pale, thin frame.

  “This inspector would like to speak to you in private,” Andre states.

  Lady Locke excuses herself from the group of gamblers and pulls her fluffy shrug up around her shoulders, sliding elegantly past the roulette table to Cae’s side. She takes him by the arm with a wide smile and they begin to walk away from the crowded areas down through the gambling hall.

  “I should tell you I’m not an inspector,” Cae begins in a low rasp. “My name is Caecilius Rex; I’m a special police detective up at the local station.”

  “That name rings a bell,” answers the middle aged blonde, fluttering her painted eyelids. “I can assure you Detective Rex, my little club is perfectly above board.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Cae says in an even tone. “That’s not why I’m here. I’m looking for information concerning someone you might know,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “A gentleman who calls himself The Face.”

  Lacy Locke’s rouge lips quiver for half a second, but then she smiles again.

  “I know where I’ve heard your name!” She giggles. “Rumour has it that you’re partial to…Well, shall we say, a spoonful of sugar now and then?”

  The older woman’s eyes twinkle with mischief as Cae tries his best to hide the mixture of shock and shame trying to lay claim to his expression.

  “Just tell me if you can help me,” he insists, gritting his teeth and trying not to think of the little almost-empty bottle in his pocket.

  “Oh I can help you,” Lady Locke promises with a devious grin. “But only if you’ll help me.” She pulls Cae closer, until he can smell the cherry scent of the gloss on her lips. “I’m looking for a hired hand to help protect a very valuable object that I’m unveiling here in two days’ time; a police officer would make ever such a fine candidate for the task.”

  “I already have a job,” Cae says, starting to pull away, but Lady Locke keeps hold of the lapel of his coat.

  “Come now detective,” she pleads with a sultry pout. “I’m sure I could make you a very sweet deal. Sweet as…sugar, you might say.”

  Cae’s heart leaps a little at the analogy, and his gloved hand instinctively goes to the plastic bottle and the precious, dwindling cargo inside it. He raises a dark brow at the glamorous lady.

  “I thought you said you were above board?” He asks quietly.

  “I said the casino was, not me personally,” Lady Locke replies with a wink. She lets her fingertips run up Cae’s lapel until they touch his pale chin. “Say you’ll help me out, and you only have to name your poison. I have a very efficient supply line.”

  And Cae would be lying to himself if he tries to say he isn’t tempted, but the one scrap of dignity he’s still clinging to would be gone in a heartbeat if he were to start dealing with Lady Locke and her kind of people to get his fix. Cae removes the woman’s hand from his face and steps away, straightening out his coat.

  “I have to decline,” he says, loudly and politely. “Excuse me.”

  And with that he begins to walk away, but Lady Locke calls after him in her most cheerful tone.

  “Do come back if you happen to change your mind!”

  As Cae reaches the exit of the large casino hall, he is thoroughly proud of his own willpower and reserve, but he also wants more than anything to leave the House of Cards right now and pretend he had never entered its doors.

  But that’s when he hears the gunshot, followed by the screaming.

  2.

  In full detective mode Cae unveils his concealed pistol and turns back to face the gambling hall and the sound of the gunshot. A screaming woman is hurrying from a side room and both Cae and Lady Locke rush forward to meet her. The girl is quite young and crying, tears forcing black lines of mascara to drip down her pretty face.

  “He shot him,” she sobs. “He shot him through the head.”

  Lady Locke takes the girl to her bosom and pats her hair down. “Shush now Mollie,” she says in a whisper. “Let’s not give the gory details to our nice customers. Andre!”

  This last she shouts at the tanned aide, who clears his throat loudly and attracts all the shocked clientele towards him.

  “Nothing to worry about ladies and gentlemen,” he says, patting down the air. “Accidental gun
shot from a security guard in the back room. Nothing to worry about at all.”

  The assorted gamblers seem placated, and most of them return to their investments at the tables, though a few shuffle quickly away from the hall towards the coat check with uneasy looks.

  “Take me to body,” Cae demands in a quiet growl to Lady Locke. “Right now.”

  The perfectly adorned woman has lost all the confidence in her youthful face, and she takes the sobbing girl by the hand and walks as casually as she can towards the open door through which the young employee had come running a moment before. When they reach the door Cae steps in front of them, his gloved grip tightening on the trigger of his gun as he pads quietly into the room.

