The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 22: Rockabye

A couple more days had passed, and things were no longer looking quite as up.

“It’s been almost a week, Cornelius. I thought you cops were supposed to be good at investigating things,” Dan groused as he eyed the pool table. He leaned forward, lining his stick up with the cue. Whack! Balls scattered, and two stripes went into a pocket.

“And I thought you were supposed to be good at pool. Those balls were mine,” Cornelius countered.

“Fuck off. I’m distracted with the continued and ambiguous threat on my life.” Dan threw up his hands. “How is it that you don’t even know who the target was supposed to be?”

The news had come just this morning, when Cornelius had joined with Gregoir as Dan’s protective detail. He wasn’t needed to babysit his nephew, as Connor and Freya were both off for the day, and spending time in their family’s large, secure manor. Unlike Gregoir, Cornelius had point-blank refused to let Dan go about his business unescorted. The wily officer had coerced Dan’s cooperation through the promises of information on the ongoing investigation.

It hadn’t been what Dan had wanted to hear. The police had identified one of the shooters, obtained a warrant, and raided his last known address. They’d surprised the shit out of a squatting couple, broken a few locks, and found absolutely nothing else. The police were trawling the Crew’s territory, but things had been quiet. Zim was in the wind, and the leads had all but dried up.

“Well we can’t ask him, now can we?” Cornelius replied seemingly without concern. “We’re fairly sure Connor was the target, but it’s better to be safe rather than sorry, no?”

“And I was fine with that explanation last week,” Dan said, “but I figured this would be a two or three day thing.”

“What’s one or two more?” Cornelius asked philosophically. “These things take time, Daniel.”

“You had a video of his face, Cornelius,” Dan replied.

“It was an eighty-percent match, and that distinct tattoo wasn’t on record,” Cornelius explained, for what might have been the fifth time that hour. “I don’t blame the judge for requiring more evidence. It took time to track down the artist that gave Zim his ink. It took time to get the warrants we needed. It took time to plan the raid. Everything takes time, Daniel.”

“And now he’s gone,” Dan said flatly.

Cornelius shrugged. “For now.”

Dan eyed him suspiciously. “You are far too calm about this. This fuckhead tried to assassinate your nephew. Shouldn’t you be hunting him down in the streets or some shit?”

“Of course not,” Cornelius protested innocently. “I’m a SPEAR Team leader. My specialty is not investigations, it’s leading strike teams. Once this fellow is found, and he will be found, then my team will take him in.” He shrugged. “If the price for that privilege is to keep my nose out of Baker’s way, I’ll comply. So long as it’s my tac-van that he ends up in.”

“Whereupon he’ll have an ‘accident’ and fall down an elevator shaft?” Dan asked, making finger quotations.

“Where he’ll be gently persuaded to give up whoever gave him his orders,” Cornelius corrected. “It’s one thing to be a career criminal, doing what you’re told. Breaking the law, I can accept that. Criminals flaunt the rules of society, and we knock their skulls in for it. That’s just the way it is. But it’s another thing entirely to actually commission the killing of a police officer.”

The two of them were speaking without fear of judgement or eavesdropping, because they were currently at Kavanaugh’s, a cop bar. Loud country music boomed from overhead speakers, as over a dozen plainclothes and off-duty officers milled about the place. Some drank, some sang karaoke, some played on one of the many pool tables scattered about the building, and some simply commiserated with their fellows.

Cornelius was given a respectfully wide berth as he and Daniel played their game. The two of them spoke quiet enough to be drowned out by the music, and everyone present had enough sense to not spy on a superior officer. Every now and then, an officer that Dan vaguely recognized would nod at him in greeting, but that was the extent of his interaction with them.

It was a little eerie. Kinda like Cornelius produced his own little invisible bubble of isolation.

“What about confidential informants?” Dan asked. “You’d think they’d be crawling out of the woodwork with y’all on the hunt like this.”

“Informants?” Cornelius wrinkled his nose. “You’ve been watching too much television, Danny-boy. I wish I had a handful of sultry vixens embedded in Coldeyes’ Crew, all spellbound by my sheer masculinity and looking to feed me information, but it just doesn’t work like that in real life.”

“You’re a pig,” Dan informed him frankly. “A giant fucking man-child. You know that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about people in their territory that your guys are friendly with. Civilians willing to talk to you, or even gang members who think fucking with the cops is a terrible idea! I’m positive this is a thing, man.”

