"I'm sorry that I insulted you and your police force. Thanks for going easy on me and giving me the chance to learn from my mistake. It isn't a lesson I'll need again."
"Apology accepted, Mister Rose. Now, if Dillon will only get back here with my drink. Ah, speak of the devil." Dillon emerged from the back room with a plastic bag full of ice, which he gave to Rose, and a small porcelain bottle, which he gave to Viets. Reaching into his apron, he produced a matching porcelain cup that he also handed to the policewoman.
"Now that the two of you are on speaking terms, maybe we can get back to business." Dillon was obviously pleased that Rose was no longer shouting and that Viets was "off duty."
"Lieutenant, can you tell me what's going to happen, and how fast? I know, I know. You don't run the department and there are a lot of things that canhappen, but I've already figured out that you must have a pretty good idea which way this one will go. I really need to know." Rose did his best to make the request humble but not groveling. If he guessed right, and this particular guess wasn't very difficult, Viets was the type of woman who wouldn't respond well to weakness or begging. She might, however, tell him some of what he wanted, or needed, to know if he could convince her it was important.
"I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you any of this. Not only would my butt be in a sling if the captain found out, but you'd just use the information to get yourself killed. That or you'd kill somebody else."
"You think that little of me after such a brief time?"
"You did attack me, remember, 'Mechboy?"
" 'Mechboy? Just what does that mean? You don't know me, what I do or how I make a living." Rose let equal parts of anger and calm slip into his voice. How did she know?
"Oh, 'Mechboy, I know you. I know you and your kind. Strutting around like you own the place. All full of attitude and just itching for a fight with some poor local. I can see it in the walk, the talk, the way you drink your beer. You're a 'Mechboy all right, even without that tin-plated, fusion-powered, death-giving machine you call a BattleMech." Rose was impressed with the passion of Viets' response. He'd met people who didn't like Mech Warriors. He'd even met people who hated them, but he'd never met a person who made the word 'Mech sound like something dredged up from the bottom of a cesspool.
"If you hate us so much, why are you on Solaris?"
"None of your damn business, 'Mechboy." Rose saw the fire in her eyes. Adrenaline was pumping through her again. Rose took a quick mental inventory of both his body and his few assets. He knew in an instant he couldn't take her in a fight, either fair or foul, at least not without a 'Mech. He also knew he had to keep her talking if he was going to accomplish his personal mission.
"Then why are you talking to me?" Like someone throwing a switch and plunging a room into darkness, Rose saw the anger flow out of Lieutenant Viets. She held him in a rigid stare, unblinking for long seconds as she examined him. Rose imagined that with a stare so intent she could look into his soul. He held her eyes with what he hoped was equal intensity. When she spoke, Rose was shocked by the power and conviction in her voice.
"I keep hoping, 'Mechboy, that one of you will turn out to be different from all the rest." She broke the stare, glancing away. Rose unconsciously relaxed, exhaling a long breath. When she turned back to him, the intensity was gone. She stared at him, but it was not the same.
"Since you're new to the area, I'll make this as simple as possible." She poured a cupful of clear liquid from the bottle and held it to her nose for a brief instant before downing it in a single swallow. "If I assume you're right about Scoggins, and I'm willing to do that, I need a sworn affidavit from you that says you saw him murder Jaryl Whillins and are willing to testify to it in court." Viets held up her pinky to accentuate the point.
"I go to my boss, a man known far and wide as an impartial dispenser of justice, and tell him that just before a championship fight, a back-up pilot was killed by a man in the employ of the other stable." Up went the ring finger.
"I fill out more forms than you'll see in ten years and pass them on up the ladder, explaining why Scoggins has to be brought back to the Black Hills for trial." Up went the middle finger. Rose shifted his ice bag, sensing where the lieutenant was leading.
"Eventually the whole thing gets handled by the bureaucrats, and Scoggins does, or doesn't, stand trial, depending on who owes what favors to who or how much money is brought to bear on the issue." Viets' index ringer uncurled from her thumb. "That's what we call a four-step ladder back at base. Any one of the rungs goes and nobody gets to the top."
"So you're saying it won't be easy to bring Scoggins in for trial?"
"Rose, I'd have to take off both boots to count the steps in that ladder, and you'd like it all to be finished by the start of the fight—I can see it in your eyes." Rose tried, with surprising success, to conjure a mental image of Viets without boots, or anything else for that matter. He forced his mind to shift gears and concentrate on the problem. She deserved more respect than a mental undressing. Even with his resolve, however, it took longer than he anticipated to dispel the image. Viets was just finishing her second cup as Rose began thinking aloud.
"So, again time is against me. If I'm right, Warwick is out to get Carstairs' pilots and change the odds of the fight everyone is trying so damn hard to keep the same.
"Even if Scoggins comes to trial, it won't be until long after the fight, and it won't bring Jaryl back or change Warwick's plans." Rose could see the man sitting like a pack rat atop his pile of gold. "Warwick wants this championship and he had Jaryl killed as part of his plan to win it." To Rose the facts were as plain as the pain in his head. He looked at Viets, who only shrugged and poured another drink.
"Maybe so, maybe no."
"Lieutenant, have you ever met Warwick?" Viets absently shook her head. Rose continued although he was only partially sure Viets was even listening to him anymore. As he spoke she stared into the empty porcelain cup, head cocked slightly as if hearing something very far away.
"He's the type of man you meet once and either hate or love. There's no middle ground, just ask Dillon. I found myself falling on the side of the former emotion, even before he had Scoggins murder Jaryl."
"You don't know that."
"You're right, but I know the way Scoggins looked at me before he pulled the trigger. It was like we were sharing a secret, something only he and I knew anything about. I know that Warwick stands to gain a lot more than he loses if one of Carstairs' pilots dies. I also know that after spending ten minutes alone with the man, I can't stand the sight of him. It's probably unreasonable, but I'm going to go with my guts on this. Warwick is to blame, even if there's no proof." Rose stood and started to walk away.
"Where're you going now, 'Mechboy?" Viets looked up from her empty cup. "You going to start something nobody wants to see happen? You going to make my life miserable, 'Mechboy?" Rose could see the challenge in her eyes and hear the frustration in her voice. She deserved better than to have to deal with this, to deal with him. She deserved a chance to do her job without Rose's quest getting in the way, but he'd let events control him too long. It was time for him to seize the initiative and regain control of his life. For all the right reasons he lied to her.