  “Damn you Lockie!” Says a sickeningly familiar voice as Cae takes in the sight of a poker table covered in blood. The voice belongs to a golden-skinned man with a greying wave of hair and olive green eyes. The man is wearing a beautiful silk suit in a sky blue shade, but its jacket is now flecked with dark red spots. “You’re paying the dry cleaning bill for this, I promise you that!”

  Lady Locke shuts the door of the private gambling room. “Of course I am, Redd, sweetie!” She fawns. “I am so sorry.”

  It’s then that Redd Richmond, the wealthiest crook in the whole of the Metropolitan Zone, catches sight of Cae as he approaches the body slumped over the table.

  “What’s the fuzz doing here?” He asks suspiciously.

  “She didn’t call me, Richmond,” Cae assures flatly. “I was already here. And believe me, you’re the last person I wanted to run into.”

  The body at the table is that of a man only slightly older than Cae, with mousy blonde hair shocked up into spikes. He is poorly dressed and his limp hand is covered by the hand of cards he had presumably been about to play. The young victim has a bullet hole straight through his head, and the detective turns to observe the ghastly splatter of bloody matter on the wall behind him. The other red mass has pooled where the man collapsed onto the green velvet of the poker table.

  “What happened here?” Cae asks, looking between the young girl and Redd. “Who shot this man?”

  “F-Flash Morgan,” stutters the girl. “He sh-shot him and he pushed me down and ran out of the-the-there.”

  The young detective follows her finger to another exit to the private room. “Where does that lead?” He questions.

  “Staff quarters, dressing rooms, that sort of thing,” Lady Locke answers, an elegant hand placed over her nose to cover the stench starting to emanate from the body. Cae is disturbed to find that she is so casual about the whole affair. “And we have a discreet exit for our more prolific clientele.”

  “You mean wanted criminals,” Cae corrects bitterly.

  “They’re still our customers,” the bouncing blonde protests.

  “When are we going to get to the damage done to my eight-grand suit?” Redd asks, and he too is depressingly undisturbed by the scene that he has just witnessed. It is only the poor young employee who is shaking and avoiding looking at the dead man at the table.

  “After you tell me why Flash shot this man,” Cae states, turning viciously to eye up the wealthy weasel.

  “Simple,” Redd answers with a shrug and an inappropriate grin. “We were playing Hold ‘Em, and he was cheating. Flash doesn’t like one to cheat; in fact he’s not that keen on one winning against him either. I always loose a grand to Flash to keep him sweet, but Jimmy here wasn’t quite as wise.’

  “You’re going to have come down to the station and report this,” Cae huffs, but Redd waves a finger at him.

  “Oh I don’t think so,” he croons. “I don’t think you’d like some of the things I could say about you under oath, detective.” His green eyes flash wickedly. “We had an agreement, did we not?”

  Redd slips off his silk jacket and dumps it into Lady Locke’s arms, planting a cavalier kiss on her cheek.

  “Call me when you’ve seen to that,” he suggests, “And put my stake money back into my account. This game’s void by my reckoning.” Before he goes he looks Cae over once more from head to toe. “I’d say it’s been nice seeing you again, Rex, but we both know that isn’t true.”

  “Take care Redd,” Cae snaps sourly. “Try not to fall down a staircase or off a cliff or anything.”

  Redd Richmond just laughs as he saunters away. When the petty conman has exited the room, Lady Locke looks on worryingly as Cae puts away his gun and takes out his phone. She sets Redd’s silk jacket down in a corner and comes to the detective’s side, but he pre-empts her pleading before she can begin.

  “I can’t ignore a murder scene,” Cae explains firmly. “But I’ll do my best to make it discreet. You can tell the police where that back entrance is if you don’t want them bursting into the foyer.” He turns then to the young girl, who is sobbing quietly into her hands, and his expression softens a little. “I’m sorry miss, but you’re going to have to make a statement for me about what you saw.”

  “And you don’t mention that Mr. Richmond was ever here,” Lady Locke adds strictly, turning to the detective with a knowing look. “That’s right isn’t it?” She asks with a flutter of her conniving eyes.

  “That’s right,” Cae answers shamefully, not sure whether it’s the stench of the corpse, or his own corruption that’s making him wish he had his mask on again.

  3.

