Glitch in the God Complex (AmpCore #1)

10 - Never Asked for a Safe House

Kirk told her everything.

They carted him off to local police station – a grubby, dilapidated bunker squatting several blocks away from the wreckage of the Russell home. The wall of cigarette smoke almost flattened him as they took him inside, but Delgado didn't seem to notice it. Maybe she was shielded by the even thicker smoke of her cigar.

The bullpen was chaos distilled, with harassed-looking officers racing back and forth, yelling orders to one and other, some wrestling criminals through the crush, others barking into their comm links and holo-screens. Stale coffee and greasy food mingled with the cigarettes to form a cocktail that made Kirk's head swim.

He squared his shoulders, swallowed down is nausea, and did his best to dodge the flailing bodies and fast-moving officers. Delgado wove through it all with the ease of an expert, so he stuck close, making himself as small as possible.

Not small enough to catch a shoulder from a hulking uniformed officer, but the big man didn't even notice him, bulldozing on through the crush.

Scrambling to keep his footing, Kirk followed her through the mayhem until they reached a pair of facing desks. Both were strewn with smouldering ash trays, empty coffee cups and food wrappers, and amidst the detritus each also sported an antique-looking solid state computer: a wafer thin monitor pinioned between spindly supports, with a touch-keypad built into the body of the desk itself.

"Take a seat," Delgado said, grabbing a wheeled chair from a vacant desk and shoving it into position.

Kirk sat. She dropped down at her desk.

"Bloody hell, Delgado," grunted the detective opposite her, not looking up from a data pad clutched in one hand. "What'd you drag off the streets this time?" His South Mercian accent was almost boneless, the words blending together into a lazy slur.

"He's a witness," she grunted, flapping a hand vaguely in the man's direction. "Kirk Balfour, this is my long-suffering partner, Detective Doser."

"And I love you too."

"Oh, shove it up your ass."

Kirk glanced around. Middle-aged and making no effort to halt it, Doser carried a beer gut with apparent pride. A short fuzz of flame red hair filmed his scalp, with a matching beard. Bloodshot eyes found Kirk, twinkling with amusement.

"Saw a wraith did you, mate?" Doser chuckled.

"Got a little closer than I would have liked," Kirk replied, turning back to Delgado.

"Lucky you've still got all your limbs attached."

"Aye, tell me about it."

"Shut up, Doser," Delgado cut in, speaking around the half-smoked cigar jutting from the corner of her mouth. She punched in commands to her computer, and the screen lit up. "Alright, Kirk," she said, "Let's have it. All of it."

Kirk didn't spare a detail as he walked Detective Delgado through the events of that night. Anything questionable that he and Piper might have done was all eclipsed by the wraith attack, and he'd had enough run ins with Hadrian's local cops to know they didn't really want to arrest anyone if they could get away with it.

When he told them about Barson, however, Delgado let out a moan.

"Barson Jennings?" she said.

"That's him."

"Fuck."

"That Cutter Jennings' kid?" Doser grunted.

"Yep."