Cornelius shrugged. “I’m not a beat cop. Maybe Baker has some neighborhood folks willing to slip him the odd piece of information, but if I’m called in, it ain’t for talking. It’s for that other thing, you know?”

“Yeah. You’re a badass. I get it,” Dan soothed, rolling his eyes.

Cornelius winked at him, and angled his pool cue.

Whack!

Stripes ricocheted around the table, three more tumbling into corner pockets.

Dan looked at the pool table in despair. “I hate you.”

“Take a number,” Cornelius replied. He lined up his next shot. “Eight-ball, corner pocket.”

Whack!

Dan’s veil whipped out and snagged the ball before it could reach its destination. The thing was only a few inches away, as Cornelius had sent it to the pocket that Dan stood beside. He dragged it quickly into t-space alongside himself. Its momentum bled away, and he caught it. He floated there, considering how he could accomplish what he wanted. After a moment, he simply flicked it in the opposite direction, veil still connected, fell back into his lazy stance, and dropped back into reality.

In Cornelius’ eyes, his eight-ball suddenly reversed directions, bouncing slightly, and ending up around the center of the table. He stared at it for a moment, brow slightly furrowed, before glancing up at Dan.

“That’s a neat trick,” he commented.

Dan’s face was the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh huh.” Cornelius reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out an old fashioned flip notebook. A pen was tucked into the spiral, which he pulled out and licked the tip. He flipped open the notebook and quickly noted something down, before pocketing it once more.

“Taking notes?” Dan asked, bemused.

“On your upgrade,” Cornelius replied. “I haven’t nailed down exactly how that short-hop mutated, but I’ll figure it out.”

Dan scratched his neck, awkwardly. “You could always check my records.”

“Oh, I don’t trust those things. The tests they do to evaluate mutates are bullshit. You should know. Right?” He looked at Dan, eyes glittering.

“Fuck you, Cornelius,” Dan replied simply.

He cackled. “I wanted to be an upgrade analyst when I was a kid. Did you know that? I thought it was the coolest job ever, helping people make the most of what they’ve got. Always had my nose in a book, learning the ins and outs of different upgrades.”

Dan looked at him. “I really can’t picture you as a nerd.”

“I grew out of it,” Cornelius admitted, making a ‘what can you do?’ gesture, spreading both arms out, palms up. “Had to settle for being a badass.”

“A strict downgrade,” Dan agreed. “And you’re shit at it, besides.”

“Hey! I’m way better at this cop thing!” Cornelius protested. He made chopping motions with his hands, simulating an exaggerated martial artist’s kata. “Puttin’ down crims, interacting with the locals, saving lives!” He winked at Dan, and made a crude gesture with his hips. “Soothin’ women’s worries!”

Dan cringed. “Yeah, you’re a real boon to the community. I feel safer already.”

Cornelius pointed his finger at him. “Hey, I got your mind off those death threats, didn’t I? You probably haven’t thought about the fact that somebody tried to kill you for at least ten minutes, am I right?”

“At least,” Dan agreed with a frown. “Thinking about it now, though. What was that bullshit reason you gave for why you haven’t caught these guys yet?”

Cornelius wiggled his fingers at Dan. “Calm, my friend. Calm. We’ll find them. They’re scared, Danny-boy. City’s been quiet. Everyone’s gone to ground. Coldeyes’ Crew knows not to make any noise, lest we stomp them flat. Patience.”

Something beeped. After a moment, Dan realized that it was Cornelius. The officer glanced down at his hip, as his phone beeped again. More beeps sounded, from elsewhere in the room. Then more. And more.

Soon, nearly the entire room was sounding off loud alerts. People were checking their phones with furrowed brows and worried eyes. Cornelius read over whatever message had been sent, as he hurriedly put away his pool cue. He glanced at Dan, all signs of the joking, arrogant officer replaced by an utterly serious scowl.

“I might have to eat those words,” he said, quickly. “I gotta go, Dan. Head back to your place and hunker down. Gregoir should already be bringing Abby.”

He turned to leave, clearly in a hurry, but paused and turned back around.

He hesitated for a second, and the man just looked at Dan. He was strong, self-confident, in control at all times. Dan had never seen him look so concerned.

After a long moment, Cornelius added, “Everything’s gonna be alright.”