  “What is this terrible talent you have for walking into murder scenes?” Kendra asks as she takes a seat in her grand office.

  The ex-soldier is resplendent in a grey suit, reclined comfortably in her leatherette chair behind her polished desk. Cae sits on the other side, trying to waylay his jitters before they can reveal that his last scoop of narcotics has finally worn off. It is the morning after the crime at the House of Cards, and Kendra pours two strong coffees from the percolator and hands one to her friend across the table.

  Cae takes the scalding beverage in his gloved hand and sighs. “I guess I’m just lucky that way,” he answers.

  “Was there anything weird about the scene, apart from you being in it?” Kendra asks in her usual assertive tone.

  Cae shakes his pale head. “No, it was a standard crime of passion. Jimmy cheated, Flash got angry, and we have a witness to the whole thing. Any old idiot could gather the evidence to prosecute it.”

  “In that case I’ll put Detective Smyth on the hunt for Flash Morgan,” Kendra adds with a smirk, typing something into her computer. “You can go back to waiting for something odd to come along.”

  “Thanks,” Cae answers with a smile.

  “How’s your list doing?” She enquires. “You got any good leads on The Face yet?”

  “Three months gone and I’m twenty names down with nothing to show for it,” Cae sighs dejectedly. “All I have left to question are actual criminals now, and we all know how co-operative they are.”

  Kendra laughs her manly chuckle. “I don’t envy you, that’s for sure,” she adds.

  Cae contemplates her for a moment as she continues typing at her desk. Her dark skin and black plaits look more well-kept than they used to, and though she still inspires that air of abject authority, Kendra has most certainly assimilated her new role as Chief of Police. The young detective tries not to think of what else he now knows about her, and what the others in the station would think if they knew there was an android at the helm of local justice, least of all what Kendra herself would think if she ever discovers that she isn’t human. He wonders idly if it is personality or programming that has helped her to finally settle into the job, but then decides it might be better not to know which way that particular scale is tipped.

  “What were you doing at the House of Cards anyway?” Kendra asks without looking away from the screen.

  “Following up my last civilian lead,” Cae answers immediately. “Lady Locke, the new owner and proprietor.” He blows on his hot coffee and begins to sip it.

  “No joy, huh?” The police chief replies.

  “I’m not sure
yet,” Cae answers. “She avoided the question pretty well, and then Jimmy Wheeler got shot and I didn’t get another chance to talk to her. I might go back.”

  “No,” Kendra says sharply, stopping her work and pointing a dark finger at him. “No snooping around there whilst it’s a crime scene, buddy.”

  “You’re really taking this chief thing seriously now, aren’t you?” Cae questions, half amused and half annoyed at the order.

  “I mean it Cae,” she adds, her hazel eyes glazed with a sudden seriousness. “Don’t go poking your nose in there until Smyth’s done his thing. I can’t have you running amok like you used to, or the force won’t trust me to lead.”

  Now that is definitely programming over personality, Cae decides silently to himself. Kendra had always been focused on leading, ever since she’d made sergeant back at the Lachrymosa Military Base, and just because she is now in the police instead of the army, her in-built desire to lead the troops efficiently hasn’t changed. The detective checks his watch and rises from his seat slowly, abandoning the rest of his coffee.

  “Got someplace to be?” Kendra asks.

  “Yeah,” Cae says, a playful grin slipping onto his face. “I’m scheduled to go run amok somewhere. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  He leaves his superior laughing and sets off down the corridor at a pace. Cae is in fact late for a rendezvous down in his own office, all the flurry of Flash Morgan’s manhunt has made him lose track of his appointments. That and the fire burning up his nerves from the lack of RESISTANCE in his system.

  The young man feels impossibly weak without the influence of the state altering drug. It had given him strength and resilience that he had never been able to achieve on his own, and a confidence of body that finally matched the strength of his mental will. And now it is gone, the contents of the bottles in the contraband storage room have been stealthily refilled with mere table salt, and Dartley station is none the wiser to the six month habit that has grown into, Cae now realises, a full blown dependency.

  The more he thinks of it, the more his covered hands shake. The drugs had even taken away some of the sting left by the various acidic scars over Cae’s torso and arms, but now the remnants of his tragic accident are making themselves known again. His flesh tingles as Caecilius Rex charges down the hallways to his little office, checking his watch all the way as he gets later and later for his meeting.