Deadeye (Mutant Files, Band 1) - Softcover

Dietz, William C.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0425273334 ISBN 13: 9780425273333

Verlag: Ace, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

The national bestselling author of the Legion of the Damned novels, "a must-read for any fan of Mil Fic," (Archaeologist’s Guide to the Galaxy) begins a brand new science fiction police procedural series...
In the year 2038, an act of bioengineered terrorism decimated humanity. Those who survived were either completely unaffected or developed horrible mutations. Across the globe, nations are now divided between areas populated by “norms” and lands run by “mutants”…
Detective Cassandra Lee of Los Angeles’s Special Investigative Section has built a fierce reputation taking down some of the city’s most notorious criminals. But the serial cop killer known as Bonebreaker—who murdered Lee’s father—is still at large. Officially, she’s too personally involved to work on the Bonebreaker case. Unofficially, she’s going to hunt him to the ends of the earth. 
In the meantime, duty calls when the daughter of Bishop Screed, head of the Church of Human Purity, is kidnapped by mutants and taken into the red zone to be used for breeding. Assigned to rescue her, Lee must trust her new partner—mutant lawman Deputy Ras Omo—to guide her not only through the unfamiliar territory but through the prejudicial divisions between mutants and norms…

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

William C. Dietz is the bestselling author of more than forty novels, including the Legion of the Damned series (Andromeda's War, Andromeda's Choice, Andromeda's Fall).

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ACKNOWLEDGMENT

ONE

THE AIR WAS deliciously cool as the sun rose, and the city of angels was flooded with pink light. The traffic light changed to green, and Police Detective Bryce Conti put his foot on the gas. He was driving an unmarked car. That was something of a misnomer, however, since the vehicle had been tagged so many times that it looked like a rolling Picasso. The radio was on, and Conti smiled as a patrol unit was sent to deal with a 288. That was the code for indecent exposure and usually meant that a drunk was wandering around a park without his pants. What a way to start a new day.

Conti’s destination was a neighborhood that had been called Little Italy prior to being reborn as New Chinatown in 1938. As Conti took a right, he passed the charred remains of a burned-out house. One of thousands left empty after the plague.

Some of the homes in the area were occupied, however, and easy to identify because they were the ones that had iron bars over the windows. And in some cases there were patches of carefully kept grass out front. God bless ’em, Conti thought to himself, and protect them from evil.

Conti found the address he was looking for halfway down the block and on the right. It was the type of four-unit building often referred to as a “dingbat.” A not-so-complimentary name that referred to thousands of formulaic three-story-high apartment buildings built during the middle of the twentieth century. A sign that read LA BUENA VIDA was fastened to the front of the structure’s dingy white facade.

Parking places were easy to find in a city where the population was half what it had once been. Conti pulled over, got out, and thumbed the remote. The lights flashed to signal that the car was locked.

Conti had been a street cop for six years and a detective for two. During that time, he had developed habits, one of which was to pause before parting company with whatever car he was using and perform a quick 360. Someone was watching. He could feel it. But he expected that. It paid to keep your eyes peeled in LA—and chances were that one of the neighbors was peering at him through partially opened blinds. Conti followed the path that led past the ground-floor garage back to where the stairs led up to the second floor.

Detective Lee lived in unit 201, and once Conti arrived he saw that the words FUCK OFF had been spray painted across the front door. Conti smiled. It looked like the stories he’d heard were true. He pushed the doorbell.

*   *   *

Cassandra Lee was searching for someone important. An alley led to a door that opened into a dark room that . . . She awoke with a jerk and opened her eyes. Bars of dusty sunlight slanted through the blinds to etch lines on the wall. The doorbell rang again.

Lee swore, rolled out of bed, and snatched the Glock off the dresser as she left the room. She passed the bath and took up a position next to the front door. Someone knocked. “Who is it?”

The voice was muffled. “Detective Conti.”

“Who do you report to?”

“Deputy Chief McGinty.”

There were three locks. Lee opened one after the other. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Conti entered. He was dressed in a sports coat, shirt, and jeans. She figured Conti was six feet tall, give or take an inch, with black hair and brown eyes. Rumor had it that he was a ladies’ man, and Lee could see why. The bastard had dimples, for God’s sake . . . They appeared as he smiled. “I was starting to wonder if I had the right place.”

“Sorry,” Lee lied. “Make yourself to home. I’ll get ready.”

*   *   *

Conti saw the weapon and watched as Lee placed it on a side table and walked away. As far as he could tell, the oversized tee shirt was the only thing she had on. It hung down over what he imagined to be a very nice butt. Her legs were bare and slim. He liked that. Don’t do it with your partner. That was the rule and a good one for the most part. But, depending on how things went, Conti was willing to make an exception.

He heard a door slam and the shower come on as he entered the living room. Drawn curtains made the space feel gloomy, and the brown paint made the situation worse. Interestingly enough, there wasn’t any of what he thought of as “girly stuff” in sight. No colorful prints, no stuffed animals, no flowers.

Two matching bookcases occupied the right-hand wall and were filled with cop memorabilia. That included photographs. Lots of them. Most featured a man with black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and high cheekbones. Lee’s father? Yes, a sergeant, judging from the chevrons on his sleeve.

In addition to the photos there was a plaque for marksmanship, a presentation nightstick, and a display case containing three medals. One of them was a Medal of Valor. The highest honor a cop could receive. Frank Lee had been a real fire-eater then . . .

“I’m ready.”

Conti turned to look at her. He’d seen Lee before but usually from a distance. She stood about five-five and might weigh 125. A halo of black hair framed her face. She had big brown eyes, a perfect nose, and full lips. Her clothing consisted of a waist-length leather jacket, khaki cargo pants, and lace-up combat boots. Conti watched as the Glock went into a shoulder holster, and something shiny slipped into the small of her back. “What was that?”

She looked at him. “What was what?”

“The backup . . . What is it?”

“It’s a Smith & Wesson model 627.”

Conti made a face. “A wheel gun, huh? I carry a Kel Tec P-11. I think semiautos are the better option.”

Lee’s eyes narrowed. “Who cares what you think? Let’s go.”

And with that she walked out through the door. Conti followed, checked to make sure that it was locked, and took the stairs two at a time. She was waiting next to the car when he arrived and extended a hand. “I’ll drive.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you. Maybe you can handle a car and maybe you can’t. Time will tell.”

He placed the keys in her hand and watched Lee pull a 360 on the sedan, even going so far as to peer under it. Paranoia? Not really—a device placed by the Bombas Gang had been responsible for the death of 1-George-12 two weeks earlier. That meant any car that was left unattended, no matter how briefly, had to be checked.

After completing the 360, Lee slipped behind the wheel, and Conti got in beside her. Lee started the sedan, eased down the street, and took a right. More cars were out and about by then. Most of them were one-offs manufactured by various fabricantes. Form followed function in most cases, but there were some especiales as well. They were sleek affairs, low to the ground in most cases and tricked out with fanciful paint jobs.

The police officers were headed south on North Main Street by then. Lee pulled over to the curb six blocks later. Conti checked his watch. “It’s 6:50. Roll call begins in ten minutes.”

“You need one of Maria’s breakfast burritos,” Lee informed him. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Then she was gone.

All Conti could do was sit and fume as Lee entered a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant and soon emerged with a cardboard box. She passed it through the passenger-side window. “I stop here every morning,” she explained. “I hope you like ham and scrambled eggs because...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Ace
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0425273334
• ISBN 13: 9780425273333
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 304
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Bear Family Records GmbH; 49474882160; info@bear-family.de; ; Grenzweg 1; Holste; 27729; Deutschland