Gun Machine

“Okay,” she said, and tapped the right end of the glass strip on her breast. She dipped her head, touched a finger to her earpiece, and said, “Ops, please.”

“Oh my God,” breathed Bat. “She has a Star Trek comm badge.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Tallow. “There were similar things being tested for use in hospitals a few years back, with voice control but a more basic technology set. I read about it in a magazine. We’re just looking at the more up-to-date version.”

“I want one,” said Bat.

“You can take it off her corpse once I’m done with her,” Scarly hissed.

“Behave yourselves,” Tallow whispered.

The woman finished a short conversation and gestured at Tallow. “We’ve been cleared to operate through a Captain Waters at the 1st Precinct?”

Tallow swallowed the groan the name elicited, took a breath, and summoned a smiling mask. “That’s my boss’s boss. We’ll head up to the apartment with you. Not,” he said with his hands up, “to keep an eye on you. We were here to review the scene again.”

She smiled with some relief and, on some impulse of reaching for a friend, stuck out her hand. “Cool. I’m Sophie.”

He shook her hand, matching the strength of her grip closely. “I’m John. These are my colleagues Scarlatta and Bat.”

“Bat?” She grinned at the CSU, who was studying her chest for technological purposes. “What’s that short for?”

“Batmobile,” he said.

“Behave yourself, damn it,” said Tallow, moving to open the apartment building doors.

Sophie began to pick up the kit bag and grimaced. “Jesus, Mike. Did you put your car in here?”

“Hey, it’s not my problem if you don’t train as hard as I do.”

Sophie lifted the kit bag. Watching her, Tallow realized that although it was not too heavy for her, Tallow himself wouldn’t have been able to get it off the sidewalk. Mike loaded collapsed plastic boxes on to the dolly, and Tallow held the doors open for them.

“Mike,” said Mike, not looking at Tallow.

“John,” Tallow said. “Nice gun.”

Mike stopped as he got into the building’s hallway and reappraised Tallow. “You noticed that, huh?”

“I did. I don’t recognize the make or the fittings.”

“You wouldn’t, pal. These are made only for Spearpoint.”

“You have custom guns?” said Scarly, interested despite herself.

Mike enjoyed noticing Scarly. “Sure. You want to see?”

“Mike,” Sophie warned.

“Just being friendly,” said Mike, standing the dolly up and drawing the weird gun.

“It’s a SIG?” Scarly said, uncertain, bobbing up and down to consider the thing from different angles.

“SIG Sauer X911. Made exclusively for Spearpoint. See, it’s badged on top and on the grip there. And check out the grips. That’s African blackwood. That shit’s so hard they have to machine it with tungsten carbide. And tungsten carbide, that’s the shit they use for mining drills.”

“But what’s that you’ve got slung under the barrel, on the rail?”

“Camera. When I clear the safety? The camera switches on, and it streams video back to the local Spearpoint ops room. And I swing this section around, and see? Switches on when it reaches the upright, and that’s a night-vision screen right in front of the sights. The camera, it knows when it’s dark, and switches to night vision all on its own. Laser sight in the front top there, see?”

“Jesus. This is insane. But doesn’t all this make the thing nose-heavy?”

“All superlight materials. If anything, it helps the accuracy. I tell you, I’ve seen a new model being tested? A prototype? Fires rocket bullets.”

“You’re kidding me. Like the old Gyrojet?”

“I dunno about that. But I’ve seen this baby being test-fired, and it’s recoilless. Fires a .50-cal rocket bullet with no recoil.”

“When you’re done showing off the toys,” said Sophie, trying to ignore that Bat was standing very close to her.

“I would very much like to marry your chest,” Bat said.

“Bat. Back off. Now,” snapped Tallow. And then, to Sophie, “He means your communications devices. Bat likes electronics.”

“It’s still not very appropriate,” Sophie said, moving away from Bat.

“He’s a CSU,” said Tallow with a smile that wasn’t the evil smile he was smiling inside. “What can you do? You know what they’re like.” Tallow regretted his second of immature relish when he saw her mortified face. She’d tried to be civil to him, and he’d stepped on her. Tallow wished, not for the first time, that he was better with people. He’d never really had to be before he’d been to this place. He discovered then that he hated this building, this airless space with its sheen of human grime.

“Where’s the elevator?” Mike asked, sheathing his weapon. Tallow felt a little better about telling Mike there wasn’t an elevator and watching his face. But then Mike picked up the dolly, boxes and all, with one hand, took the kit bag from Sophie with the other, and started jogging up the stairs with “Third floor, right?”

“There,” said Scarly, “goes a man who has names for all his muscles.”

“I was just thinking that,” Tallow said. “Serious gym rat.”

“No, I mean he’s named all his muscles. That’s a man who calls one of his muscles Steve.”